Towards Sociology of

Dalits
Readings in Indian Sociology
Series Editor: Ishwar Modi

Titles and Editors of the Volumes

Volume 1
Towards Sociology of Dalits
Editor: Paramjit S. Judge

Volume 2
Sociological Probings in Rural Society
Editor: K.L. Sharma

Volume 3
Sociology of Childhood and Youth
Editor: Bula Bhadra

Volume 4
Sociology of Health
Editor: Madhu Nagla

Volume 5
Contributions to Sociological Theory
Editor: Vinay Kumar Srivastava

Volume 6
Sociology of Science and Technology in India
Editor: Binay Kumar Pattnaik

Volume 7
Sociology of Environment
Editor: Sukant K. Chaudhury

Volume 8
Political Sociology of India
Editor: Anand Kumar

Volume 9
Culture and Society
Editor: Susan Visvanathan

Volume 10
Pioneers of Sociology in India
Editor: Ishwar Modi
 READINGS IN INDIAN SOCIOLOGY
VOLUME 1

Towards Sociology of
Dalits

EDITED BY
Paramjit S. Judge
Copyright © Indian Sociological Society, 2013

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Contents

List of Tables ix
Series Note xi
Foreword by Prakash N. Pimpley xv
Preface xvii
Introduction by Paramjit S. Judge xix

Part I: State of Dalit Studies in Sociology

1. Situating Dalits in Indian Sociology 3
Vivek Kumar
2. Scheduled Castes, Scheduled Tribes, and the Nation: Situating
G. S. Ghurye 23
T.K. Oommen

Part II: Caste, Untouchability and Exclusion

3. Untouchability as a Social Problem: Theory and Research 45
R.D. Lambert
4. Untouchability—A Myth or a Reality: A Study of Interaction
between Scheduled Castes and Brahmins in a
Western U.P. Village 53
S.S. Sharma
5. Scheduled Castes and Urbanization in Punjab:
An Explanation 65
Victor S. D’Souza
6. The Khatiks of Kanpur and the Bristle Trade:
Towards an Anthropology of Man and Beast 78
Maren Bellwinkel-Schempp
viii Towards Sociology of Dalits

Part III: Mapping Conflict

7. Dalit Struggle, Nude Worship, and the
‘Chandragutti Incident’ 107
Linda J. Epp
8. Psychological Conflict Between Harijans and
Upper Class/Middle Class Caste Hindus: A Study in
Andhra Pradesh (India) 137
Venkateswarlu Dollu

Part IV: Interrogating Change: Theory and Practice

9. Reservations and the Sanskritization of Scheduled Castes:
Some Theoretical Aspects 159
Gopal Guru
10. Purity, Impurity, Untouchability: Then and Now 169
A.M. Shah
11. Stigma Goes Backstage: Reservation in Jobs and Education 184
Tulsi Patel

Index 203
About the Editor and Contributors 208
Appendix of Sources 210
List of Tables

Introduction
Table I Number of Scheduled Castes and Their Percentage
in Each State and Union Territory xxxiv
Table II Five Most Widely Spread Scheduled Castes in India xxxv

Chapter 4
Table I Extent of Intensity of Interaction among Brahmins
and Scheduled Castes 61
Table II Acceptance of Scheduled Castes by Brahmins and
Vice-Versa in Public- and Private Places 62
Table III Reason for Non-Acceptance of Scheduled Castes
According to the Brahmins and Scheduled Castes 63

Chapter 5
Table I Distribution of Towns in 1961 in Punjab by Size Class
and Index Scores of Representation of
Scheduled Caste Population 72
Table II Distribution of Towns in Punjab in 1961 by Functional
Classification and Index Scores of Representation of
Scheduled Caste Population 74

Chapter 8
Table I Harijan Responses Regarding Untouchability and
Caste Hindu Hostilities 144
Table II Caste Hindu Samples Attitudes Towards Untouchability 146
x Towards Sociology of Dalits

Table III Caste Hindus Responses Regarding Type of Violence

by the Harijans Against Them 148
Table IV Caste Hindu Responses with Regard to Certain
Concessions from the Government 149
Table V Caste Hindu Responses Regarding Harijan Hostilities
Against Them 152
Series Note

The Indian Sociological Society (ISS), established in December 1951,

under the leadership of Professor G. S. Ghurye at the University of
Bombay celebrated its Diamond Jubilee in 2011. Soon after its founda-
tion, the ISS launched its biannual journal Sociological Bulletin in March
1952. It has been published regularly since then. The ISS took cogni-
sance of the growing aspirations of the community of sociologists both
in India and abroad to publish their contributions in Sociological
Bulletin, and raised its frequency to three issues a year in 2004. Its print
order now exceeds 3,000 copies. It speaks volumes about the popularity
of both the ISS and the Sociological Bulletin.
The various issues of Sociological Bulletin are a treasure trove of the
most profound and authentic sociological writings and research in India
and elsewhere. As such it is no surprise that it has acquired the status of
an internationally acclaimed reputed journal of sociology. The very fact
that several of its previous issues are no more available, being out of
print, is indicative not only of its popularity both among sociologists
and other social scientists but also of its high scholarly reputation,
acceptance and relevance. Although two series of volumes have already
been published by the ISS during 2001 and 2005 and in 2011 having
seven volumes each on a large number of themes, yet a very large number
of themes remain untouched. Such a situation necessitated that a new
series of thematic volumes be brought out. Realising this necessity and
in order to continue to celebrate the Diamond Decade of the Indian
Sociological Society, the Managing Committee of the ISS and a sub-
committee constituted for this purpose decided to bring out a series of
10 more thematic volumes in such areas of importance and relevance
both for the sociological and the academic communities at large as
Sociological Theory, Untouchability and Dalits, Rural Society, Science
xii Towards Sociology of Dalits

and Technology, Childhood and Youth, Health, Environment, Culture,

Politics and the Pioneers of Sociology in India.
Well-known scholars and experts in the areas of the chosen themes
were identified and requested to edit these thematic volumes under the
series title Readings in Indian Sociology. Each one of them has put in a
lot of effort in the shortest possible time not only in selecting and iden-
tifying the papers to be included in their respective volumes but also in
arranging these in a relevant and meaningful manner. More than this, it
was no easy task for them to write comprehensive ‘introductions’ of the
respective volumes in the face of time constraints so that the volumes
could be brought out in time on the occasion of the 39th All India
Sociological Conference scheduled to take place in Mysore under the
auspices of the Karnataka State Open University during 27–29
December 2013. The editors enjoyed freedom not only in choosing the
papers of their choice from Sociological Bulletin published during 1952
and 2012, but they were also free to request scholars of their choice to
write forewords for their particular volumes. The volumes covered under
this series include: Towards Sociology of Dalits (Editor: Paramjit S.
Judge); Sociological Probings in Rural Society (Editor: K.L. Sharma);
Sociology of Childhood and Youth (Editor: Bula Bhadra); Sociology of
Health (Editor: Madhu Nagla); Contributions to Sociological Theory
(Editor: Vinay Kumar Srivastava); Sociology of Science and Technology in
India (Editor: Binay Kumar Pattnaik); Sociology of Environment (Editor:
Sukant K. Chaudhury); Political Sociology of India (Editor: Anand
Kumar); Culture and Society (Editor: Susan Visvanathan); and Pioneers
of Sociology in India (Editor: Ishwar Modi).
Towards Sociology of Dalits (edited by Paramjit S. Judge with a fore-
word by Prakash N. Pimpley) is the first volume of the series titled
Readings in Indian Sociology. This volume consists of 11 articles with a
comprehensive introductory chapter which provides a panoramic out-
line of the content of Dalit studies in India over time and space. The
location of Dalits has been inseparably linked with the caste and econ-
omy of the Indian society, giving rise to the practice of untouchability
duly supported by the tradition and religious ideology. The response of
the Indian sociologists to the plight of Dalits was marked by indiffer-
ence in the initial stages. Later on, in the 1970s, the sociologists began
in right earnest and at present, there is an exclusive and interdisciplinary
domain of sociological knowledge dealing with Dalits. Three major
SERIES NOTE xiii

issues discussed in the various chapters of this volume are untouchabil-

ity and exclusion, conflict and change.
It can hardly be overemphasised and can be said for sure that this
volume as well as all the other volumes of the series Readings in Indian
Sociology, as they pertain to the most important aspects of society and
sociology in India, will be of immense importance and relevance to stu-
dents, teachers and researchers both of sociology and other social sci-
ences. It is also hoped that these volumes will be received well by the
overseas scholars interested in the study of Indian society. Besides this,
policy-makers, administrators, activists, NGOs and so on may also find
these volumes of immense value. Having gone through these volumes,
the students and researchers of sociology would probably be able to feel
and say that now ‘We will be able to look much farther away as we are
standing on the shoulders of the giants’ (in the spirit of paraphrasing the
famous quote by Isaac Newton).
I would like to place on record my thanks to Shambhu Sahu, Sutapa
Ghosh and R. Chandra Sekhar of SAGE Publications for all their efforts,
support and patience to complete this huge project well in time against
all the time constraints. I also express my gratefulness to the Managing
Committee Members of the ISS and also the members of the subcom-
mittee constituted for this purpose. I am also thankful to all the editors
and all the scholars who have written the forewords. I would also like to
thank Uday Singh, my assistant at the India International Institute of
Social Sciences, Jaipur for all his secretarial assistance and hard work put
in by him towards the completion of these volumes.

Ishwar Modi
Series Editor
Readings in Indian Sociology
Foreword

I
nterest in Dalit studies for students of Indian society as a distinct
field as distinct from studying caste is of a relatively recent origin.
Surprisingly, the fact that almost one in five persons has lived under
subhuman conditions for a millennia, without rebellion, is a miracle in
itself. Not that efforts were not made, especially during the Raj for the
‘betterment’ of the Dalits, but it needs to be remembered that these
were ameliorative efforts. It was left to Dr. Ambedkar to put the Dalit
question in the proper perspective.
In the mid-1970s, it transpired that as part of the then recently
started MPhil programme a course on Dalit studies was started in the
Department of Sociology, Panjab University, Chandigarh. Our putative
objective was to understand how it happens that such a massive system
of inequality can be sustained for such a long time. It soon appeared that
many of the then prevalent interpretations would not work. Take, for
example, Swami Dayanad Saraswati’s Shuddhi of the former ‘outcastes’
and their assimilation as full-fledged members of Hindu society. Or to
look at Gandhi’s attempt to show that no work is either impure or is
below one’s dignity. One can cite numerous illustrations of genuinely
well-meaning efforts to improve the conditions of the Dalits. The prob-
lem with such an approach was that it was based on the assumption that
it is an attitudinal problem and once you show people their mistakes,
rational men as they are, they will mend their ways.
The Dalit question is not a psychological or merely an attitudinal
question, but presents before us a whole spectrum of political economy
of inequality and it operates through instruments of power. If this be so,
a question could be further posed which is as follows: Can acquisition of
power by a subaltern group have a chance in this system? During intense
debates with the students for many years, the conclusion drawn was that
xvi Towards Sociology of Dalits

the political mobilisation of the Dalits is the most effective strategy in

improving their conditions. Much water has flown since 1970s. A course
on Dalit studies during the 1970s was a scarce event, but now times
have changed. There is stupendous growth of Dalit studies in the coun-
try. The Dalit strategy for better future has taken a different twist from
the classical political mobilisation method. Dalit literature was in the
process of consolidation in the 1970s, but now it has visible presence all
over India.
Professor Paramjit S. Judge has shown a continuing interest in Dalit
studies and the Introduction to this volume is abundant proof. With the
support of Indian Sociological Society (ISS), this book will fulfil a long-
standing need of scholars. Apart from the substantial ground covered in
the volume, a few pointers for the future should be identified if Dalit
sociology is to be developed and established as a distinct discipline.
Certain pointers are: the current interpersonal relations between various
castes; inter-caste relations at the workplace; and the second generation
of the middle-class Dalits. The University Grants Commission (UGC)
initiated the major project by opening centres for the study of social
exclusion in various universities of the country where the Dalit issues
have begun to figure prominently. However, there is a need not only to
disseminate knowledge but also to sensitise minds to issues concerning
discrimination, exclusion and humiliation of Dalits. Eleven articles,
which were published at different points of time in the Sociological
Bulletin, the official journal of the ISS, included in this volume, also
show the different approaches and issues of concern which occupied the
minds of the sociologists regarding the Dalits. Paramjit S. Judge has
done well to put them together and show the state of sensitivity of the
Indian sociology on the Dalit issues. Much more is required if we wish
to have an egalitarian society in which individual not the affiliation to
the collectivity will be the basis of the discourse of social justice.

Prakash N. Pimpley
Preface

A
ny work on Dalits involves a comprehensive examination of
virtually all aspects of the Indian society excepting parts of the
north-eastern region. It is an all-out effort to examine 16 per cent
of the population of the country which in actual numbers is huge. There
are two axes along which the sociological imagination takes its flight.
The first axis is the form and content of relationship between collecitvi-
ties, which generally entail class, caste, race, gender, religion and ethnic-
ity. People are divided along class lines in a hierarchy. The hierarchical
order forms the essence of the relationship between classes, castes, sexes
and ethnic groups. The second axis is the examination of relationship
between individuals, groups and communities. The sociological analysis
of the Dalits in India implicates all these axes of examination. Adequate
focus on Dalits remained missing in the earlier phases of the develop-
ment of the discipline. Oommen’s remark that in the context of the
Dalits, Ghurye’s position entailed cognitive blackout (see the article
titled ‘Scheduled Castes, Scheduled Tribes, and the Nation: Situating
G. S. Ghurye’ in this volume) seems to be applicable to most of the writ-
ings of the period.
Emancipation of Dalits is prerequisite for the emancipation of
Indian society. The visibility of a small number of Dalit intellectuals
does not tell the story of all the Dalits. Nor has the improvement in the
conditions of some of them removed the caste stigma. Caste is both an
existential and experiential category in which one’s belongingness is
loaded with history, culture and personality. Expressions of joy and
sorrow are not the individual domains but are a matter of constructing
the self and others. The project of modernity to liberate an individual
from the load of particularistic identities has failed in India largely due
to the failure of the postcolonial society to build powerful institutions
xviii Towards Sociology of Dalits

supporting the individual citizen and his rights. The individual seeks
security, protection and existence through the articulation of collective
identity. We may place the significance of Dalit studies in the context of
the emancipation of the Indian society.
I would like to thank Professor Ishwar Prasad Modi, President of
the Indian Sociological Society, for giving me this responsibility and
supporting me throughout the completion of the volume. Selection of
articles from Sociological Bulletin was one of the difficult tasks, for there
was a need to have a sense of intellectual history of sociology in India as
well as the contemporary relevance of the issues. In view of the fact that
the study of Dalits involves different dimensions of sociological enter-
prise, some of the articles had been published in other edited volumes.
All except one were excluded.
I am grateful to Professor P. N. Pimpley for agreeing to write the
foreword to the volume. Professor P. N. Pimpley is one of those sociol-
ogists who initiated the Dalit studies in their respective regions. I have
had the privilege of being his student and studying the course on the
Dalits at MPhil level.
My special thanks to Professor M. Rajivlochan for giving sugges-
tions regarding the organisation of the volume and making critical
remarks on the introductory chapter. I must record my sense of grati-
tude to my wife, Professor Gurpreet Bal, who has always helped me in
my work. She is always the first to read whatever I write and also to give
objective and critical evaluation.

Paramjit S. Judge
Introduction
Paramjit S. Judge

D
alits as the exclusive focus of study and analysis have engaged
scholars and social scientists in a committed and concerned
manner during the last two decades. Earlier, they constituted a
part of the study of castes and the caste system. However, certain issues,
within the framework of caste as structural principle as well as ideology,
attracted considerable attention of social scientists between 1947 and
1990, such as untouchability, reservation policy, mobility and politici-
sation of depressed castes. Research on Dalits gained momentum in the
1990s and at present, it has emerged as the major field of intellectual
discourse. There are two aspects of the manifestations of the sustained
interest in Dalit studies. First, any work on issues such as modernity,
social transformation, voting behaviour, election studies, nation-build-
ing, social justice, democracy, human rights, equality and development
takes direct and indirect cognisance of the Dalits in one way or the
other. Such studies may not be essentially directing their focus of anal-
ysis on the Dalits, but Dalits figure like the ‘Polish Question’ from the
19th-century Europe. In case no reference is made to the Dalits while
addressing the above-mentioned issues, the concerned scholar may be
criticised for that. Such a situation may not inevitably be logically nec-
essary, but it has rightly become a normative necessary. It has begun to
dawn upon the scholars and experts to take the Dalit issue more seri-
ously instead of rambling in hope of end of caste and attainment of
xx Paramjit S. Judge

equality. What was considered to be peripheral and a category without

much of autonomy—the so-called ‘social’—baffled everybody at the
empirical level, for social as a category showed autonomy and resilience
and on top of that it showed tremendous degree of adaptability to the
emerging socio-economic and political systems to which we may call
modern liberal democratic capitalism. It also created a great sense of
guilt—the normative necessity—in the minds and hearts of a large
number of sensitive intellectuals belonging to the non-Dalit castes. At
present, it seems inevitable because the kind of dehumanised condi-
tions in which the Dalits lived for centuries was enough to create such
a sense of historical responsibility.
The second aspect of keen interest in Dalit studies is a result of
many circumstances of both objective and subjective kinds whose
emergence accelerated at a breathtaking pace during the 1990s. One
of the major developments in the early 1990s was the emergence of
the Bahujan Samaj party (henceforth BSP) as the major political
force in Utter Pradesh—the largest population among the states of
the country. The arrival of the BSP on the political centre stage was a
consequence of the vision of one leader, Kanshi Ram, who gave par-
adigmatic shift to the issue of Dalit empowerment. It was a move
away from the social movement approach towards the power politics
at the formal level. Capturing formal political power in a state raised
the aspiration levels of the Dalits throughout the country. Mayawati,
the protégé of Kanshi Ram, consolidated the new political approach
and has treaded the path of populism by forging alliances with differ-
ent politico-ideological trends. In addition to the dramatic rise of the
BSP, there is a formation of critical middle-class Dalits who have
largely benefitted from the state policies. A part of the Dalit middle
class was comprised by the intellectuals. Creative writers and social
scientists initiated a new chapter in the history of Dalit studies.
Finally, the Indian state began to focus its attention on the Dalits
through the provision of funds and opening of new centres, such as
Ambedkar Centres, Centres for the Study of Social Exclusion and
Inclusive Policy, which began to conduct studies exclusively on the
excluded sections of the Indian society among whom the Dalits fig-
ured most prominently.
After precisely making sense of its recent rise, the field of Dalit
studies has become quite comprehensive in the sense that it is an
INTRODUCTION xxi

interdisciplinary area of research. We now find anthropologists, sociolo-

gists, political scientists, economists, historians and legal experts work-
ing in this area. As a result of the contributions of the experts from
various social science disciplines, we are witnessing the evolution of a
highly fertile, rich and contested field of Dalit studies. Furthermore,
most of  the regions of India have been studied quite extensively and
interestingly, majority of the studies are empirical in nature; in other
words, we have a panoramic knowledge of Dalits in India. As a result,
the extensity and intensity of research, using both qualitative and quan-
titative methods, are the hallmark of Dalit studies in India.
The completion of 50 years of Independence of India was also an
embarrassing moment for its leaders, because the Indian state had sub-
stantially failed to redress the issue of caste-based discrimination with
determination and effectiveness. It is to be reminded that the caste-based
inequalities and discrimination are violation of the spirit of the Indian
Constitution and the universal principle of equality. Dalit studies acquired
a strong and visible normative content in social sciences and powerfully
reminded that the time had arrived to think afresh about the issue of value
neutrality. Rather than being value-neutral or value-loaded, the 21st cen-
tury is essentially the century of value-based research. Value-based research
is based on the domain assumption that there are grey areas of society that
need to be addressed, because human societies have reached a level of
development of institutions and practices where equality, justice, freedom
and rights are natural expressions of meaningful life with dignity. Race,
gender, caste, religion and ethnicity are contexts of discrimination and
dehumanisation for the powerless and the marginalised sections. Caste as
the context of value-based research has two conceptual trajectories which
translate into institutional practice. First, caste is a birth-ascribed status
and is immutable and it implicates permanence of position which cannot
be changed with the effort of individual will. Second, caste system con-
sists of a large population of people who have been located at the bottom
of the hierarchy. Called as untouchables (achhut), these people suffered
the worst forms of discrimination and denial of even meaningful and
humane living. These trajectories are intertwined, but the only distin-
guishing mark is that sociologists have studied caste more than the
untouchables. However, the study of untouchables/Dalits cannot bypass
the question of caste. In other words, caste is implicated in any study of
the Dalits.
xxii Paramjit S. Judge

This volume is the collection of articles published in the official

journal of the Indian Sociological Society, Sociological Bulletin, at differ-
ent points of time. The discussion in this introductory chapter is
divided into two broad sections. The first section takes into consider-
ation various issues dealing with caste and the Dalits across time and
space with special reference to the contemporary trends in Dalit studies.
The discussion has been divided into four parts in this section. The first
part is aimed at making sense of various conceptualisations of caste.
The purpose is not to give a comprehensive review of literature, but to
take up central conceptual frames within which caste has been located
in various writings. The second part takes stock of the practices of
untouchability, discrimination and exploitation of the Dalits in the
Indian society. The third part deals with the issues of conflict and strug-
gles of the Dalits in India. Obviously, the third part is based on the
assumption that the Dalits never accepted their position in the caste
hierarchy as well as the fact that historically the nature of struggle
changed across time. The final part of the first section takes cognisance
of changes which have occurred in the conditions of the Dalits. The
second section of this chapter provides introduction to various articles
included in the volume.

Sociology of Dalits

The broad category of ‘Dalit’ has essentially come into wider and popular
use after the Dalit movements powerfully rejected the term ‘Harijan’ given
to the large mass of depressed castes by Mahatma Gandhi with whom,
after the Poona Pact, the Dalits remained in a considerable uncomfortable
relationship. The expression ‘scheduled castes’ was used till the word ‘Dalit’
virtually vanished all other signifiers to denote and connote the untouch-
ables of India till 1950 when untouchability was constitutionally demol-
ished and subsequently its practice was considered to be a punishable
offence after 1955. Making a case for the distinct area of research requires
outlining certain significant dimensions of the issues and all the gamut of
areas to earmark its boundaries—though not essentially separating it from
others. Here, an attempt has been made to examine and raise questions
about four dimensions, namely caste, untouchability and exclusion, con-
flict and struggle, and change and mobility, all pertaining to the Dalits.
INTRODUCTION xxiii

Caste and Dalits

An examination of caste is a prerequisite for understanding the social

location of the Dalits, but it may amount to truism by virtue of the fact
that all Dalit castes are located at the lowest rungs of the caste hierarchy.
It is important to take cognisance of the fact that whatever approach we
may adopt in order to examine the Dalits, the understanding of caste
becomes necessary. However, social anthropologists and sociologists
who made the study of caste as their lifelong academic and intellectual
engagement might not have dwelt upon the issue of the Dalits. They
largely remained indifferent passers-by when it concerned the Dalits. In
other words, if the study of Dalits necessitates the understanding caste,
then in the understanding of the caste it did not create the necessity in
the minds and methods of the sociologists that examination of the
Dalits could be considered essential or indispensable. The consequence
of such a mindset led to an understanding of caste through the eyes of
Brahmin and Hindu theology. Social anthropology, particularly the
British tradition, strongly emphasised the ethnography as the best
method of collecting data along which the canons of scientific research
were strongly upheld and observed. The canons of value-neutral social
science began to influence and shape the Indian social anthropologists
who shifted to sociology with great ease and also unnoticed. Value-
neutrality as it was practiced and understood implicated the ideology
free analysis of social facts. Approaching caste system through the Dalits
would have involved normative concerns for the most dehumanised and
marginalised sections of the society. Trained in the Western liberal tradi-
tion of equality and freedom, these social anthropologists would have
been intellectually compelled to take a position against the appalling
conditions of the Dalits, which involved moving away from their neu-
tral stances. As a result they stayed away from giving the major space to
the Dalits. One is reminded of Wittgenstein’s famous remarks thus
(1961: 74), ‘What we cannot speak about we must pass over it in
silence.’
The silence over the approach to the study of caste through the eyes of
the Dalits could be put under suspicion. In the words of Wittgenstein
(1961: 73), ‘Doubt can exist only where a question exists, a question only
where an answer exists, and an answer only where something can be said.’
However, when silence is kept where something could be said we experience
xxiv Paramjit S. Judge

politics of silence. Caste question for the Indian sociologists has remained
the crucial issue for the last eight decades and the understanding of Dalits
remained a secondary concern. The life world of caste was ideally presented
as dominated by the Brahmins and when the ethnographic approach to the
study of caste struck its roots the diversity of social life and variations in the
caste across regions were christened under the expression ‘field-view’ of caste
without bringing much change in the Brahminic approach to understand
it. Let us take up briefly for discussion the way caste has been understood in
the sociological imagination. We can make three broad divisions of various
elucidations of caste, namely caste as objective reality, caste as subjective
reality and caste as unity of subjective and objective reality.

Caste as Objective Reality. Caste is treated as observable structure

and it is largely conceptualised in terms of a set of features which makes
it comprehensible. Of all such attempts, Ghurye (1969) could be taken
as the representative of most of them. According to him, there are six
features of caste thus: segmental division of society, hierarchy, restric-
tions on feeding and social intercourse, civil and religious disabilities
and privileges of the different sections, lack of unrestricted choice of
occupations, and restrictions on marriage. All these features are empiri-
cally observable and in certain ways cover caste and caste system in a
comprehensive way. It is interesting to note that Ghurye’s understand-
ing of caste as the segmental division of Indian society covers three
dimensions, namely it is the status determined by birth; each caste has
its own panchayat; and each caste has its culture in terms of special dei-
ties, customs about marriage and death and so on. Berreman (1979)
treats the issue of cultural plurality in the context of caste system at
length and in the process invokes Max Weber and Irawati Karve, thereby
implying that caste as a cultural group is a widely accepted understand-
ing of one aspect of caste and caste system. There are two other import-
ant features identified by Ghurye which require special mention. The
first is the lack of unrestricted choice of occupation. We have consider-
able number of expressions like ‘hereditary occupation’ or ‘caste occupa-
tion’ to denote the inseparable relationship between caste and class/
economic status. At the empirical level such a situation never existed for
a considerable number of castes if not all. All Brahmins were not priests
and all Chamars were not involved in leather work. However, a Brahmin
INTRODUCTION xxv

could not engage in leather work and a Chamar could not become a
priest under the traditional caste system.
Whereas Ghurye (1969) takes cognisance of hypergamous and
hypogamous practices while stating that there are restrictions on mar-
riage, caste endogamy is widely regarded as the defining feature of
caste. In this regard, Ambedkar (1990) was of the view that intercaste
marriage would serve as ‘the solvent of caste’ implying thereby that
caste endogamy constitutes the essence of caste. It is interesting to note
that notwithstanding the regional variations there is a complex system
of mate selection in India making it virtually impossible to break the
hegemonic control of the caste from our lives. Ambedkar (ibid.) main-
tained that it is not desirable ‘to agitate and to organise intercaste mar-
riages’ to end the hold of caste. Despite the fact that there are cases of
intercaste marriages, the general principle of mate selection remains
almost the same and it is controlled and regulated by family and kin-
ship through the institution of arranged marriage. Therefore, at present
we have two worlds—one where the mate selection is based on mutual
love and the individual freedom of choice, and the other where tradi-
tion and custom continue to reign supreme thereby maintaining the
caste hegemony.
In the end, it may be argued that the objective view of caste takes
into consideration various external features of caste which could be
observed as institutions and practices. Despite the regional character if
caste which Srinivas (1966) has correctly pointed out, there are certain
aspects that cut across regions and form the core of caste. For example,
virtually all regions have Brahmin and Chamar/Bhangi castes. There are
numerous castes whose names are coterminous with their occupations
and those castes exist wherever those occupations exist and the only
variation is that such castes may have names in the language spoken in
that region. In the Indian subcontinent the influence of Islam has
changed various castes at two levels, namely the names of certain castes
has changed. For example, the Muslim Bhangi in Punjab is known as
Mussali. Second, there are certain castes in certain regions that have
disappeared from the Hindu social system due to conversion to Islam.
For example, Kanjar, Teli, Bharain and Malah have disappeared among
the Punjabi Hindus due to conversion. We may now turn to the second
view of caste.
xxvi Paramjit S. Judge

Caste as Subjective Reality The relationship between experience

and social structure is twofold. First of all one’s location in the social struc-
ture is the source of the world view of the individual. The observation is
quite close to one of the most familiar observations of Marx, that is, social
existence determines consciousness. Second, it is the experience which
forms the basis of interpreting and explaining social structure.
Conceptualising caste as subjective reality would imply the varieties and
modes of making sense of one’s location in the social structure by treating
one’s individual existence as unique or by relating to the same set of people
with whom one shares the common existence. Phenomenologists would
characterise such a sharing common existence in this context as ‘common
stock of knowledge’. Therefore, caste becomes an existential category
which is experienced in everyday life interactions within and without
group commonalities. Bouglé (1971) underlined three tendencies, namely
repulsion, hierarchy and hereditary specialisation as the spirit of caste. It is
important for us to understand that whereas hierarchy and hereditary spe-
cialisation are external and thus objective facts about caste, repulsion
remains highly subjective. Repulsion is a refusal to like others and know
them. Repulsion emanates from the subjective consciousness of the indi-
viduals and it manifests in everyday interactions. However, the important
question with regard to such a characterisation is connected with the
source of repulsion. Why do members of a caste feel repulsion? Is it that
every caste is pitted against every other? Could we think of certain catego-
ries of castes which are targets of repulsion or vice versa?
To understand repulsion, one may look for Dumont’s (1998) effort
to understand hierarchy as a result of the fundamental opposition
between ‘pure’ and ‘impure’. Such an opposition is constructed on a
principle in which certain castes are rendered impure and pure. Though
Dumont is classified as Indologist, but one may discover numerous ref-
erences to the actual empirical situations and regional differences in his
work. Dumont emphasised purity and impurity in various aspects of
social life, such as clothes, food, sex, touch, intimate interaction and so
on along which the binary opposition between pure and impure creates
hierarchy. It is important to mention that Dumont takes into cognisance
most of the objectively observable features of caste, but linking the divi-
sion between pure and impure to the ideology of Hinduism seems
important in his understanding. He has not been the first to do so. As a
matter of fact, ideology of Hinduism in the form of Karma–Dharma
INTRODUCTION xxvii

principle has remained important basis of understanding caste despite

the fact that the entire principle forms the part of Vaishnav tradition in
which other religious traditions and ideologies might have been ignored.
Most of musings on the subjective conceptualisation of caste are
strongly connected with the objective aspects of understanding caste.
However, in recent years an attempt has been made to understand caste
as part of experience. The existence is treated as unique and thus it has
been argued that the experience of being an untouchable is untenable
for the non-untouchable. Guru (2002) questioned social science theor-
etical practice which seems to be ignoring the Dalit experience. There is
also a reason for this kind of situation, which, according to him, could
be located in the inability of the non-Dalits to have the experience and
articulate the same in theory building. Though Guru forgets to take
cognisance of the fact that all experiences are articulated through lan-
guage, yet the experience of certain Dalits have been such which could
be seen and imagined by the upper caste members as deplorable without
necessarily empathising with them. Even then language remains import-
ant in making sense of what is being experienced. Wittgenstein (1961:
56) comments, ‘The limits of my language mean the limits of my world.’
If a particular experience becomes unique, then it has to be articulated
to one self through the existing stock of knowledge and meanings.
Moreover, it is not necessary that only dehumanised conditions provide
unique experience which the others cannot comprehend and thus priv-
ileging the one who is experiencing it. Every experience is unique
because it occurs at individual level. Collectivities do not think, rather
individuals would think as Weber would say (Parkin: 1982). It is the
prediction that the individuals belonging to the group sharing common
existential circumstances have the most likelihood of having a common
experience. However, the subjective reaction to a situation may be
unique to an individual. As Dostoevsky’s novel, Crime and Punishment,
depicts a character who is battered by his wife and he tells another char-
acter that it seems normal to him. In such a situation, it is the observer
who has better understanding of the situation than the one who is expe-
riencing it. Therefore, if a person belonging to the low caste whose caste
occupation is carrying night soil on his head and he has been doing this
job for generations, then it begins to get routinised as a normal activity
for livelihood. The observer would find it highly inhuman to carry night
soil on head. The one who understands the condition as inhuman is the
xxviii Paramjit S. Judge

one who can construct a theory and not the one who is undergoing it.
Repetitive behaviour begins to acquire normal and natural activity and
in cases where the behaviour is linked with the conditions of life, it
becomes a reified reality. It is in this context that Guru (2009) intro-
duces the concept of humiliation to characterise the subjective
conditions.
Humiliation is entirely individual and requires a complex set of
awareness of meanings of the words and situations. Guru (2009: 1)
approaches the concept in the following manner:

Humiliation is almost endemic to social life that is active basically through

asymmetries of interesting sets of attitudes—arrogance and obeisance, self-
respect and servility, and reverence and repulsion. It continues to survive in
different forms depending upon the specific nature of the social context. For
example, in the West it is the attitude of race that is at the base of humiliation.
In the East, it is the notion of untouchability that foregrounds the form and
content of humiliation . . .

Since there could be other contexts of humiliation, it is important

to confine ourselves to the understanding of caste in the light of the
subjective concept of humiliation. There are two elements in Guru’s
comments cited above: first, he recognises humiliation in the context of
asymmetrical relations and second, he pinpoints it to untouchability as
the base. We do not know whether a state of humiliation is in perpetual
order or it is an experience when the victim experiences untouchability.
Till 1947, most of the railway stations in India had separate water pots
for Hindus and Muslims and it was the Hindu upper castes which saw
to it that they did not dine with the Muslims. Interestingly, Guru leaves
it to the reader to locate untouchability in the asymmetrical social order.
We do not have sufficient data to argue that such a practice was in oper-
ation only against the low caste Muslims. In the case of caste, the picture
was quite clear.
Conceptualising caste as humiliation is an incomplete exercise in
understanding the subjective aspect. It is important to keep in mind
that if untouchability is humiliation to the victim, then it could be a
matter of pride for the victimiser. Pride in having a particular caste
status is as common as the feeling of humiliation for a social location.
Everybody cannot feel humiliated for having caste status, for it is a con-
tradiction in terms. Caste as pride is quite visible in the cultural expres-
sion of the caste, the classical example of which is the Jats of Punjab. The
INTRODUCTION xxix

numbers of songs mentioning Jats are numerous and continue to grow.

This has been happening for centuries. It is ironical to note that Waris
Shah’s Heer presents Jats in negative manner and there are numerous
lines making adverse comments or mocking at the Jats (Judge and Bal
2008), but it is one of the most popular texts in Punjab. Obviously, Jats
are dominant in Punjab’s social, cultural and political life and having
pride is natural outcome of the privileged position. The similar pride
has also embraced the humiliated castes in Punjab. There are Chamar
songs, Mazhabi songs and Balmiki songs. Here are some samples of
Chamar songs:

Tor vekh ke Chamaran di sarhe duniya [People feel jealousy when they see
Chamar walking]
Bhangarhe paunde, khushi mananunde, gabharoo putt Chamaran de [Sons of
Chamars dance and enjoy]

Similar songs are available about Mazhabi Sikhs and Balmikis in

Punjabi, where affiliation to the caste is demonstrated as a matter of
pride. Hurting pride and dignity is what humiliation is.

Caste as Unity of Subjective and Objective Reality Most of the

conceptualisations combine the subjective and objective dimensions of
caste with only certain differences in emphasis. We have considerable
number of writings which take cognisance of taxonomy of caste, sub-
castes, gotras and deal in great details about how they exist and work. It
is interesting to note that there are no castes in the Brahmin Varna.
Among the Brahmins there exists a hierarchy of sub-castes which reflects
in the way rules of mate selection are observed. All other varnas are
comprised by a large number of castes and in some cases the location of
a caste in varna system remains ambiguous and doubtful. If we begin by
treating caste as a system/structure which could be objectively examined,
then it is important to know how such a hierarchical structure has been
maintained. Therefore, caste as subjective reality does not merely sub-
sume experience and humiliation/pride, but the ideological basis on
which the entire structure has been legitimised.
Let us begin by arguing that caste like race is a form of inequality,
which differs from others in terms of the basis on which it is founded.
We may begin by referring to Weber (1978) that inequality is a function
of power. He identifies class, status and party as the three forms of
xxx Paramjit S. Judge

inequality implying that there are three sources of power. Castes are an
instance of status groups. Such groups, according to Weber, keep their
separate identity by imposing prohibition on intermarriages and social
interaction. Such an implication fits into the theoretical system of
Weber, for he understands power as the ability to carry out one’s will
even against the resistance of others. In view of the fact that Weber
(1958) also wrote on India as well as caste system and understood caste
in terms of the dominant position of Brahmins and the karma theory, it
always remains an issue of contention whether power is an autonomous
category or a derivative force. Starting looking into caste from the stand-
point of Brahmin and Kshatriya is looking at the system the way it has
been presented and interpreted by the power holders. Why do we not
reverse our gaze? We examine caste from the standpoint of the lower
castes that is going along with Ambedkar.
Mencher (1992: 92) makes an attempt to look at caste system
upside down and he avers that,

Looked at from the bottom up, the system has two striking features. First,
from the point of view of people at the lowest end of the scale, caste has func-
tioned (and continues to function as very effective system of economic
exploitation). Second, one of the functions of the system has been to prevent
the formation of social classes with any commonality of interest or unity of
purpose.

Mencher goes on to regard the second feature as the major force in

sustaining the caste system, but despite very insightful views the ques-
tion remains, what is it that prevents the formation of social classes?
Caste is like race and/or nation in terms of overcoming class differences
from within, particularly when it deals with the lower castes. As a start-
ing point we begin by historical materialist analysis offered by Omvedt
(1994: 30). She begins by the basic concept of ‘exploitation’ instead of
class and combines it with the powerful legitimising force of varna-
ashrama dharma. Omvedt reconstructs the Marxian methodology in a
convincing manner. It should be reminded that Weber (1958) was of
the view that human differentiation in India got the religious and mag-
ical backing. A strong and all-pervading belief in reincarnation and
karma, according to Weber (1958), was the legitimising force.
Interestingly, Weber agrees with Marx on the issue of the position of the
artisan in the Indian society in the sense that the village artisan was
INTRODUCTION xxxi

dependent on the fix payment rather on selling his product in the

market, thus giving tremendous stability to the existing social structure.
Weber’s effort to combine economy, status group, and religion and
magic in understanding the caste system paves the way for taking stock
of Marx’s commentary on Indian society.
Marx (1954) based his understanding of Indian villages largely
from the reports of the British administrators in India. The primary
concern of Marx was to make sense of the relatively unchanging charac-
ter of Indian society. Since Marx always maintained that population
increase was the major reason for the emergence of new division of
labour, the question was whether there had been no population increase
thus preventing any possibility of change of the already existing produc-
tion relations. This could not have been the case. Thus Marx argued that
in the event of population increase the division of labour never changed,
for a portion of the population would move out the village and estab-
lished a new settlement, which was the exact replica of the original. Such
an argument assumes the existence of vast empty spaces for this to
happen. The second aspect which Marx borrowed from the British offi-
cers was that village was autonomous little republic about which he
argued that the Indian villages were predominantly the unit of produc-
tion and consumption which explained the tremendous stability of its
social structure. Elsewhere, Marx and Engels (1976: 55) commented,
‘When the crude form of the division of labour which is to be found
among the Indians and Egyptians calls forth the caste-system in their
state and religion, the historian believes that the caste-system is the
power which has produced this crude social form.’
In the light of the above discussion, it becomes clear that the exis-
tence and persistence of caste in India should be based on two major
domain assumptions. First, the caste system is at the outset a system of
production relations of a particular kind and may be tentatively regarded
as Asiatic mode of production implying that there has been a fundamen-
tal difference in the evolution of production relations between India and
the West. Second, this mode of production got congealed in space and
over time. What had been various forces that led to the freezing of such
relations is a matter of conjecture. We may now move to define caste
system in terms of what constitutes the system of production. It has been
my contention that caste system is essentially a division between physical
and non-physical work (Judge 2002). In a way the binary opposition
xxxii Paramjit S. Judge

between twice-born and once-born about which Dumont (1998) has

written is primarily the division between the ways the work has been
valued over a period of time. The working class, namely labourers, arti-
sans, peasants and other servants were engaged in those occupations
which made them unclean, whereas others, namely traders, shopkeepers,
rulers and priests did not engage in this physical work. At the descriptive
level, there could be numerous exceptions. For instance, a beggar does
not do physical labour, but all beggars in India belong to numerous castes
and all are not twice-born. A Poor Brahmin in the traditional-historical
sense might have been making both ends meet, but he remains straddled
at the top position. On the other hand, a person belonging to Bhatra or
Jogi caste (having the caste occupation of begging) will always have low
caste status. Swordsmanship and cooking involves physical labour, but
both are carried out by upper castes. Despite all these exceptions in the
ideal typical sense, the caste system represents the overlapping of physical–
non-physical and impure and pure natures of work.
Desai (1976) is of the opinion that the strength of the caste system
lies in India’s low economic development as a result of which the occu-
pational diversification remained more or less absent and the relation-
ship got frozen in terms of their correspondence with occupations.
However, the persistence of caste system even after radical economic
changes in Indian society poses serious challenges to the sociologists.
One may seek questions about all inequalities which are immutable, for
instance gender, race or ethnicity, whether high level of economic devel-
opment has completely eroded them. The answer is that there has been
a visible and radical change in certain societies, but inequalities remain.
Similar argument is rarely offered in the case of caste and as a result it has
emerged as an exotic and classical example of resistance to positive and
desirable change. Change is taking place in every aspect of Indian soci-
ety, but looking for change or continuity is a matter of priority for many
and sufficient evidence is available to substantiate both kinds of
hypotheses.
However, caste identity and its persistence should be examined
independently of other immutable inequalities. Even when the material
basis of caste system has disappeared, its perpetuation is assumed in the
form of emergence of caste identities in both the private and the public
spheres. This brings us to the important element of caste, namely cul-
ture as a symbolic universe. Caste is not just a graded position in the
INTRODUCTION xxxiii

hierarchy, but it also presents a distinct and exclusive symbolic universe

comprised by norms, values, customs, myths and legends, food
behaviour, taboos and so on. As a reminder, no social political system
persists without the construction of myths and ideologies. Apthekar
(1939) has underlined how the Christian missionaries used to construct
stories to tell the Black slaves that why they should serve their white
masters. Marx (1976) has without doubt emphasised that the prevailing
ideas of a society are the ideas of the ruling class. Fanon (1963) has gone
beyond the construction of ideology through the normative discourses
to deconstruct the biological sciences to highlight how the biological
theories argued that due to his more developed medulla oblongata, a
Black person was closer to the animal world. The more it faced the chal-
lenge of rapid change the more it began to become exclusive. In Marxian
terms, it may be stated that despite changes in the base, the superstruc-
ture is still in existence. Why is it so? The next sections of the chapter
would be an attempt to take up the issue.

Untouchability, Discrimination and Exclusion

In continuation with our understanding of caste from the perspective of

Dalits, the foremost concepts signifying both structure and process are
normative and in the light of the universal principle of equality and
justice their operation or practice is undesirable. Let us begin by under-
standing the magnitude of the problem. According to the Census of
India (2011), the percentage of the population of the scheduled castes
(SCs) is 16.2. It is a huge population which is unevenly distributed in
India. By their sheer size the SCs are capable of influencing the policy
decision of the Indian government if they are united. However, this is
not the case. There are two kinds of heterogeneity among them, namely
caste and class. They are divided along various castes. Table I clearly
shows the diversity and heterogeneity among them in most of the states.
Karnataka has as many as 101 castes of the SCs and Andhra Pradesh,
Himachal Pradesh, Kerala, Maharashtra, Orissa, Rajasthan, Uttar
Pradesh, Uttaranchal and West Bengal have more than 50 castes of them
each. These castes are not horizontally located in the caste hierarchy; or
in other words, they are not equally treated by the upper castes. It should
also be noted that these castes are not uniformly distributed in the coun-
try. In fact there are only few castes which could be found in most of the
xxxiv Paramjit S. Judge

Table I
Number of Scheduled Castes and Their Percentage in Each State and Union
Territory
(a)

S. NO. States No. of Scheduled Percentage of the

Castes Scheduled Castes 2001
1 Andhra Pradesh 61 16.19
2 Arunachal Pradesh – 0.56
3 Assam 16 6.85
4 Bihar 23 15.72
5 Chhattisgarh 44 –
6 Goa 05 1.77
7 Gujarat 36 7.09
8 Haryana 37 16.35
9 Himachal Pradesh 57 24.72
10 Jammu & Kashmir 13 7.59
11 Jharkhand 22
12 Karnataka 101 16.20
13 Kerala 69 9.81
14 Madhya Pradesh 48 15.17
15 Maharashtra 59 10.20
16 Manipur 07 2.62
17 Meghalaya 16 0.48
18 Mizoram 16 0.03
20 Orissa 95 16.53
21 Punjab 39 28.85
22 Rajasthan 59 17.16
23 Sikkim 04 5.02
24 Tamil Nadu 76 19.00
25 Tripura 34 17.37
26 Uttar Pradesh 66 21.15
27 Uttaranchal 65 23.02
28 West Bengal 60
INTRODUCTION xxxv

(b)

S. No. Union Territories No. of Scheduled Percentage of the

Castes Scheduled castes
1 Andaman & Nicobar Islands –
2 Chandigarh 36 17.50
3 Dadra & Nagar Haveli 04 1.86
4 Daman & Diu 05 3.06
5 Lakshadweep –
6 Pondicherry 16 16.19
7 Delhi 36 16.92
Source: Government of India sources accessed on 22 March 2013.

Table II
Five Most Widely Spread Scheduled Castes in India

S. No. Caste Number of States Union Territories

1 Chamar/Mochi 25 04
2 Balmik, Mehtar, Lalbegi, Bhangi 21 04
3 Dom, Doom, Dumna, Bansphor 22 02
4 Pasi 13 02
5 Nat 11 02
Source: The table has been worked out from the Government of India.

states. In terms of spread, it is clear from Table II that Chamars and

Bhangis are the two largest castes. As a matter of fact, the caste names
are also influenced by linguistic expression of occupation due to which
caste names change though occupations remain common. However, it is
not necessary that such a condition should be treated as a rule. For
example, the main caste of cultivators in Punjab, Haryana, Western
Uttar Pradesh and Rajasthan is that of Jats, but it is not evident from any
source that all cultivators in other states; for example, Patidars in
Gujarat, Marathas in Maharashtra, Vokkaligas in Karnataka have any-
thing to do with them or with each other.
There is also a hierarchy among various Dalit castes (Judge 2003). These
hierarchies are local and are characterised by claims and counterclaims of
superiority. Caste hierarchy among the Dalits is one of the major reasons for
xxxvi Paramjit S. Judge

their failure to get organised for better articulation of interests. Some of the
castes have been more mobile than others as a result of which they have been
able to benefit from the state policies including the reservation policy. In this
regard, the Mahars of Maharashtra and the Chamars of Punjab are notable
in their mobility. Creating quota within quota as a political demand has
emerged due to the lopsidedness of the benefits accrued to various castes
through reservations. Punjab has initiated the caste-wise reservation in gov-
ernment jobs for the SCs and it has divided the Dalits more than ever.
However, despite heterogeneity and hierarchy among them the Dalits have
been facing various kinds of disability, discrimination and exploitation.
Historically, various forms of disability imposed upon the Dalits,
which were prevalent even during the colonial period, have disappeared
in the public sphere. However, certain observations are necessary in
order to understand the magnitude of the problem. The foremost among
them was untouchability and its manifestations in different walks of life.
Essence of untouchability lies in the fact that even the human body has
been endowed with certain characteristics which can pollute others by
virtue of touch. We also have instances where the shadow or footprints
of an untouchable could pollute the upper caste people. Accepting food
from members of such castes was far beyond the imagination. Besides
the touch, other forms of disabilities were also imposed on them. For
example, women belonging to some castes (Nadars of Tamil Nadu and
Satnamis of Madhya Pradesh to name two such instances) were not even
allowed to cover their breasts. Similarly, growing moustaches and having
longer names with proper suffixes were prohibited. Religious disabilities
included prohibition against entering the temple, to meditate and to
recite sacred hymns and so on. Rules of caste endogamy were also very
strict and under certain circumstances the provision of hypergamy and
as an exception hypogamy existed to limited extent.
Exclusion from power and better occupations were prerequisites for
the perpetuation of the above mentioned disabilities. We, therefore, find
the untouchables engaged in low level of menial occupations.
Interestingly, liquor distillation was also regarded as low in India and in
most of the cases liquor distillers belonged to the low untouchable
castes. Bailey (1957) identified Ganjam distillers and Boad distillers as
the low castes. Similarly, in Punjab the distillers were known by the caste
name of Kalal. Despite its polluting character, distilling and selling
liquor was highly remunerative. In most of the cases, the members of the
INTRODUCTION xxxvii

caste of distillers were able to improve their life conditions and then
become ex-untouchables.
The post-Independence period was characterised by the state inter-
vention in the caste system through various methods hoping against
hope that the possibility of casteless society existed. The Untouchability
Offences Act of 1955 and later on the Scheduled Castes and the
Scheduled Tribes (Prevention of Atrocities) Act, 1989, provided for pro-
tection to the untouchables in particular. However, the story of inde-
pendent India is not without hiccups and the withering away of caste
has not occurred. It would be presumptuous to say that nothing has
changed, but there is a reasonable evidence to argue that untouchability,
discrimination and atrocities against the Dalits have waned, but there is
a well-recorded evidence of atrocities on them too. Kamble (1981) has
collected evidence of atrocities on the Dalits from various sources cover-
ing the period between 1947 and 1978. Let us refer to two cases of
atrocities on the Dalits—one that occurred in 1949 and the other which
occurred in 1979. Let us start with the first incident of atrocity which
took place in Trikkaripur, District South Kanara, Karnataka, on 19 June
1949 thus:

SCs worshipped Ram Nilliam shrine in Trikkaripur after promulgation of the

Temple entry Act. But during a recent festival SCs were not permitted to enter
the festival area. Paddy and money had been collected from SCs on printed
receipts and contributed mats for the occasion. Party of goondas was organ-
ised to keep away the SCs from the temple premises. (ibid.: 3)

Obviously, it is a case of untouchability and discrimination and

Kamble (1981) informs that the police stationed there was indifferent to
the whole affair. Let us now move to the second event that took place in
Sirsam village in Marathwada thus, ‘The SCs cannot attend the
Panchayat meeting because they are held in the Sarpanch’s house and
the SCs being untouchables are not permitted in the house’ (Ibid.: 522).
Untouchability as a practice has not ceased to exist. In a study con-
ducted by a group of social scientists and activists in 560 villages of
eleven states of the country, it was found that untouchability was still
going on (Shah et al. 2006).
However, in recent years in the understanding of the continuing
underprivileged conditions of the Dalits a new concept of ‘exclusion’
has emerged as a signifier. As a concept, exclusion has its origin in the
xxxviii Paramjit S. Judge

West and its specific circumstances. Exclusion is used as an umbrella

term to cover deprivation and discrimination which emanate from pov-
erty and other immutable characteristics of certain sections of society.
Thus gender, caste, race and ethnicity could be considered diverse bases
of exclusion. During the last six years the literature on caste-based
exclusion has become visible and some of the studies have shown that
in spite of various legal provisions the labour market has tremendous
bias against the untouchable castes (Thorat and Newman 2007, Thorat
and Attewell 2007). In other words, discrimination against the Dalits
has entered the modern capitalist market which is expected to be egal-
itarian. Social exclusion of Dalits in India is not confined to the labour
market; it rather tends to cover the entire gamut of their existence. We
have considerable number of cases of honour killings in which a Dalit
boy had married an upper caste girl. In most of the cases, a Dalit is less
likely to have upper caste friend. In villages the upper castes consciously
make it sure that no Dalit moves in their locality. There are separate
religious places of the Dalits. Whatever belongs to the Dalits is made
obvious and visible for the upper castes to know and abstain from.
Religion, which has been dealt with a degree of ambivalence by
most of the intellectuals due to their secular moorings, has always
remained a major area of contention. Religion is a manifestation of
collective consciousness which binds people into a community. Over
a period of time, Dalits in India have converted to Islam, Christianity,
Sikhism and Buddhism. In their respective religious communities
(excepting Buddhism) they have been facing social exclusion. It should
be noted that all these religions are egalitarian in ideology, but in
actual practice there are castes among them and the Dalits continue to
occupy the lowest rungs of each community. Their existing conditions
amply demonstrate that without any fundamental change in their eco-
nomic circumstances religious conversion does not make any differ-
ence. Srinivas (1966: 60) makes an interesting observation in this
regard thus:

Converts to Christianity from Hinduism did not exercise much influence in

Indian society as a whole because, first, these also generally came from the low
castes, and second, the act of conversion alienated them from the majority
community of Hindus. Finally, conversion to Christianity often only changed
the faith but not the customs, the general culture, or the standing of the con-
verts in society.
INTRODUCTION xxxix

Conflict, Struggle and Movements

The asymmetrical relation implicating all aspects of social existence of

the Dalits could not be taken for granted as an internalised and reified
reality. Despite the powerful impact of religious ideology in the making
of caste system, it is difficult to ignore the desire for a better and respect-
able living among the underprivileged as equals in the society. Unequal
system of power and privileges creates conflict and tensions, individual
and collective, local and regional on many occasions when the efficacy
and legitimacy of the system is questioned. Over a period of time, vari-
ous castes among the Dalits have come into conflict with the upper
castes on different issues. Bringing in the issue of conflict and struggle is
venturing into the public sphere of power relations, that is, politics.
Caste conflicts/struggles are not private affairs of two castes, rather these
occur in the political arena and depending upon the contexts and con-
ditions cross the pure boundaries of social relations between two collect-
ivities. Certain analytical distinctions could be made in the caste
struggles between colonial and postcolonial periods. The British pack-
age of Western modernity superseded the precolonial/medieval period
in which all attempts sought to construct the equality of men before
God. We thus have a considerable number of religious leaders called as
sants, bhagats, gurus, pirs and so on who carried out a crusade against
caste system in their writings and personal practices. Many of them
belonged to the Dalit and other lower castes. Notable among them were
Kabir, Ravidas and Nam Dev. It is interesting to note that all these lead-
ers preached the equality among men and claimed their right to wor-
ship. Such ideas were contexts of generating tensions within the system,
but most of these ideas were greatly inspired by the arrival of Islam in
India. In certain respects, it seems plausible to argue that the arrival of
Islam and the Muslim rulers in India instilled in the Indian economy
the intensification of trade as a result of which the artisan production
went up. We thus find religious effervescence among the artisan castes.
The Sikh movement in medieval Punjab remained connected with over-
all development in the Bhakti movement and it culminated into a dis-
tinct religion due to many historical factors.
The British rule in India, despite the dominant imperial interest of
the rulers, brought with it the Western modernity in the form of rational-
ity about which Weber has so extensively written and the basic reason for
xl Paramjit S. Judge

Marx to praise the colonial intervention in the hitherto static society.

Modernity manifested through the organisation of administrative and jus-
tice system, rationalisation of land revenue (though in some parts of India
with disastrous results), establishment of effective transport system through
waterways, roadways and railways. On top of all, the introduction of
modern education provided avenues for non-traditional occupations.
Linking jobs with education was one of the major transformations which
occurred with the onset of the British rule. New forces of productions,
particularly in the cities, gave rise to new conditions of social interactions.
We thus find the emergence of powerful social reform movements in the
cities, such as Calcutta, Bombay and so on. Most of these movements
redefined some of the prevailing social institutional practices, such as child
marriage, widowhood, Sati and so on as social evils. The focus on untouch-
ability and caste system turned quite late, but issue of caste began to haunt
the reformers towards the end of the 19th century. The Singh Sabha move-
ment and the Arya Samaj movement in Punjab made special efforts to
focus on the question of caste and untouchability. Phule is the major leader
in the 19th century who carried crusade against caste in a powerful manner
(Omvedt 2012).
Of all these movements the Arya Samaj in the early 20th century
organised Jat Pat Todak Mandal and also initiated the Shudhi movement
the purpose of which was to bring back to the fold of Hinduism the
people who had converted to Islam and other religions. Interestingly, the
Dooms who were untouchables reconverted to Hinduism, but their social
status did not improve (Sharma 2000). The movements waged by social
reformers had limited appeal in actualising the goal of end of untouch-
ability and human treatment to the untouchables. A small class of intel-
lectuals belonging to Dalit castes emerged in the 20th century which
fought the caste system by various means. It is interesting to note that the
understanding of strategies to overcome untouchability and caste-based
discrimination combined religious and social issues by adopting the
social movement approach. It became clear at the earlier stage that caste
system required collective efforts to end centuries’ old system of
inequality.
Three notable cases of movements and conflict could be men-
tioned here. These are the Nadars of Tamil Nadu, the Mahars of
Maharashtra and the Ad-dharmis of Punjab. All these cases signify the
combination of religious dimension and the political mobilisation
INTRODUCTION xli

approach. The Nadars of Tamil Nadu, as Hardgrave, Jr. (1970) informs,

were among the lowest of the castes and were subjected to the worst
kind of treatment. Their women were not allowed to cover their breasts
and they were regarded as so polluting that their shadow could also
pollute the upper caste men. In the beginning of the 19th century, they
started converting to Christianity, which resulted in the rise in educa-
tion among them. In the Travancore area the conflict began when the
Nadar women began to cover their breasts. As their conditions
improved, they began to organise and aspire for Kshatriya status.
Through their political mobilisation and economic improvement, their
aspirations for better status brought them into conflict with the upper
caste Brahmins.
The Mahars of Maharashtra came into conflict with the upper castes
when the changed circumstances affected by the British created aspira-
tions among them. The most important aspect of their collective existen-
tial circumstances might have been the powerful belief in the martial
tradition of the caste and their joining the British Indian army. Zelliot
(1970) has lucidly examined the story of Mahars’ struggle for better
status. Under the leadership of B. R. Ambedkar the Mahars organised
forcible temple entry. Ambedkar confronted the then undisputed leader
of Indian nationalist struggle, Mahatma Gandhi, on the question of sep-
arate electorate and was virtually forced to withdraw the demand after
Gandhi went on fast. The life of Ambedkar and the story of Dalits’ strug-
gle for better status in India became coterminous after the Poona Pact in
1932.
The Ad-dharma movement in Punjab began in the 1920s, primar-
ily initiated by three sets of people, namely, Dera Sachkhand at Ballan,
Mangoo Ram—an ex-Ghadarite—and the educated Dalits. The edu-
cated Dalits were the result of Arya Samaj movement’s efforts at the
uplift of the untouchables. The organisation of the Ad-dharma move-
ment brought them into direct conflict with the upper caste landowning
Jats. Though different castes of the Dalits might have joined the move-
ment, but it was dominated by the Chamars. In 1931, when the census
operations began, the demand of the movement to recognise them as
the distinct religious community was accepted. It may be of interest to
inform that when Gandhi went on fast against separate electorate in
1932, Mangoo Ram also began his hunger strike in opposition to
Gandhi (Juergensmeyer 1982, Ram 2004).
xlii Paramjit S. Judge

The post-independence period was marked by a powerful interven-

tion of the state towards ending the caste system or rendering it ineffective
through various policies and enactments. The development process initi-
ated by the nascent sovereign state ushered in new kinds of conflicts. We
find numerous incidents of conflict between the Dalits and the upper
castes on issues of land, wages and power. Rao (2010) has recorded
numerous certain incidents of violence and conflict between Dalits and
the upper castes. Bayly (1997: 355) has christened the term modernity of
the ‘caste war’ in understanding certain conflicts between the Dalits and
the upper castes thus:

In many of the most widely reported conflicts, ‘caste war’ violence has tended
to feed back and forth between urban centres and the rural hinterlands from
which towns like Banaras and Aurangabad draw many of their students and
factory workers. Such outbreaks are not then to be seen as a reversion to the
‘feudal’ or ‘traditional’ past. ‘Modern’ institutions, especially the courts, the
universities and the mass media, have figured prominently in the so called
caste feud phenomenon.

The modernity of caste war is to be located in the way the demo-

cratic institutions have been functioning since 1950. Kothari (1970:
13–14) drew attention to the involvement of ‘traditional structure and
leadership, in the democratic politics’, which has two consequences thus:

The caste system made available to the leadership structural and ideological
bases for political mobilisation, providing it with both a segmental organisa-
tion and an identification system on which support could be crystallised.
Second, the leadership was forced to make concessions to local opinion, take
its cue from the consensus that existed as regards to claims to power, articulate
political competition on traditional lines and, in turn, organise castes for eco-
nomic and political purposes.

We thus have two processes combined in making the new character

of caste conflicts in postcolonial India. First, the development process,
despite being proclaimed to be mixed economy with socialist path, was
essentially capitalist development with certain protections from the
state. Second, the democratic process engaged collectivities for making
claims for the share in the resources and power. The Dalits castes in
different parts of India followed the process which was going on during
elections, irrespective of whether they organised separate party or as a
part of the existing parties.
INTRODUCTION xliii

However, the Dalit politics made a paradigmatic shift after the

emergence of the BSP under the leadership of Kanshi Ram towards the
last decade of the 20th century. It also changed the nature of conflict
between Dalits and the upper castes. The most salient element of the
new formation was the engagement with the formal political process
and working out a set of alliances with other political parties if required
to capture formal power. Mayawati succeeded in this political game in a
big way even after the death of Kanshi Ram. The arrival of the BSP
could be a factor in the subsequent struggles of the Dalits, but it was a
result of evolutionary and quantitative changes which turned into qual-
itative change. Various changes which occurred in the social and eco-
nomic life of the people of India had created intelligentsia and middle
classes among the Dalits, which changed the nature of discourse of Dalit
liberation. Since the BSP was aimed at garnering the votes of Dalits, the
emphasis on Dalithood and identity came to the fore as political
articulations.
What we have at present is the mixture of all kinds of conflicts
occurring between the Dalit castes and the upper castes. In rural hinter-
lands there are feudal bases of conflict in which the landowning castes
exercise their traditional power to commit atrocities. Conflicts are
emerging in response to the violence against Dalit women at many
places in villages. Despite the legal safeguards for the protection of
Dalits from various wrongdoings against them, there is a general apathy
among the police and bureaucracy due to their non-Dalit caste back-
ground. However, the conflict over power at the local level has started
occurring more frequently than earlier. It is worth mentioning that cases
of conflict over religious places are also found at various places in the
country, particularly in Punjab (Judge 2005).
In the end, the issue of honour killing demands some attention.
Honour killing is an outcome of the loss of pride and honour due to an
act of the member of the family. It is not necessary that it will occur only
when the upper caste girl elopes with or marries a Dalit boy. There is a
record of honour killings even when the boy and the girl belong to the
same caste (Judge 2012a). However, in recent years the cases of intercaste
marriage have gone up and so have the number of honour killings. The
rise in intercaste marriages is an outcome of the changes in the occupa-
tional structure of the society. More and more occupations have become
accessible if adequate training and educational level has been attained by
individuals. Educational institutions and work places are also the social
xliv Paramjit S. Judge

spaces where people interact with each other by marginalising caste of

the class fellows and colleagues, to a great extent. Persons belonging to
different castes could fall in love and decide to marry. Some of the mar-
riages turn into the issue of honour causing death.
It is obvious from the discussion that the moment certain changes in
the economic structure of Indian society began to occur, caste conflicts
started emerging. The visibility of these conflicts in the form of political
mobilisation, caste war/violence increased after Independence, as the
socio-economic development and empowerment of the Dalits took place.
Have these conflicts, struggles and mobilisations been symptomatic of
only the aspirations of the Dalits? Or have changes in the conditions of
the Dalits occurred after Independence? The final part of this section of
the chapter will examine the issue of change among Dalits in India.

Examining Change in the Context of Dalits

There are two important dimensions of change among Dalits after

Independence that require extensive probing, namely the pattern of
change and the direction of change. Both the dimensions take cogni-
sance of certain serious theoretical concerns. It is important to keep in
mind that caste system raises normative concerns as such, but more
importantly, when the position and conditions of the Dalits are taken
into consideration. Irrespective of whether there is a religious basis of
caste locations, the need for ending caste is invariably felt strongly under
the influence of universal principles of equality and justice. Sociologists
agree that all social formations are dynamic; the only difference is the
pace of change. It takes long time for values and norms, culture and
customary practices to undergo change. The arrival of capitalism signi-
fies the domination of class relations, but caste system seems to persist
along with class formations. In sociological literature change with regard
to caste and Dalits has been described, examined and analysed in terms
of three modes. First of all change has been understood as a result of
dynamics of the society in which emerging forces tend to influence vari-
ous aspects of social structure. The underlying logic of such an explana-
tion is that no society is static and forces of development affect all parts
of society. Therefore, sociologists have widely accepted industrialisation,
urbanisation, education, technology and communication as major
forces of change. The classical sociological viewpoint, however, is that
INTRODUCTION xlv

the major force that brings change in any society is the increase in popu-
lation. Thus we have Comte, Durkheim, Spencer and Marx taking note
of the role of population increase in social change (Judge 2012b).
Somehow, influenced by the population explosion thesis, the identifica-
tion of the role of population increase in social change is more or less
ignored in Indian sociology.
The second mode puts a great degree of emphasis on the role of
state in bringing social change. Such a change is called as ‘change from
above’. In those cases where an attempt has been made by well-meaning
rich or high-profile leaders to intervene in the existing state of affairs to
modify or change them the terms ‘change from above’ is also used as a
signifier. The third mode is the attempt of the people concerned to
change their existing conditions. In the case of Dalits it would imply
different strategies employed by them to improve their conditions. In
the discussion of alternative strategies to ameliorate the conditions of
the Dalits, the two major modes used are ‘change from above’ and
‘change from below’. As a matter of fact, all the three modes are inter-
connected and at the same time could be distinguished in terms of their
operations. For example, the state intervention enabled certain Dalits to
get education which acted as a catalyst for further change. The develop-
ment process opened myriad opportunities to avail in the labour market.
However, we know that there are imperfections in the actual operation
of labour market and to correct its deviations there is a need for state
intervention.
As and when we venture to speak of developmental forces bringing
change in the Indian society, the first thing which comes to our mind is
the emergence of new division of labour which has broken down the old
system by creating new occupations. There is no correspondence between
caste and occupation as it has traditionally existed. However, it does not
imply that the Dalit castes have been competing on equal footing with
the upper castes. Various studies (e.g. Thorat and Newman 2007) referred
to earlier have shown that Dalits face discrimination in the labour market.
There are reasonable bases to argue that in the urban India untouchability
has drastically reduced, whereas the rural India is still undergoing transi-
tion. The low level of urbanisation in India is one of the major factors in
reinforcing the caste inequalities in villages where people have been living
as communities for centuries. It seems that the role of postcolonial state
has remained crucial in ameliorating the conditions of the Dalits.
xlvi Paramjit S. Judge

The role of state in postcolonial India entailed multiple trajectories

of strategies to end caste system and untouchability. The domain
assumption of all the actions of the state could be stated like this: ‘The
problems of the Dalits are not simply economic, but it covers all aspects
of their lives due to which there is a need for comprehensive interven-
tion to improve their conditions.’ There are three trajectories along
which the strategies were worked out. First, to initiate the development
programmes aimed exclusively at improving the economic conditions of
the Dalits. Second, to end all kinds of practices that point towards
untouchability. The third was to provide for reservations in educational
institutions and public sector jobs for the purpose of building cultural
capital among them. It is interesting to note that the fourth trajectory
was political empowerment, but it was to be temporary and to be
renewed after every 10 years. Reservation in the Lok Sabha and Vidhan
Sabhas was meant to be discontinued, but it never happened. In fact,
the 73rd and 74th amendments to the Indian Constitution are grim
reminders of the fact that empowerment is an equally important aspect
of improving the conditions of the Dalits.
It is important to know whether the efforts of the Indian state have
been successful in bringing about desired change. At empirical level we
find that there have been different kinds of consequences of state inter-
vention. First, reservation policy took a reasonable long time to show
some progress. The reason for it was that most of the Dalits belonged to
the poor sections of the society as a result of which they could not avail
the opportunities. For a long time, the percentages of the SCs in govern-
ment jobs at Classes I and II were dismally lower than the provision.
According to the data provided by Mendelsohn and Vicziany (2000),
only 8.23 per cent of the Class I and 10.47 per cent of the Class II level
posts had been filled in by the scheduled castes in 1987. It was quite
lower than the percentage of reservation of seats, which is 15 per cent.
They (ibid.: 135) write, ‘At present period it would appear that virtually
all reserved positions are being allocated to members of the Scheduled
Castes. So the shortfall arises from failures to appoint in earlier periods,
particularly the first two decades after Independence’. However, in cer-
tain specific areas the representation of the Dalits in jobs is far less than
required. ‘The record of representation is worse in all areas of govern-
ment employment other than the regular departments of state: thus
includes the public banks, public sector undertakings, the armed forces
and the universities’ (ibid.: 136).
INTRODUCTION xlvii

Reservation policy has not gone well with the non-scheduled castes.
There are two categories of non-scheduled castes, namely middle castes
(now known as Other Backward Classes [OBCs]) and the upper castes
comprised by all castes not included in the lists of SCs and OBCs.
At present, other than Hindus, Sikh, Jain and Buddhist Dalits are cat-
egorised as SCs, whereas the same castes belonging to Muslim and
Christian communities are categorised as OBCs. Among the non-
Muslim/Christian OBCs, there are castes which have begun to domi-
nate in their regions. The Yadavs and Kurmis in Uttar Pradesh and Bihar
are such examples. The implementation of the recommendations of the
Mandal Commission has initiated the reservation policy for the OBCs.
Two trends could be observed in India so far as the response of the upper
castes is concerned. First, there has been consistent opposition against
reservation policy to the SCs in India. It was observed that as and when
the time approached to increase the time span of the political reserva-
tion by 10 years on the part of the Lok Sabha, there would be collective
opposition to it (Bains 1997). In the initial stages it was perceived that
the entire reservation policy was for 10 years and it took some time to
understand what it meant to be constitutional provision. The SC
employees were given titles like son-in-law of the government, govern-
ment Brahmin and so on. The upper castes also fought at the ideological
level. The creation of dichotomy called merit versus reservation was part
of the ideological effort to create a symbolic universe of opposition to
the reservation policy. The upper castes have been reasonably successful
in this regard, because the Dalits have been consistently discriminated
against in the private sector. The best example is the electronic media
where the presence of religious minorities is even lower than their pro-
portion in the total population of the country.
The second trend is quite interesting and also farcical. There have
been attempts among the upper castes to create pressure on the govern-
ment through political mobilisation or otherwise to designate them as
OBCs. The Jats of Rajasthan, Delhi and Haryana have been quite suc-
cessful in getting themselves declared backward. In Punjab, the
Ramgarhias have officially moved from the upper caste to the OBC
status. The Gujjars of Rajasthan have been struggling to get the status of
scheduled tribe for many years. There are two aspects of this kind of
effort. It seems obvious that all these efforts are meant for getting the
benefits of reservation policy. The second aspect is quite crucial, that is
by getting designated as the OBCs these castes are lowering their status.
xlviii Paramjit S. Judge

Why are these castes doing this? The answer is obvious: Even if they are
officially designated as OBCs, there will be no decline in their social
status. In other words, their domination and position in the caste hier-
archy is assured and it would not undergo any change.
Reservation policy which should have been exclusively meant for
the untouchables has been extended to other caste categories and at
present there has emerged a strong case for the reservation policy for the
Muslims, particularly after the Sachar Committee Report (Hasan 2009).
Clamouring for state privileges has become the order of the day and
soon the philosophy of reservation would lose its meanings. However,
the politics of reservation would remain relevant. Despite all this, reser-
vation policy in education and jobs has contributed in creating the crit-
ical mass of Dalit middle-class intellectuals, as we shall see soon, who
have started the important ideological fight against caste system.
However, the question remains: Is it possible to attain an inclusive
society as a result of the state intervention? There has been a decline in
the practice of untouchability at public places. For example, we rarely
hear denial of entry to a Dalit in a restaurant or hotel. Untouchability
has progressively disappeared in economic transactions and travel. We
hardly find cases where a person is denied the right to travel by virtue of
his/her caste. Urban centres remain more or less guided by the logic of
capitalism, that is, the circulation of commodities, whereas the villages
still exist as communities despite the penetration of capital. Most of the
Dalits living in villages are poor wage earners and suffer economic
exclusion. However, there is an evidence of social exclusion which
emerges from their caste status including untouchability (Shah et al.
2006). State intervention has been successful in public sphere, whereas
the private spaces are marked by the autonomy of the individual choices
where the Dalits are excluded from various forms of interactions
(Judge 2004).
We may now move on to examining the efforts of the Dalits to
improve their conditions or end caste stigma. Scanning social science
literature on the issue provides us three kinds of strategies of the Dalits,
most of which had been caste-specific and region-specific, for some
time, to end the caste stigma over a period of time. The first strategy
revolved around the issue of religion, which seems important for the
people who had been denied the privilege to worship, as the story of
Ramayana in which Lord Rama beheads a meditating Shudra informs,
INTRODUCTION xlix

which was a great source of solace in the face of poverty and wretched
conditions of life. Religion did not become, to refer to Marx, ‘the sigh
of the oppressed’. However, we still find instances of Dalit saints in the
medieval India, such as Chokamela and Ravidas. In this regard, any
hope of religious identity created strong currents of action among them,
which are evident from the conversions to Christianity, Islam and
Sikhism. The Arya Samaj initiated the Shudhi movement to reconvert
Dalits to Hinduism with limited success in Punjab. Religious conver-
sion gave the Dalits right to worship, but it never raised their status by
ending the caste stigma. The Christians in Punjab are coterminous with
the Bhangi caste and the Sikh Dalits are known by distinct nomencla-
ture, such as Ramdasiya and Mazhabis.
The second kind of effort on the part of the Dalits could be called
sanskritisation by changing one’s way of life and adopting the upper
caste lifestyles. One interesting aspect of sanskritisation is that there is
no threat to religion. Srinivas (1966), who propounded the concept and
theory, argues that historically, a considerable number of castes have
successfully gained the Kshatriya status. He provides the historical evi-
dence of Shudras becoming kings and then claiming to be Kshatriya.
Similar trends he identifies in the modern Indian setting and argues
strongly that whereas varna is fixed, castes are dynamic. However, imi-
tating the way of life of some caste is not without a prerequisite. For
example, a middle-class man cannot imitate the life style of upper class
man, simply because he will not have the needed capital to buy the same
car, go to same club and eat at the same restaurant. However, there is an
empirical evidence of certain castes adopting sanskritisation after they
attained the higher economic status (Bailey 1957). Sanskritisation is a
process in which the legitimacy of caste system is presupposed by the
caste aspiring to attain higher caste status. It seems reasonable in the
sense that even within the Dalits there is a caste hierarchy (Judge 2003).
It may be reminded that sanskritisation model would be quite effective
if we achieve a classless society, but then there will not be any need for
sanskritisation.
We may now move to the last strategy of political mobilisation/
social movement, which seems to be proving more effective than any
other effort. At present, the Dalits are better organised and fulfilling the
dream of Ambedkar, however limited it may be. It has taken a long time
to reach this stage and in the case of certain castes, it took a long time
l Paramjit S. Judge

for the Dalits to fulfil the essential conditions for their mobilisation.
Among these conditions the important were the numerical strength
within the region, certain degree of economic mobility, attainment of
education and the movement out of the dependence on the local domi-
nant caste. Generally, four cases of social mobility are frequently men-
tioned in literature. These are: Mahars, Nadars, Jatavs and Ad-dharmis.
The common element among them is the use of political means to
achieve the end. All these castes began to experience change during the
colonial period. For example, the Chamars benefited from the rise in the
leather trade (1975) and the Chamars in Punjab became rich during the
tremendous rise in the demand of leather during the First World War.
The colonial mode of production separated the caste from occupation
simply because the new occupation had no link with castes. Except for
the organisation of militant Dalit Panthers the broader paradigm
remained the same. It was made clear by Lynch (1969) that even if the
Dalits achieve certain degrees of equality or high status, they would
remain excluded in the informal relations with the upper castes. The fact
that caste would not end was realised by the Dalit activists with the
passage of time. The superstructural autonomy even in the face of
changes in the base showed the power of culture and ideology of caste.
The paradigmatic shift in the strategy of Dalits was brought by
Kanshi Ram who organised the BSP. It was premised upon the fact that
instead of claiming the unity of mankind, it is politically important to
stress the differences within the society. Obviously, in the hands of a
politician the politics of difference is quite an effective weapon. There
were two sources of the politics of difference; in other words, the poli-
tics of difference was already in place before Kanshi Ram used it effec-
tively. The first source was communal and its roots were in the colonial
India and it continued to be effective later on. The classical instance of
it is the Sikh politics in Punjab and recurrent incidents of communal
riots in India. The second source, ironically, emanated from the elec-
toral politics of the major political parties in the country when they
began to treat people as vote banks in terms of their caste. Kanshi Ram
worked on the caste differences and attacked the upper castes, particu-
larly the Brahmins, in his political rhetoric and used it as an effective
tool in the political propaganda.
There were parallel developments among the Dalits which made
Kanshi Ram’s strategy quite successful in certain parts of India. Certain
INTRODUCTION li

castes among the Dalits improved their economic conditions, which

could be a result of many forces not just reservation policy. For example,
the international migration of Dalits after Independence has been stu-
pendous and was predominantly confined to the Chamar caste (Judge
2009) and remittances contributed significantly in improving their
living conditions and reducing their dependence on the landowning
castes in Punjab. It is also of interest to note that the castes which were
engaged in movements/political mobilisation were also better placed in
raising their consciousness and availing new opportunities made by the
independent India. Modern education and white collar occupations
and the sense of anonymity in the city about which Dr Ambedkar
talked about created the class intelligentsia which was looking for new
political path.
The trajectory of the efforts of the Dalits to improve their condi-
tions does not show any clear-cut direction and single methodology. It
has happened due to great degree of heterogeneity which has come to
the surface due to many reasons. Despite the fact that the Chamar caste
was always better than other castes, the clear cut distance it has been able
to achieve during the last two decades is quite noticeable. There is a class
formation within the caste and there is caste differentiation among the
Dalits. The BSP symbolises the unity of all the marginalised and
oppressed castes and communities, but in practice it has turned out to
be the party of the Chamar caste. As a result, the politics of caste could
be seen at its best in the form of the BSP; something which was in vogue
earlier but remained hidden under the metaphor of equality and secu-
larism in electoral politics. The historical contribution of the BSP under
Kanshi Ram is that it brought out the functionality of caste identity in
Indian politics. However, there was a necessary condition for such a
success, namely the pride in one’s caste and Kanshi Ram provided it
with his powerful rhetoric against Brahminism.
What happened in the process of building the vote bank is the
emergence of identity politics and certain castes began to articulate that
identity by using diverse mediums. Literature became the major battle-
ground in which the new form of literature emerged more or less as a
movement, namely Dalit literature. It began from Maharashtra as a
movement and then spread to other parts of India. Despite its local char-
acter, the tremendous interest in Dalit literature and increasing reader-
ship turned it into a national phenomenon blurring regional boundaries.
lii Paramjit S. Judge

The celebration of the local turned global due to the expanding market.
Dalit literature is being written in virtually all genres of literature, though
poetry and autobiography are the most prominent. Autobiographies
written by the prominent Dalit writers and activists have drawn more
attention of the social scientists than other genres due to obvious reasons
of closeness of this genre with social sciences. Among many autobio-
graphies of note we can mention some which cover major part of India,
such as Gaikwad (1992), Valmiki (1998), Das (2006), Madhopuri
(2004) and Malagatti (2007). These autobiographies are tales of suffer-
ing the writers faced during their early age and the way the life story is
narrated takes the reader to the journey of the life lived in extreme form
of denial and discrimination and the struggle they waged to overcome all
limitations and emerge victorious. However, the stigma remains. Dalit
literature constructed the image of the wretched of the Indian society in
a more profound manner than any social science research could do.
The emergence of Dalit literature and the BSP politics of identity
are not taking the Dalits towards an inclusive society. All these develop-
ments indicate towards the emergence of exclusive identities and politics,
but it is quite different from the earlier exclusive identities, which caste
system by virtue of its form and content implicated. It involves con-
structing new identity and culture and inventing distinct tradition by
decentring the hegemonic tradition of the dominant castes. The signifi-
cance of Phule’s reinterpretation of the myth of Bali Raja or Ambedkar’s
conception of Dhama or re-articulation of the Ravidas myth on the part
of the Ad-dharmis lies in rejecting the power of the symbolic universe
created by the hegemonic tradition of Hinduism. How do we make
sense of such constructions in the context of ending caste? Caste is not
simply a social structural principle, but it is also a state of mind with the
package of the entire tradition. To get rid of ‘castes of mind’, to use Dirk’s
(2001) expression, there is a need to invent counterculture and its artic-
ulation. Present efforts of some of the Dalit castes are directed towards
this direction.
However, it does not imply that all castes in all regions of India have
reached the stage of breaking cultural barriers, for it requires certain
essential changes in the conditions of life, which is not happening at this
moment for all. We thus have Dalit intellectuals, who can articulate
various issues in the print and electronic media, leaving a section of
Dalits who still face exclusion. So long as the general economic
INTRODUCTION liii

conditions of the Dalits do not improve, the chances of inclusion are

minimal. It should also be reminded that despite all the efforts, strategy
of social inclusion is inseparably linked with integration and consensus.
In this regard, the state and social movement approach would not bring
about inclusion at the level of interpersonal interaction. To end the dis-
cussion, it is important to remind Ambedkar’s (1990) comment on the
caste endogamy. He argued that intercaste marriage would be solvent of
caste as no other measure would succeed to that extent. However, he
cautioned that we must not agitate for intercaste marriages, for it is not
permissible to force feed a person by artificial means. The present trend
among the Dalit intellectuals and political leadership does not point
towards the possibility of integration.

II

Eleven articles divided into four parts comprise this volume. These arti-
cles do not completely cover all the aspects of the Dalits in India. They
are representative of four major issues which should be covered under
the sociology of Dalits. These are: mapping the status of Dalit studies in
India, describing their conditions of deprivation and exclusion, identi-
fying contexts of contestations and their patterns that occur between the
Dalits and the higher castes, and understanding the process of change in
their conditions. Most of the articles included in the volume have been
recent contributions to Sociological Bulletin—between 1990 and pres-
ent. The SCs constitute 16.20 per cent of the Indian population, but
this percentage does not cover all the untouchable castes against which
untouchability is still practiced. The term ‘scheduled castes’ is
Constitutional, which includes depressed castes belonging to Hindu,
Sikh and Buddhist religions. Certain castes which have been included in
the scheduled list get excluded if they have converted to Islam and/or
Christianity. Therefore, we can safely argue that the percentage of the
Dalits could be higher. Added to this percentage is 8.20 per cent popu-
lation of the scheduled tribes. It is clear that more than one-fourth of
India’s population belongs to the most marginalised, excluded and
exploited sections of the society.
How much attention have the Dalits received from the sociologists?
It is an important issue particularly in the light of the fact that other
liv Paramjit S. Judge

disciplines in social sciences have also equally contributed to the study of

Dalits. The first part of the volume entitled ‘State of Dalit Studies in
Sociology’ consists of two articles by Vivek Kumar and T. K. Oommen.
Whereas Vivek Kumar takes stock of the extent of attention Dalits have
received from Indian sociologists, Oommen examines Ghurye’s contribu-
tion to the understanding of Dalits. Kumar argues that the sociologists
have largely provided descriptive account of the Dalits by using val-
ue-loaded terminology. In a nutshell, Kumar brings out the apathy of
Indian sociologists to study Dalits. Notably, Kumar has made an attempt
to construct ‘Human Distress Index’, which largely covers various vari-
ables in the understanding and mapping of social exclusion of Dalits.
Oommen, in his article, argues that Ghurye suffered from cognitive
blackout in his treatment of SCs. Oommen provides four reasons why he
did so: one, Ghurye has given a scanty coverage of 40 pages to the SCs;
two, he depends on ancient Hindu texts for has analysis; three, he was
unduly optimist about the power of modernisation in ending caste and
discrimination; and finally, he could not clearly comprehend the power
of the religious tradition in withstanding the pressure of modernity.
Oommen points out that Ghurye’s treatment to the SCs and scheduled
tribes was linked with the issue of nation-building from the perspective of
cultural monism in which all castes and tribes were understood to be
assimilated with the dominant Hindu tradition in opposition to the cul-
tural diversity which was considered to be secular basis of Indian society.
These articles discussed above underline something very important
about the symbolic universe of Indian sociologists at the initial stages of
the development of the discipline. One way of looking at the sociologi-
cal practice could be the social background of Indian sociologists and
one may not be surprised to find most of them belonging to the upper
castes. However, it has been frequently pointed out that it is not necessary
that the social location of the researcher would inevitably influence his/
her priorities and position with regard to normative issues. Another way
of looking into the matter is to examine the practice of sociology in
India and influences it received along with the prevalence of the theoret-
ical paradigm. It may be argued that sociology in India has its roots in
the anthropological practice. Social anthropologists were influenced in
the early 20th century by the writings of Malinowski and Radcliffe-Brown,
who used ethnography in the service of functionalist paradigm. The
functional perspective remained committed to the understanding of the
INTRODUCTION lv

functions performed by various parts of the whole. Functionalism

remained on the side of the status quo, for it never went beyond the
examination of the maintenance of system through the functions. On
the other hand, the Dalit-centric approach was totally neglected by the
Marxists, because in the Marxist paradigm caste was a part of the super-
structure, whereas class structure formed the base of society. Within the
framework of such an analysis Dalits were treated as a part of the prole-
tariat. The implications of such a view from the Marxists are that there
was a total neglect—though the Marxist tradition in Indian sociology
has never been very strong—of the analysis of the power of the super-
structure and its embeddedness with the base.
The second part of the volume consists of four articles which take up
the issue of untouchability and exclusion. The article by R. D. Lambert
is an interesting piece of theoretical and empirical observations on
untouchability with the purpose of working out the methodology of
research on untouchability. Highlighting the fact that mere economic
dimension would not help us in understanding the issue of untouchabil-
ity, because as a part of social inequality caste system is similar to others
and there is likelihood of the people who are placed at the top are eco-
nomically well off, but it may not necessarily be the case. It is thus
important that sociologist should focus his/her attention on identifying
the ‘characteristics and conditions of the various untouchable castes and
work out the system of untouchability by examining the behavioural
norms. S. S. Sharma in his article on untouchability has adopted the
empirical approach to examine the problem. The study of village
Machhra in Meerut has been carried out by using caste study method as
well as conducting interviews with the respondents to know their feeling
whether untouchability is practiced. Sharma argues that the Brahmins
and the scheduled castes offer different interpretations of unotuchability.
Whereas the former regard ideology, the latter consider economic condi-
tions as the root cause of unotuchability. However, the most important
aspect of the study is the actual existence and practice of untouchability
despite its abolition according to Article 17 of the Constitution of India.
Victor D’Souza, in his article, locates the SCs in the urbanisation
process of Punjab. It is interesting to note that D’Souza has used the
terms exclusion and exclusivism in offering explanation to the loca-
tion of the SCs. D’Souza argues that homogeneity of a caste and het-
erogeneity among castes could be understood as the major reason for
lvi Paramjit S. Judge

the creation of exclusive groups who exist through their support to

inequality and the rural–urban migration occurs along with this axis
of exclusivism. Though it is expected that industrialisation and urban-
isation would create occupational complexity which would help dif-
ferent castes to take advantage of the situation, yet the SCs have failed
to benefit. The last article in the second part is a study of one Dalit
caste, namely Khatik of Kanpur. The Khatiks became notorious
during the riots that followed the Babri Mosque demolition. Maren
Bellwinkel-Schempp has done a comprehensive anthropological inves-
tigation into the issue of untouchability, regarded as ‘suppressive,
exploitative and unjust’. In the case of the Khatiks, Bellwinkel-
Schempp seeks to construct the anthropological explanation of the
relationship between man and beast. The Khatiks, who have been
engaged in bristle trade and are also involved as butchers and pig-breed-
ers and pork-sellers, the beast represents the ‘creative and nutritious
element’ for them. At the same time, untouchability emanates from
the pollution caused by the beast.
The third part of the volume comprised by two articles takes cogni-
sance of the conflict between the Dalits and upper castes. Linda J. Epp’s
article underlines the basic paradoxes of tradition and reforms in the
realm of religious beliefs and practices. Epp has lucidly brought out the
struggle of the Dalits against the ages old practice of nude worship in
Chandragutti village in Shimoga district of Karnataka. The issue
emerged when in 1986 the activists of the Dalit Sangharsh Samiti started
opposing nude worship among the Dalits women of Goddess, Renuka/
Yallemma. The organised struggle against the sexual exploitation of
Dalit women in the form of nude worship, despite being successful,
raised issue with regard to the beliefs. The Dalit woman is still tied to
patriarchy and opposed to any change against her beliefs and practices.
The second article on conflict is the contribution of Venkateswarlu
Dollu who has looked into the caste/class dimensions of conflict between
the upper castes and the Harijans. Based on the comprehensive field
work and data analysis, the author comes to the conclusion. He examines
four dimensions of tensions to gauge psychological conflict, namely
social, economic, political and ritual. There are numerous instances of
conflict between the upper caste and Harijans. However, the upper class
dominant upper castes feel more threatened by any improvement in the
conditions of the Harijans. Since the author has not examined the
INTRODUCTION lvii

nature and extent of manifest conflict, he concludes that since any

improvement in the conditions of the Harijans is a threat to the domi-
nance and hegemony of the upper classes, they are more hostile toward
the Harijans than the middle-class upper castes.
The last part of the volume is entitled ‘Interrogating Change’ by
which we mean that all the three articles are not straightjacket expli-
cation of social change among the Dalits. They are serious and reflec-
tive analyses of strategies of sanskritisation and reservation policy as
well as of the practice of untouchability. Guru in his article takes up
the inherent paradox between reservation and sanskritisation as strat-
egies of change. Guru is clear in stating that economic and political
power is the enabling force of sanskritisation. On top of that sanskri-
tisation essentially implicates group mobility. On the other hand, res-
ervation policy is individual-oriented and once embraced provides
economic and political status. At the same time, sanskritisation is the
basis of hiding one’s caste identity, whereas reservation policy is based
on the caste identity. Guru argues that sanskritisation is imposed by
the upper castes.
In his article, A. M. Shah discusses the relation between purity/
impurity and untouchability and the decline in both in the modern
times. It entails a discussion of division and hierarchy among the
Untouchable castes and of the line separating them from the rest of the
society. Shah identifies the forces of change in untouchability in terms
of industrialisation and urbanisation whose impact began right from the
19th century. People having Western education initiated the discontinu-
ity of untouchable practices. Many practices among Hindu houses have
almost disappeared. Taking bath is no more indispensable before cook-
ing and eating food. However, in religious practices people still observe
the idea of purification. In urban areas the people cleaning the garbage
continue to belong to a particular caste. Tulsi Patel explores the stigma-
tised popular image of incompetence constructed around the Dalits,
who have in the past seven decades benefited from reservations in edu-
cation and services. It describes the construction of stigmatised image of
the Dalits in the recent decades in northern India with reference to the
clarion call of reservations for removal of social and other inequalities
perpetrated against ex-untouchables in India. Taking up the controver-
sies around reservation, Patel explores the connection between stigma,
education and jobs.
lviii Paramjit S. Judge

By Way of Conclusion

The first part of this introductory chapter was an attempt to underline

and argue for new perspective for understanding caste and Dalits. There
is a need to demystify caste in the present phase of India’s socio-economic
development. The major reason for the persistence of caste should be
located in the understanding of why the communities are persisting and
individualisation is not taking place in spite of the fact that the Indian
Constitution recognises the individual as citizen with rights. It is import-
ant to raise questions about the decisions taken by the political power
holders of the day wherein they decided in favour of community by
violating the rights of the individual enshrined in our Constitution
(Shah Bano to give one example). It is interesting to investigate why the
political leaders are allowed to appeal the communities on caste, reli-
gious or ethnic basis. It is the power dynamics in which every player sees
functionality to use caste that caste is publicly persisting. The articles
included in this volume provide us panoramic picture of various dimen-
sions of the Dalits referred to by different contributors by different
names, such as Dalits, SCs, Harijans, untouchables, depressed classes
and so on. There is only one aspect of Dalit studies missing in this
volume, namely the emerging cultural consciousness of the Dalits. The
articles included in the volume also give us an idea of the place of Dalit
studies in sociology.

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 PART I
State of Dalit Studies in
Sociology
1
Situating Dalits in
Indian Sociology
Vivek Kumar

Introduction: Understanding the

Misunderstandings about Dalits

G
andhiji, after discussing the problems of dalits with Ambedkar,
asked Mahadev Desai why Ambedkar told him that he
(Ambedkar) did not have a motherland. Desai explained that it
was because Ambedkar was an ‘untouchable’. Gandhiji was surprised to
learn this, and he told Desai that he had thought Ambedkar was a con-
scientious Brahmin who spoke for the untouchables. Later, in the 1960s,
on the policy of reservation, Jawaharlal Nehru argued,

It is true that we are tied up with certain rules and conventions about helping
the Scheduled Castes and Tribes. They deserve help but, even so, I dislike any
kind of reservation, more particularly in service. . . . If we go in for reserva-
tions on communal and caste basis we swamp the bright and able people and
remain second-rate of third-rate (1989: 456–57).

Even as late as 1999, a high profile university professor, who has extensively
worked on the issues related to caste, asked me ‘What is the difference
between Jai Shri Ram and Jai Bheem, as both are religious symbols?’ I had
to explain to the learned professor that this ‘Jai Bheem’ is not the Bheem of
Mahabharata; it is the first name of Bheem Rao Ambedkar which has now
become the greeting symbol of dalits. Another narrative is that of a young
4 Vivek Kumar

girl who asked her parents whether they were Scheduled Castes? The aston-
ished parents asked her why she was asking that question. The girl explained
that the teacher had announced in the class that those belonging to
Scheduled Castes will be getting books and uniform free of cost.
The foregoing narratives are representative of the understanding of
politicians and social reformers, academicians and layman about dalits
who account for 16 percent of India’s population. The narratives, no
doubt, raise a vital point regarding misunderstandings of certain facts
about dalits. However, more importantly, they raise the question as to
how can an academic fail to understand dalits. Thus, the question if the
dalits have been studied objectively by the Indian sociologists?
This paper throws light on how Indian sociology has failed to locate
dalits in the Indian society, in general, and the Hindu social order, in
particular. Why, even after a century of development of sociology in the
country, the dalits occupy a dubious position particularly vis-à-vis the
Hindu social order? The ‘book view’ of caste argues that there are only
four varnas, but many sociologists—Indian, European and others—have
portrayed dalits as the fifth varna of Hindu society without any con-
vincing explanation. Although they are practically included for exploita-
tion of every type of labour, why have they been included in the
theoretical scheme of varna as the fifth varna of the Hindu social order?
No sociologist has given a convincing explanation for the fact that, even
though they are included for exploitation of cheap labour, they have
been excluded from every other interaction pattern.
Usage of politically incorrect terminology by Indian sociologists in
their discussions on dalits is the second issue discussed in this paper. In the
name of objectivity, Indian sociologists have used the suggestive terminol-
ogy like ‘untouchables’, ‘lower castes’, Harijans, etc. for the dalits. These
terms, coined by intellectuals and the elite of society, are not objective cat-
egories. The objective situation is that the dalits were/are known either by
their regional caste name or by a term equivalent of ‘untouchable’.
Our third contention in this paper is that, because of the ambiguous
location of dalits and the use of a value-loaded terminology for them,
Indian sociologists have not been able to record substantive issues related
to dalits. The sociological literature has only descriptions about dalits
without any qualitative and quantitative study of their ‘social exclusion’.
Indian sociologists have also missed to record the impact of this ‘social
exclusion’ on the life-pattern of dalits and their loss of cultural capital.
Indian sociologists never bothered to recognise the contributions made
SITUATING DALITS IN INDIAN SOCIOLOGY 5

by dalits playing different roles in the economy, polity and society. One
wonders, how many studies have been conducted by Indian sociologists
straight from Cheri, Cahmrauti, Maharwada—the bustees of the dalits?
Two major points have been recorded in the paper because of the
aforesaid ambiguity of position of dalits in the Hindu social order. The
first point is that the objectivity and authenticity of studies of different
structures and processes are being questioned by the dalits in their writ-
ings. Dalits view the structures like caste and village as exploitative rather
than as functional. Moreover, they term sanskritisation as the process of
assertion and attempt by dalits to lead a hygienic lifestyle, rather than as
an imitation of the upper castes.
The second point is that foreign concepts and theories like class,
relative deprivation, poverty, etc., which are used to analyse the condi-
tion of dalits are inappropriate and inadequate. Therefore, the paper
suggests the necessity of evolving a new concept or modifying the exist-
ing concepts which can appropriately evaluate the social exclusion of
dalits. The new concept could be ‘Human Distress Index’.

Definition of the Term ‘Dalit’

In the annals of Indian history, dalits were referred to with different

nomenclatures—like Chandalas, Avarnas, Achhuts, Namashudra, Parihas,
Adi-Dravida, Ad-Dharmis, depressed classes, oppressed Hindus, Harijans,
etc.—at different point of time. However, after the emergence of the
Dalit Panther’s movement in Maharashtra in the 1970s, they preferred
to be called as dalits. The definition of dalits as propounded by the Dalit
Panthers was a class definition and it included members of Scheduled
Castes (SCs), Scheduled Tribes (STs), the landless and poor peasants,
women, and all those who were exploited politically, economically and
in the name of religion (Murugkar 1991: 237). It was the Panthers’
political compulsion that made them propound such a definition of a
category which never existed before, as they wanted to forge an alliance
among these aforesaid groups.
However, sociologically, the term dalits has been strictly used for
ex-untouchables of Indian society who have faced the worst kind of
social exclusion. The term ‘social exclusion’ has been defined as a multi-
dimensional process in which various forms of exclusion are combined:
participation in decision-making and political processes, access to
6 Vivek Kumar

employment and material resources, and integration into common cul-

tural process. When combined, they create acute form of exclusion that
finds a spatial manifestation in particular neighbourhoods (Madanipour
1998: 22). To this, we have to add the elements of religious justification
of such exclusion of dalits based on dharma and karma. Based on the
above elements of social exclusion, we can argue that dalits are different
from Scheduled Tribes, women and poor persons among caste Hindus
that were included in the Dalit Panthers’ definition of dalits.
At the out set, economically, a poor person is different from a dalit.
A poor person may be deprived in the economic sphere, especially of
income necessary to participate in the economy. However, he/she may
not be necessarily deprived in social and cultural spheres, that is, he/she
may not face the same type of exclusion in the social and cultural life of
his neighbourhood as dalits face. For instance, a penury-stricken
Brahmin, Kshatriya, Vaishya or Shudra is never forced to live outside the
boundaries of the village. They interact among themselves at least in
secular realms on more or less equal terms. However, dalits were excluded
form the main residential area of the village, and were kept outside the
interaction pattern of its social life. Hence, we can argue that a poor
person may be economically or politically deprived, but he/she is never
excluded from the social and cultural spheres. An ex-untouchable is
deprived in all the three—social, economic and political—realms.
T.K. Oommen, therefore, has rightly pointed out, ‘If proletarian con-
sciousness is essentially rooted in material deprivations . . . dalit con-
sciousness is a complex and compound consciousness which encapsulates
deprivations stemming from inhuman conditions of material existence,
powerlessness and ideological hegemony’ (1990: 256).
The social exclusion of an ex-untouchable is so overpowering that,
even though he/she attains economic and political mobility through
hard work, he/she is not accepted in totality by the castes located higher
up in the hierarchy. Another aspect of social exclusion is that, because of
their extreme form social exclusion, dalits could not accumulate social
capital which could give them the potential to develop their conscious-
ness. Moreover, because of lack of this consciousness, they could not
revolt against the Hindu social order for so long. Their cultural co-
option in the Hindu social order, even though they were not part of the
varna hierarchy, was affected by the artificial consensus which was a part
of Hindu hegemony legitimised by the doctrine of karma.
SITUATING DALITS IN INDIAN SOCIOLOGY 7

Tribals are different from dalits because they were never treated as a
part of the Hindu social order. As they had their own independent social
system, tribals did not face social exclusion as dalits did. They also did
not suffer the same type of atrocities as suffered by dalits. Apart from
their geographical location in the hilly or forested terrain, tribals also
differed from dalits in political, religious, economic and psychological
aspects. These aspects have kept them away from the Hindu hegemony
in terms of their status in the caste hierarchy, occupation, commensality,
etc. Furthermore, this differentiation has resulted in a different type of
construction of consciousness among tribals and, hence, they revolted a
number of times in the past. That is why we have not included them in
the present definition of dalits.
Women have also been excluded from our definition of dalits. The
reasons being, a woman in Indian society, however exploited, does not
constitute a monolithic whole. There is differentiation of women on
caste and class lines. If we take women belonging to the castes located in
the upper echelons of the caste hierarchy then we find their attitude
towards dalits is same as that of their male counterparts. They practise
untouchability in the same manner, as any caste Hindu male would do.
How then can we differentiate caste Hindu women from their men and
include them under dalits? Thus, in this paper, the term dalit has been
used exclusively for ex-untouchables.

Situating Dalits in Indian Society: The Book View

Let us observe how ambiguous the position of dalits is in the Hindu

social order. To begin with, the caste system has emerged from the varna
social order described in the Hindu scriptures. The Hindu social order,
according to the scared texts, comprises of Varnasharma Dharma along
with the four-fold varna division in the society: Brahman, Kshatriya,
Vaishya, and Shudra.

In Rigveda. . . three classes of society are frequently mentioned, and named

Brahma, Kshatra, and Visha. . . . It is only in one of the later hymns, the cel-
ebrated Purusukta, that a reference has been made to four orders of society as
emanating from the sacrifice of the Primeval Being. The names of those four
orders are given there as Brahmana, Rajanya, Vaishya, and Shudra (Ghurey
1979: 44).
8 Vivek Kumar

M.N. Srinivas writes,

in the Rigvedic hymn Purusukta, the four varna or orders formed the limbs of
primeval man (Purusha), who was victim in the divine sacrifice which pro-
duced the cosmos. The Brahmins emerged from his mouth, the Kshatriyas
from his arms, Vaishyas from his thighs and Shudras from the feet. The
untouchable castes find no mention in the hymn (1985: 150–51).

Similarly, Louis Dumont argues,

There is in India a hierarchy other than that of the pure and the impure,
namely, the traditional hierarchy of the four varnas, ‘colours’ or ‘estates’,
whereby four categories are distinguished: the highest is that of the Brahmans
or priests, below them the Kshatriyas or warriors, then the Vaishyas, in
modern usage mainly merchants, and finally the Shudras, the servants or
have-nots. . . . There is in actual fact a fifth category, the untouchables, who
are left outside the classification (1999: 66–67).

Thus, it can be observed from the above that, though on the basis of
sacred texts the founding fathers of Indian Sociology recognised only
four varnas in Hindu social order, the presence of dalits (untouchables)
as the ‘fifth category’ of the Hindu social order is not denied. The same
sociologists, however, have denied the existence of the fifth varna in the
Hindu social order with the help of the same sacred texts. In this regard,
Dumont has categorically stated, ‘First and foremost, these texts were to
mask the emergence, the factual accretion of a fifth category, the
untouchables, each emulating the others in proclaiming that ‘there is no
fifth . . .’ (Ibid.: 68). So, from where has this metaphor has come in the
sociological vogue? Has it been carved out for the convenience of the
researchers or the dominant sections of the Indian society?
It is not only that these four varnas have been mentioned in the
sacred texts, but they have also been assigned their duties or jobs
(dharma) as well. For example, ‘in the hymns of the Rigveda, the job of
the Brahmin varna was to read and write, teach and preach, offer and
officiate sacrifices. The Brahmins were obliged by this tradition to
undergo a life of study, mediation, and penetration into the mysteries of
God and dharma’ (Mathur 1991: 68). The occupation the Kshatriyas,
‘must have consisted in administrative and military duties. . . . In the
prayer for the prosperity of Kshatriya, he is said to be an archer and good
chariot-fighter’ (Ghurey 1979: 48). The Vaishya formed the third order
and was supposed to be a trader. The Shudra,
SITUATING DALITS IN INDIAN SOCIOLOGY 9

It seems the class represented domestic servants, approximating very nearly to

the position of slaves. The Shudra is described as ‘the servant of another’, ‘to
be expelled at will’, and ‘to be slain at will’. The Panchvimsha Brahmana
defines this position still more precisely when it declares that the Shudra, even
if he be prosperous, cannot be but a servant of another, washing his superior’s
feet being his main business. . . . The Shatapatha Brahmana goes to the length
of declaring that the Shudra is untruth itself (Ibid.: 50–51).

Apart form the aforesaid varnas and the duties assigned to them,
except for the dalits, the book view of caste system also prescribed an
elaborate arrangement of the various socioeconomic, political and reli-
gious activities by an individual to be performed in various stages of his
life. These stages are named as ashramas, which are four in number:
brahmacharya, grihastha, vanaprastha, and sanyasa. The male members
of the Brahmin, Kshatriya, and Vaishya varnas pass through these four
stages in their life. The first ashrama is called brahmacharya ashrama,
from which the fourth varna, namely, Shudra, and the women of the
first three varnas were barred. It is to be noted that this ashrama is very
important of all the ashramas in an individual’s life. Sudhir Kakar (1982:
8–9) has eloquently portrayed its importance:

. . . brahmacharya, in which the school child, growing into youth, learned the
basic skills relevant to his future adult working role while he lived together
with other students and the guru. The myriad duties prescribed for this stage
can be subsumed under two headings: (a) the social importance placed on the
learning of skills, and (b) the student’s unquestioning devotion to the guru’s
person.

Furthermore,

The task the brahmacharya stage . . . lies in the knowing of one’s dharma,
which would consist in acquiring the skills in one’s caste and in winning an
identity based on a caste identity and the identification with and the emula-
tion of the guru. The strength issuing from this stage would then correspond
to ‘competence’ and ‘fidelity’.

After this, comes the second ashrama that is, garhasthya ashram:

In the Hindu view it is this stage that ‘man’s meanings’ (purusarthas) besides
dharma, that is, artha (material gratification) and kama (sensual-sexual grati-
fication), flower and to be enjoyed. The Hindu view thus also hints at the
‘intimacy’ based on shared work as well as on sensuality and procreation.
10 Vivek Kumar

The third stage or ashrama is vanaprastha (a gradual withdrawal

without loosening of responsibility). In the last asharma, that is, Sanyasa
(renunciation), it is expected from the individuals that they practise
physical separation from all worldly and personal ties. In this manner,
we see the elaborate arrangement which exists in the holy texts of the
Hindus on the basis of which the caste system has emerged.
From the above discussion, the following queries emerge, proving the
ambiguous position of dalits in the Hindu social order. First, even if we
believe the sacred texts, to which the origin of caste is traced, from where
does the metaphor of the fifth varna originate? Second, accepting that there
is a fifth varna, what will be its dharma and which ashramas can its mem-
bers follow? No convincing and objective explanation is given by Indian
sociologists, and yet they treat dalits as part and parcel of the Hindu social
order. Is the inclusion of dalits in the Hindu social order only an academic
or political exercise, or there is any sociological explanation for this?

Sociological Literature and Dalit Identity

Indian sociology is more than a century old, but even today Indian
sociologists have not been able to evolve a politically correct language to
describe the dalits. Along with other social scientists, they use the same
stigmatised identities like ‘lower castes’, ‘exterior castes’, ‘untouchables’,
‘Harijans’, etc. for dalits. Against this, they use a refined language for the
castes located higher in the caste hierarchy: ‘upper castes’, ‘twice-born’,
etc. The language used is partisan, and it stigmatises dalits. When ques-
tioned, Indian sociologists have argued that they do it for objectivity.
The objective reality, however, is different and dalits have been addressed
by different nomenclatures at the grassroots: Chandalas, Hinajatians,
Avarnas, Asprashya, Antyajas, Achhuts, Pariahs, Namsudras, Panchamas
(the fifth class or category), etc. These social identities had stigma, seg-
regation and contempt writ large. Had Indian sociologists been objec-
tive they should have used these terms in referring to dalits.
Another objective reality about the nomenclature of dalits is that
they were also known by their traditional nomenclatures in the local
regions: Chamar, Pasi, Dhobi, Chakkliyar, etc. However, Indian sociol-
ogists do not use the exact name of the dalit castes. Instead, for their
convenience, they have propagated a generalised and common identity
of dalits in the discipline. In this regard, Indian sociologists have also
SITUATING DALITS IN INDIAN SOCIOLOGY 11

not revealed the fact that dalits have been uncomfortable with these
identities. With the gradual awakening for self-respect among them,
dalits have intensified their hatred against these names, and conse-
quently they protested for a change in their caste names. To assert their
aboriginal lineage they adopted the appellations of Adi-Hindu, Adi-
Dravida, Adi-Andhra, Adi-Karnataka, etc. towards the close of the nine-
teenth century and in the beginning of the twentieth century.
Indian sociologists failed to record efforts of various actors to give
different nomenclature. For instance, the term ‘depressed classes’ was
used for these castes either by the missionaries or the social reformers.
The term found its way in the Government officialese sometimes in the
nineteenth century, but it gained currency in official usage only towards
the beginning of the second decade of the twentieth century (Gupta
1985: 7–8). However, the identity of the depressed classes or the
untouchables as a depressed class could not last long. The untouchables
or depressed classes led by B.R. Ambedkar, Babu Khem Chand,
M.C. Rajah and R. Srinivasan asserted that the term ‘depressed classes’
should be categorically defined, as a few other non-dvija caste Hindus
were also being identified under that nomenclature. Later, Ambedkar
refuted this identity for the untouchables and urged, ‘We would like to
point out that the existing nomenclature of Depressed Classes is objected
to by members of the Depressed Classes who have given thought to it
and also by the outsider who take interest in them. It is degrading and
contemptuous’ (Ibid.: 26). Ambedkar suggested five alternatives—the
‘non-caste Hindus’, the ‘Protestant Hindus’, the ‘non-conformist
Hindus’, the ‘Excluded Castes,’ and the ‘Exterior Castes’—to be consid-
ered for the selection of a better denomination for the untouchable
communities (Ibid.).
Another identity of dalits, in the beginning of the 1930s, which is
still commonly used to identify the untouchable castes, was ‘Harijan’. It
is a general misconception that the term ‘Harijan’ was coined by
Mahatma Gandhi. In fact, it was originally used by Narsinha Mehta, a
Gujarati poet-saint of the Bhakti tradition in the medieval period (Ibid.:
30). Gandhi himself clarified this in one of the issues of the weekly
Harijan. He argued that,

It is not a name of my coining. Some years ago, several untouchable corre-

spondents complained that I used the word ‘Asprishya’ in the pages of
Navjivan. ‘Asprishya’ means literally untouchable. I then invited them to
12 Vivek Kumar

suggest a better name, and one of the ‘untouchable’ correspondents suggested

the adoption of the name ‘Harijan’, on the strength of its having been used by
the first known poet-saint of Gujarat (Harijan, 7 February 1933: 7).

The members of the untouchable castes, especially the educated and

politically conscious ones, did not accept the identity of ‘Harijan’. They
wondered how this nomenclature could solve their real problems. Till
date, the term is hated and despised by dalits. Owen M. Lynch has
stated that ‘Literally the word means “child of god” but figuratively its
connotations are quite different. My Jatav informants showed dislike—at
times an intense dislike—for the word. They felt, it connoted the idea of
being a bastard and also brought to mind patronising upper-caste benev-
olence’ (1974: 128).
The then government carved a new identity—the ‘Scheduled Castes’—
for the untouchable castes as these were put in a Schedule for the pur-
pose of providing them constitutional safeguards under the new
Constitution of the British Government in India (1937). Although this
term has been used as a nomenclature in the present Constitution of
India, it is not explicitly defined. Apparently, the members of the erst-
while untouchable castes have not had much problem with their given
identity of ‘Scheduled Castes’. However, in the 1970s, a new identity,
namely, dalit was asserted by them. In the mid-1970s, again, the dalit
leaders coined a new identity in the name of ‘Bahujan’ with the emer-
gence of Backward and Minorities Communities Employees’ Federation
(BAMCEF). Thus, there has been a long movement by the dalits for a
dignified identity; yet, Indian sociologists have only used the stigma-
tised social identities for referring to dalits. Is it a case of value neutral-
ity or bias? While the world over there has been a movement to
consciously use politically correct terminology to describe the erst-
while-stigmatised collectivities—Negroes are now called as blacks; pros-
titutes, referred as to sex workers; the handicapped, as physically
challenged, the aged, as senior citizens—Indian sociology is still stuck
with the stigmatised identities for dalits. It is well known that the con-
struction of terminology depicts the attitude of the people towards the
stigmatised collectivities. A positive identity or value-neutral identity in
place of a negative identity helps to relate to people with stigmatised
collectivity on a more cordial plain. Hence, there is need to carve out a
neutral term for the dalits.
SITUATING DALITS IN INDIAN SOCIOLOGY 13

Dearth of Sociological Literature on the

Social Exclusion of Dalits

As far as the issue of social exclusion of dalits is concerned, Indian

sociologists have touched it only in a descriptive manner. Excepting a
few (for example, Oommen 2001), they have tried to define broadly
how dalits have been categorised or, at the most, what occupation they
perform, etc. (see, for example, Ghurey 1979: 306–36). The sociological
literature is silent on the number of movements launched by dalits for
their independent status from the Hindu social order. Adi-Hindu, Adi-
Dravida, Adi-Andhra, Adi-Karnataka, Ad-Dharm movements come
under this category. The sociological literature does not discuss the reli-
gious conversion of dalits to Islam and Sikhism in the medieval period
and to Christianity in the modern period. The lack of literature on this
theme hides the reality and the causes of conversion of the dalits, on the
one hand, and the intensity of exploitation of dalits at the hands of the
caste Hindus, on the other.
It is well known that dalits have their own vibrant culture and liter-
ature. They have their own folk songs, and dance and art forms. But all
this has been blacked out by the caste-Hindu media, intelligentsia and
academia. Oommen is eloquent on this:

There has been a cognitive blackout in Indian social science, until recently, as
far as knowledge regarding the life-world of dalitbahujans. The fact the life-
styles of upper castes and dalitbahujans vary dramatically in terms of food
habits, worship patterns or gender relations is tacitly acknowledged. But,
instead of squarely recognising these variations and explaining why they exist,
the dominant tendency in Indian sociology, at least until recently, has been to
suggest that the dalitbahujans are abandoning their way of life in favour of the
lifestyles of caste Hindus. This is what sanskritisation is all about. In this per-
spective, not only the norms and values of caste Hindus are privileged, but
they are also christened as norm-setters and value-givers for the society as a
whole. Conversely, the norms and values of dalitbahujans are knocked out,
ignored, stigmatised and delegitimised (2001: 21).

Gauri Viswanathan writes,

The privileging of Gandhi as an emblem of non-partisan feeling has, as its

inverse, the demonisation of Ambedkar as a purveyor of sectarian politics. The
view that ‘the national hagiography in India has rarely conceded a space for
14 Vivek Kumar

Ambedkar alongside Gandhi’ is borne out by amazing excision of Ambedkar

from several well-known literary works about untouchability (2001: 220).

Similarly, the role played by dalits in the freedom movement is also

blacked out. Ranjit Guha notes,

The historiography of Indian nationalism has for a long time been dominated
by elitism—colonialist elitism and bourgeois nationalist elitism . . . . Both
these varieties of elitism share the prejudice that the making of the Indian
nation and the development of the consciousness—nationalism—which
informed this process were exclusively elite achievement (1982: 1).

Furthermore, many studies conducted by Indian sociologists in

the post-Independence period have tried to investigate whether con-
stitutional measures have served to reduce the social disabilities and
social discrimination of dalits or not (see Béteille 1969; Abbasayulu
1978; Malik 1979). There has not been any quantitative or qualitative
analysis of the processes of exclusion and deprivation of dalits in
Indian society, in general, and Hindu social order, in particular. They
have failed to record the impact of social, economic and political
exploitation on the dalit communities. How has it resulted in loss of
cultural capital and, hence, the subjugation of dalits generation after
generation? Similarly, the mainstream sociologists have failed to eval-
uate the exclusion of dalits from the modern institutions of democracy
such as legislatures, bureaucracy, judiciary, media, etc. It has been
accepted by many sociologists that these institutions have deep
anchoring in the traditional social structure of Indian society, that is,
the caste system (Singh 1994: 129–58). Yet sociologists have failed to
accept that these institutions, which were supposed to function on the
universalistic principles, are influenced by particularistic values of
caste. The monopolisation of institutions of governance by the caste
Hindus and the marginalisation of dalits from these institutions is
testimony to the fact that there is discrimination against dalits in these
institutions. Otherwise, dalits would not have been substantially
under-represented in the higher echelons of the institution of gover-
nance. None of this has caught the imagination of the mainstream
Indian sociologists. Similarly, the evaluation of the role of caste in the
modern market and media has not attracted the attention of main-
stream sociologists.
SITUATING DALITS IN INDIAN SOCIOLOGY 15

Ridicule as a Form of Exclusion

Indian sociologists have not been able to note the established dictums
and sayings for ridiculing dalits. These ridicules emanate from religious
texts and also from the psyche of the common masses. For Instance,
look at Ramcahritmans, one of the most cherished and widely read
sacred texts of Hindus. In it, Acharya Tulsidas writes:

Shudra, ganvar, dhor, pashu, nari

Yah sab taran ke adhikari.
(Shudras, villagers, ill-mannered, animals, women
All of them need a beating.)
Pujahun Vipra sheell gun gyan hina,
Shudra na gun gyan param praveena.
(A Brahmin is worship-able even though he is devoid of all qualities,
A Shudra is not, even though he possesses all the qualities).

It should be noted here that, though these couplets referred to Shudras,

who were part of the varna hierarchy, in contemporary society these are
used for dalits.
There are other sayings ridiculing dalits which have become a part
of the common parlance. Let us take the case of dalit women:

Bitiya Chamar ki, nam Rajraniya!

(Daughter of Chamar with the name of Rajrani [chief queen]!)

The hidden meaning of this saying is that a Chamar cannot even name
his daughter sophisticatedly. So stigmatic is the meaning of this saying
that it is often used by the caste Hindus to ridicule their own girls who
behave a bit extrovertly. Similarly,

Chappal par Chamain chale, sandal par Dhobiniya,

Hai mor Rama badal gail duniya
(The Chamarin [the Chamar woman] walks in slippers;
the Dhobinya [the washerwoman] in sandals,
Oh my Rama! The world has changed.)

This means that the dalit women should not wear even slippers, because
traditionally she was not allowed to do so, and, if she has started doing
so, the times have changed.
16 Vivek Kumar

Kya chori Cahmari karte ho?

(Do you practise theft and Chamari?)
Humko chor Chmar mat samajho!
(Do not mistake me for thief or Chamar!)

In both these cases, the meaning of ‘theft’ and ‘thief ’ is clear, but how
can we explain the meaning of Chamari and Chamar. It can only be said
that these terms have a latent meaning. These are caste names which are
self-explanatory because of the stigma and contempt attached to them.
The terms have specific meaning for their users in a particular geograph-
ical locale. The aforesaid example is from northern India; I am sure,
however, that each geographical territory has its own caste names for the
dalit communities and sayings based on them. Today, these caste names
have become terms of abuse themselves, and are frequently used by the
caste Hindus even to ridicule their own caste fellows. The general ridi-
cule can go to any length, for example, in one saying the Chamar has
been compared with jackal:

Chamar siyar bade hoshsiyar,

Jahan loot pare wahan toot pare;
Jahan mar pare wahan bhag pare.
(Chamar and jackal are very clever.
Where there is loot, they pounce there;
Where there is beating, they run away.)

Similarly, dalits have been identified with the ‘black’ and Brahmins with
‘white’. That is, if a Chamar has fair skin, and a Brahman, dark skin,
their origin is doubtful and they cannot be trusted:

Kariya Bahmin gor Chamar

Inke sanghe na utre par.
(A dark Brahmin and a fair Chamar cannot be trusted.)

European and American sociologists have tried to lay their hand on

these issues. However, their studies have not been accepted as objective.
Yogendra Singh writes,

The ideology in the interpretation of Indian society and its institutions by the
colonial scholars can be seen in the way they defined these institutions and in
the methods they employed to study them. . . . The contribution [they] made
[were] not entirely free from conscious or unconscious partiality in the por-
trayal of social reality (1986: 3).
SITUATING DALITS IN INDIAN SOCIOLOGY 17

Similarly, the studies on the said issues by the sociologists hailing from
dalit background have also been termed as too vindictive.

Lack of Recognition for Dalit Labour

It is difficult to understand why Indian sociologists have failed to analyse

and record the contributions made by dalits. Though suppressed and
exploited, dalits have played a constructive role in the smooth running
of Indian society, economy and polity. The contribution made by the
dalit woman as a midwife in helping millions of women to deliver their
children has never been evaluated, neither as a moral contribution to the
humanity nor as a part of the indigenous knowledge system. Similarly,
the mainstream sociologists have never registered the contribution of the
gravedigger or Dom who helps light the funeral pyre, or that of dalit
men who work as landless labourers in fields and in industries. Not only
was their labour blacked out, but also the technology and aesthetics
involved in their labour was not registered. For instance, is their any
technique to skin the dead animal and then carve out smooth and shin-
ing leather to prepare a pair of shoes, or it happens without it? Lest it be
misunderstood, I am not here trying to eulogise or patronise the stigma-
tised and hazardous occupations performed by the dalits. On the con-
trary, my attempt here is only to record the contributions of dalits in
their different roles. The absence of recognition of the contributions
made by dalits for the development of Indian society has a direct bearing
on their stigmatisation: they are projected as dirty, drunkard, devoid of
any merit, beasts of burden, not to be trusted, and so on.

Can Dalit Literature Rescue?

When there is total absence of facts and figures regarding dalits in the
sociological literature, how can we compensate the loss? Can we take
the help of dalit literature? Dalit literature includes every style of writ-
ing by the dalits—the creative literature, the political and ideological
writings, etc. From the couplet of Rai Das (or Ravi Das), fifteenth
century saint-poet, and nineteenth century Adi-Hindu and Adi-
Dravida leaders, foreign and English-educated Ambedkar to contem-
porary semi-literate and literate vernacular language dalit writers,
dalits are expressing themselves in every style: poetry, prose, plays,
18 Vivek Kumar

autobiographies, novels, political and ideological writings, and even in

the form of institutional research material. These writings are socio-
logical in the sense that they have emerged out of existential and expe-
riential realities of dalits. Moreover, it has its own historicity, continuity
and dynamism and, therefore, it has been changing its nature and
scope with the changes in the socio-political conditions in the country
and of dalits.
Specifically, the literary writings in the contemporary Dalit litera-
ture emerged in Maharashtra in the 1960s under the influence of
Ambedkar’s social and political philosophy (Wankhade 1992: 315). So
powerful has been the tradition of dalit literature that it has assumed the
shape of an all-India movement. This movement is carried forward by
small weekly, fortnightly, monthly, or annual journals, and magazines,
and the newspapers published in different languages. Moreover, a rich
oral tradition of this literature can be heard at different conferences and
street meetings specially organised to mark the birth/death anniversaries
of dalit social reformers and saint-poets. As dalit writings have emerged
from the sufferings and exclusion faced by dalits in different regions of
the country and demand liberation from the same, there is a sense of
unity and purpose in them. A significant issue that has been raised by
the dalit literature is regarding the social exclusion of dalits in the eco-
nomic, political and social fields. It has also raised the issue of qualitative
and quantitative impact of the deprivation and exclusion on dalits and
the contribution made by dalits to the smooth running of Indian soci-
ety, polity and economy.
Thomas Khun (1970) has argued that revolution in scientific knowl-
edge comes about not through the accumulation of data alone, but
through a change in the paradigm when the framework of explanation is
altered or a new set of questions is posed. In this context, we can locate
dalit writers as changing the paradigm and raising new hypothesis about
their existential and experiential realties in their writings. This has two
implications for sociology in India. First, there has emerged a conflict
between the perception of dalit writers and the mainstream Indian sociol-
ogists on a number of conceptual categories. The dalit writers have been
rejecting the explanations given by the mainstream Indian sociologists
about the permanent structures of Indian society such as caste, village,
etc. (Ambedkar 1979 and 1989: 19–26).
Second, the dalit literature is arguing that the western concepts
which have been used by the mainstream Indian sociologists are not
SITUATING DALITS IN INDIAN SOCIOLOGY 19

appropriate or adequate to analyse the collectivity ‘dalits’. For instance,

the class concept has been used to study the poverty of the people in
general, and dalits in particular. The concept of class is related to the
economic status of individuals. But it is difficult to compare the social
status of a poor Brahmin and a poor dalit. It can be easily argued that
the poor of the upper castes and the so-called lower castes are not the
same. The causes of poverty of dalits and of the upper castes are dif-
ferent, as are their relationship with other groups. For, a penury-
stricken Brahmin begs and blesses the donor. On the contrary, a
cobbler who polishes shoes with his labour is treated with contempt,
and usually people throw money at him. Likewise, the richest indus-
trialist goes and bows at the feet of a Brahmin of Kashi or Haridwar.
On the other hand, the Rajput or Kshtriya landowner will never
plough his land, even though he is economically broke, or else he will
loose his caste. Yes, now with the advent of tractors, things have
become different, but how many Kshatriyas can afford to have trac-
tors. Similarly, the concept of sanskritisation has also been rejected as
a process of imitation of the caste Hindus. Dalits argue that there is
nothing to imitate in the caste Hindus; after all, every body wants to
lead a hygienic life, and leading a hygienic life cannot be anybody’s
imitation. On the contrary, dalits have been asserting their identity
and arguing, ‘they are proud to be dalits’.
Therefore, today, the dalit literature can be used by sociologists to
understand the dalit society and culture. Select readings from this grow-
ing body of literature could be introduced in sociology curriculum.
However, mere introduction of the literature will not suffice; it must be
ensured that these readings are taught by the teachers and that questions
are also asked in examination. Students should also be encouraged to take
up research on topics related to dalits. Researches from the locale where
dalits live will contribute in the development of authentic literature about
dalits. Last, but not the least, a separate branch of sociology—‘sociology of
dalits’—should be introduced in different universities and institutions of
higher learning.

The Human Distress Index for Dalits

It can be safely argued that because of neglect by Indian sociologists of

the above-discussed issues of dalits, they have failed to evolve a strategy
to measure the social exclusion of dalits in Indian society. Therefore, it is
20 Vivek Kumar

pertinent to evolve a comprehensive concept which can measure the

social exclusion of dalits. It is in this context we have tried to evolve a
‘Human Distress Index’ (HDI) which can include a number of struc-
tural and cultural elements of the lives of dalits. For instance, we can
include the atrocities committed on dalits by the caste Hindus, because
their effects are qualitatively different from the general types of atrocities
suffered by others. There are many types and causes of atrocities on
dalits. They include murder, rape of dalit women, arson, taunts, ridicule,
forced labour, etc., and their basis can range from refusal of forced labour
by dalits to the assertion of their legitimate rights by them. In fact, denial
to work by dalits on the whims and fancies of caste Hindus is the root
cause of most of the atrocities on dalits. This obliquely emphasises the
contribution made by dalit labour in running the Indian economy.
Similarly, in this context, one can also evaluate the atrocities com-
mitted on dalits in the form of rape of their women by the caste-Hindu
men. Rape is a heinous crime against any women, but rape of dalit
women is qualitatively different. It cannot be treated just a sexual viola-
tion of a woman. Since time immemorial, the caste atrocities on dalits
by the caste Hindus are often directed via dalit women. In a normal
struggle with the dalits, the castes located higher up in the hierarchy try
to teach a lesson to the dalits by assaulting their women. Thereby, the
whole community is terrorised. The process of assault on dalit women
assumes the nature of caste atrocity because had it been just a rape the
victims would have been left alone. But it has been reported in many
cases that the upper-caste men deliberately desecrate the private parts of
dalit women to settle their score with their male counterparts. Therefore,
the point which I am trying to make here is that the atrocities on dalits
have social structural basis of caste prejudice.
We can also include in HDI the hazardous and unhygienic occupa-
tions performed by them on the basis of their severity. The cleaning of
human excreta and carrying it on head is most hazardous and unhygienic
of all occupations. The third aspect of HDI will be the practice of untouch-
ability, which includes the interactional pattern of dalits with the caste
Hindus. The fourth and the fifth items of HDI are economic and political
exclusions. Hence, atrocities, hazardous and unhygienic occupation, prac-
tice of untouchability, and economic and political exclusions form the
hierarchy of social exclusion to be included in HDI (see Appendix I). This
hierarchy is constructed keeping the significance of self-respect and life as
the basis of the life of dalits. That is why the rape of dalit women has been
SITUATING DALITS IN INDIAN SOCIOLOGY 21

given the highest value. Along with these, we have to include the role
played by religion in providing legitimacy to the social exclusion of dalits
and the role of internal oppressor of dalits. With the help of HDI we can
measure the social exclusion of dalits effectively.

Appendix I: Human Distress Index

Nature of Exclusion Value

A. Social Exclusion
1. Atrocities
a) Rape 10
b) Murder 4
c) Grievous hurt 2
d) Arson/loot 2
e) Ridicule 2
2. Practice of untouchability
a) Acceptance of food 2
b) Acceptance of water 2
c) Sitting beside/together 2
d) Entry into house 2
e) Entry into kitchen
3. Hazardous occupations
a) Cleaning human excreta 5
b) Removing carcasses 3
c) Removing Corpuses/Digging 2
of graveyard
d) Midwifery role of dalit women 2
e) Butchery/piggery 2
f) Cleaning of soiled clothes 1
B. Economic exclusion 5
C. Political exclusion 5
D. Religious legitimisation of exclusion 10
E. Internal oppressor in the caste 5
22 Vivek Kumar

References
Abbasayulu, Y.B. 1978. Scheduled caste elite. Hyderabad: Booklinks.
Ambedkar, B.R. 1979. Annihilation of caste, in Dr Babasaheb Ambedkar writings and speeches
(Vol. 1) (23–96). Bombay: Education Department, Government of Maharashtra.
———. 1989. Untouchables or the children of India’s ghetto, in Dr Babasaheb Ambedkar writ-
ings and speeches (Vol. 5) (1–27). Bombay: Education Department, Government of
Maharashtra.
Béteille, André. 1969. Caste: Old and new. Bombay: Asia Publishing House.
Dumont, Louis. 1999. Homo hierarchicus: The caste system and its implications. New Delhi:
Oxford University Press.
Ghurey, G.S. 1979. Caste and race in India. Bombay: Popular Prakashan.
Guha, Ranjit. 1982. ‘On some aspects of the historiography of colonial India’, in Ranjit
Guha (ed.): Subaltern studies—I: Writings on South Asian history and society (1–8).
New Delhi: Oxford University Press.
Gupta, S. K. 1985. The scheduled castes in modern Indian politics: Their emergence as a
political power. New Delhi: Munshiram Manoharlal.
Kakar, Sudhir. 1982. ‘Setting the stage: The traditional Hindu view and the psychology of
Erik H. Erikson’, in Sudhir Kakar (ed.): Identity and adulthood (1–12). New Delhi:
Oxford University Press.
Khun, Thomas. 1970. The structure of scientific revolution. Chicago: University of Chicago
Press.
Lynch, Owen M. 1974. The politics of untouchability. Delhi: National Publishing House.
Madanipour, A. 1998. ‘Social exclusion and space’, in A. Madanipour, G. Cars, and J. Allen
(eds.): Social exclusion in European cities. London: Jessica Kingsley.
Malik, Suncila. 1979. Social integration of scheduled castes. New Delhi: Abhinav Publication.
Mathur, K.S. 1991. ‘Hindu values of life: Karma and dharma’, in T.N. Madan (ed.): Religion
in India (63–77). New Delhi: Oxford University Press.
Murugkar, Lata. 1991. Dalit Panthers movement in Maharashtra: A sociological appraisal.
Bombay: Popular Prakashan.
Nehru, Jawaharlal. 1989. Jawaharlal Nehru: Letters to chief ministers (Vol. 5). New Delhi:
Oxford University Press.
Oommen, T. K. 1990. Protest and change: Studies in social movements. New Delhi: Sage
Publications.
———. 2001. ‘Understanding the Indian society: The relevance of perspective from below’
(Occasional paper series—4). Pune: Department of Sociology, University of Pune.
Singh, Yogendra. 1986. Indian sociology: Social conditioning and emerging concerns.
New Delhi: Vistaar Publications.
———. 1994. Modernization of Indian tradition. New Delhi: Rawat Publications.
Srinivas, M.N. 1985. Caste in modern India and other essays. Bombay: Media Promoters and
Publishers.
Vishwanathan, Gauri. 2001. Outside the fold: Conversion, modernity, and belief. New Delhi:
Oxford University Press.
Wankhade, M.N. 1992. ‘Friends, the day of irresponsible writers is over’, in Arjun Dangle
(ed.): Poisoned bread (translated from the modern Marathi dalit literature) (314–23).
New Delhi: Orient Longman.
2
Scheduled Castes, Scheduled
Tribes, and the Nation:
Situating G. S. Ghurye
T.K. Oommen

G
ovind Sadashiv Ghurye (1893–1983) is arguably the most
prolific Indian anthropo-sociologist1 and also probably the
most written about scholar in this field. There are at least two
known PhD theses on Ghurye’s work, one of which resulted in the pub-
lication of a book (Pramanick 2001) and the other leading to the publi-
cation of a few research papers (Venugopal 1986, 1993, 1996). Further,
there are three well-known felicitation volumes published to honour
Ghurye: a volume was brought out on his sixtieth birthday (Kapadia
1954), another volume was presented to him on his eightieth birthday
(Pillai 1976), and a centennial festschrift was also published (Momin
1996) after his death.
Ghurye’s scholarship is encyclopaedic straddling caste and race,
family and kinship, religion and nation, civilisations and communities,
Rajput architecture and human sexuality; indeed, he was an academic
amphibian who was at ease in many worlds of scholarship. Most of his
colleagues and contemporaries, students, and admirers have articulated
their views and commentaries on Ghurye’s analysis of castes and tribes,
two seminal themes which were his lifelong passion. However, I suggest
that the Scheduled Castes were subjected to cognitive blackout and the
Scheduled Tribes were victims of cognitive dissonance in Ghurye’s
24 T.K. Oommen

writings. And, none of his commentators had taken note of this, which
provides the justification for the theme of my lecture. Further, in relent-
lessly advocating their assimilation/integration into the Indian ‘nation’,
Ghurye held a notion of nation that is utterly West European. This
contradicts the famous pronouncement of D.P. Mukerji (1954), that
Ghurye was the only ‘Indian Sociologist’ of his time, while others were
merely ‘sociologists of India’.

Ghurye’s first book, published in 1932, titled Caste and Race in India2 is
also his most celebrated book, which has been revised and updated sev-
eral times. Its fifth edition was published in 1969 and re-printed in
1979, the edition to which I am referring to in this lecture. The book
has one chapter titled ‘The Scheduled Castes’ that has exactly 30 pages
(pp. 306–36) out of the total text of 476 pages. While Indian caste
system is the most widely commented upon social phenomenon, the
practice of untouchability to which Scheduled Castes were subjected to
was and continues to be the most abominable in human history, sham-
ing even slavery and racism partly because it was sanctioned and legiti-
mised by a set of religious doctrines. The moment such a statement is
made, efforts to dissociate caste system and by implication untouchabil-
ity from Hinduism, invoking the distinction between Smritis and
Shrutis, claiming that the latter opposed the caste system, are in vogue.
It is also argued that in the event of a contradiction between the two,
Shruti shall prevail over Smriti (see, for example, Nadkarni 2003). The
point at issue here is not one of correctness of doctrines, whether they
exist in Smriti or Shruti, but one of practices in the life-world. The lived
reality in Indian society is that untouchability is practised even today,
particularly in rural areas, and people who practise it and who are its
victims believe that Hinduism and untouchability are inextricably
intertwined.
The term Scheduled Caste is an administrative coinage and terms
such as Chandala, exterior caste, Harijan, Dalit, etc. have been in cur-
rency, each of which had a different origin.3 The Scheduled Castes form,
‘. . . the fifth order in the four-fold society of Hindu theory of caste’,
according to Ghurye (1979: 307). He admits that ‘Ideas of purity,
whether occupational or ceremonial, which are found to have been a
SCHEDULED CASTES, SCHEDULED TRIBES, AND THE NATION 25

factor in the genesis of caste, are at the very soul of the idea and practice
of untouchability’ (ibid.: 307).4 And, ‘. . . the breed of the Chandala is a
degraded one and is ranked with that of dog and the pig’ (ibid.: 309).
The concern here is that the Hindu doctrine of creation refers only to
four Varnas and, if so, how does one account for the Panchamas, those
of the fifth order?
According to ancient Hindu texts, the Chandalas are the progeny of
the most hated of the reverse order of the mixed unions, that of the
Brahmin female and a Shudra male (ibid.). But, according to Ghurye,
‘. . . the more plausible explanation would be that the Chandalas were a
degraded group of aborigines’ (ibid.: 52). Be that as it may, there were
other groups such as Svapachas and Mritapas like Chandalas ‘. . . who
had to live outside the limits of Arya villages and towns’ (ibid: 312). A
number of questions need to be asked and answered if one were to
endorse this textual explanation of the origin of untouchables. One,
how did the differentiation between the different types of untouch-
ables—Chandalas, Mritapas, Svapachas, etc.—came about? Is it based
on the differences in the status of their Shudra/aboriginal fathers? Two,
is it that the Brahmin women had so much freedom those days to have
illegitimate sexual relations with Shudra men? Three, if they did, was it
that it was so well known to the community so as to sift out the progeny
based on paternity assuming that the Brahmin female had their legiti-
mate Brahmin husbands? Four, if the answer to the above question is in
the affirmative, what was the mechanism through which the children of
Brahmin females through legitimate and illegitimate unions were sepa-
rated and grouped together so as to form different castes? Five, why was
that the deviant Shudra males in question were not done away with
given the then prevailing hegemony of Brahmins? Six, was it not the
practice to ostracise the deviant Brahmin females from the family and
community? Unfortunately, Ghurye did not pose any of these ques-
tions, let alone answering them.
These and several other questions can be answered only if one gets a
field-view of the phenomenon under investigation. There is no evidence of
Ghurye having done fieldwork to understand the phenomenon of
untouchability. This is not to argue that the text-view is irrelevant, the reli-
gious texts sanctioned and legitimised the practice of untouchability ensur-
ing its persistence till this day. The texts prescribe norms and values, but
only the field study unfolds human behaviour: the former prescribes ‘the
26 T.K. Oommen

ought’ and the latter unfolds ‘the is’. And the rupture between ‘the ought’
and ‘the is’ needs to be understood. That is why, the dictum give unto the
text that which is the text’s and to the field that which is the field’s becomes
crucial, as I have argued quarter of a century ago (Oommen 1983).
Ghurye refers to Namashudras of West Bengal, an untouchable
caste who counted 320,000 according to the 1951 Census. They have
experienced occupational change and a considerable number of them
now follow the various learned professions. Yet their social position as a
caste continues to be very low (Ghurye 1979: 317). This indicates the
bidimensional status system in Indian society: ritual and secular. Thus,
an ‘untouchable’ may achieve high status in the secular status system,
but would retain his low status in the ritual status system. The incongru-
ence between these two status systems is of crucial importance to under-
stand the limited possibility of upward social mobility the Scheduled
Castes can achieve in the caste hierarchy. And, Ghurye’s silence in this
context is, indeed, disappointing.
Ghurye divided untouchables into two: ‘pure’ and ‘impure’. The
untouchables become pure through abjuring ‘beef and such other anath-
ematic diet’ (ibid.: 322). This is precisely what M.N. Srinivas christened
as Sanskritisation (1956). However, Sanskritisation was scarcely func-
tional for achieving higher ritual status for the untouchables (see
Oommen 2008: 70–75). Further, Ghurye admitted ‘. . . that the legisla-
tive measures against untouchability can at best produce a few dents
in the solid wall, whose demolition requires the operation of an active
sentiment of the people at large’ (1979: 330), and he provides several
examples of resistance against the changes attempted to eradicate
untouchability. Ghurye concluded: ‘While these gruesome events reveal
the persistence of the occasional but darkest feature of the situation of
the Scheduled Castes, daily and routine life of the village registers fair
amount of segregation and contemptuous treatment offered by the
people at large’ (ibid.: 335). Given this conclusion, Ghurye’s advocacy
of assimilation of untouchables into Hindu society seems to be a wild
goose chase.
Apart from the chapter titled the ‘Scheduled Castes’ in Caste and
Race in India, there is an article titled ‘Untouchable Classes and their
Assimilation in Hindu Society’ published in the journal The Aryan Path
in 1933 (see Ghurye 1973: 316–23). The reproduction of this article
in  the 1973 book probably points to Ghurye’s firm conviction that
SCHEDULED CASTES, SCHEDULED TRIBES, AND THE NATION 27

assimilation of untouchables into Hindu society is a feasible proposition.

Ghurye wrote:

According to the orthodox theory of Hindu social organization these classes

form the fifth and the outcaste section. They are given the appellation of
untouchables because they are believed to impart pollution to members of
higher sections if they touch them. But in the orthodox theory on the subject
this characteristic of imparting pollution by touch belongs really to the fourth
section of Hindu society. The fifth section that is now called untouchable is
supposed, both in theory and practice to pollute members of the other sec-
tions even if they stand at a certain distance. Thus, it will be realized that the
so called untouchables are, in practice, really unapproachables. It is this unap-
proachability that creates the main difficulties in the path of their assimilation
in the Hindu society (ibid.: 316–17).

It is clear that by ‘assimilation’ Ghurye meant transformation of the

status of ‘unapproachables’ who belongs to the fifth order to the status of
‘untouchables’ drawn from the fourth Varna! Ghurye endorsed the
‘inherent connection between the spirit of castes and untouchability’ and
admitted that ‘Removal of untouchability, therefore, intimately depends
on the disappearance of the spirit of caste’ (ibid.: 317). To achieve this,
Ghurye advocated four steps: one, removing individual’s disability that
hampers a better and cleaner living; two, enabling these classes to culti-
vate cleaner and moral mode of life; three, to encourage those of other
sections to have freer social intercourse with these people; and four,
‘undermine and eradicate the exclusive spirit of castes’ (ibid.: 319).
To achieve this truly revolutionary task, Ghurye advocates an admin-
istrative approach by setting up a central organisation with its provincial
and local committees to adjudicate disputes that arise between ritually
pure and impure castes. Additionally, providing modern technology and
adequate training to the untouchable classes is also an important step
prescribed by him. Finally, ensuring employment to these classes, partic-
ularly in offices situated in towns and villages will facilitate the process of
eradicating the practice of untouchability, according to him. In sum,
Ghurye advocated change of status in the secular dimension of untouch-
ables to assimilate them into the Hindu society. On the other hand, he
wanted to leave undisturbed the ritual dimension.5 Thus, he suggested:

We must try to see the various items in the campaign against untouchability
in their proper perspective and not exaggerate the importance of temple entry
28 T.K. Oommen

so as to divert our attention from the other items. Free access to Hindu
temples is only one of the rights and it is not the most important means for
assimilation of these classes in the Hindu society (ibid.: 320).

Ghurye wanted ‘to prepare the minds of populace at large to look

upon untouchability as both undesirable and impractical’ (ibid.: 321).
And to achieve this objective it is necessary to start an extensive propa-
ganda preaching against untouchability. But in the process ‘. . . we must
not be drawn into a controversy over the existence or non-existence of
the doctrine of untouchability in the Hindu Dharma Shashtras’ (ibid.).
It is clear that Ghurye wanted to ‘assimilate’ the untouchables into
Hindu society without disturbing the ritual status system seminal to it
and without interrogating the Hindu Dharma Shashtras, which provide
legitimacy to caste hierarchy. I have referred above to the bi-dimensional
nature of the status system in Hindu society and there is enough evi-
dence to show that, while the status of ex-untouchables has gone up in
the secular context, it does not lead to concomitant change in their
ritual status. This calls for the need to locate the core institutional order
in a society and the kernel of that institution.6 The dominant view when
Ghurye wrote this article in 1933 was that the caste system constituted
the core institutional order of Hindu society and ritual status was the
kernel of caste hierarchy. Therefore, the advocacy of assimilation of
untouchables into Hindu society leaving the ritual dimension of the
caste system intact was untenable.
I propose to conclude the discussion on Scheduled Castes by calling
attention to a possible strategy for social change. Given the bi-dimensional
nature of status system in Hindu society and because ritual status is its
kernel, two possible strategies can be invoked. One, start with the soft-
spot in the system: the soft-spot in the case of Hindu society is consti-
tuted by the secular dimension consisting of education, employment,
political representation, access to economic resources, and the like. In
contrast, measures such as temple entry, inter-caste marriages, etc. are
more change-resistant as they erode the ritual superiority of the higher
castes. And, therefore, a strategy for social change to eliminate untouch-
ability may start with the soft spots, namely, the secular dimension, but
ultimately the sanctity of ritual dimension should be questioned
(Oommen 1968). Alternatively, one may attack the Hindu Dharma
Shashtras so as to de-legitimise the caste system and the practice of
untouchability that it entails.7
SCHEDULED CASTES, SCHEDULED TRIBES, AND THE NATION 29

Ghurye, however, was not advocating either of these approaches

and, therefore, it is difficult to comprehend the process of assimilation
of untouchables into Hindu Society he had visualised. He even held:
‘Reserved representation is not necessary; it is harmful in so far as it
tends to perpetuate the distinction based on birth (1979: 290). This
observation is not simply curious but also amusing because the caste
system is all about perpetuating distinctions based on birth. And, reser-
vation is conceived as an instrument to unsettle it at least partially. His
main concern was that the policy of reservation will tear asunder Indian
society through inter-caste strife and it will unleash caste patriotism. It
seems that Ghurye preferred the coercive equilibrium institutionalised
through upper-caste hegemony rather than a consensual equilibrium
that will gradually evolve based on social justice and equality. Inevitably,
inter-caste conflict is a small price to be paid for the structural change of
the caste system.
Ghurye reposed great faith in the ‘noble’ constitution of India that
promised equality to all including the ex-untouchables. However, he
refused to recognise that, in order to put into practice this ontological
equality, the state had to provide for equality of opportunity, as it is a
shell without substance unless equality of conditions is created. The
instrument of reservation or protective discrimination is nothing but an
attempt to create this condition so that those who are placed in grossly
iniquitous conditions are enabled to compete with the traditionally
privileged. However, this is not to deny the possibility of inequality in
outcomes when the policy of reservation is implemented. To cope with
this problem it is necessary to take out the emerging creamy layer
among  the traditionally underprivileged, so that the benefits can
vertically flow to the less fortunate among them.
However, Ghurye’s hope that ‘certain exigencies of modern life will
force high caste Hindus to change their attitude and practice to some
extent’ (1979: 295) has not come true. And he asserted that ‘. . . social and
religious privileges and disabilities of caste are no longer recognised in law
and only partly in custom. Only the depressed classes are labouring under
certain customary and semi-legal disabilities’ (ibid.: 302). This sounds
rather unrealistic viewed in the context of the latest available empirical
evidence regarding the practice of untouchability (Shah et al 2006).
I have suggested that Ghurye’s analysis of Scheduled Castes is
characterised by cognitive black out and this for the following reasons.
30 T.K. Oommen

First, the limited space (barely 40 pages taking into account the chapter
on Scheduled Castes (Ghurye 1979) and the article in The Aryan Path,
together) devoted to the analysis of Scheduled Castes. Second, his con-
siderable reliance on ancient Hindu texts and not having done any field-
work among the untouchables to unfold their life-world. Third, the
excessive optimism he reposed in the forces of modernisation to weaken
the caste system and the practice of untouchability. Finally, his underes-
timating the strength of the ritual dimension and religious doctrines in
perpetuating the practice of untouchability.

II

The second category with which this lecture is concerned, namely, the
Scheduled Tribes, was the subject matter of Ghurye’s second book, pub-
lished in 1943, titled The Aborigines-so-Called and Their Future. The
book was enlarged and published in 1959 with the title The Scheduled
Tribes, and its third edition was published in 1963. Unlike caste, which
is widely acknowledged as a unique Indian social category, tribe is a
universal socio-cultural collectivity found in Africa, Australia, Asia, the
Americas, and Europe. Two basic features distinguish tribes from castes:
they have their definite territories (home lands) and languages. In con-
trast, several castes jointly share a common territory and a common
language. In India, linguistic regions have specific castes. Both castes
and tribes may share a common religion; the Scheduled Castes could be
Hindus, Buddhists, Muslims, or Christians. Similarly, the Scheduled
Tribes may abandon their original primal vision, usually designated as
animism/naturism, and embrace one of the ‘world religions’.
Just as Ghurye wanted the Scheduled Castes to be assimilated in
Hindu society, he wanted to integrate the Scheduled Tribes into the
Indian society and polity. In this context, he differentiated the encysted
tribes of Central India from the tribes of North-east India that belonged
those days to Assam; the first category was to be integrated through
Hinduisation, and the second to be politically incorporated through
strong administrative measures of the Indian state. The Aborigines-
so-Called deals with the encysted tribes, and the issues relating to the
tribes of North-east are discussed in the book The Burning Caldron of
North-East India, published in 1980.
SCHEDULED CASTES, SCHEDULED TRIBES, AND THE NATION 31

The Aborigines was written as a response to Vernier Elwin’s Loss of

Nerve published earlier in 1941. Elwin advocated insulation of tribes
from the Hindus surrounding them which eventually most anthropolo-
gists supported, although some had argued for gradual and mutual
acculturation of the Hindus and the tribes, as Majumdar already did
(1939). Elwin wanted to create National Parks for the tribes so that they
are protected from the depredations of Hindus.8 Contrarily, Ghurye
thought that the contact of tribes with Hindus will gradually enhance
the former’s status and earn respectability for them. Ghurye provides the
rationale which informs his position in the Preface to the second edition
of the book, titled The Scheduled Tribes, published in 1959:

Most of the contemporary nations are composite wholes formed of many

ethnic stocks which had their own separate cultures before the nation-making
epoch. . . . The process of assimilation of smaller groups of different cultures
into larger ones or less homogenous cultures has been steadily going on. . . .
This process of assimilation was upset with the appearance of the British on
the scene. It is the problem of these peoples (that is, tribes) which is the sub-
ject of this essay (xiii–xiv).

Ghurye is, by and large, correct in the above observation in that

most countries in the world followed this track. But there are two issues,
that of size and the social milieu of the ‘nations’ that he ignored. Of the
220 member states of the United Nations, 54 per cent have a population
of five million or less. In contrast, at the time Ghurye wrote the above
lines, India’s population was around 500 million. More importantly, the
cultural complexity of India’s population was much greater than any
country in the world, including the USA. While Indians lived mainly in
their original homelands, the US population was drawn from all over
the world. Above all, some of the tribes—Bhils, Gonds, Santals—
counted three to five million each.
In social anthropology, peasant society is conceived as a part-society,
part of a civilisation; tribes are autonomous and ‘Independent’ entities.
Ignoring this, the Indian Constitution envisaged Scheduled Castes,
which is part of the Hindu society, and Scheduled Tribes, who are inde-
pendent of it, as belonging to one category under the rubric of ‘Backward
Classes’. Unfortunately, Ghurye endorsed this in his eagerness to create
a composite ‘nation’ (see 1959: x–xi). As a sociologist who respected
empirical details, Ghurye should have recognised the difference between
32 T.K. Oommen

castes and tribes. The idea of core institutional order would have come
handy in this context also. As noted above, the core of Hindu society is
caste hierarchy, the kernel of which is ritual purity. This is not applicable
to tribal society; a common ancestral homeland and a shared language
are the specific features of tribal societies all over the world.9 Thus
viewed, the conventional rural-urban dichotomy is inapplicable to
India; rather a trichotomy of urban, rural, and tribal segments becomes
pertinent (Oommen 1967).
I suggest that the fatal flaw of Ghurye in this context should be
located in his endorsing the view held by British Indian Census
Commissioners (although he severely criticised them on many counts),
who held that animism and Hinduism are not very different (see Xaxa
2008: 76–77). Although this perspective favoured Ghurye’s enthusiasm
to integrate tribes into the Hindu-fold, given the colonisers’ proclivity
to stigmatise everything Indian, it could also be seen as an attempt to
demean Hindus and Hinduism. At any rate, the similarity between
Hinduism and animism was usually located in the context of religious
practices of lower-caste Hindus and tribal groups. Thus, this could be
seen as a triple-barrel gun: (i) keep the lower castes where they are within
Hinduism by clubbing them with tribes, (ii) attempt incorporation of
groups such as Scheduled Castes and Scheduled Tribes into the Hindu-
fold, and (iii) maintain the superiority of upper castes as upholders of
sophisticated Hinduism, conceding the hegemony of Brahmins as
norm-setters and value-givers. What I am suggesting is that, by deflect-
ing attention from the core features of tribal society—territorial concen-
tration and linguistic specificity—and latching on to religion as its core
dimension, Ghurye’s analysis of the tribal question in Central India suf-
fered from cognitive dissonance. For example, he noted that the Ranchi
district had 80 per cent tribal population, but only 53 per cent spoke
non-Aryan languages, and 280,000 were Christians (1963: 127). The
assumptions are (a) tribes cannot have Aryan languages as their mother
tongues, and (b) if they embrace Christianity, they cease to be tribes.
Both these are incorrect.
An important implication of invoking Hinduisation of tribes lead-
ing to the eclipse of their tribal identity needs to be noted here. If one
applies the same process to other territorially anchored linguistic com-
munities, the absurdity of the argument will become self-evident. Will
Maharashtrian Hindus cease to be Maharashtrians if they embrace
SCHEDULED CASTES, SCHEDULED TRIBES, AND THE NATION 33

Buddhism? Will Malayali Hindus cease to be Malayalis if they convert to

Christianity? Is it that Kashmiri Hindus ceased to be Kashmiris because
they adopted Islam as their religion? These questions can be extrapolated
and applied to tribes too. The Nagas of India are predominantly
Christians, but they still remain Nagas irrespective of the religious faith
they follow. Ignoring multiple identities shared by collectivities and
privileging a single identity, Ghurye and most Indian sociologists and
social anthropologists believed that Hinduisation of tribes would result
in a total transformation of their identity from tribes to Hindus! This
issue is now being raised by some scholars (see, for example, Xaxa 2008).
The other cognitive dissonance found in Ghurye’s analysis of
Scheduled Tribes relates to the antiquity of settlers in India. He asserted
science and history do not countenance the practice of calling these tribes
aborigines’ (1963: 13). But a few lines above he hypothesised: ‘If the
Rigveda Aryans came later than others, they made up for the lost time by
energizing the local people, creating a high culture and making India their
permanent home’ (ibid.: 13). That is, Aryans came to India,10 that they
did not come to an empty space, and that there were some pre-Aryan
inhabitants in India were conceded by Ghurye. But the belief that Aryans
created a high culture cannot erase the facts that the Aryans were immi-
grants who intruded into India and the Dasas and the tribes were the
original inhabitants of India. Ghurye argued: ‘To adjust the claims of the
different strata of Indian society on the ground of the antiquity or com-
parative modernity of their settlement in India is a frightfully difficult task
which if undertaken, will only let loose the forces of disunity’ (ibid.: 13).
This is not a tenable academic or scientific position, but rather an
explicitly political or activist one. I am not suggesting that an academic
should not take a political or an activist position, but arguing that the
activism of an academic should be buttressed by scientific analysis. The role
of an analyst is indeed to undertake frightfully difficult tasks and, based on
that analysis anchored to history and reason, persuade all concerned to
recognise the merit of his/her argument and strive for unity among and
welfare of people which is a political task. Instead, Ghurye took the short-
cut and left the task unattended because it was ‘frightful’. Although this
can bring temporary and superficial truce, as and when the wounded his-
tory unfolds itself, the emerging middle class from among the victimised
collectivties will rise in protest. This is precisely what is happening in the
tribal world of Central India through the agency of Naxalbari movement.
34 T.K. Oommen

And Ghurye did recognise the fact that ‘In all these areas the respective
tribes were no doubt the earlier settlers reclaiming the land from the jun-
gles. . . . There can be no room for doubt that a number of the so-called
aboriginal tribes had lost their land to the Hindus’ (1963: 24, 25). And yet,
he advocated Hinduisation of these tribes that could have only transformed
them into pauperised Hindus, and it is precisely what happened.11
Why is it that most Indian sociologists, including Ghurye, did not
apprehend the tribal issue in its proper perspective? I suggest that this is so
because they did not take cognisance of the distinction between different
varieties of colonialism. In his attempt to understand the dominant rela-
tionship of England vis-a-vis Ireland, Scotland, and Wales, Michael Hetcher
(1975) characterises the latter three as ‘Internal colonies’ within United
Kingdom. Homelands of tribes too could be conceptualised as internal col-
onies within India.12 Instead, the prevailing mood was (and this persists
obstinately to this day) to conceptualise tribes, particularly of Central India,
as ‘Backward Hindus’ who should be absorbed into Hindu society.
There is yet another, and perhaps more relevant, distinction in the
context of external colonialism; replicative and retreatist, which I have
made in another context (see Oommen 1991). In social-science writings
retreatist colonialism is widely recognised. Thus, European colonisers
retreated from Asia and Africa after having ruled for a couple of centuries
or so. But in the case of the New World—Americas and Australia—the
Europeans settled down and replicated their societies and marginalised
the natives (aborigines) through genocide and culturocide.13 When the
Aryans arrived in India, the Dravidians and aborigines were the occu-
pants of the then Indian territory. The Dravidians were forced to go to
South India and they carved out a separate space, but the aborigines
receded to the hilly tracts, and through their ‘superior cultures’, to which
Ghurye alluded, Aryans have subjected the tribes to culturocide. Since
the phenomenon occurred in the hoary past and as the notion of colo-
nialism was absent in human cognition those days, nobody referred to
the Aryan advent as colonialism. However, viewed in the context of
what had happened in the Americas and Australia, one can legitimately
refer to what the Aryans did as replicative colonialism. Thus, the Indian
tribes were subjected to replicative colonialism in Ancient India and to
retreatist colonialism by the British, along with other Indians in modern
India. After the British retreated, tribal settlements became internal col-
onies in independent India, a repetition of what happened in several
SCHEDULED CASTES, SCHEDULED TRIBES, AND THE NATION 35

parts of the world. Such a perspective will help us understood the

structure of deprivations of Indian tribes.
Ghurye wanted the tribes of Central India to be culturally assimi-
lated through Hinduisation. In contrast, the tribes of North-east India
had to be politically integrated. The British policy of scheduling tribal
communities and areas introduced through the Government of India
Act, 1935, was an obstacle to achieve the task of integration. According
to Ghurye, the purpose of the Act was to prevent the emergence of inde-
pendent India as a unified ‘sovereign state’ and as a ‘well-knit nation in
the making’ (1973: 110). A year later he wrote: ‘The North-east India
(Bharat) appears to be on the peak of a volcano which may erupt at any-
time and break the integrity of the country as we find it in the Constitution
of India 1950 and its subsequent amendments’ (1974: 160). Fortunately,
this pessimistic prognosis did not stand the test of time.
Ghurye did not advocate Hinduisation of North-east tribes probably
because of the substantial presence of Christianity among the Nagas,
Mizos, and Khasis, and also because some of the tribes or their sections
were already Hinduised or had become Buddhists. But he was opposed to
the tribes being referred to as adivasis, be they of North-east, who became
part of India only 100 years ago, or those of Central India, who were part
of India for thousands of years. To Ghurye, ‘The usage of this word
(Adivasi) has done incalculable harm and doing so, to the cause of bringing
about some kind of harmony among the many races and peoples, some of
whom have been inhabiting this country for more than four thousand
years’ (Ghurye 1980: 29). Admittedly, Ghurye’s principal anxiety was
political unity of India as he visualised rather than to facts of history. If one
cannot ignore the claims of those inhabiting the country for 4,000 years, is
it not reasonable to respect the claims of those who inhabited the country
for 20,000 years? The point at issue here is not longevity of habitation but
equity and justice, both of which were/are denied to the adivasis in India.

III

To understand Ghurye’s advocacy of assimilation of Scheduled Castes

into Hindu society, Hinduisation of the Scheduled Tribes of Central
India, and political integration of the Scheduled Tribes of North-east
India, one has to comprehend the notion of nation implicit in his
36 T.K. Oommen

writings. Ghurye had not only conflated state and nation, but also
society and nation-state that was/is widespread in social science.14
Ghurye fits neatly into Zygmunt Bauman’s conceptualisation:

The term society as used by well-high all sociologists regardless of their school
loyalties is for all practical purposes, a name for an entity identical in size and
composition with the nation-state. [Further] with hardly any exception all the
concepts and analytical tools currently employed by social scientists are geared
to a view of the human world in which the most voluminous totality is a
society, a notion equivalent for all practical purposes to the concept of the
nation-state (Bauman 1973: 43, 78).

The idea of nation-state, as it was conceived and translated into

practice in West Europe after the Treaty of Westphalia concluded in
1648, wanted to create culturally homogeneous societies; for each
nation its own state was the dictum. Homogenisation of the nation-
state witnessed enormous violence (see Oommen 1997: 135–59), and
yet the project did not achieve its target. And, as Charles Tilly observed,
“Only a tiny proportion of the world’s distinctive religious, linguistic
and cultural groupings have formed their own states, while precious few
of the world’s existing states have approximated the homogeneity and
commitment conjured up by the label “nation-state” (1994: 137).
Therefore, to treat state, nation, and society as one entity was and
continues to be an untenable proposition, particularly in the case of India
which encapsulate one-sixth of humanity and has incredible cultural
diversity. The Indian Constitution, to which Ghurye referred to frequently
and with ample admiration, did not visualise the creation of a homoge-
nous society. Its first sentence reads: ‘India is a union of states.’ The con-
stitution did not privilege Hinduism as the national or official religion, in
spite of the fact that 82 per cent of Indians are Hindus, according to the
Census of India. Several languages are recognised (now the number is 22)
as official languages, a provision unheard of anywhere in the world. The
motto of the Constitution is ‘unity in diversity’, and the advocacy of
assimilation and integration championed by Ghurye is patently antitheti-
cal to India’s Constitution. Ghurye (1968) is absolutely right in holding
that society is not a mere aggregation of individuals, but an organic unity
built through interpersonal and individual group relations. Thus viewed,
India encapsulates several ‘societies’ within it and its organic unity can be
established only through non-primordial, that is, civil ties.15
SCHEDULED CASTES, SCHEDULED TRIBES, AND THE NATION 37

There are four broad visions which are in currency, but not clearly
articulated, about Indian Republic which may be designated as cultural
monism, cultural pluralism, cultural federalism and cultural subalternism
(see Oommen 2004b). According to cultural monists, the critical marker of
Indian society is religion. Religious nationalism is central in this vision of
India. As a part of Hindu consolidation, the traditionally underprivileged
cultural subalternists—Scheduled Castes and Scheduled Tribes—are being
incorporated into the Hindu mainstream. But to the critical thinkers among
cultural subalternists, the values embedded in caste hierarchy, which legiti-
mised and even sanctified by the Hindu scriptures, is the major obstacle to
the socio-cultural consolidation of India (see, for example, Ilaiah 1996).
While cultural monism is flaunted by the traditionally privileged
caste Hindus as the hope of India, cultural pluralists advocate secular-
ism, that is, the dignified co-existence of all groups and communities to
be controlled by a strong Centre as the panacea by modernists. While
cultural federalists too attest secularism, they insist on political
decentralisation given India’s vast size and mind-boggling cultural diver-
sity. The cultural subalternists, the Scheduled Castes and the Scheduled
Tribes, believe that, in spite of the constitutional promises of equality,
justice, and fraternity, the specificity of their needs, aspirations, and
contributions are ignored. The value orientations implied in Ghurye’s
advocacy of assimilation of Scheduled Castes into Hindu society,
Hinduisation of Scheduled Tribes of Central India, and the political
integration of Scheduled Tribes of North-east India for the consolida-
tion of the ‘Indian Nation’ is clearly that of cultural monism. It falls in
line with the European model of nation-state that coerced the weaker
and smaller collectivities to abandon their identity to avail of equality, a
model utterly unsuited for India.

Notes
This constitutes the text of the second G.S. Ghurye Memorial Lecture delivered at the
University of Mumbai on 23 December 2010.

1. Ghurye authored thirty-one books and over forty research papers. Except his first
book Caste and Race in India published by Routledge in 1932 and the second book
Aborigines-so-Called published by the Gokhale Institute of Economics and Politics,
Pune in 1943, all his books were published by Popular Prakashan, Mumbai.
Subsequent editions of the above two books were also published by Popular
Prakashan.
38 T.K. Oommen

2. Caste and Race in India had several incarnations, namely, Caste and Class in India as
well as Caste, Class and Occupation. However, the reasons for the changes in its titles
are not important for the present analysis.
3. The term Chandala was of Hindu textual origin, exterior caste had been introduced
by the British officials, and the term Harijan was coined by Narsinh Mehta and prop-
agated by Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi. However, the term dalit was coined by
activists of Scheduled Caste background and has gained wide acceptance.
4. It was unlikely that a Sanskritist like Ghurye, who drew constantly and substantially
on Indology, would have been unaware of the distinction between Smritis and Shrutis
and their differing positions on caste and untouchability. Therefore, Nadkarni’s con-
tention seems to be problematic.
5. Ghurye seems to be assuming that hygienic purity can mitigate the deficits of ritual
purity. But the fact that Dr Baba Sahib Ambedkar could not hire tonga in Baroda and
Babu Jagjivan Ram was not allowed to enter the Puri temple contradict that assumption.
6. The idea of core institutional order of a society was initially suggested by Lockwood
(1964). The core institutional order should not be mistaken for any kind of determin-
ism, because it varies from society to society and in the same society over a period of
time. But transformation from one type to another type of society can occur only if
the core institutional orders changes.
7. This is precisely what Dr Baba Sahib Ambedkar did (see Ambedkar 1979).
8. I am not aware if Elwin was inspired by the ‘reservations’ that were established in the
United States of America. The American aborigines counted three million, that is,
around one per cent of the national population in early 20th century, half of whom
were located in 260 reservations and the remaining being spatially dispersed. The
Indian situation is quite different; with 8 per cent of the national population, they
counted 40 million and lived mainly in their ancestral homelands. Elwin shifted his
position and took a more moderate one later (see Elvin 1943). It is important to note
here that: ‘Reservations and reserves perpetuated racial segregation, administrative
paternalism and lower-class status for Indian people’ (Jarvenpa 1985: 29). For a com-
parison of the Indian and US situation, see Oommen (1989).
9. The implications of this position are substantial as it conceives tribes as ‘nations’. But it
disavows the ill-conceived West European idea that each nation should have its own
sovereign state. It is a fact that most nations in South Asia have renounced sovereign states
and settled for provincial states within a sovereign state (see Oommen 2004a). It is inter-
esting to recall here that King Mutesa II of Baganda wondered:

I have never been able to pin down precisely the difference between a tribe and a
nation and see why one is thought so despicable and the other is so admired . . .
the Baganda have a common language, tradition, history and cast of mind. . . .
We were accepted as the most civilised and powerful of the kingdoms (1967:
78–79). But he laments that colonialism changed all these!

10. The argument that India was the original homeland of the Aryans, but they migrated
to Europe and a section of them returned to India has been in currency for some
years. In a seminar held in the 4th week of November 2010 in New Delhi several
historians and archaeologists argued that there is no evidence to prove the Aryan
invasion of India. These arguments need not detain us here, because Ghurye had
endorsed the Aryan immigration into India. He wrote: ‘It may be taken to be
SCHEDULED CASTES, SCHEDULED TRIBES, AND THE NATION 39

historical fact that people calling themselves ‘Aryan’ poured into India through the
North-West, somewhere about 2000 BC’ (1979: 117).
11. Incidentally, this seems to be true of all ‘world religions’. There is a widely circulated
remark attributed to an African tribal chieftain. On being asked to comment on the
basic difference between the pre-colonial and colonial times, he remarked: ‘When
colonisation started they had the Bible and we had the land, but now we have the
Bible and they have the land!’
12. Several tribes are vivisected and apportioned between bigger and stronger ‘nations’ of
India. Thus, the Bhils are apportioned between Gujarat, Maharashtra, Madhya
Pradesh, and Rajasthan; and the Santals, between Bihar, West Bengal, and Orissa.
These and several other tribes, if kept together, can be formed into viable provincial
states on the same basis as other states (see Oommen 2005).
13. I have introduced the notion of culturocide to refer to the destruction and/or stigma-
tisation of the cultures of weaker and smaller collectivities by the state and/or the
dominant collectivities (see Oommen 1986).
14. Ghurye writes: ‘The constitution of India in its very preamble refers the country as the
nation’ (1974: 1). The first two chapters of the book Whither India have the same
title: ‘The Nation Implements its Constitution’ (ibid.: 1–122). It is obvious that
Ghurye is conflating state and nation, an inadmissible proposition in social science
scholarship. Since I have discussed the issue at length elsewhere, I will not repeat
them here. Interested readers may consult Oommen (1997), particularly Ch. 3.
15. Several commentators refer to Ghurye as a nationalist, and a Hindu nationalist at that
(see, for example, Upadhya 2002). But, above all, he is a rigid statist, and his value
orientation does not even accommodate the flexibilities evident in the Indian
Constitution, a document he often praised in his writings.

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 PART II
Caste, Untouchability and
Exclusion
3
Untouchability as a Social
Problem: Theory and
Research
R.D. Lambert

T
he purpose of this paper is to consider in terms of general
sociological theory some of the features of untouchability as a
social problem and from these considerations to indicate some
directions for research by sociologists which might both advance general
social science knowledge and assist the administrator concerned with
finding solutions to the problem. It is not an assessment of current pro-
grammes nor is an essay in praise or blame of one or another group—
these tasks are highly inappropriate for an outsider. First a definition:
Social problems are sets of social practices and conditions characteristic
of a major segment of a society which contravene the official norms
and  which the legitimized spokesmen or the society feel must be
eradicated.

Social Practices and Conditions

When talking about the problem of untouchability, one is really discuss-

ing several different classes of social practices and conditions. In the first
place there are the actual practices among the majority group which
operationally define untouchability: prohibition of social intercourse;
denial of access to wells, temples, schools; residential segregation and
46 R.D. Lambert

stigmatization in general. It is these formalized disabilities which the

Constitution prohibits and which encompass “the practice of untouch-
ability”. Second, there are the behaviour traits and attributes of the stig-
matized groups themselves which, in terms of prevalent social mores,
justify the assignment to these groups of fewer of the rewards of society
such as prestige, wealth and power.
Every stratification system sets high values upon conformity to cer-
tain forms of behaviour and assigns low position to those who deviate
most. “Backwardness” is a general term for this and in India is exempli-
fied by the earlier term “backward tribes and castes”. The opposite of
being backward is being “advanced” and in specific form it usually
includes cleanliness (both physical and symbolic), literacy, sharing and
contributing to the mainstream of cultural accomplish merit, and exer-
cising political or economic power. It is difficult for a society to alter its
fundamental value system, although current amelioration programs
attempt to do this in regard to ritual impurity, interestingly enough by
labelling religious discrimination as “backward.” Ordinarily the value
system which lies behind the stratification hierarchy remains relatively
intact and those who attempt to “uplift” (i.e., raise in the stratification
system) the problem groups do several things simultaneously. They
attempt to prove that the negative stereotypes are not true, or perhaps
that all stereotyping is bad and individuals should be treated as individ-
uals. They attempt to show that those negatively valued traits which are
in fact held by the problem groups are the consequence of poverty and
exclusion from the major society. They attempt to provide the problem
groups with some of the attributes ordinarily associated with high pres-
tige segments in the society: education, land ownership, political power
and governmental posts.
The research interests of the sociologists are fairly clear. He should
be interested first in the general categorical value system which defines
the relative prestige of groups—not just how the groups rank in a prestige
scale, but what are the positively valued attributes which those low in the
hierarchy lack or are thought to lack and what are the negatively valued
attributes which they are thought to possess. In framing research hypoth-
eses in this area, the analyst must break omnibus terms into their oper-
ational components. For instance, it is clear that while poverty is in
general negatively valued, it is not so for ascetics and in fact great wealth
is often viewed with suspicion and disapprobation. Moreover, the removal
of poverty alone without a change in other behaviour traits common
UNTOUCHABILITY AS A SOCIAL PROBLEM: THEORY AND RESEARCH 47

among groups currently in the poverty class tends to bring social

disapproval. While it is true that those high in the stratification system
are not usually poverty stricken, the converse is not necessarily true that
except for poverty those low in the status system would be treated as
equals. One wonders how Cinderella fitted into the castle once she got
there. In popular philosophy the relationship between poverty and social
status is far too simple. In addition to poverty, the other attributes must
be operationally defined before they can be subject to research.
The sociologist might also concern himself with the discovery of
strategic variables which will most rapidly raise the status of the lower
groups. Should the whole depressed community be raised by small grad-
ual steps or is it more efficient to select a few individuals from the lowest
groups and place them in the highest positions in the society both to
combat stereotypes of innate inferiority and to provide internal leader-
ship for the groups?
Finally, the sociologist might analyse the forms of behaviour
among the individuals in the larger society which mark their relations
with status inferiors. He should be particularly interested in the system
of sanctions which is used to penalize attempts of the low status groups
to climb up the hierarchy and to reward those who remain quietly in
their low position. Here again strategic points for change should be
noted.

Major Segment of Society

Different social problems involve different sections of a society, these

sections varying in size, functional position and homogeneity. Most of
the social problems we encounter in western societies affect relatively
small segments of the population which are functionally unimportant or
actively dysfunctional and which are composed of individuals otherwise
disparate in their social characteristics. Divorce, crime, juvenile delin-
quency, alcoholism, mental illness and even poverty fit this characteriza-
tion. They affect “major segments” only because the deviations from the
norms of society are so sharp and attract such strong moral sanctions
that society must somehow attend to them. In the case of untouchabil-
ity, the problem is very different. The problem group is not numerically
small, nor is it functionally unimportant or dysfunctional. When viewed
in terms other than the extremes of untouchability, the cut-off point
48 R.D. Lambert

becomes blurred and the problem group encompasses the whole lower
end of the stratification system. A good illustration of this is found in
the report of the Backward Classes Commission where the general pro-
cedure was to accept the previous list of Scheduled Castes and Tribes
which purported to include those who suffered from untouchability per
se and add to it a list of “other backward classes” defined according to
various social characteristics indicating a disproportionately low share in
the distribution of social and economic rewards. This group was offi-
cially estimated at about 32 per cent of the total population. To see the
broad net cast by the Commission, consider the following definition of
other backward classes.

“those who do not command a large amount of influence; those who do not
command a large amount of natural resources, such as lands, mines, forests,
money or industrial undertakings; those who live in unsanitary surroundings
and in ill-ventilated houses; those who are nomadic; those who live by beg-
ging and other unwholesome means; those who are agricultural labourers or
those who practise unremunerative occupations without any means to enter
better paying professions; and those who on account of poverty, ignorance or
other social disabilities are unable to educate themselves or produce sufficient
leadership, are all backward. The communities, classes or social groups who
occupy an inferior social position in relation to the upper castes and who
answer the above description or at least major sections of such communities
or classes as answer the above description, naturally come under the category
of Other Backward Classes.” (Vol. I, p. 46).

To an American this approach is reminiscent of Franklin D. Roosevelt’s

oft-quoted remark that one-third of the nation (U.S.A.) was ill-housed,
ill-clothed and ill-fed. Under such a conception the social problem
becomes the general one of levelling the society by treating inequalities as
inequities, and by raising the standard of living of the entire society. In the
face of such a task sociologists feel exhilarated but lost, and usually aban-
don the field to the more sure-footed economists.
It does seem, however, that particularly in India the sociologist has
several important contributions to make. He should first distinguish the
sub-groups herded together under the single umbrella category of back-
wardness. That they are not otherwise homogeneous is apparent at a
glance. Particularly must he combat the notion that the backward classes
are composed of groups without internal structure, without their own
norms of behaviour and patterns of life. The entry of new patterns must
displace or alter the old, and particularly at the lower levels, the old
UNTOUCHABILITY AS A SOCIAL PROBLEM: THEORY AND RESEARCH 49

patterns tend to be quite resistant to change. He should emerge with a

typology of groups defined on structural criteria relevant to their upward
mobility and not on economic or ethnographic criteria alone.
A special part of these studies should involve the examination of the
functional relationships which exist between these sub-groups and the
elements of the major society which surround them. It is apparent that
these lower elements perform important economic and social functions
and are bound in complex webs of interrelationship such as the jajmani
or balutedar systems and in the organization of agriculture to maximize
the usefulness of landless agricultural labour. Satisfactory alternative
solutions must be found for the functional needs which these groups at
present fulfill.

Official Norms

The term norm signifies a prescribed pattern of behaviour and the phrase
“official norms” is used to indicate the rigidly prescribed definitions of
ideal behaviour etched in black and white as contrasted with the broad
band of norms, more gray, which guide the day-to-day behaviour of
most members of a society. It also serves to distinguish between norms
within a group, such as criminals, which may be at sharp variance with
those of the larger society. As has been noted above, most social problems
the sociologist has to deal with are clear violations of official norms. All
norms, however, vary in at least the following characteristics; specificity,
universality, rigidity and the strength of the attached sanctions. In the
case of untouchability we have one highly diffuse and generalized norm
(equalitarianism) opposed to a complex set of specific norms defining
not only the forms of avoidance but a host of other rigidly defined norms
covering a wide variety of inter-personal relations and roles. The rules of
behaviour prescribed for these low in the social hierarchy not only sym-
bolize their inferior position but also impel these groups to perform
some of the necessary but stigmatized social and economic roles with
little or no compensation in prestige or pay. These norms may be nega-
tive such as prohibition of temple entry or use of the main village well,
or positive indicating that such and such a group will perform the func-
tion of scavenging, sweeping, leather work, etc. It should not be assumed
that these norms are held only by the higher caste groups; many of them
are internalized by the communities to which they apply and need no
50 R.D. Lambert

outside pressure to enforce them. The displacement of a complex of

specific norms by a highly diffuse norm requires that the latter be trans-
lated in turn into a set of specific norms and the battle for displacement
usually is at the level of a struggle over each of the specific norms. In the
case of untouchability, there is even some doubt as to whether the gen-
eral equalitarian norm is widely subscribed to and there are relatively few
specific norms which positively define equalitarian behaviour. The great-
est hope appears to be that the discriminatory norms will become not
displaced but irrelevant. This is what is usually meant by the observation
that untouchability is a village problem. In the urban areas many of the
old norms and functional relationships which marked untouchability
have lost their meaning. It is also likely that the general equalitarian
norm has wider acceptance in the urban than the rural area.
In research, the sociologist might well concentrate upon defining
the specific norms and functional relationships which apply at the lower
levels of the stratification system. Clusters of norms should be sought
both by seeing which norms tend to be found together in a wide variety
of circumstances and by seeing which norms tend to change when other
specific norms are changed. He should be alert to the development of
new norms in the urban areas which reinforce or oppose obsolete village
norms. He should seek to transform the generalized equalitarian norm
into more specific, positive norms and in controlled situations attempt
to discover the most effective means of substituting one set of norms for
another. He should be concerned with systems of sanctions which are
used to enforce the norms currently in existence and possible sets of
sanctions which can be applied to newer sets of norms. Finally, and
more generally, he should attempt to make a mapping of each norm, its
variations, the number of people to which it applies, functional role it
performs, and the extent to which it can be displaced.

Legitimized Spokesmen

The term “legitimized spokesmen of the society” refers to the arbiters of

official norms whom society recognizes for one reason or another as
competent to speak for it in defining norms. In a highly formalized soci-
ety, the legitimatised spokesmen will be individuals filling institutional
positions such as government officials, clergymen or religious leaders. In
less formalized societies they will be what are called “influentials” who
UNTOUCHABILITY AS A SOCIAL PROBLEM: THEORY AND RESEARCH 51

possess highly valued attributes such as age, wealth, education, spiritual

attainment and family position. The extent to which all members of the
society agree upon the legitimized spokesmen is one index of the integra-
tion of that society. The problem with respect to untouchability in India
is immediately apparent. In the first place, few spokesmen can effectively
speak for a very large segment of society, hence the introduction of
planned change becomes exceedingly difficult. Not only are the institu-
tionalized spokesmen few, but different sets of spokesmen are influential
in determining norms for small groups only or for highly specialized
forms of behaviour. The one highly centralized social institution with a
universally recognized process for legitimatizing leaders is the govern-
ment and hence it is the one most frequently called upon to introduce
social changes in everything from economic patterns to calendar reform
to removal of untouchability. Its centralization, however, makes it far
removed from the local situations in which untouchability operates.
Moreover, the proper sphere of governmental influence as conceived in
the villages does not include the regulation of social behaviour.
Government efforts are bound to be greatly attenuated by the time they
reach the village level where they must somehow reach and convince the
appropriate influentials who are by no means clearly defined. This is not
to say that governmental efforts are of no avail. Government exercises the
very considerable sanctioning power of the courts and the police, and
discriminatory economic legislation. They currently have high prestige
and exhortations from such a prestigious source must at least reinforce
those in local situations who favour the removal of untouchability. And
finally, they have at their command a series of rewards which they can
distribute in a discriminatory manner to indirectly affect the socio-
economic status of the lower groups. Primary among these is scholar-
ships, but the list also includes the extension of credit facilities, and a
disproportionate share of economic development funds. So effective are
these rewards that a number of Brahmins in my sample of Poona labour,
when asked what castes they thought had the best chances for advance-
ment in life mentioned Harijans above all others and specified non-
Brahmin as a general preferred category.
The sociologist’s task, then, is the identification of these legitimized
spokesmen who are influential in the value system lying behind stratifi-
cation and describing and classifying the ways in which their influence
operates in maintaining and changing norms. This involves more than a
general study of village leadership. It calls for focused studies of those
52 R.D. Lambert

leaders whose influence is important in this particular social problem and

the most effective means of reaching them. As a corollary, the sociologist
should seek ways of detecting and strengthening the position of those
already committed to the equalitarian ethic as this may be easier than
converting those with a vested interest in the present stratification norms.
In summary, then, the sociologist needs to undertake studies pin-
pointing the social characteristics and conditions of various subgroups
lying at the bottom of the stratification system, clarify the relationships
between the segments of society, study the behavioral norms which under-
write the untouchability system, and discover the legitimized spokesmen
relevant to the alteration of these norms. These are no easy tasks.

Note
*Read at the Fifth Annual symposium of the Society held on 23rd March 1957.
4
Untouchability—A Myth or a
Reality: A Study of Interaction
between Scheduled Castes
and Brahmins in a Western
U.P. Village
S.S. Sharma

A
n attempt is made in this paper to identify the pattern of interaction
between the upper caste and the ‘untouchables’ or the scheduled
castes. The specific questions are:- What is the pattern of interac-
tion between the Brahmins and the Harijans as perceived by each of the
communities? What is the extent of initiation for mutual interaction in
both the castes? Which of the social situations in public and private arc
preferred for acceptance by each caste? What are the social factors which
account for untouchability as perceived by each caste?
A number of sociologists have indicated, directly or indirectly, the
need for such a study. To mention a few, Beteille (1969: 101) points out
in qualitative terms: ‘There are as yet too many cultural differences
between them: Harijan and the upper caste’. Desai (1976: 10), while
focusing upon untouchability in rural Gujarat mentioned ‘Both from
the point of view of the correctness of the information and the analysis,
the enquiry with the Savarna informants is necessary’. The second
source of inspiration for such a study is Article 17 of the Constitution of
54 S.S. Sharma

India which declares the removal of untouchability and, as such, that

untouchability is a myth. This provided an occasion for an empirical
examination of the social phenomenon of untouchability.
Untouchability has received sufficient attention by historians, legal
experts, politicians and sociologists from India and abroad. Their major
concerns have been the explanation of untouchability, its continuity and
change, acceptance or non-acceptance of the modern institutions by the
scheduled castes, the factors accounting for it and the emerging pattern
of inter-relations. Historians and sociologists have shown a consensus on
religion as an explaining factor for untouchability. Dumont (1970: 47)
a French anthropologist considers specialization in impure tasks as one
of the significant factors. Sharma (1980) a noted Indian historian noted
that indoctrination of the masses in the theory of karma has led to the
preservation of the Varna system and thus the low status of the Sudras.
Continuity and change have been problems of concern to the social
scientists and their findings present diverse patterns of continuity and
change. Some have noted significantly that untouchability persists, for
example, Kagzi (1976: 224), Jagjivan Ram (1980) and Ambedkar (1970).
Kagzi (1976: 224) examined the role of law in bringing change in the status
of ‘untouchables’ and found it ineffective. Jagjivan Ram (1980: 116), the
veteran politician and the Harijan leader, noted the unchanging lot of the
scheduled castes and suggested, as is usual with the politicians, that only
the Government, Government owned Corporations and undertakings, can
guide them (‘untouchables”) and can provide such help. Ambedkar (1970),
the Messiah of the Sudras and a man of creative imagination, disagrees with
all these measures and argues that emancipation of Sudras is possible only
by rejecting the Brahminical interpretation of the religious texts and
through re-examination of the same with an open mind.
On the other hand, there are some who have identified change in
the status of untouchables, for example Beteille (1969), Ghurye (1969),
Kamble (1979), Patwardhan (1975), Mayer (1970). Beteille (1969:
101) analysed the impact of the political, economic and social forces
upon untouchability and noted that the social distance between the
upper castes and the scheduled castes has been progressively narrowed.
Ghurye (1969: 460) concluded that modern institutions have latently
resulted in the creation of a pluralist society in India. Kamble (1979:
287) emphasized the vital role of economic independence. Patwardhan
(1973: 203) conducted a study of relationship between upper and lower
UNTOUCHABILITY A MYTH 55

castes in Maharashtra and concluded thus: ‘No longer can the lower
castes be forced to do certain types of work by higher castes, with the
value sanctions of Hindu society behind them’. In another study in
Madhya Pradesh. Mayer (1970: 52) noted that the upper castes seem to
be compromising with the low castes by according them equal status.
Chauhan et al. (1975) conducted a study of students at the Higher
Secondary level and found that the frequency of visits by upper caste
fellow students to the houses ‘untouchables’ was less.
Isaacs (1965) as well as Kamble (1979) examined the role of the rise
in the economic level of the scheduled castes. They differ significantly in
their conclusions. While Isaacs (1965: 168) in his study in Maharashtra
observed that “it remains clear that the rising ex-untouchables’ problems
will not be met by rupees alone”, Kamble (1979: 283) on the contrary
concludes that rise in economic status contributes to raising the social
status of the ‘untouchables’.
With the introduction of modern institutions in India, the Indian
social system has given rise to a question in regard to the pattern of
response of different castes and classes towards them. Desai (1976) has
addressed himself to this question and found that in rural Gujarat the
‘untouchables’ have shown a positive response.
The emerging pattern of relationship between the upper castes and
the ‘untouchables’ has attracted the attention of Senart (1975) and
Kamble (1981), and they have arrived at contradictory-findings. Senart
finds harmonious relations and Kamble compiled the atrocities on
scheduled castes committed by the caste Hindus from 15th August,
1947 to 15th August, 1979.
The review of literature indicates that the phenomenon of untouch-
ability has been treated in isolation from its relationship with the upper
castes. Little attempt has been made to view it from such an interaction.
Thus the present study proposes to use an interactional approach for the
purpose of exploring the existing relations. The assumption is that so
long as the upper castes feel polluted by a bodily contact of the sched-
uled caste, whether in public or private places, the scheduled castes are
in effect ‘untouchables’.
Since it is an exploratory study, 30 heads of households of each of the
castes, Brahmin and scheduled castes, were interviewed. The respondents
were selected on the basis of their preparedness to grant interviews. This
became necessary, because it is too sensitive an area of enquiry in the
56 S.S. Sharma

village. Of the respondents, however, 4 scheduled castes and 3 Brahmins

refused to answer one question; 2 scheduled castes declined at another
stage and three Brahmins and two scheduled castes dropped out at the
last stage of the survey. The Brahmin caste was selected on the basis of the
researcher’s own experience as a rural Brahmin that in case the Brahmins
show flexibility in observing untouchability, perhaps the other castes
would follow. A small schedule of 10 questions was prepared for the pur-
pose. The questions in the schedule were explained to the respondents to
their best satisfaction, so that reliable information might be obtained. The
systematic information was supplemented by asking the respondents to
narrate the most remarkable events of untouchability which they experi-
enced in their life. The field work was done during June, July, and August
1984. The study was conducted in Machhra Village, described below.

Village

The village of Machhra is situated at a distance of about 20 Km. horn

Meerut on the Meerut-Lucknow Road. It takes about half an hour to
reach there by bus. A four Km. link road connects the village with the
main road. No sooner does one alight from the bus than the building of
the Degree College lends the look of a town to the village. Beyond this,
there are the new buildings of the B.D.O’s office, Primary Health Unit
and Veterinary Hospital along the road. The green sugarcane fields sur-
round the buildings. It is a multi-caste village with a relatively large pop-
ulation of about 2587 voters. The Tyagi caste is numerically at the top,
being 22.24% The others are Brahmins 20.1%, the scheduled castes
19.13%, Muslims 9.8%, Balmiki 4.1%. Nai 3.1%, Gujars 2.94% Saini
2.82%. Potter 2.5%, Badhai 2.4% Khatik 2%, Sikkigar 1.58%. Bania
1.28%, Jogi 1.2% Sunai 0.92%, Dhinwar 0.93%, Ghhipi 0.66%. The
Tyagis the Brahmin and the Gujars are land-owners and cultivators. This
village has provided an MLA from among the Brahmins to the preceding
U.P. Legislative Assembly. The village is irrigated and electrified.

Economy

Land forms the basis of the economy in the village. The whole life of the
village depends on land. It is a permanent asset with the owners. The
main feature of landed property in the rural setting is that it is unequally
UNTOUCHABILITY A MYTH 57

distributed by planning or otherwise. Landownership has been the

privilege of higher castes, barring a few exceptions of Harijans. This
village is not typical in this sense. The Survey of 30 families of Brahmin
caste revealed that on an average a Brahmin household holds 30 bighas
of land and its range varies from 10–80 bighas. On the other hand,
scheduled caste households own eight bighas of land on an average and
the range varies between live and 14 bighas. It is significant to bear in
mind this glaring economic disparity between these two groups, partic-
ularly with respect to landed property. Even one of the scheduled castes
is either an agricultural labourer or an unskilled mason, or a rope-maker
or a cot-weaver. His earnings are insufficient by any criterion. He lives
in unhygienic conditions with inadequate accommodation.
It is relevant to mention that this village has educational facilities
from elemental”) to graduate level. Among the schedule caste respon-
dents, about a half (13) are illiterate, and almost the same (12) have
primary education and only one tenth have gone upto Junior High
School. And there ends the level of their educational achievement. On
the other hand, of the 28 Brahmin respondents about one-fifth (6) are
illiterate, 12 are primary, five are Junior High School, three are High
School, one is B. A. and one is M. A. The age range of both the caste
groups remaining the same the disparities in ‘their educational attain-
ments are significant.
The educational achievements of the two castes may be compared
at other levels too. In all 27 scheduled caste boys have been reported as
engaged in their studies. Of them, 20 are in Primary, Junior High
School, or High School classes and only one has studied beyond and he
too is in the Intermediate class. In the case of the Brahmin caste 28 boys
are studying at different levels. The range also is wider as 20 of them are
up to High School classes, two are in Intermediate, four are in Graduate
and two in Post Graduate classes.
The Brahmins and scheduled castes differ in respect of employ-
ment of educated boys, also. The former have 21 such cases. It is
significant to note that one-third could get jobs after completing High
School, nine after Intermediate, two after B. Sc. and three after Post-
Graduation. In case of the latter, the situation is by and large the same.
In all 5 could get a job and among them 3 after Intermediate, one after
Graduation and one after Post-Graduation. This is not the whole story.
In the families under study, 17 educated Brahmin boys have settled
in agriculture. From this distribution a pattern may be seen emerging
58 S.S. Sharma

that 11 boys educated upto High School, four Intermediate and two
Graduates have done so. It is interesting to mention that such families
have sufficient land to absorb the younger generation in agriculture.
Only three have been reported as educated unemployed. One has
qualified for the Intermediate, another has failed at the Graduate level
and the third possesses a professional degree in teaching. The situation
is worst in the case of the educated scheduled caste boys. There are 12
cases who have left education at one or the other level. Of them, two
have finished at Primary, five at Junior High School, five at High
School and one at Intermediate level. They are selling their physical
labour in the village and report themselves as unemployed. It may be
mentioned in this context that in general the scheduled caste boys
finish their education at High School level or even below it and only a
few continue beyond. The educational policy makers have to keep in
mind whether some institutional changes in the system of education
can be introduced in this teaching period to arrest the rise in the rate of
unemployment of the educated scheduled caste boys. The most surpris-
ing consequences of the existing’ educational system, both for Brahmin
and scheduled caste boys, are that they work for jobs and none of
the  educated or those being educated reported any interest in self-
employment. Whether so many jobs would be made available is any-
body’s guess.

Untouchability
Information was obtained from the respondents along two lines: One
by studying a few cases according to case study ‘method; second, by
posing certain specific questions related to the context in which the
respondents feel that untouchability is observed viz. social, political and
economic.

Case I

A scheduled caste Sub-Inspector of Police while on duty had to stay for a

night with the Pradhan in a village in U. P. The Pradhan sent one of his sons
to the local scheduled caste family to bring utensils to be used at dinner for
the Sub-Inspector, who somehow, came to know of it and instantly refused
UNTOUCHABILITY A MYTH 59

to take dinner at the Pradhan’s house and insisted on having it at the

Scheduled castes’s house from which the utensils were brought.
Comments: Vertical occupational mobility is not a ladder for vertical
social mobility.

Case II

The same scheduled caste Sub-Inspector of Police happened to be deputed

as Security Officer in an Industrial Organization in Rajasthan. He along
with his other colleagues was served tea by a tea-stall boy. When, one of
them came to know that the tea-stall boy was a scheduled caste, all of them
were annoyed and asked the owner of the shop not to keep the scheduled
caste boy at his shop. The Sub-Inspector intelligently introduced himself
as Chaudhry and thus could get acceptance in the High Caste group.
Comments: The urban setting is not quite different from the rural one
with respect to observing untouchability.

Case III

The same scheduled caste Sub-Inspector of Police got admitted to a

Sanitorium at Bhowali in District Nainital. One of the Muslim employ-
ees there somehow, came to know his caste. The Muslim employee
advised him to conceal the caste otherwise he would be deprived of
facilities and services of the staff. He pre tended to be a Jat and thus
could adjust to the situation.
Comments: It is not true that untouchability has been removed from
public places.

Case IV

At the instance of one Tyagi leader from among the most respected and
influential traditional elite caste, a scheduled caste in the village hap-
pened to invite a few Brahmins and Tyagis to a feast. The Tyagi who
was an enthusiastic social reformer advised the scheduled caste host to
serve the dishes to the Brahmin and Tyagi guests. At this the Brahmins
60 S.S. Sharma

as well as the Tyagis, but for the Tyagi social reformer, left the feast
untouched.
Comments: Untouchability is a reality. Food is considered to become
polluted the moment it is touched by the hand of a scheduled caste.

Case V

In the month of October a cultural activity called ‘Rama Lila’ based on

the Great tradition is celebrated in the form of a Drama depicting the
fight between Rama the symbol of God and Ravana believed to the
Demon King. But it is strictly prohibited on the grounds of purity to
allocate the role of Rama to a scheduled caste boy on the stage. However
one of the educated scheduled caste boys was accepted as a member of
the Organizing committee of the Drama Club.
Comments: God is considered to become polluted even when he is
impersonated by the scheduled caste.

Deprivations

An attempt was made to identify the nature of deprivation as faced and

felt by the scheduled castes in this village. To make the observations
precise and specific, a few items indicating social, economic and political
deprivations were projected in the interview situation. Restriction on
the entry of the scheduled castes in public places such as temples and the
scheduled castes being addressed by name, irrespective of age. indicates
social deprivation. Moreover, prohibiting the entry of the scheduled
castes to the inner part of the residential houses or hesitation in sharing
the common cots or refusal to accept the utensils of the scheduled castes
also indicates social deprivation. Non-payment or underpayment of
wages to the scheduled castes indicates economic deprivation. Political
deprivation is indicated in the use of force or fraud by the higher castes
on the scheduled castes during elections to Parliament, state Assembly
or village Panchayat.
With regard to public places, it was reported by the scheduled castes
that they do not dare enter the temple. It was observed that the Brahmins
too are not regular in visiting the temple for worship, nor do they
UNTOUCHABILITY A MYTH 61

perform many rituals. Many of them do not even wear the sacred thread.
The scheduled castes feel that their entry into the temple is not by itself
a sufficient indicator of their being accepted by the Brahmins.
With regard to private places, the general impression of the
Brahmins of this village is that their women folk are relatively more
conservative than men folk. It is in fact the women who work as a con-
straining counter force on males in bringing about any social change
with regard to the practice of untouchability in private life and after
much conflict and altercation between the men folk and the women
folk, it is ultimately the will of the women that prevails. It is to be
emphasized here that the role of Brahmin women in untouchability is a
virgin field for further research.
With regard to political affairs which fall under public dealings,
both the castes—the scheduled castes as well as the Brahmins—did not
observe am untouchability. Political relationship, it was reported, lather
encouraged a closer contact between the two castes and members of
both the castes were satisfied with this state of affairs.
A more significant problem then is if any or both of the caste groups
are keen on changing the pattern of interaction. To explore the extent of
intensity of social interaction on the part each caste, a question was
raised ‘Are you interested in having social interaction with each other”.
The four alternative responses were mentioned as ‘most’, ‘more’, ‘less’,
‘least’. The responses ‘most’ and ‘more’ have been taken as an indicator
of ‘active’ and ‘less’ and ‘least’ of passive extent. The results are shown in
Table I.
The probability of X2 (2.20) with df 1 is between .10 and .20. The
difference between the responses of scheduled castes and Brahmins is so
great that the hypotheses of equal intensity of interaction is rejected. It
may be stated that scheduled castes are actively interested in interaction
with Brahmins, whereas Brahmins are passive in this regard.

Table I
Extent of Intensity of Interaction among Brahmins and Scheduled Castes

Caste Active Passive Total

Scheduled Castes 15 11 26
Brahmins 10 17 27
X2: 2.2; df: I; P between .10 and .20
62 S.S. Sharma

Table II
Acceptance of Scheduled Castes by Brahmins and Vice-Versa in Public- and
Private Places

Caste Public Accepted in Both Total

Private
Brahmins 22 1 7 30
Scheduled Castes 7 16 5 28
Total 29 17 12 58
X2: 10.20; df: 2; P is less than .01

There is sufficient qualitative evidence to indicate that there is

acceptance of scheduled castes more in public than in private places. But
one does not know about the pattern of insistence by both Brahmin and
scheduled castes. Therefore, Brahmins and scheduled castes were asked
a question: ‘In which situation do the scheduled castes and Brahmins
insist on acceptance?’ The former in our study is denoted by refusal to
scheduled castes to enter into temples and the latter is denoted by deny-
ing scheduled castes permission to enter the inner part of the house and
to take meals on a common table. The responses to these questions are
given in Table II.
The difference between the responses of scheduled castes and
Brahmins is very high. Thus the hypothesis of similarity of acceptance of
each other is rejected. It may be interpreted that Brahmins insist on
accepting scheduled castes in public places where as the scheduled castes
insist on being accepted in private places.
The delineation of the pattern of continuity of untouchability led the
author to enquire into the relationship between social factors and the phe-
nomena of untouchability. For this purpose, a closed question was put to
identify the reasons for non-acceptance of the scheduled castes as viewed
by the Brahmins and scheduled castes themselves. The earlier studies have
suggested ideological and material reasons behind it. The indicators of
ideological reasons were, for the purpose of this study, the theory of Karma
and nature of food, and of material reasons were poverty and lack of pos-
sessions. A choice between ideological and material and undecided rea-
sons was given in the responses. The responses are presented in Table III.
The X2 value was found to be 11.94 with df 2. The probability of
the X2 value is less than .01. The discrepancy between the responses of
UNTOUCHABILITY A MYTH 63

Table III
Reason for Non-Acceptance of Scheduled Castes according to the Brahmins and
Scheduled Castes

Castes Ideological Material Undecided Total

Brahmins 19 5 3 27
Scheduled castes 9 18 1 28
Total 28 23 4
X : 11.94; df: 2; P is less than .01
2

scheduled castes and Brahmins with regard to reasons for non-acceptance

of scheduled castes according to both the castes is highly significant. The
hypothesis of similar reasons is rejected. It may be inferred that Brahmins
consider ideological reasons for non-acceptance of scheduled castes,
where as the scheduled castes consider material conditions responsible
for non-acceptance of themselves by the Brahmins.

Conclusions

In this study, an attempt was made to enquire into the pattern of inter-
action between scheduled castes and Brahmins in Machhra village. The
study has confirmed that untouchability is observed by Brahmins in
social aspects of life, whereas it is not so in political aspects. Discontinuity
of untouchability in the political sphere which is shortlived does not
entail a change in the social and economic. Perhaps the social is the core
and the political is the periphery for both the castes. Contrary to the
widely held belief that occupational mobility may lead to upward social
mobility of scheduled castes the study indicates that an educated sched-
uled caste with an achieved status of police official was not considered as
touchable by the higher castes even in a public place like a hospital.
Ascription takes precedence over achievement. Interestingly enough, the
study reveals that the scheduled castes tend to have a centripetal ten-
dency toward the Brahmins whereas the Brahmins tend to have a cen-
trifugal tendency towards scheduled castes. Though the data are limited,
it is quantitatively demonstrated that the scheduled castes insist on
being socially accepted in private places and, on the contrary, the
Brahmins prohibit them from doing so but agree to concede their free
entry into public places. The reasons are obvious in that the Brahmins
64 S.S. Sharma

do not make their daily prayers in the temple of the village and those
who do so have started to have mini temples in their residences.
Thus it should not be interpreted as a substantial change at all.
Lastly, the Brahmins and scheduled castes are diametrically opposed to
each other with respect to reasons for untouchability. Ideology is the
basis of untouchability according to Brahmins and material conditions
are vital according to scheduled castes.
The practice of untouchability is abolished according to Article 17
of the Constitution of India but empirically it is reality. It is however,
suggested that more studies are needed to make broad generalizations
and the pattern of interaction between scheduled castes and other castes
above them in hierarchy needs to be explored to identify if there are
differences between the pattern of interaction between the Brahmins
and the scheduled castes on the one hand and other castes and the
scheduled castes on the other.

References
Ambedkar, B. R. 1970. Who were the Sundras. Bombay.
Beteille, Andre. 1969. Caste-Old and New. New Delhi, Asia Publishing House.
Chauhan, B. R. et al. 1975. Scheduled Castes and Education. Meerut: ABU Publications.
Desai. I. P. 1976. Untouchability in Rural Gujarat. Bombay: Popular Prakashan.
Dumont. Louis. 1970. Homo Hierarchicus. Delhi: Vikas.
Ghurye, G. S. 1909. Caste and Race in India. Bombay: Popular Prakashan, (5th Edn.).
Isaacs, Harold R. 1965. India’s Ex-Untouchables. Bombay: APH.
Kagzi, M. C. J. 1970. Segregation and Untouchability Abolition. New Delhi: Metropolitan Books.
Jagjivan Ram. 1950. Caste Challenge in India. New Delhi: Vision Book.
Kamhle. J. R. 1979. Rise and Awakening of Depressed Classes in India. New Delhi: National.
Kamble, N. D. 1981. Atrocities on Scheduled Castes. New Delhi: Ashish Publishing House.
Mayer, Adrian C. 1970. Caste and Kinship in Central India. London: RKP.
Patwardhan, Sunanda. 1973. Change Among India’s Harijans, Maharashtra—A Case Study.
New Delhi: Orient Longman.
Senart, Emile. 1975. Caste in India. Delhi: ESS Publications.
Sharma. R. S. 1980. Shudra in Ancient India. Delhi: MLB.
5
Scheduled Castes and
Urbanization in Punjab:
An Explanation*
Victor S. D’Souza

O
ne of the striking features of the distribution of the Scheduled
castes population in India is that as compared to the total
population it is very much under-represented in the urban
areas. In 1961, whereas 18 per cent of the total population was urban,
the corresponding percentage for the Scheduled castes was only eleven.
The underrepresentation of Scheduled castes in the urban areas is by
and large true, whether one considers the country as a whole, the states
or the districts. For instance, in the State of Punjab in 1961, only 14.7
per cent of the Scheduled castes lived in the urban areas as compared to
23.8 per cent of the total population.
The underrepresentation of Scheduled castes in the urban areas in
India as well as in Punjab is not only striking but also intriguing. It is
inconsistent with the notion of “push” factor which is supposed to under-
lie the rural to urban migration in India. It is believed that in advanced
countries with increasing economic opportunities due to industrializa-
tion, people are pulled from the rural areas to the cities1. On the other
hand, in developing countries such as India, because of pressure of pop-
ulation on land and growing unemployment, underemployment and
poverty, people are pushed from the rural areas to the cities even though
the cities do not provide adequate employment opportunities. Thus,
66 Victor S. D’Souza

urban migration in advanced countries is attributed to pull factors and in

India to push factors. If these assumptions were true, the Scheduled
castes population which is on the lowest rungs of socio-economic ladder
in the rural areas, would be pushed hardest and so would have been over
represented in the urban areas relative to the total population—an
expectation belied by the actual situation.
However, the “push factor” explanation of urbanization and the
related presumption of “over-urbanization” (that because of lack of
employment opportunities in the urban communities, the migrants in
the cities are socio-economically worse off than the earlier residents) has
been shown to be invalid of late. Sovani has adduced evidence to indi-
cate that the agricultural labourers who continue economically the most
vulnerable section of the rural population show a lesser propensity to
migrate to the cities as compared to the higher strata and that the eco-
nomic adjustment of the immigrants in the cities is even better than that
of the residents (Sovani 1966: 1–13). These observations are indeed
in agreement with the facts regarding the Scheduled castes in so far as
they are who form the bulk of the agricultural labourers in the rural
areas, and show a lesser tendency to migrate to the cities. But why are
they less prone to migrate to the cities still remains to be explained.
Secondly, the cities in India, as elsewhere, are communities with
uneven dimensions. They vary widely in terms of size, complexity and
functions among other major factors. What is more, the Scheduled
castes population is also represented unevenly in the cities. Therefore,
the question arises whether there is any general principle underlying the
uneven representation of Scheduled castes population in cities.
This paper is therefore aimed at finding explanations of the above
two questions: (1) why are the Scheduled castes underrepresented in
the urban population of Punjab? and (2) is there any general principle
underlying their uneven representation in cities?1
The explanations are sought to be provided by developing a theor-
etical model based on the findings of a case study. The study under ref-
erence entitled Inequality and Integration in an Industrial Community, is
based on a relatively new urban community in India, which originated
during the 1920’s. The community is overwhelmingly industrial and its
adult population is almost wholly immigrant. The information of the
study was obtained at two points of time—1956 and 1969. During the
interval of 13 years the community had grown from a population of
SCHEDULED CASTES AND URBANIZATION IN PUNJAB 67

over 3,000 to about 25,000. The sudden growth was due to the
development of more complex industries in the community than existed
there previously. Consequently, the occupational structure at the second
point of time had become much more complex with marked expansion
of the occupations of higher levels of skill and prestige.
The social structure of the community could be described in terms
of a number of hereditary groupings distinguished on the basis of caste,
religion, language and region of origin. It was found in 1956 that each
grouping was relatively homogeneous with regard to education, occupa-
tional prestige and income of its members. The different groupings were
socio-economically unequal, socially exclusive and they formed a socio-
economic hierarchy. The relative position of groupings in the new com-
munity more or less correspond with their status positions in their
regions of origin.
With a few exceptions, the new inmigrants since 1956 also belonged
to the same groupings as those which had arrived previously. What is still
more remarkable was the fact that in 1969 the relative socio-economic
positions among the groupings remained almost the same as in 1956. It
is commonly assumed that industrialization and resulting migration
gives rise to social mobility. Despite the fact that the occupational struc-
ture of the community had become considerably more complex, this had
not led to any significant occupational mobility on the part of various
hereditary groups. But there was another significant change; in step with
the expansion of the proportion of higher prestige occupations, the pro-
portion of people in the socio-economically higher hereditary groupings
had also expanded. Thus the results of industrialization and develop-
ment had accrued to the various groupings according to their positions
in social structure. The changes in this community agree with the prop-
osition that the economic inequalities are dependent upon the social
structure; therefore, industrialization and economic development by
themselves were not able to induce social mobility.
For the time being one may assume that what happened in this new
community under industrialization, development, growth and inmigra-
tion, also generally happens under the processes of rural urban migration
and urbanization. There is also evidence from studies relating to different
parts of the country that the socio-economic mobility of individuals in
different caste groups is associated with the status of their caste groups
(Saberwal 1972: 114–184; Bopegamage and Kulahalli 1972: 352–388).
68 Victor S. D’Souza

The fact that the immigrants in the city are socio-economically better
adjusted or at any rate are not worse off as compared to the original
residents, shows that urbanization in India is dependent also upon
some  forms of development and not primarily upon the push factors.
Under these assumptions, and gaining insight from the above case study
it is now possible to develop a general theoretical model with a set of
deductively related propositions, which may be used for explaining the
question posed.
The following propositions may constitute the theoretical model:

(a) Society in India is divided into a number of hereditary groups, each group
being ordinarily an intermarrying circle.
(b) Members in each hereditary group are socio-economically homogeneous
and different groups are unequal.
(c) The homogeneity of members in each group and inequality between groups
render the groups socially exclusive and exclusivism in its turn supports
inequality.
(d) Because of social exclusivism, when a person migrates from a rural to an
urban community, his occupational position in the new community would
depend upon the status and influence of his group; persons from higher
groups in the rural communities secure higher positions and those from
lower groups, lower ones.
(e) Consequently, under rural urban migration the relative socio-economic
positions of hereditary groups remain, by and large, unaffected.

The theoretical model may be used first to explain why the

Scheduled caste population is underrepresented in the urban areas. For
this, one has to take note of the reasonable presumption that on the
whole the urban communities are socio-economically more complex
than rural communities and so have a lower proportion of lower prestige
occupations. The Scheduled castes who occupy the lowest rungs of
the occupational ladder in the rural communities have also to occupy
the lowest prestige occupations in the urban communities (propositions
d and e). Since the proportions of lower prestige occupations are lower
in the urban areas, the Scheduled caste population, on the whole, is
underrepresented in these areas.
The second question is aimed at uncovering some general principle,
if any, underlying the uneven representation of the Scheduled caste
population in cities. To take up the explanation of this question, it must
be borne in mind that not only is it true that the lower prestige occupa-
tions are underrepresented in cities as compared to rural communities
SCHEDULED CASTES AND URBANIZATION IN PUNJAB 69

among cities themselves their representation varies according to the

socio-economic development and hence the occupational complexity of
the city; the higher the occupational complexity, the lower the propor-
tion of lower prestige occupations. Therefore, again it follows from
propositions (d) and (e) that with the increase in socio-economic devel-
opment and complexity of cities the representation of Scheduled caste
population would tend to decline. Thus, it can be predicted from
the theoretical model that there is an underlying general principle in the
uneven representation of Scheduled caste population in cities.
The explanation of the first question already provided is really an
interpretation of the factual situation with the help of the theoretical
model. Therefore, it does not call for a direct empirical verification. The
explanation of the second question, however, is a prediction of the gen-
eral principle underlying the uneven representation of Scheduled caste
population in cities, derived from the theoretical model. Therefore, this
explanation needs to be empirically verified, and incidentally its verifi-
cation would also provide an indirect test of the explanation of the first
question. Thus, the major hypothesis that needs validation is that with
the increasing complexity of occupational structure the representation
of Scheduled caste population in cities declines.
The hypothesis may be tested with reference to the 1961 census
data pertaining to the Scheduled castes in the State of Punjab. The data
however, do not lend themselves to a refined analysis. Therefore, the
hypothesis has to be operationalised to suit the available data. Since the
occupational distribution of cities in the census reports is not given
according to prestige dimension, the major problem is to devise an
index of occupational complexity. Under the circumstances two differ-
ent yardsticks may be suggested. One is the size of the city. It has been
generally found and is borne out by a number of city surveys in India
that the larger the size of the city the greater the occupational complex-
ity and larger is the proportion of higher prestige occupations. According
to this criterion, one of the operational hypotheses would be that the
larger the size of the city the lower would be the degree of representation
of Scheduled caste population.
The second criterion of occupational complexity would be the type
of functional specialization of the city. Different types of functional spe-
cialization in cities have different degrees of scope for socio-economic
development and occupational complexity. For instance, it is evident
that cities specializing in factory based modern industries have a more
70 Victor S. D’Souza

complex occupational structure as compared to cities with household

based artisan industries. Thus, the second operational hypothesis would
be that the degree of representation of Scheduled caste population
would vary with the functional character of cities. Cities with functional
specialization leading to greater occupational complexity would have a
lower degree of representation of Scheduled caste population.
There is also a second problem that of obtaining a measure of the
degree of representation of Scheduled caste population. Although
Punjab as a whole had a Scheduled caste population of 22.3 percent,
this percentage varied rather widely from district to district, ranging
from 19.4 in Ferozepur to 29.6 in Jullundur. Within each district it
again varied from tehsil to tehsil. In some districts the tehsilwise varia-
tion was very marked, as in Hoshiarpur where it ranged from 16.2 in
Una tehsil to 32.5 in Hoshiarpur tehsil. In view of this variation and
because of the fact that cities draw their inmigrants, particularly at the
lower socio-economic levels, from their surrounding regions, the per-
centage distribution of Scheduled caste population in cities would not
be an adequate index of the representation of Scheduled caste popula-
tion for inter city comparison. Variation in percentage distribution of
Scheduled caste population in cities would also be affected by the varia-
tion in their percentage distribution in the surrounding regions.
Therefore, the effect of regional variation has been held constant by
preparing an index of representation of Scheduled caste population
which is obtained by dividing the percentage of Scheduled caste popu-
lation in the city by its percentage in the tehsil in which the city is
located.2 The index can be stated in the form of an equation as follows:

Percentage of Scheduled Caste population in a city

I
Percentage of Scheduled Caste population in the tehsil

Index score I would mean the Scheduled caste population is represented

proportional to its size in the surrounding area; if the score is more than
unity, it is overrepresented and if less than unity, it is underrepresented.
The operational hypothesis may now be reworded in terms of the index
scores of representation as follows:

(i) The larger the size of a city, the lower the index score of representation of
Scheduled caste population;
SCHEDULED CASTES AND URBANIZATION IN PUNJAB 71

(ii) cities with different functions would have different degrees of index scores
of representation.

Hypothesis (i) declaring the association between the size of the city
and the index score of representation of Scheduled caste population may
be tested with reference to Table I which shows the distribution of cities
in the State of Punjab in 1961 according to the size of their total popu-
lation and index scores of representation of Scheduled caste population.
It can be seen that as the size class of cities increases the median score
shown in the last column decreases consistently.
However, when the detailed distribution is examined there are some
deviation from the general pattern. Some Class V and VI cities have
much lower index scores as also some Class III cities which have higher
index scores than expected. But on a closer examination one may find
some justification for the exceptional cases. It can be readily admitted
that size of communities is not the only criterion of their occupational
complexity; the type of functional specialization and the degree of
accentuation of particular functions are other criteria. Therefore, con-
sidering the crude nature of the index of occupational complexity the
deviations are hardly a matter for surprise.
Thus the evidence presented in Table I on the whole substantiates
the operational hypothesis that the index score of representation of
Scheduled caste population is negatively associated with the size of the
city.
The second operational hypothesis which states that cities with dif-
ferent functions would have different degrees of index scores of repre-
sentation of Scheduled caste population, may be tested with reference to
Table II, which shows the distribution of cities according to functional
categories and index scores of representation of Scheduled caste popula-
tion. The functional classification of cities is based on Asok Mitra’s
scheme (Roy Burman 1971: 26, 27). Accordingly, the information on
the broad industrial classification of workers in each town given in the
census report is utilized. In arriving at the functional classification the
broad industrial categories I and II standing for cultivators and agricul-
tural labourers are excluded. The remaining categories III through IX
are first divided into three main functional categories, A (III + IV + V + VI),
B (VII + VIII) and C (IX), which are called Manufacturing, Trade and
Transport and Service, respectively. Two criteria are used for designating
 72

Table I
Distribution of Towns in 1961 in Punjab by Size Class and Index Scores of Representation of Scheduled Caste Population

Index Scores
0.01– 0.26– 0.51– 0.76– 1.01– 1.26– 1.51– 1.76– Median
Classes of Town 0.25 0.50 0.75 1.00 1.25 1.50 1.75 2.00 Total Scores
I 100,000+ 3 1 4 0.42
II 50,000–99,999 2 2 4 0.50
III 20,000–49,999 1 2 14 4 1 1 23 0.66
IV 10,000–19,999 1 2 11 6 1 1 1 23 0.70
V 5,000–9,999 4 5 8 14 1 2 1 35 0.77
VI Less than 5,000 5 1 4 3 2 1 3 19 1.00

6 19 37 28 6 5 3 4 108 0.69
Victor S. D’Souza
SCHEDULED CASTES AND URBANIZATION IN PUNJAB 73

the predominant functional types. Any one of the industrial categories

(III through IX) is regarded as the predominant function if, first, the
main functional category A, B or C containing the given industrial cat-
egory is greater than either of the other two main categories by 20 per
cent and second, the given industrial category is greater than any other
industrial category included in the main category of which it is a part,
by more than 10 per cent.
If any of the main categories A, B or C is not greater than either of
the other two, the functional type of the town is designated as Diversified.
Further, this type is differentiated in terms of the largest industrial cat-
egory contained in the larger of the main functional categories. For all
practical purposes this largest industrial category may be regarded as the
predominant function of the town.
The predominant functional types, other than those included in
the Diversified categories, are also differentiated in terms of the larger of
the two main functional categories other than the category in which the
predominant function is included. The other function may be regarded
as moderately predominant.
The distribution of towns in Punjab according to their representa-
tion of Scheduled caste population is shown in Table II. The moderately
predominant function is shown within brackets after the predominant
function shown under the functional types. The functional types are
arranged under four broad predominant types of artisan, service trade
and manufacturing. Each of these is further divided into three types on
the basis of moderately predominant functions shown within brackets.
When the median index scores in broad functional types are considered,
it is evident that there is a clearcut difference, showing thereby that the
different functional types of towns provide different degrees of opportu-
nity for the Scheduled castes. Further, the degree of representation for
the Scheduled caste goes on declining in the descending order of the
functional types of artisan, service, trade and manufacturing towns. The
arrangement of functional types in that order also indicates the ascend-
ing order of their occupational complexity. It is obvious that artisan
cities with a preponderance of occupations classified under what are
termed household industries, are typically of pre-industrial character,
with the least complex occupational structure. On the other hand, cities
with manufacturing industries with their modern factory settings have
relatively more complex occupational structure. Thus, it can be inferred
that on the whole the order in which the functional categories have been
 74

Table II
Distribution of Towns in Punjab in 1961 by Functional Classification and Index Scores of Representation of Scheduled Caste Population

Index Scores
0.01– 0.26– 0.51– 0.76– 1.01– 1.26– 1.51– 1.76– Total No. Median Index
Functional Types 0.25 0.50 0.75 1.00 1.25 1.50 1.75 2.00 of Towns Scores
Artisan (Diversified)* 2 4 1 1 9 0.94
Artisan (Service) 2 3 1 1 7 0.92
Artisan (Trade) 2 1 1 3 0.87
All Towns with Artisan 4 9 2 1 2 1 19 0.92
as main function
Service (Diversified) 5 3 5 2 2 17 0.80
Service (Trade) 3 4 2 3 1 13 0.75
Service (Manufacturing) 1 4 5 0.62
All Towns with service 9 11 7 3 2 3 35 0.70
Victor S. D’Souza

as main function
Trade (Diversified) 1 2 5 1 9 0.60
Trade (Service) 1 3 4 2 10 0.56
Trade (Manufacturing) 1 1 5 8 1 16 0.78
All Towns with trade 3 6 14 11 1 35 0.66
as main function
Manufacturing (Diversified) 1 3 1 1 6 0.67
Manufacturing (Service) 1 2 2 1 6 0.50
Manufacturing (Trade) 2 1 3 1 7 0.58
All Towns with manufactur- 3 4 8 1 2 1 19 0.59
ing as main function
Total 6 19 37 28 6 5 3 4 108 0.69
*Terms within brackets refer to moderately predominant functions.
SCHEDULED CASTES AND URBANIZATION IN PUNJAB
75
76 Victor S. D’Souza

arranged roughly corresponds with the degree of occupational sub-types

arranged within each major functional categories is also related to the
degree of representation of Scheduled castes. Therefore, the relationship
between the functional types of cities and the index scores is really a
relationship between occupational complexity of cities and the degree of
representation of Scheduled caste population. The higher the occupa-
tional complexity of the functional type of the city, the lower is the
degree of representation of Scheduled caste population. The variation
found within each functional category, however, can be accounted for,
in most cases, by the variations in the size of cities as well as in the degree
of accentuation of the function. The evidence on the whole therefore,
validates operational hypothesis (ii).
The validation of the operational hypotheses (i) and (ii) strongly
supports the general hypothesis that the degree of representation of
Scheduled caste population in cities is negatively related to their occu-
pational complexity. Therefore, the answer to the second question that
occupational complexity of communities is the underlying principle of
uneven representation of Scheduled caste population, is confirmed by
empirical evidence. This evidence also indirectly confirms the answer to
the first question that the lower representation of Scheduled caste pop-
ulation in the total urban population is due to the fact that the urban
communities as a whole are occupationally more complex as compared
to rural communities.
Since the hypothesis that the representation of Scheduled caste
population in cities is negatively related to their occupational complex-
ity has been found to be true, the theoretical framework from which the
hypothesis has been deduced, can now be used with a greater degree of
confidence for explaining the peculiar way in which the Scheduled caste
population is represented in urban communities.
In conclusion it may be stated that the urbanization of Scheduled
castes in Punjab follows a set pattern; in the rural urban migration,
fewer people among the Scheduled castes go to the cities than among
the rest of the population and the greater the occupational complexity
of the city the lower is the representation of Scheduled caste population.
The pattern can be explained by certain valid propositions: When
people migrate from the rural to the urban communities their occupa-
tional positions in the new communities are determined by their pos-
ition in their home communities; since Scheduled castes occupy the
SCHEDULED CASTES AND URBANIZATION IN PUNJAB 77

lowest positions in rural communities they have to occupy the lowest

positions in the urban communities also; but urban communities have
relatively a lower proportion of labour prestige occupations, which
results in a lower degree of representation of Scheduled caste population
in cities.
Two important inferences which readily follow from this analysis
may be added. First, since the pattern of urbanization of Scheduled caste
population in Punjab as confirmed by facts has been predicted from a
theoretical model, it is reasonable to infer that the same kind of pattern
of urbanization of Scheduled caste population would be found in other
parts of the country also. Second, industrialization and socio-economic
development, in a sense, stands for the enhancement of the functional
and occupational complexity of communities; but these processes,
undertaken in a conventional way, helps the scheduled castes the least.
Therefore, a mere increase in dose of development activities would not
be beneficial, it may actually be detrimental for Scheduled castes.

Notes
*Thanks are expressed to Vinita Srivastava and Yash Pal for helping in statistical processing
of data.

1. The term city is here used to stand for any urban community, irrespective of its size
and so the terms town and city are used interchangeably.
2. However, it is likely that the Scheduled caste population of a larger city may be
derived from a much wider area than a tehsil as compared to a smaller one. But this
variation has been ignored for the sake of uniformity of computation.

References
Bopegamage, A. and R. N. Kulahalli. 1972. Caste and Occupation in Rural India: A
Regional Study in Urbanization and Social Change. Rural Sociology 37(3).
D’Souza, Victor S. (Unpublished). Inequality and Integration in an Industrial Community (to
be published by Indian Institute of Advanced Study, Simla).
Saberwal, Satish. 1972. Status, Mobility, and Networks in a Punjabi Industrial Town. In:
Satish Saberwal (ed.), Beyond the Village; Sociological Explorations, Shimla: Indian
Institute of Advanced Study.
Sovani, N. V. 1966. Urbanization and Urban India. Bombay: Asia Publishing House.
6
The Khatiks of Kanpur and
the Bristle Trade: Towards
an Anthropology of
Man and Beast
Maren Bellwinkel-Schempp

T
his paper tackles a couple of issues relating to a rather small
Scheduled Caste community, the Khatiks of Kanpur, which had
once been an economically powerful community. The Khatiks
are a jati of vegetable sellers, pig-breeders, pork butchers, as well as bristle
manufacturers and traders. The Khatiks of Kanpur city gained notoriety
due to the so-called post-Ayodhya riots in 1992 as they were considered
to be in the forefront of several brutal killings. Although Kanpur is a
known center of turmoil and turbulence due to the frequent outbursts of
violence in its history, the more recent events were unique as for the first
time a Scheduled caste took a violent stance against the Muslims. At first
glance, this is amazing as there had been peaceful coexistence between
the Muslims and the Scheduled Castes in the city both at work and in
times of leisure. Violence is also incongruent with the prevalent identity
construction of the Scheduled Castes, who have until now perceived
themselves as victims of upper caste Hindu dominance only.
Over the last 30 years, the city of Kanpur has changed considerably.
Earlier, white Zebu cows dominated the streets (Majumdar 1960), and
although these cows constituted a substantial “impediment for the traf-
fic, they were patiently avoided and their paths circumvented by the
THE KHATIKS OF KANPUR AND THE BRISTLE TRADE 79

people. Nowadays, pigs have taken over this public space. Large numbers
of black, grey and white pigs roam the streets of the city. Even in the best
residential areas, they feed in peaceful coexistence with the cows on large
garbage heaps which are piled up along the roads. The public ignores
these animals as long as they do not cause road accidents. This is because
the Hindus regard cows as ‘sacred’, while the Muslims consider pigs as
‘abominable’ animals (Harris 1985). However, another reason for ignor-
ing the animals is that retaliations are feared from their owners—and
this has been markedly so after the riots—if they are harmed or hurt.
One may legitimately ask how pigs began to appropriate public space in
Kanpur, and whether this fact can in any way be seen as symptomatic of
the aggravated Muslim-Khatik relationship.
The economic and political analysis is not so much the focus of this
paper as much as issues that relate to a future formulation of an anthro-
pology of man and beast in India. The leading question is to what extent
the juxtaposition of purity and pollution as formulated by Dumont
(1970) can be attributed to the relational positioning of man and beast.
Though Dumont’s concept of purity has been widely discussed and also
deconstructed with regard to the role of the Brahmin (Quigley 1993),
the aspect of pollution in the Scheduled Castes’ discourse has been
either discussed under the heading of emulative strategies (Srinivas
1966) or ignored in its idiosyncratic nature.
According to Mary Douglas (1966), taboos concerning purity of
matter, animals and human beings are meant to ward off highly charged
and dangerous contacts. The danger attributed to pollution dominates
the modes of perception, and the ordering and classification of things,
beasts and men. The fear of danger itself has a transformative quality as it
empowers the culturally defined realm of pollution. ‘Within the ritual
frame, the abomination is then handled as a source of tremendous power’;
on the other hand, dirt as a culturally unstructured matter functions as a
residual category and can act as a ‘symbol of creative formlessness’ (ibid.:
165, 169). Using Mary Douglas’ notion of pollution in its ambivalent
formulation of dangerous and creative, the attitude of Indian society at
large towards cows and pigs shall be analysed in this paper to find out to
what extent the overarching Hindutva discourse has opened up realms of
aggression and danger which were formerly contained and fenced-off.
The paper will finally document the rise and decline in the trade
and manufacture of bristles. The economic situation of the Khatiks will
be used as the background for the analysis of their ideology. The leading
80 Maren Bellwinkel-Schempp

question in that respect will be to what extent the outburst of violence

referred to above can be explained by the social degradation and eco-
nomic decline of the Khatiks. The ideological representations of the
Khatiks are not rooted in one coherent belief system but generally con-
cern different discourses of Scheduled Caste politics and caste specific
idiosyncratic notions. Concerning the analysis of food habits, it is to be
asked whether Scheduled Castes generally and the Khatiks specifically
share the notions of purity and pollution of the savarna discourse. It will
be shown that the Khatiks as providers of pork represent cherished food
notions of the Scheduled Castes which are also extended to the Muslims,
although in the latter case it is not pork meat but beef. Finally, it is to be
asked to what extent the skills in butchery show similarities between
Muslims and Khatiks on a structural level, and whether these are
accepted or negated by the latter. The butcher’s skill on a phenomeno-
logical level brings up the question of how the acquisition of this skill is
viewed by the Khatiks themselves. Hypothetically, it will be postulated
that their mastery over the life and death of beasts is extended to the
human realm under conditions where the ideological, political and
social containments are no longer present.

Scheduled Castes and Muslims in Kanpur

Kanpur is the biggest city in Uttar Pradesh and the ninth biggest city in
the whole of India. Kanpur city was founded by the British who set up
leather and textile industries here. The 1991 Census states that the
Kanpur Urban Agglomeration had a population of 2,111,284 persons
of which approximately 20 per cent were Muslims and 14 per cent
Scheduled Castes (Census of India 1991). The Khatiks are a compara-
tively small community constituting only 5.8 per cent of all Scheduled
Castes residing in the city. Their name is derived from the Sanskrit word
‘khatika’, meaning butcher and hunter (Singh 1993: 726). At the level
of education, average income and status, the Khatiks rank highest
among all Scheduled Castes (Majumdar 1960; Ram 1988). They live in
close proximity with the Muslims in Babupurwa, Colonelganj and
Latoucheroad. Babupurwa, where the severest rioting took place in
1992, is situated at the southern outskirts of Kanpur city. The center for
bristle manufacturing and trade is in Latoucheroad which is one of the
main thoroughfares of the town. Colonelganj is a prevalently Muslim
THE KHATIKS OF KANPUR AND THE BRISTLE TRADE 81

area with a few ahatas1 and residential areas where a large number of
Scheduled Castes live.
In Kanpur city, there are a number of Scheduled Castes of which
the most numerous are the Chamar (leather workers, 37.3 per cent), the
Kori (weavers, 16.9 per cent), the Pasi (vegetable sellers, 11.2 per cent),
the Balmiki (sweepers, 10.8 per cent), the Dhanuk (pig rearers, 4.5 per
cent), the Dhobi (washermen, 4.3 per cent) and the Shilpkar (stone
cutters, 2.1 per cent) (Bhatnagar 1965). Earlier, Chamars and Koris
worked mainly as industrial labourers in leather and textile industries.
The Khatiks did not work in industry; instead, they were either self-
employed tradesmen or general labourers and bristle manufacturers.
The Balmikis, Dhanuks, Dhobis and Shilpkars were general labourers in
the informal sector or worked in their traditional occupations.
Close economic ties, however, bound a couple of Scheduled Castes
together. As the Khatiks worked mostly as bristle manufacturers, the
dressing of the bristles was done by the Koris. Besides, the Khatiks,
Balmikis, Pasis and Dhanuks were also rearing pigs as all Scheduled
Castes ate pork. The Khatiks were connected to all these castes as buyers
and sellers of pigs and pork. Statistically, this has been well documented:
in the mid-1950s, there were 104 pig breeders and 335 shops for beef,
mutton and pork, all located in the city (Majumdar 1960: 43).
Historical evidence also suggests a close social and occupational
proximity between Scheduled Castes and Muslims in the city. For
instance, Muslims were mostly craftsmen, shopkeepers and industrial
labourers. Leather was the domain of the Muslims a well as of the
Chamars, who were regarded as ritually unclean and hence stigmatized
by the savarna discourse. Till the 1960s, Muslims and Chamars were
also tannery owners and shoe-makers (Briggs 1990 [1920]; Verma
1964), but nowadays, there are several leather industries in which they
work together in equal proportions (Ory 1997). There is, however, an
occupational shift of the Chamars away from working of leather, as a
sizeable number are now employed in government and private jobs. The
Muslims on the other hand continue to remain in the leather industry
and are involved with its craftsmanship.
In the early phases of Kanpur’s industrialization, it was mainly the
Muslim Julahas and the Hindu Koris—the traditional hand weavers—
who were recruited by the textile industry. When the upper castes came
in as industrial labourers, the percentage of Muslims and Koris declined.
In the early 1970s the Chamars and Koris worked together with the
82 Maren Bellwinkel-Schempp

Muslims in the textile industry, and all three combined constituted 15

per cent of the total labour force (Singh 1973). There was also a close
spatial proximity between Muslims and Scheduled Castes. There were
still ahatas which had a mixed Muslim and Scheduled Caste population
(Lavigne and Milbert 1983). Although that has changed considerably
after the recent riots, there are wards in Latoucheroad and Colonelganj
areas where Khatiks, Balmikis, Chamars and Muslims live together even
today. These wards are commonly known as communal troublespots in
the city.

The Cawnpore Brush Factory and

Calcutta Bristle

Kanpur was founded as a military camp in 1778 (Yalland 1987) but

acquired the status of the first and oldest industrial town in the whole of
India. It was primarily British industrialists who set up the leather and
textile industries here (Yalland 1994) in contrast to Bombay and
Ahmedabad where Indian capital was invested in the textile industry
(Rothermund 1988). Enterprising and business-minded as they were,
British industrialists put to good use the abundance of raw material,
cheap labour and the availability of capital. Among the raw materials
available were pig bristles because the United Provinces had the highest
percentage of pigs in the whole of India (Shah 1977). The ravines
around Kanpur were said to be full of wild boar, and pig-sticking was
the favourite game and one of the most popular sports of the British in
colonial times. This rather risky game was played on horseback with a
long spear which was meant to catch the wild boars. There is also evi-
dence of pig-breeding in this period. The enlightened Collector Halsey,
who pursued the first sanitary project in Kanpur’s ‘native town’, also
established the Agricultural Model Farm and introduced ‘half-bred
Leicester sheep, a fine Bhawulpore buffalo bull, imported pigs and an
Arab stallion’ (Yalland 1994: 167). It is a well known fact that the British
promoted piggeries just to have their ham for breakfast, although ham
was still imported as tinned food.
The Indians had no use for brooms and brushes, and the indigen-
ous broom (jharoo) was made of vegetable fibre. But from the 1860s
onwards, the European and American brush and paint brush industries
created a great demand for pig bristles. As the Americans and the British
THE KHATIKS OF KANPUR AND THE BRISTLE TRADE 83

had switched over to pork production for mass consumption, their hogs
were slaughtered at such a young age that they could not develop bris-
tles of sizeable length. Although in the 19th century bristles were mainly
imported from Russia for which Leipzig in Germany was the main
market, bristles from China and India became quite popular due to the
opening up of the colonial markets. The British taught bristle dressing
to the Chinese and to the Khatiks in Kanpur (or Cawnpore, as the city
and called before independence). As the Khatiks were pig-breeders and
pork-butchers, bristle manufacturing became their domain. Thus, bris-
tle manufacturing was a cottage industry which included bristle trade,
bristle extraction from the live or dead animal and bristle dressing.
It has been reported that bristles from Kanpur used to be exported
to the Western countries since the 1860s (Yalland 1994: 330) and even
general merchants had bristles inter alia on their tender. Although in the
Reports of the Upper India Chamber of Commerce there is no mention
of that commodity, we know from British sources2 that since 1870 there
was a regular bristle auction four times a year in London which special-
ized in that commodity. Hence, bristle trade preceded the establishment
of Kanpur’s first, and for a long time only, brush factory. This factory
had been established by the British under the name of Pioneer Brush
Factory in 1896. But in 1903 it was taken over by the managing agency
known as Begg Sutherland & Company, under the name of ‘Cawnpore
Brush Factory’, which continued to be called so till 1947. ‘The factory
is situated in the Mall (Mall Road area) and is worked throughout by
electricity: expert brushmakers were brought from England to instruct
the workmen, and all kinds of brushes are made, large quantities being
supplied to the army’ (Nevill 1909: 82). The Cawnpore Brush Factory
followed the same pattern as most of Kanpur’s industrial enterprises
under colonial rule: the blueprint, design, know-how and machinery
were imported from England and set up primarily for import substitu-
tion and to cater to the needs of the British army. The army created a
demand for shoe and horse brushes and as the raw material was easily
available, it made sense to set up a factory there.
Bristles come only from the hog, pig or boar. They come mainly
from animals of good age which have lived long enough to produce
hair of more than 50 mm on their neck/back. The unique characteristic
of the bristle is the split end which makes it possible to retain water.
Therefore, bristles are used for paint brushes also. The characteristics of
bristles which matter most to manufacturers are length, colour and
84 Maren Bellwinkel-Schempp

stiffness. Length is determined by age and breed, colour by breed, and

stiffness by climate. The colder the climate, the softer the bristle. For
this reason, Indian bristles have generally been the stiffest in comparison
to those supplied from North China which supplies the softest bristles.
For more than 100 years, bristles from Russia and China domi-
nated the world market with Indian bristles forming a very small part
of the trade. Although they only totalled 10 per cent of the Chinese
turnover, they got higher Prices because they were well sought after due
to their stiffness. Bristle coming from India was used for hair brushes,
industrial brushes and—due to its extreme stiffness—even for sewing
shoes and cricket balls. Chinese and Indian bristles were till the 1950s
mainly black: 60 per cent of the Indian bristles were black, 30 per cent
grey and 10 per cent white. The colour of the bristle indicates the
genetic composition of the stock, and the fact that the Indian domesti-
cated pig retains many of the characteristics of its wild brethren.3
Although Kanpur city developed into a center for Indian bristle
trade, the commodity was called ‘Calcutta bristle’ in Europe. It can be
assumed that the name was derived from the fact that the leading British
trading companies were Calcutta-based.4 The special quality of Calcutta
Bristle was its stiffness, black colour and elasticity. The stiffness was due
to the hot climate; its colour was due to the Indian breed being black
like its predecessor, the wild boar; and the elasticity was due to the
peculiar manner of bristle ‘harvesting’. Originally, bristles were shipped
via Calcutta but as the Great Peninsular Railway was already completed
in 1870 and Kanpur was linked in 1886 with the Central Indian
Railway, quite certainly from this time onwards bristles were sent by rail
to Bombay and shipped from there. Although there is evidence that
Calcutta bristle was already present in the European market before the
First World War, its ‘silver days’ came in the inter-war period (1919–
1939) when the supply for Russian bristles in the European market was
severely hampered by the Russian revolution, famine5 and the socialist
economy. In other words, from the 1930s till the 1950s bristles were
equated with silver and traded according to the price of silver.

Bristle Manufacturers and the Bristle Trade

In the 1930s, bristle trade became so remunerative that the Kayasthas

and Punjabis superseded the barriers of pollution and took up bristle
manufacturing. Thus, among the founding members of the Indian
THE KHATIKS OF KANPUR AND THE BRISTLE TRADE 85

Bristle Merchants Association were Khatiks, Kayasthas and Punjabis in

equal proportions.6 Although the Kayasthas claimed supremacy in that
business, this is strongly rejected by the Khatiks: ‘The Kayasthas came
much later. First, they used to collect pig hair and transport it on their
bicycles. This was long after we had already set up our business,’ said
Satish Chaudhary, the youngest son of Mithoo Lall.
The versatile and educated Kayasthas used their social acceptance
as a savarna caste for their business contacts which especially bore fruit
after India’s independence. Contrary to this, the Khatik bristle manu-
facturers were traders and bristle dressers. Bristles were bought during
the winter season at cattle fairs held in the countryside. They were sup-
plied by the pig-rearing untouchable castes but also by one Adivasi
group—the Kanjars—who supplied wild boar bristles which were much
sought after due to their high quality, which made them suitable for hair
brushes. Latoucheroad being the center of the Khatik bristle manufac-
turers, and being situated quite near the railway station, many custom-
ers came by rail. They were well received by brokers called dalal who
ushered them to the respective buyers in exchange for a commission.
The bristles were derived from the live animal and were harvested
twice a year: after the rainy season at the beginning of winter and in
summer. This method of ‘harvesting’ was also known in Russia. The live
pig was lifted over a branch of a tree by the hind legs, rubbed down with
ash, and amidst much squealing from the pig the bristles were extracted
by hand. The longest bristles found along the spine were preferred. This
was, however, a painful process and the shrieks of the animal were
bloodcurdling. This yelling-accompaniment to the ‘harvest’ method of
bristle extracting also used to draw the attention of savarna castes in
whose perceptions pigs and pig-rearing castes were beyond comprehen-
sion. Therefore, the easier method was the removal of the bristles from
the dead animal which was usually done at the abattoir already set up by
the British in the 19th century.
Bristle dressing was done on the ground floor in the workshops of
the bristle manufacturers on Latoucheroad. Workers were mostly Koris,
Khatiks and Pasis as mentioned above although the Koris formed the
majority. Since pigs are vulnerable to anthrax which is a fatal disease,
the bristles had to be boiled first—a procedure which took at least two
hours. As small particles of skin and flesh were not removed by boiling,
the bristles were thoroughly washed and cleaned by the women and put
on the roof to dry. Sorting and bundling was done by men and women
86 Maren Bellwinkel-Schempp

alike. This was a multi-step process as flag and tail, colour and length
had to be differentiated. The quality of the product and therefore the
price depended on the standard of processing. The bristles were packed
in wooden boxes which had the mark of the specific bristle manufac-
turer stamped on them. Although women did the dirty jobs, they were
paid less which was sex-specific discrimination. But it was argued that
washing the bristles required less skill than the other processes. Work in
this unorganized sector of Indian manufacturing was neither subject to
Indian labour legislation nor did the unions become active. Hence,
tariffs were regulated by the contractors or manufacturers. Labour rela-
tions were informal and strongly influenced by family and caste
relations.
In colonial times, those bristles which were not bought by the
Cawnpore Brush Factory were sold to England. This was done through
local British merchants like William Bird and Company, a raw product
dealer. They had their head office in Calcutta and a branch office on the
Mall Road in Kanpur. They exported bristles, skin, hides and furs, and
acted as quality controllers for the government. William Bird was the
oldest exporter and his annals reached back to the 19th century. In
the 1930s, a second British firm called Murray and Company became
quite prominent for raw products. It was followed by the Delhi-based
Kayastha merchant, Shyamji Mai Saxena, who in the early 1930s
exported wool, animal hair, bristles, skin, leather and hides abroad. This
firm had a branch office in Kanpur too.
But most of the bristles from Kanpur were bought by British
exporters who sometimes acted through the local agents. For the Khatik
bristle manufacturers, selling to London was a multi-step process. They
had to overcome the hurdles of colonial business practice where a chain
of intermediaries took away a good share of their profits. First, Khatik
bristle manufacturers received an advance from the exporters which was
a percentage of the average price determined at the last auction in
London. This enabled them to ship the goods. Once in London, the
bristle was displayed in a warehouse to enable buyers to check the qual-
ity. Before the auction, the brokers compiled a catalogue listing and
describing the products according to their special marks. The brokers
consisted of a small group of four to five traditional British families who
had been in the trade for a long time. When bristle manufacturers were
finally paid, the advances and the various costs of packaging, storing and
cataloguing were deducted.
THE KHATIKS OF KANPUR AND THE BRISTLE TRADE 87

Around the 1930s, there were five to six Khatik firms on

Latoucheroad which rose to prominence as bristle manufacturers.
Usually two close relations, either brothers, or uncle and nephew, or
cousin brothers, set up a firm together. This was done to minimise the
risk and keep the family together. The oldest firm, M/s Mitthoo Lall
Roshan Lall and Mangal Devi, was established in the 1930s. The owners
of the firm became the richest bristle manufacturers in Kanpur and
Mitthoo Lall styled himself as the ‘King of Bristles’, as the heading of his
imposing and impressively coloured photograph of the 1940s shows.
Being an uneducated man, he had a clerk of the Bank of Bengal to keep
his book accounts. He was able to use the ‘despised niche’ of Indian
society to his advantage by making a profit from bristle manufacturing.
He invested his wealth cleverly in the city’s real estate, and a whole block
of houses on Latoucheroad belonged to him and nowadays belongs to
his offspring. His all-India fame and name as the ‘King of Bristles’ can be
disputed but locally he gained name and fame, and called himself
chaudhury, a hereditary title which continues to be used by his sons.
The Khatiks in Kanpur city were not particularly bothered about
their social esteem and advancement. There was a short phase in which
they tried to form gotras by following the Brahminic example. This
attempt failed however. Apart from this, they never attempted to attain
higher social status by changing their genealogy as other Scheduled Castes
like for example, the Chamars and Koris did (Bellwinkel 1980; Molund
1988). For them, economic success sufficed, which the owner of the firm
Mukund Lall and Sons explained during a conversation as follows: ‘There
is no Hindu religion; there is only Sanatana Dharma and Arya Dharma.
Followers of the former worship statues and of the latter believe in God as
a supreme spirit. I am Arya Samaji and only use the word Om. I also
believe only in what I can attain through work; my work is my religion.’
The nonchalance with which the Khatiks ignore the Hindu laws of purity
and the self-assuredness with which the bristle manufacturers look upon
their despised trade may only apply to the rich dealers. However, it can
hardly be interpreted as an expression of Sanskritization (Ram 1995: 164)
as their frequent adoption of the surname Sonkar, derived from the
Sanskrit word somkar (moonlight), might suggest.
Unlike Mitthoo Lall, Mukund Lall, who also gave his name to the
above mentioned firm, was however an educated man and he took keen
interest in the early dalit movements in north India. He used to visit the
weekly meetings of Swami Achhutanand (Gooptu 1993). After the
88 Maren Bellwinkel-Schempp

Swami’s death in 1933, Ram Lal Sonkar—a bristle manufacturer of

Latoucheroad—became the leading political figure in the dalit move-
ments in Kanpur. On Babasaheb Dr. Ambedkar’s (the then Labour
Secretary in the Viceroy’s Council) only visit to Kanpur in 1944, Sonkar
and Mukund Lall called on Babasaheb while he was staying at the rail-
way retiring room and requested him to visit their place. Babasaheb
agreed to come to Latoucheroad on condition that a sahabhoj (commu-
nal feast) of all the Scheduled Castes in the city be organized. The narra-
tive goes7 that Ram Lal Sonkar managed to arrange a meeting for
Dr.  Ambedkar on the Parade—a locality adjoining Latoucheroad—
followed by the sahabhoj which was attended by the chaudhuries of the
different Scheduled Castes. Even the Balmikis who were considered to
be the lowest in the caste-hierarchy attended it. Since nobody wanted to
be the host of that sahabhoj, a tent was set up on an open ground. With
great triumph, the carriages of the leading industrialists of Kanpur like
Juggipat Kamlapat Singhania, among others, lined up during the sahab-
hoj. All of them wanted to speak to Babasaheb Ambedkar in his capacity
as Labour Minister. But he took his own time to finish the sahabhoj with
the untouchables of the city. What is usually not mentioned is that
Mitthoo Lall did not attend this sahabhoj. To cap it all, those who had
attended were ostracized from their respective castes.

Kanpur’s Industrial Decline and the Khatiks

Whereas Kanpur’s textile and leather industries prospered during the

Second World War because the industries located in the city produced
mainly for the army, bristle export suffered a setback due to the war, as
stated earlier. But the Khatiks were still able to produce bristle for the
Cawnpore Brush Factory which received large supply orders for the army.
At last, in 1946, Calcutta bristle was renamed Indian bristle. Independence
brought a restructuring of political and economic relations which were
influenced by international political events. Kanpur’s textile and leather
industries had made large profits during the two World Wars as the
British-dominated industries in the city were the main suppliers to the
army. The Nehruvian policy of creating a socialist economy favoured
investment in public sector enterprises and not in private business. As a
result, Kanpur was not on the list of the newly introduced industrial
growth centers (Singh 1990).
THE KHATIKS OF KANPUR AND THE BRISTLE TRADE 89

The transfer of economic power in Kanpur city had, however,

started right after independence with the last British industrialists
eventually selling their enterprises to Indian merchants in the 1970s.
These years were marked by labour unrest due to rationalization
(Pandey 1970) resulting in a reduction of the industrial labour force
(Awasthi 1981), and the change of transport from rail to road. Kanpur
lost its pre-eminence as a railway junction. Economically, those were
years of stagnation but this was not felt severely because of the euphoria
of decolonization and imagined growth potentials (Desai et al. 1968)
which later led to the city’s development programmes under the Master
Plan (1968–91) for Kanpur and the Kanpur Development Authority
(1975). Those master plans were formulated by the different bodies of
planners, professionals and bureaucrats. The implementation of the
various programmes envisaged under these plans was, unfortunately,
hampered by rivalry, corruption and inaction on the part of the imple-
menting machinery. Hence, the severe shortages of water and sanita-
tion were left to be resolved with the help of the international
development agencies in the early 1980s (Lavigne and Milbert 1983;
ISESEP 1988).
For Kanpur’s bristle manufacturers, the early years of independence
were years of prosperity. The Korean War and the strained Chinese and
American relations were a boom for Kanpur’s bristle manufacturers.8
Although the Americans had turned to pig-rearing for mass consump-
tion, they did not produce sufficient hog bristle themselves (Wagmann
1952). They became the biggest buyers of Chinese bristles and even set
up firms themselves in China. However, the Chinese revolution and the
restructuring of the state under communism in 1948 placed a great
strain on the American bristle trade. The import of hog bristles from
China was finally prohibited when the Americans imposed, following
the Korean War in 1952, a trade embargo on goods imported from
China. American traders were prohibited from importing Chinese
goods even through the Third World countries.
The Americans turned directly to the Indian market undermining
the London auction. This also allowed some Parsi firms to enter the
bristle trade, specially those who had settled in Kanpur after independ-
ence. Being educated, Parsis and Punjabis broke the hold of the middle-
men and dealt directly with London’s brokers. Still, Mitthoo Lall did not
leave the premises of Latoucheroad though the isolation of the colonial
channels of commerce had broken him down. He was visited by one of
90 Maren Bellwinkel-Schempp

his American customers who not only recalls Mitthoo Lall’s frankness
and honesty in business matters but also the amount of alcohol which
both of them consumed.9 Once America started buying, air-freight
became a more frequent form of transport especially for the longer and
more valuable varieties of bristle. In 1968, Nepal introduced an import/
export scheme under which it was more advantageous to Indian shippers
to send their goods to Nepal for re-export to the United Kingdom. So,
‘Nepal-bristles’ became a brand name and also underwent a change in
quality control. Though the Government of India set up AGMARK
grading scheme for cottage industry products, this could not apply to
the grading of bristles.
When the Chinese market was re-opened in 1972, the Khatiks’ for-
tune started to look up again in Kanpur city. The Chinese were able to
supply a much larger volume of better quality hog bristles at more com-
petitive prices. Indian bristles and bristle dressing generally began to
decline, a fact which owes to the overall economic condition of Kanpur.
From the 1970s onwards, traditional textile mills and leather factories
were taken over by the government. As the British had failed to invest in
new machinery, the production cost became too high, leading to low
productivity, and this low productivity became uncompetitive vis-a-vis
the newly established growth centers under the Five-Year plans. Although
Kanpur’s textile mills and leather factories were running at high losses,
these were used as employment-creating schemes by the government,
and Kanpur’s labour force had a comparatively secure existence. In
1979, London’s bristle auction was finally closed, marking the end of
colonial trade relations with Kanpur’s Khatiks. Indian bristle was no
longer exported abroad.
At the beginning of the 1980s, conditions for the bristle mer-
chants aggravated as the Chinese lowered the prices for their bristles
and literally flooded the American and European market with big
quantities of high quality bristles. As Indian bristles were not
exported any longer, their price fell even in the Indian market,
inducing a number of former bristle manufacturers to turn to
brush-making. The Parsi bristle merchants, for instance, left busi-
ness as soon as the Korean boom was over. Three former well known
Khatik bristle manufacturers also turned brush-makers, although the
other two are still in business; one has become the first and foremost
importer of Chinese bristles since 1989.10 The son of the leading
THE KHATIKS OF KANPUR AND THE BRISTLE TRADE 91

Kayastha bristle exporter had set up in the 1960s a highly successful

paint brush factory which is now catering to the demands of the
construction industry in Bangalore. And the most successful brush
manufacturer in the city is a Punjabi who has employed 35 workers
and runs a semi-automatic plant. There are 18 brush factories in the
city registered with the Directorate of Industries. But according to
one estimate, there are at least 500 brush makers in Kanpur who
produce in family concerns, while those who learn the craft in the
factories are employees. As modern construction activities are
demanding regular application of paint, there is also nowadays an
Indian demand for paint brushes.11
At the end of the 1970s, a number of leather tanneries and leather
factories began to modernise to be able to produce high quality prod-
ucts for the international market. They are run by Muslims and
Punjabis. Over the last 20 years, they have transformed Kanpur into a
renowned center for leather industry whereas all the traditional leather
and textile mills of colonial times finally closed down in 1991. The
introduction of the New Economic Policy in the context of globaliza-
tion under the Narasimha Rao regime had a devastating effect on the
old and renowned factories in the city. Kanpur’s industrial labour force
resorted to casual labour or petty trade. The oldest brush factory, the
Brushware Ltd12 of the city, also met the same fate as it was finally
closed down in 1994 and its dusty rooms are now guarded by four
watchmen. But the leather industry and brush manufacturing have con-
tinued to prosper.

Pig Farming in the City

In Kanpur city, the Bhangis, Pasis, Dhanuks and Khatiks have been
engaged in rearing pigs. In the early 1970s, pig farming was confined to
the respective wards where the pig rearing castes lived. Since the begin-
ning of the 1980s, pork production on a large scale has been introduced
by one Khatik family in the city. Over the last 20 years, pigs have mul-
tiplied to the extent that it is said that this particular family nowadays
owns 20,000 pigs in Kanpur. The pig-breeders use the garbage heaps of
the whole city as feeding places for their pigs, although middle class
residential areas where a better feed can be expected are preferred. Only
92 Maren Bellwinkel-Schempp

the Muslim wards are omitted. The city is divided into four feeding
zones and in each zone the pigs are marked with a different brand by
cutting a sign into their ear and tail. Three of these zones are supervised
by the extended family and the other zone is given on rent to a near
relation. Supervision of pigs is done daily by the members of the Khatik
family themselves but pig farming depends on local servants who do the
work. They tie up the pigs for slaughter and also turn up from nowhere
immediately when a pig is killed in traffic. Their noisy complaints and
threatening monetary demands are feared by the city’s car drivers. Pigs
constitute a considerable impediment to traffic and their droppings soil
the streets. Not only that but any effort to change the system of garbage
collection by private initiative was in vain in the past as the Khatiks
retaliated immediately.
In villages, the Khatiks keep their pigs in stys and feed them on rice
straw, sugarcane stalks and maize. This is also occasionally done in the
city to the more valuable ‘Chinese’ pigs which are big, fat and white, and
are markedly different from their long-legged, skinny and black breth-
ren with long hair on their backs frequently roaming in the city’s open
drains and garbage heaps. It can be surmised that the so-called Chinese
pigs kept for meat production are a cross breed with a few European
species which were introduced sometime in the past in India via China.13
But when I examined their feed more closely, they were fed the same
scavengers menu as their unreputed brethren.
Nowadays, as the consumption of pork is of great importance, a
visit to the slaughterhouse may be an exciting experience. The British
established slaughterhouses in Kanpur of which one in Fazalganj is
meant for the Khatiks to slaughter pigs and goats, and the other at
Bakarmandi for the Muslims to slaughter goats and water-buffalo. (Cow
slaughter has been banned in Uttar Pradesh since 1955.) These abattoirs
are at opposite ends of the city. Interestingly enough, Khatik goat butch-
ers (kasai) carry the same subcaste name as Muslim butchers, which indi-
cates conversion of one section of the Khatiks to Islam (Ansari 1960).
My visit to the Fazalganj abattoir was rather gruesome and repulsive but
highly informative. The narrative of experience of the visit reads: ‘In
front of the abattoir are huge garbage heaps which are scavenged by
sweepers and pigs alike. The abattoir is a large mud paved yard which
also serves as a market. There are stys all around to keep pigs there for a
couple of days before they are also sold and taken away. Additional
installations are a fireplace and a water tank. At seven o’clock in the
THE KHATIKS OF KANPUR AND THE BRISTLE TRADE 93

morning, only the villagers, specially Dhanuks who have walked the
whole night, come in with their herds. Two lorries parked by the road-
side are meant to take the pigs to Assam where they fetch higher prices,’
Munna, the pork butcher, explained. He is an expert in fixing the price
of the animal just by sight and by a confirming grip on the pig’s back. He
elaborated, ‘Buying and selling is done by fixing the price in advance and
giving credit. Not a single banknote is exchanged in the entire process.’
My narrative goes ahead, ‘Then come some of the pigs from the city, tied
and bundled on rickshaws. The pork butchers including a woman are
there waiting in quiet equanimity for the specimen they were to
process.’
Slaughtering is done the whole year round, even during the hot
season. The bristles are plucked out in a swift and deft motion by the
young men afterwards. This is followed by singeing on grill on the fire-
place and the skin is cleansed in a basin of dark brown slop (water)
which is probably seldom changed. Cleansing is often done by the
youngest and is perhaps their way to start learning the craft. The slaugh-
tered animal is put on the floor for further processing. During my visit
to the slaughterhouse to observe the whole process, one of the men
standing around commented on the slaughtering process: ‘We do every-
thing differently from the Muslims. The Muslims do the halal way of
slaughtering so that the animal is completely bled. They cut-off the head
and make all the blood come out. We prefer stabbing into the heart so
that little blood is lost. We retain the blood and make blood pudding
out of it. The more the blood in the animal, the juicier the meat. But, of
course’, he admitted, ‘the meat also spoils more quickly.’ The processing
has to be done quickly by the pork butchers numbering around 200 in
the city. There are an even greater number of ambulant pork restaurants
which sell curried pork dishes and pork sausages. The thelewalas and
rickshawalas usually buy the meat from the butchers. Their women do
the meat preparation and the men sit out in the evening with their carts
in search of customers.

Khatiks, Muslims and the post-Ayodhya Scenario

Events of the so-called Indian mutiny of 1857 which led to the extinction
of British Kanpur’s military and civil population (Ward 1996) created the
impression of the city as a ‘city of violence’ (Molund 1988). It proved to
94 Maren Bellwinkel-Schempp

be so throughout the 20th century when the city was shaken by several
communal riots and industrial strikes, which are to be seen in the light of
the city’s urban and industrial development and its failure to improve the
living conditions of the working class (Awasthi 1981). Rioting is to be
seen as historically rooted when communalism developed as a force during
the Non-cooperation/Khilafat movement of the 1920s, as the form in
which nationalist demonstrations took place had a decisively ‘Hindu’ con-
notation (Freitag 1989), and as such was unacceptable to Muslims. As the
Arya Samaj’s influence was rather strong on labour and national move-
ments, it led to an additional alienation of the Muslims. The Hindu-
Muslim riot of 1931 was the most severe in pre-independence India.
Around 400 people died and 1,200 were injured. Temples and mosques
were destroyed, houses and shops burnt (Barrier 1976). In the after-
math of these riots, a rearrangement of localities had taken place as
Hindus moved out of Muslim-majority areas and vice versa. The ahatas
got fortified to serve defence purposes. This process of homogenization
of population locally was counteracted by the explicit agenda of the
communists to fight communalism. The universalistic and humanitar-
ian appeal—‘First we are people’—was to counterbalance this. To what
extent communist propaganda was successful is, however, not certain as
minor riots kept flaring up in the 1930s. Yet, there was no riot during
partition although the ahatas went under guard.
The post-Ayodhya Hindu-Muslim riots in Kanpur city in 1992 did
not catch the headlines of many newspapers. But these were equally
severe in the city as four days of nearly uncontrolled violence gave the
riots the character of a pogrom (Brass 1997). Around 69 deaths were
registered although the unofficial number was much higher. Over 70 per
cent of the victims were poor Muslims and many of the Hindu victims
belonged to the Scheduled Castes. The riots were instigated by the Hindu
nationalists (fundamentalists) the Bharatiya Janata party (BJP) and its
splinter groups which had a stronghold among the merchants and upper
caste employees in the city. The BJP had gained prominence in Kanpur
since the 1980s and was successful in the 1991 elections to the Parliament
as well as to the State Assembly. But the most striking feature of the 1992
riots was the strong involvement of one section of the Khatiks under the
leadership of ‘Kala Bachcha’ (literally, ‘black child’, a nickname).
The Black Child, as this hero of the dark side was called, was a Khatik
who lived in Babupurwa. His real name was Munna Sonkar but since
THE KHATIKS OF KANPUR AND THE BRISTLE TRADE 95

childhood he had been called Kala Bachcha. That is how he was known
even in his school records. Black colour is associated with low status, noto-
riety and viciousness, as also playfulness, as the god Krishna was also con-
sidered to be of dark complexion. Kala Bachcha owned about 200 pigs and
had built a large multi-storey house which he mainly let out to tenants
including Muslims. He became a municipal corporator as an independent
candidate, joined the Congress Party afterwards and switched over to the
BJP, although it is said that ideologically he was not a very committed
person (Brass 1997: 227). Within a short time he became the President of
the BJP unit in Kanpur city. Although it is well established that during the
post-Ayodhya riots in the city Muslims were the first ones to come out, the
selective, pointed and aimed rioting against them is largely attributed to
Kala Bachcha. Among the BJP and the Hindu public at large, it is said that
he was considered by them to be a hero who saved Hindus from the Muslim
areas. Contrary to this, the Muslims attributed to him the prime agency for
the selective and organized looting and killing. Police and the city adminis-
tration on their part considered him just a criminal element belonging to
those institutionalized riots which had taken place in the last couple of years
in the city. There is even hearsay that he had taken to stealing pigs and
changing their brand. In February 1994, he was killed in a bomb blast
while driving on his scooter with a near relative. Fortunately, this time the
police and the city administration were able to suppress further rioting (The
Pioneer 1994).

Towards an Anthropology of Man and Beast

The pig is called suar in Hindi. The term’s etymological root goes back
to the Indo-European schwein in German and swine in English. There is
no linguistic differentiation between the wild and the domesticated spe-
cies, although the Sanskrit term varaha for wild boar is used in a number
of Indian languages (also for one of the incarnate forms of Lord Vishnu).
The wild boar is called jungli suar (the forest pig). Yet, there is no histor-
ical evidence concerning the Indian pig. The ancient cultures of
Mesopotamia and Egypt domesticated the pig in the 4th-5th millen-
nium BC, but in Mohenjo Daro and Harappa (2300–1700 BC), cen-
ters of the Indus Valley civilization, any remnant of the domesticated pig
is conspicuous by its absence (Kosambi 1956). The Vedic Aryans were
96 Maren Bellwinkel-Schempp

nomads and when they migrated to India about 1250 BC, they had
horses, cattle, goats and sheep (but no pigs) and the male animals were
used for sacrifice (O’Flaherty 1980) and their meat was eaten.
Cows were treated as clean animals but their super-elevation to the
realm of holiness started as a Hindu reaction to Buddhism and preceded
the first formulated theory of ahimsa (non-violence). Both Jainism and
Buddhism had objected to the killing of animals and the consumption
of meat. The development of vegetarianism and the ban on cow slaugh-
ter is a well researched realm especially in German Indology. The cow
protection movement which started in the late 19th century was, how-
ever, a move directed against the Muslims. Interestingly enough, it was
intended as a ban on ritual slaughtering (qurbani) at the end of the
Muslim fasting period, and not against the slaughtering of cows for beef
among the Muslims and the British (Pandey 1992). Veterinary research
has focussed on the Indian cow, and its breeding history is well known,
but we know very little about the domestication of the pig in India.
For the Hindu, the cow is not only considered to be a clean animal
but is superelevated to a sacred animal. Her five products—milk, butter,
fat, urine and dung—are mixed and eaten in cow worship. Cows and
priests are said to have been created at the same time. Traditionally, the
Scheduled Castes were not allowed to breed cows as the cow was
regarded as the abode of numerous gods, and her worship and care for
her led to salvation. The cow is also considered to be the mother of India
and a mother is not to be killed. For the Muslims, on the other hand,
the cow is a clean animal and as such is preferred for ritual slaughter and
consumption.
Hinduism has made an implicit equation between Scheduled Castes
and pigs. As the pig is an omnivore and eats garbage, faeces, carrion and
dirt, it is considered an unclean animal even by those castes who tradi-
tionally undertook the ritually polluting tasks. According to Koranic
law, the pig is considered an unclean animal and the Muslims all over the
world are not allowed to eat pork. Harris (1985) holds that ecological
reasons underlie the food taboo. The pig became an ‘abomination’ in the
Middle Eastern countries because it directly was rivalling human food-
stuff. Regarding the feed of Kanpur’s pigs, I doubt that thesis. Be that as
it may, it can certainly be argued that the pig, considered unclean as it is
by savarna castes and Muslims alike, belongs to the despised realm of
Indian culture.
THE KHATIKS OF KANPUR AND THE BRISTLE TRADE 97

This general juxtaposition of Brahmin and cow against untouch-

able and pig has no scriptural foundation in Hinduism. In the epic
and puranic scriptures of Hinduism, there is no mention of the pig.
Only the wild boar is referred to as the cherished prey of aristocratic
hunts. The wild boar of the jungle is praised for its strength, power
and ferocity. Categorically, the wild boar is beyond culture; his savage-
ness is attributed to the woods where he resides. Wild boar is said to
have been eaten by the Buddha also and, nowadays, it is eaten even by
the savarna castes. In the old scriptures of Hinduism, the opposite of
the holy cow is the despised dog and not the pig (Malinar 1997). In
Hindu mythology, the wild boar is the third incarnation of Lord
Vishnu as mentioned above. When a demon cast the earth into the
depth of the cosmic ocean (a heap of filth, according to another ver-
sion), Vishnu assumed the form of an enormous boar, killed the
demon and retrieved the earth with his tusk. ‘This mystic scenario
probably developed through a primitive non-Aryan cult of the sacred
pig’ (Eliade 1987:364).
The Scheduled Castes were meat-eaters (Singh 1993). They ate
beef, pork, chicken, dog, cat and rat, mice and meat (Randeria 1993).
In the Scheduled Castes’ mythology, however, the consumption of beef
was instrumental in their losing their status as a clean caste (Vincentnathan
1993). For instance, the Dhanuks of Kanpur are said to have lost their
clean status of the Ahir caste when they took to pig rearing (Singh
1993). Traditionally, the Chamars were given the dead cows for process-
ing and they ate carrion. But in the 1920s, the so-called ‘disgusting and
heterodox practices of eating pork, beef, carrion and the leftover of food
of other castes was on the decline’ (Briggs 1990 [1920]: 47).
Dr. Ambedkar also had strongly objected to the intake of carrion (Keer
1954) which was given up altogether by the Mahars of Maharashtra and
the Chamars of northern India. Yet, there is an odium attached to
pig-rearing which is based on an implicit equation of pig and sweeper,
as both scavenge amidst the dirt. The sweeper belongs to the most pol-
luted caste because he takes away the excreta from the upper castes. As
the pig eats that matter which is defined as polluted, pig in the savarna
discourse is considered a polluted animal. Nevertheless, pork is generally
eaten by all Scheduled Castes not only in Kanpur city but in the whole
of India. For instance, it has an eminently nutritious and ritual value for
the Chamars. It is the only fresh meat they could obtain in the past. For
98 Maren Bellwinkel-Schempp

them, pig was also the preferential sacrificial animal (Bellwinkel 1980;
Cohn 1987) which used to be the food at weddings. A piglet was
sacrificed when a child was born or was sick, or a boon had to be
granted.14 But now there are few Chamars in Kanpur city who are will-
ing to recall that tradition.
As stated earlier, the upper caste Hindus in general and in Kanpur
city in particular show the highest amount of repulsion towards the pig.
The repulsion generally expressed by Kanpur’s middle classes towards the
pig has different connotations reflecting the ‘Westernized’ orientation of
the respective discussants. Those exposed to European modes of living
are able to differentiate between the animal and its unsavoury feed. They
do not mind eating pork if the pigs are kept properly and are not fed on
garbage heaps. They would certainly eat pork abroad as it is juicy and
delicious irrespective of the feeding pattern of the pig. But here in Kanpur
city, they can give endless examples of washermen who have died of tape-
worm in the brain which was certainly transmitted from pork. A general
warning is displayed in Chinese restaurants in the city to not eat pork as
it is injurious to health. The second discourse of the middle classes takes
a paternalistic stance. According to them, the consumption of pork is
regarded suitable only for the Scheduled Castes as their stomach is con-
sidered to be adjusted to the digestion of pork. In such arguments, pork
eating and drinking country liquor among the poor and labourers is also
condoned as they are believed, to not know better.
Health hazards attributed to the intake of pork are partially a ratio-
nalization of the savarna discourse of the polluted pork. But from a nutri-
tional point of view, this is not true as physiologically that kind of feed is
harmless. It only shows the highly adaptive capacity of the pigs’ intestines
to split up faeces and leftovers. What would certainly be injurious to
health are the unhygienic conditions at the Fazalganj slaughter house, the
total lack of veterinary inspection, and the lack of cooling facilities at the
abattoir and the butchers’ shops.15 But many office goers from the savarna
castes, on leaving office come to the roadside pork restaurants. They do
not argue about what they eat; instead they relish the pork, unnoticed by
their mothers, wives and children. Contrary to this, the educated amongst
the Chamars have partially taken over the savarna discourse on the pol-
luted pork as stated earlier. The consumption of pork was something they
had done in childhood but it is something their not so advanced brothers
still do. Nowadays, they have taken to the cherished food of the middle
classes like chicken, goat, and to a lesser extent, mutton, although some of
THE KHATIKS OF KANPUR AND THE BRISTLE TRADE 99

the educated Chamars, especially the convinced Buddhists, are strictly

vegetarians.
Meat-eating in the Hindu, or rather Brahmanic, tradition has been
treated exhilarating; hence, undesirable. But for the Khatiks of Kanpur,
pork eating has remained an overt and cherished tradition which they are
proud of. In their opinion, pork is tasty and cheap, and is suitable for all.
They claim that even Muslims eat pork, although they do it on the sly.
They send their children to the butcher’s shop to make sure that nobody
notices it. The Khatiks have most probably never taken to beef eating as
they traditionally had enough pork to consume. Probably consequent
upon that, cow protection is strongly implanted in their belief system and
also governs their relationship with the Muslims whom they regard to be
ritually polluting on account of their eating beef. ‘If a Muslim touches our
water vessels, they will be polluted,’ they say. Untouchability practised
between Khatiks and Muslims has also repercussions on their business
relationships. For instance, a Khatik bristle manufacturer was repri-
manded in the past by his caste fellows because he had bought cattle and
horse tail hair from the Muslims to blend them with pork bristles. But
from these notions a general hostility between Khatiks and Muslims
cannot be deducted. There are Khatik families on Latoucheroad who
follow Muslim Pirs and their male members maintain close friendship
with Muslims. They visit each other on Id and Diwali, and take food in
the respective houses.
In retrospect, the rise and decline of the bristle trade showed that the
notion of pollution worked to the advantage of the Khatiks. Being mainly
pork butchers and associated with the most defiling notion of pollution,
Khatiks have traditionally been allowed a low ranking in the gradation of
the Scheduled Castes though Ram (1988) has found them fairly at the
top in such gradation. In spite of that they became successful entrepre-
neurs and used the ‘despised niche’ of Indian society to their own advan-
tage. These findings are surprising to the extent that these are contrary to
the common notion of the norms of pollution which worked to the dis-
advantage of the Scheduled Castes as a whole. The bristle trade became so
remunerative that even businessmen of the savarna castes entered this
trade, as stated earlier. Thus, bristle became a ritually neutral commodity
for which the norms of purity and pollution (Dumont 1970) were not
applicable. In the case of the Khatiks of Kanpur city, the economic realm
has superseded the ritual realm. There is certainly a noticeable change
regarding the rigidity of pollution norms.
100 Maren Bellwinkel-Schempp

Although most of the Scheduled Castes in Kanpur city tried in the

past to Sanskritize their behaviour to achieve upper caste status (Niehoff
1959; Bellwinkel 1980; Molund 1988; Ram 1995), the Khatiks did not
bother about it at all. The repulsion associated with their name which
directly discloses the profession of butchery has made them change their
surname to Sonkar. I do not regard this as an indication of Sanskritization;
instead, only of their ambivalence concerning their butcher’s role. But in all
other realms of behaviour such as specificities of their trade, business, food
and drinking habits, they show great confidence and self-assuredness. In
respect of butchery, they openly do not want to be referred to as a butcher’s
caste although within the walls of Pazalganj abattoir the young butchers are
tremendously proud of their craftsmanship. As butchers and masters of the
beast, Khatiks control their (the beasts’) life and death. Although till the
Ayodhya riots their mastery of killing was contained within the walls of
the slaughterhouse, its extension into the human realm was possible only
under very specific and complex socio-political and ideological conditions.
The Scheduled Caste politics in Kanpur city has remained frag-
mented and only on specific occasions unified as Ram (1995) has shown.
Although the Khatiks of the city had received Dr. Ambedkar when he
came to Kanpur on his aforesaid first and only visit, they were not very
much involved in Scheduled Caste politics. It is the Chamars who were
the spokesmen, although they also were fragmented between different fac-
tions and orientations (Niehoff 1959). In the past, neither the Ambedkar
movement nor neo-Buddhism had any lasting political impact on Kanpur.
Scheduled Caste industrial workers were with the Congress party as long
as the fortunes of the Nehru dynasty ran high. They have recently shifted
to the Bahujan Samaj Party and a faction of the Khatiks to the BJP. The
Khatiks are also fragmented in their political orientation. One faction is
with the communists who have always taken an anti-communalist stance.
And evidence suggests that Kala Bachcha’s ideological identification with
the BJP was superficial, although he became the president of the city unit
of the party, as mentioned above. Thus, it cannot be construed from the
short-term association of Kala Bachcha and a faction of the Khatiks with
the BJP that the latter have become Sanskritized, distanced from the other
Scheduled Castes, and have crossed the pollution barrier and begun to
enjoy the status of a clean or savarna caste.
The economic decline of the Khatiks from international trade
relations to pig-breeding certainly meant a loss of status for them. The
BJP used the hidden animosity between Khatiks and Muslims, which
THE KHATIKS OF KANPUR AND THE BRISTLE TRADE 101

revolved around the pig, to absorb one fraction of the former into their
fold. Kala Bachcha gained recognition and esteem through his associ-
ation with the BJP, the winner in Kanpur’s urban politics since the
1980’s. The overarching ideology of Hindutva was directed by the BJP
against the Muslims and the polluting character of the Khatiks’ occu-
pation was negated as long as the Khatiks served its ends. To use
Dumont’s argument in contradiction to his theory, pollution was sub-
sumed to power, and Kala Bachcha himself cleverly stuck to the
‘Orientalist’ image (Brass 1997) of the complacent and non-violent
Hindu. In his own definition of the happenings, he was ‘only saving’
those Hindus living in the Muslim-dominated areas who feared for
their lives. Under very specific conditions, the Hindutva ideology bot-
tled up that danger which until how is contained in the specific profes-
sion of the BJP.

Conclusion

There is power derived from the fear of pollution of matter, beast and
man, and this power is contained by the caste system. The pollution part
of the caste system is until now seen only in it’s suppressive, exploitative
and unjust aspects. The Khatiks share with all Scheduled Castes the power
derived from the abomination of dirt, pollution and death which the
savarna castes hand down to them. The pig as the realm of pollution and
dirt is the creative and nutritious element for the Khatiks which they have
used to their advantage as bristle manufacturers, pig-breeders and
pork-butchers. This notion is shared by most of the Scheduled Castes in
the city and outside, for whom the pig is of high symbolic and ritual value.

Notes
The author is grateful to Professor Nandu Ram, Dr. Ambedkar Chair Professor of Sociology
at Jawaharlal Nehru University, New Delhi, who made valuable comments and suggestions
on the earlier draft of this paper.
1. Ahata means enclosure which is the prevalent residential area of the labour class and
the urban poor. Most of the ahatas are listed as slums.
2. Most of this information I owe to Edward Barber from the firm Michael Barber and
Sons. They were the leading auctioneers of bristles in London.
3. This statement is corroborated through an observation made by Reinhold Herz, an
eminent and experienced German bristle dealer of Stuttgart. I showed him a photo-
graph of bristle dressing in Latoucheroad Judging from the flag of the bristles, he
102 Maren Bellwinkel-Schempp

thought they came from the wild boar But as far as I knew, they came from Kanpur’s
domesticated pigs.
4. I came across the name ‘Calcutta Bristle’ first m the German brush workers journals
which I consulted in the Leipzig National Library and in the Economic Archives of
Baden Wurttemberg.
5. The Russians ate up all their pigs.
6. I am grateful to Suresh Saxena, the former secretary of the Indian Bristle Merchants
Association who not only supplied me with information but also allowed me to con-
sult his files.
7. In the discourse of the sahabhoj, I follow the narrative of Mukund Lall s son Nawal
Kishor—the most objective and trustworthy informant Many information on the bris-
tle trade I owe to him and his monthly Brushes Hairs and Fibres published in English
and Hindi In the editorials, Nawal Kishor raises historical issues on the bristle trade,
bristle dressing and brush manufacturing.
8. At that time German bristle dressing also prospered.
9. ‘Drinking like a fish’ is an abusive term in Germany for brush makers also The dusty
work of brush making allows German craftsmen, according the Board of Craftsmen
Regulations, to drink one bottle of beer a day during work although usually alcohol
is prohibited at the work site.
10. This is the firm A K Export Trading Corporation which still deals with Indian bristles
and does dressing on demand.
11. Houses were usually whitewashed after the rainy season just before Diwali For the
application of lime, vegetable fibres were used.
12. After independence, the Cawnpore Brush Factory was renamed Brushware Limited.
13. This insight I owe to Howard Wagmann, Senior of the American Bristle Dealers I am
also grateful to Prof H. Geldermann of the Institute of Animal Genetics of the
Agricultural University, Schloss Hohenheim, Germany, who pointed out to me that
not only bristle trade but cross breeding of pigs also was an international affair.
14. Most of the information regarding the natural importance of the pig for the Chamars
I owe to Prof Nandu Ram of Jawarharlal Nehru University, New Delhi as Briggs is
very scanty in his information.
15. I discussed this point at length with Prof Becker of the Institute of Animal Production in
the Tropics and Subtropics, Agricultural University, Schloss Hohenheim, Stuttgart,
Germany Using my material on Kanpur’s pig feed, he gave a stimulating lecture to his
students and me on the pigs’ intestines and their adaptive capacity For me, this proved to
be a physiologically sound refutation of a substantialist’s deduction of pollution concept.

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 PART III
Mapping Conflict
7
Dalit Struggle, Nude Worship,
and the ‘Chandragutti
Incident’1
Linda J. Epp

O
n two days every spring, bhaktas (worshippers) from several
Karnataka districts have for centuries performed bettale seve
(nude worship). This occurs at Chandragutti village, in Sorab
taluk in Shimoga district. Devotees undress, bathe in the sacred Varada
river, and walk the four kilometres from the wilderness and up the
mountainside to the temple, shivering and shouting, ‘Yellamma, Udo,
Udo, Udo (Praise to God!)’. There they fulfil their vows to the Mother
Goddess Yellamma/Renuka: they pray for forgiveness of sins, offer
thanks for cure of disease, request the birth of a son, and generally seek
to placate a fearful deity. Most of the devotees are from the lower strata
of society: most are Dalit women.
Nudity, especially of women, is taboo in India: however, there are
ritual occasions when nudity has been condoned. Nudity and nude wor-
ship in this region are associated with other rural celebrations, such as
the Holi festival, and celebrants, such as devadasis (women married to
the goddess and reserved for sacred prostitution), and ascetic Digambara2
Jains. Although nude worship at Chandragutti was removed from the
official List of Seves (Services) in 1928, it persisted.
At the so-called ‘Chandragutti Incident’ of 1986, ‘frenzied devotees,
protesting attempts to prevent worship in the nude, stripped and
assaulted police personnel and social workers’ (Indian Express, Bangalore,
108 Linda J. Epp

24 February 1988). This was the result of a protest demonstration against

nude worship staged in part by the Dalit Sangharsh Samiti (DSS)
(Committee for the Struggle of the Oppressed). Dalit means downtrod-
den, or oppressed, people. The term refers to Scheduled Castes (ex-
Untouchables), Tribals and other groups that make up the Depressed
Classes in India. The DSS comprises young men, mostly ex-Untouchables,
immersed in B. R. Ambedkar’s cultural and political platform for social
reform of caste inequality.3 Many of these Karnataka activists now define
‘Dalit’ more narrowly as ‘Untouchables, those ill-treated and humiliated
by caste.’ The Incident, and the ensuing Channaveerappa Enquiry
Commission ended nude worship at Chandragutti.
The ‘Chandragutti Incident’ described here is from the perspective of
the DSS members and sympathizers who originated the protest and were
attacked in the ensuing riot. Among these insurgents, Mr. B. Krishnappa,
the first Karnataka State Convenor of the DSS, was surely prominent. As
a village labourer’s child who slept and worked in a local landlord’s house,
he recalls ‘a bitter experience with caste and economic inequality’. But,
when Krishnappa became educated, and an educator himself, like many
of the rising Dalit elite, he became complacent. However, once Krishnappa
was convinced by the Dalit movement’s early discussions derived from
various ‘agitation’ literatures, unlike these others who remained in their
complacency, he remembered his own past and the plight of other villag-
ers. He then took on an informed activist perspective and led the DSS, as
Convenor, from 1974 to 1984.
The ‘Chandragutti Incident’ was not Krishnappa’s first experience
with protest against ceremonial nudity. Six or seven years earlier, he helped
DSS workers in Gulbarga district fight against a nude procession of
women, mostly devadasis about to be dedicated to the deity. The Gulbarga
Superintendent of Police was a famous Dalit writer and, along with the
support of more militant Dalits (near to Maharashtra and influenced by
Ambedkar directly), took a firm decision to stop this procession. The
Gulbarga success likely set the precedent for the Chandragutti protest.
The thinking of the DSS was that an ‘anomaly’ could be stopped in
society in two ways. By persuading the people and/or by bringing polit-
ical force and ‘law and order’ to suppress unacceptable behaviour. At
both protest demonstrations, it was not possible to quickly convince
devotees to cease their worship. They would say, ‘See, our goddess has
given this. Let it be. What harm will it give? If you stop this, the goddess
DALIT STRUGGLE, NUDE WORSHIP, AND THE ‘CHANDRAGUTTI INCIDENT’ 109

will become angered and give all the Devi’s curse to us.’ But, as before,
the DSS strongly persuaded local supporters. They also politically pres-
sured the government, seeking a law against nude worship. In a personal
interview (24 July, 1991)4 Krishnappa expressed the outrage felt by the
Dalit community towards the government. Even when provided with
evidence of nude worship at Chandragutti, the government was initially
slow to protect their women’s honour. This perceived negligence mobil-
ized the DSS to shame the government.

Any democratic government must see that the people behave in a civilized
manner. In a democracy wherein we have got equality, liberty, fraternity, all
these things we are talking, in such a civilized society a barbarous thing is
going on. Taking the women in nude is really uncultured and barbarous. This
type of procession going on in Karnataka is shameful on the part of the peo-
ple’s representatives to government. Shameful to the government itself allow-
ing such processions in the name of the deity, arranging the buses for that fair.
So, we have attacked the government, [saying] ‘We [You] must stop it or we
will fight against the government.’ In this way we converted a social issue into
a political one.

My interviews in 1990–91 occurred half a decade after the Incident

(1986), the Enquiry Commission (1987) and resultant five-year ban.
During this period the DSS as a whole took on a different face. However,
the DSS originated in southern Karnataka, and it is these origins, of
which the Chandragutti Incident is part, that are recounted here. This
Dalit perspective is from educated activists and not from the Dalit mass,
specifically not from the nude worshippers.
This paper explores what happens when a male movement dedi-
cated to rationalist action and social reform encounters a feminine,
sexual and religious counter-movement. The premise is that ‘the femi-
nine’ and ‘the sacred’, alike sexuality, is a ‘dense transfer point for rela-
tions of power’ (Foucault 1981: 103). Ultimately, the tripartite nature
of nude worship constitutes a dense interface between supporters of
nude worship, and reformers, re-enforced by considerations of caste
boundaries. It will not escape the readers’ attention, the irony of refer-
ring primarily to male authorities surrounding an inherently ‘feminine’
tradition. However, in this paper the presiding male reality, around this
evocative, but ‘de-centred’5 subject, provides an important subaltern6
perspective. The viewpoint of the female subaltern case will be considered
elsewhere (Epp, forthcoming).
110 Linda J. Epp

The Mythopoeic Ground: Jamadagni and Renuka

In any discussion with Dalits or subaltern activists, the local version of

the Jamadagni and Renuka myth is invariably cited to explain why
devotees perform nude service. The beautiful young goddess Renuka
married the ascetic Jamadagni and bore him several sons without sexual
union. Each morning, Renuka went to the river to fetch water for her
husband’s ablutions, where, because of her purity, she was able to fash-
ion a pot out of loose sand. One morning, she was momentarily diverted
by the sight of ghandarvas (celestial beings) sporting in the river. Thus
aroused, she was unable to fashion her morning’s pot. Thinking that she
thus sought to disrupt his worship, her husband was so enraged that he
ordered his elder sons to kill their mother. They refused, and Jamadagni
condemned them to impotence and madness. However, his youngest
son, Parushurama, obeyed his father and pursued his mother to cut off
her head. In the ‘high’ myth, he succeeds, and this obedience pleases his
father. In the ‘local’ myth, however, Renuka did not wait for her head to
be cut off: rather, she ran. As her youngest son chased her, she lost her
sari and exposed her buttocks. Entering into a cave, she prayed to the
Mother Goddess and was swallowed up by the earth. To this day,
the devotees worship a small stone linga that they claim has grown on
the spot, and also an image of Renuka’s buttocks. Because Renuka was
accepted into the earth nude, her devotees conclude that she likewise
calls on them to come to worship in similar child-like innocence.
The myth encompasses much of the social ambivalence surround-
ing themes of femininity and sexuality in contemporary Indian society.
We learn that the ideal of ascetic marriage denies sexual pleasure. Renuka
involuntarily ‘sins’ against her husband by mentally crossing the bound-
ary from chastity to sexuality, and thereby incurs banishment and
death.7 Duty to father wins over love of mother. Whereas filial disobedi-
ence results in the elder sons’ impotence, filial obedience condones the
youngest son’s matricide.
But although the Dalit activists cite the myth, they do not engage
these themes. As cultural activists, even for the purposes of protest, they
do not entertain the idea that the ‘low caste version’ of the high myth
presents even a glimmer of subaltern critique. For example, there is a
political dimension to the Yellamma/Renuka myth. It is well known
that Parushurama, son of a Brahman, goes on to become the scourge of
DALIT STRUGGLE, NUDE WORSHIP, AND THE ‘CHANDRAGUTTI INCIDENT’ 111

the Kshatriyas. However, since nudity is the offense, nudity (or other
devotional acts to Yellamma) as an expression of Dalit women’s
anti-Brahmanism, or anti-casteism, cannot be comprehended, nor used
in this case as a basis for communal resistance. (Contra Victor Turner’s
[1969] views that nudity obviates status and expresses solidarity.) Nor is
it considered accurate about devotees’ general mind-set. One male
activist said, partially in jest: ‘How Renuka has come so low, we do not
know . . . If only they would worship Renuka’s face, and not her buttocks’
(Focus Group personal interview, 25 July 1991). As males, they appar-
ently do not question the pervasive patriarchal motifs present. However,
as rationalists, they dismiss this myth, like all religious activity, on the
grounds that it is superstitious and ultimately exploitative.

The Dalit Sangharsh Samiti

The 1970s were turbulent years in India that spawned many social
movements. B. Krishnappa and other Dalit youths initially joined the
Samaj Wadi Ujal Sabha (SWUS, Socialist Party Youth Wing) in 1972.
This began supposedly as a general anti-caste movement, but it soon
became clear that it was directed against Brahmans only. After many
anti-Brahman agitations, there was a split between Brahmans and
Shudras.
Influenced by the literature of Ambedkar and Lohia, the Dalit
members of this Shudra movement felt their main enemy was
Brahmanical values and thinking, rather than the Brahman per se. An
ideological versus practical argument ensued. The Shudra youth activ-
ists argued that Brahmans were the cause of Untouchability, and that
their dominance needed to be wiped out to improve the lot of the
Untouchables. Yet, after land reforms most Brahmans vacated their
landlord fiefs and migrated to the cities. The Shudras themselves had
become the dominant landed castes [Okkaligas in south Karnataka and
Lingayats in the north] and therefore the immediate oppressors. One
year prior to the Emergency a rift occurred. The DSS was formed in
1974. The young Dalit Panther movement in Maharashtra, formed in
1972, also had an impact on the Dalit movement in Karnataka (cf.
Jogdand 1991). This new social movement was aimed at both the caste
system and the Dalits’ unique economic situation: the argument was
112 Linda J. Epp

that social and economic equality must be fought for by Dalits solely
under their own leadership.
The DSS began as a cultural protest movement formed by artists,
writers and university youth: several of these subsequent leaders of the
Dalit movement in Karnataka and Maharashtra had originally formed a
literary and political cohort when they first met and studied together at
Jawaharlal Nehru University, New Delhi, in the 1970s. One of the first
issues taken up was the content of Kannada literature. At a public func-
tion in Mysore, Mr. B. Basavalingappa, a Dalit and Minister of Municipal
Administration, called all Kannada literature ‘bhoosa sahitya’. In Kannada
this word means cattlefeed.8 According to Mr. Munivenkatappa, a Dalit
poet and Assistant Director of Agriculture, Basavalingappa’s point was
that, ‘All the literature in Kannada is in favour of upper castes, created by
upper castes, for the upper castes only’ (personal interview, 21 March
1991). These comments instigated riots between upper caste and Dalit
youths across the state, particularly in Bangalore and Mysore University
hostels. After this incident, student study cells and Dalit writers’ confer-
ences were formed. Krishnappa reports, ‘The early years provided time
for discussion, and for clearing doubts about fighting against the caste
system.’ After several years, these cultural activists concluded, ‘Not only
the university educated and youths should fight; the rural people who
have been hard hit by the caste system should [also] be organized . . . in
the rural areas’ (ibid.)
In 1978 the DSS took to the rural areas and agitations began. They
focused primarily on what could be called ‘boundary crossing’ politics:
social taboos were broken when DSS activists in the company of Dalit
villagers entered previously forbidden temples and hotels,9 drew water
from the common wells, and walked down streets reserved for upper
caste people. They also staged land-grab movements. Although
Ambedkar’s ‘three commandments’ were to ‘educate, organize, and agi-
tate’, most of the early DSS activities were agitations. Other contempor-
ary movements in India, such as West Bengal’s Marxist and Naxalbari
uprisings, had provided the DSS a severe, possibly simplistic, and secu-
lar model for protest (one specifically rejected by Ambedkar: see Gokhale
1990: 240). Krishnappa reports the thinking as, ‘Whether or not we
dialogue with the upper castes we will be pacified [i.e., repressed]. So, let
us attack first’. As a consequence of their agitations, atrocities against
Dalits also became common. ‘The 1980s were full of burning in
Karnataka’ (ibid.)
DALIT STRUGGLE, NUDE WORSHIP, AND THE ‘CHANDRAGUTTI INCIDENT’ 113

Up until the Chandragutti Incident in 1986, the DSS was a smaller

unified organization. The DSS has formed committees at several levels:
state, divisional, district, block, taluk, and village. Each of these has a
core team of about 15 and is represented by three functionaries: a
Convenor, an Organizing Convenor, and a Treasurer. Each committee
ideally sets out its own Constitution, in complement with the state level.
The DSS has matured into the 1990s, and has now spread across the
state. Factions have also formed, some say more so between the leaders
than among the cadres. The entire membership numbers in the thou-
sands. Two main reasons are cited for division in the DSS.
First, there are fierce differences of opinion over alignment with
formal political parties. Up until the 1985 State Assembly elections, the
DSS had defined itself, in Mr. Shrikanth’s words, as a neutral, ‘non-
political, social-cultural organization’ (personal interview, 28 June
1991). In 1985, Mr. Devanura Mahadevaru, the Convenor who fol-
lowed Krishnappa’s Convenorship, decided in consultation with DSS
members to support the Janata Party. Although some DSS representa-
tives claim the Janata Party owed its electoral success to this Dalit sup-
port (at least in the south: cf. Manor 1984: 156; India Today 31 March
1985: 12), the alignment was considered a failure by most members.
‘The then Chief Minister, the wily Ramakrishna Hegde [a Havyaka
Brahman], “purchased” a Dalit poet, [i.e., Devanura Mahadevaru]’
(Teepee 1991: 4). The DSS has continued to present itself as ‘non-
political’, yet the debate has continued.10
A second source of contention is ‘whether to take a hermeneutical
and somewhat eclectic approach, or a strictly exclusive reading, of
Ambedkar’ (S. Marji, personal communication, 1991). Here, factional
lines tend to be drawn between educated and less educated Dalits: the
latter are more likely to treat Ambedkar with the reverence due to a guru.
An exception to this, however, is the Samata Sainik Dal (SSD), a new
offshoot of the DSS founded in 1991. The founding President is
M. Venkataswamy. V.T. Rajshekar, influential writer and editor of the
‘Dalit Voice’, enthusiastically reports that this ‘non-political faction’ is
committed to ‘pure, more radical, Ambedkarism’ (interview, 20 July
1991). In instances of either political or philosophical differences, the
movement’s purity, its self-definition, and its form of protest are influ-
enced by the doctrinal choice taken.
Recalling the ostensible centrality of women in the mythical themes
and rites around which the Chandragutti Incident occurred, we may
114 Linda J. Epp

wonder where women are in this structure? DSS workers deal with the
day-to-day problems. In the case of atrocities on Dalits, for example,
women as much as men are victims. ‘Women are part and parcel of every
problem’, they say, ‘and of the Dalit movement’. Although there is no
women’s organization, and women have had no part in the leadership,
agitation cannot occur without them. In 1991, two women who attended
the Karnataka State Dalit Meeting in Bangalore raised this issue: one of
them was immediately offered a position. Given their organization’s
youth, their few numbers, and the immensity and immediacy of the peo-
ple’s struggle, the DSS has not felt the need to divide its energies along
gender lines.
Through the DSS, the direction for Dalit struggle has filtered from
the top to the bottom: from educated urban to illiterate rural, from top
leadership down through the cadres and finally to the mass. Educated
Dalits, like Krishnappa, acknowledge that bottom-up flow of informa-
tion would be ideal: however, since the rural people in Karnataka are
illiterate, most activists believe villagers cannot understand their own
exploitation. Further, activists stress it is difficult for villagers to orga-
nize resistance on their own behalf. DSS members realize increasingly,
however, that education and organization must coincide with agitation.
As we shall see, this is one lesson derived from the Chandragutti
Incident.

Chandragutti: Discovery, Pressure, Propaganda

The Chandragutti Protest came up in the course of ‘routine’ work on

social problems and land dispute cases. Krishnappa was approached in
Bangalore: ‘You have gone to Gulbarga to stop the nude movement. See,
in your own native district it is going on. What action have you taken?’
Consequently, four DSS activists went to observe the Chandragutti
jatra (festival) in 1984. They were shocked by the nudity, particularly
that of women. These unclothed devotees (some covered with kunkuma
[red powder] and neem leaves), seemed to have no shame; occasional
protests by hesitant devotees were quelled by other worshippers. The
reformers saw ‘unnatural’ sights where brothers denuded mothers and
sisters, fathers stripped wives and daughters. Further, they were offended
that the Vishwa Hindu Parishad (VHP) (United Hindu Association), a
revivalist Hindu solidarity movement, had a booth that sold curds and
DALIT STRUGGLE, NUDE WORSHIP, AND THE ‘CHANDRAGUTTI INCIDENT’ 115

rice to devotees and voyeurs who came to gaze on the crude, intoxicated,11
nude worshippers. The VHP presence there reinforced the DSS belief in
the complicity between Hindu, especially Brahmanical, religious traditions
and exploitation of the Backward Classes. One activist took explicit pho-
tographs; Krishnappa wrote an impassioned article.
The DSS intended to publish the photos and article together to
awaken the public to the ‘true facts’ and bring pressure on the govern-
ment. All mainstream publishers rejected the photos. Finally, the
Lankesh Patrike, a Kannada daily published by Lankesh, a known
Kannada writer and Dalit sympathizer, printed both. This article aimed
to go beyond sentimental appeal. It presented the involvement of the
political and religious people supporting nude worship, the difficulties
social workers face and the economic plight of the nude worshippers. As
intended, this caused an outcry in the Vidhan Soudha, the Karnataka
State Legislative Assembly. Krishnappa reported that the Home Minister,
J.H. Patel, said, ‘No such thing was taking place . . . but if it was so, the
government would stop it’. Although the DSS mounted a public
procession, no further action was taken by the government. The Chief
Minister, S. Bangarappa,12 a Backward Caste man and a socialist who
was then the local MLC of Shimoga district, kept quiet; some activists
bitterly claimed that he was a secret worshipper of the Devi. State
Assembly elections in 1985 intervened, and no further DSS agitations
over nude worship were made until the following year.
The DSS renewed their cause in 1986. They formed an Anti-Naked
Service Society and banded together with several other groups, includ-
ing the Social Welfare Government Department. The DSS was officially
sanctioned by the state government, through the new Home Minister,13
to ‘lead the way’. A propaganda programme was mounted 15 days prior
to the festival. The areas around Chandragutti were targeted and social
workers, local leaders, government officials and villagers worked in con-
cert; DSS members assumed the single goal was to ‘stop this uncivilized
practice’. Staged events included symposia, small gatherings, and the
production of various handbills, advertisements, radio programmes and
impromptu dramas. ‘Dividing themselves into two groups of 20 each,
the Samiti volunteers and other amateur artists staged about 25 street
plays prior to the commencement of the jatra’ (Indian Express, Bangalore,
29 January 1987).
The drama, ‘Bettale Seve’ (Nude Worship), was commissioned by
the DSS for this programme. In this, a father, influenced by the village
116 Linda J. Epp

gowda (headman), pressurizes his daughter to perform nude worship

to atone for his poverty. Her brother encourages her to resist, and
eventually several village people join in this protest. At the jatra the
daughter refuses. To the villagers’ amazement there is no famine, the
sun shines, and the crops continue to grow. So, the gowda was driven
from the village.
At one such performance, there was a hint of the trouble brewing.
One hotel owner drew the actors aside, saying angrily, ‘You don’t repeat
that drama again. Don’t use that landlord role. That reflects on us. We
are illtreated’. The DSS activists denied any intention to offer personal
offence, countering that this was simply ‘a fictitious character in a play”.
Again, prior to another performance, an intoxicated man with a trishula
(a three-pronged spear associated with Shiva worship) threatened them.
‘Some of the priestly class sent me to do this’, he said.
Several DSS members surmised that three ‘priestly’ groups had been
disgruntled by the protests. First, jogatis, the low-caste pujaris (priests) of
Yellamma/Renuka who promote nude service for their living; second,
the religious heads of Chandragutti Renukambi Religious Unit, who
manage this and other religious festivals; and, third, Vishwa Hindu
Parishad (VHP) members, whose presence at the fair and support for
nude service had previously been noted by the DSS. If nude worship
were abolished at Chandragutti, the entire festival would likely cease.
Consequently, the Religious Unit would suffer some economic loss, the
jogatis’ livelihood would be threatened most of all. The religious com-
munity, including the VHP, would also be disgraced if the call to end
nude worship did not come from them: if this was to be, they, and not
the DSS, should take credit for ending this practice. DSS members and
sympathizers claim that landlords and these priestly members were
present at several local meetings where these grievances were aired. A
counter-protest against the DSS was imminent.
Despite these warnings, DSS members were comforted by the
official support behind them. They stressed that the Deputy
Commissioner was also from a Scheduled Caste background.
Consequently, he was partial to their programme. The Superintendent
of Police, a Lingayat, had expressed reservations about the efficacy of
their protest. Yet he offered police protection, saying to Krishnappa
(Krishnappa 1986): ‘We are like a water tank. You may drink with
open hand or fill it with buckets’. Thus, the activists slept well on the
eve of the two-day jatra.
DALIT STRUGGLE, NUDE WORSHIP, AND THE ‘CHANDRAGUTTI INCIDENT’ 117

The Incident

Events culminated early on the morning of 19 March 1986. About 200

DSS activists, including other social workers and women police, joined
hands at the riverside to prevent worshippers from entering nude.
They boldly called out slogans, ‘Bettale seve practice is illegal. If any-
body does it they will be punished according to law’. They formed a
human chain.
On the first day, they successfully stopped most nude worship, so
much so, says Krishnappa, that the major papers. (The Times of India,
Indian Express, Frontline, etc.) were disappointed. (See for example,
India Today, 15 April 1986 photo byline: ‘Women taking a holy dip
[top] and semi-clad devotee: anti-climax’.) What became controversial
was their forceful approach to barring nude service. It raised the possi-
bility that men had touched the nude female devotees. Most activists
denied doing this. ‘We are very conscious of that matter. In India it is a
very sensational point looking at a woman, talking with her, touching
and looking at her nude body. It is a very sensational issue in this coun-
try. . . . If we touched the ladies, some waiting group may come upon
us, and beat us. We feared like that.’
A general call was made throughout Karnataka to all interested sup-
porters and progressives to join the protest. On the morning of 20
March 1986, the reformist numbers unexpectedly swelled to 800 or
more. These reformers found themselves mounting a campaign before
60,000 to 80,000 devotees and onlookers.
Until mid-morning the protest remained peaceful, and the DSS
regarded the campaign as successful. Then various small quarrels began
to break out in rapid succession. Challenged to worship in dress, devo-
tees retorted, ‘If you ask us to go in dress, give us dress’. The reformers
had no dhotis or saris to give. But some re/covered the male devotees
with their own clothes and verbally urged the female devotees to do
likewise. The activists found themselves confronting an increasingly
forceful mob. The jogatis were the key dissenters. For example, a drunk
Mr. Basavanta and his uncle Pakirappa are quoted as saying, ‘Why do
you take photographs? If you don’t want us naked, then give us clothes.
Why do you not take action against Jaina Digambara? Why do you not
stop cabaret dance? Catch first those Goa beach hippies.’
The situation degenerated rapidly. DSS activists appealed to the
police, but their numbers were too few. Only three police vans, each
118 Linda J. Epp

holding 20 to 25 personnel, were available to contain the whole jatra. A

DSS sympathizer also overheard orders given over the police jeep radio,
telling the police force near the riverside to withdraw. This was later
interpreted as a conspiratorial act. Immediately ‘a gang of 25 lathi-wield-
ing persons hurling abusive words appeared . . . this was the signal for
the subsequent events’ (Indian Express, Bangalore, 31 January 1987).
According to the reformers, outbreaks occurred simultaneously in three
different places. ‘Like this these jogatis and other unruly elements were
instigated by casteist forces . . . They were given weapons and words’,
claimed DSS workers. They heard calls, ‘You kill those DSS workers’.
Quickly through the fete the word spread, ‘Some people have
come to object to the goddess, so the goddess has got enraged. So
devotees must not keep quiet but smash the people who came to stop
it.’ Kunkuma, which adorns naked devotees, was thrown in the air and
many social workers, police and press were compelled to enter into
the procession, stripped naked by the unruly crowd. Even the Assistant
Commissioner was shaking. And, although Krishnappa objected, a
policeman was forced to announce over a microphone, ‘Police will not
object to nude service’. Then a man with a religious badge grabbed
the mike and shouted, ‘Glory unto naked service!’ Asking him by
what authority he did this, Krishnappa brought this youth before the
temple trustees, where his name and affiliation with the VHP were
disclosed. But the trustees told Krishnappa, ‘We told you not to initi-
ate this, but you did not listen’(Krishnappa 1986). When Krishnappa
saw all was out of control, and his own life in danger, he began to run.
‘They have a trishula in their hands. With these prongs they went and
made everybody nude. I cannot explain it because I think that I am in
this hell. In our mythology Yama is the god of hell and he has so many
demons as his followers. I saw so many demons following.’
Like some others, he found safety in a police van. But then the
police themselves were attacked. Although they begged the Deputy
Superintendent of Police to allow them to fire into the air, he refused.
Afterwards, even he was stripped, and the women constables and
women journalists were stripped before him. Some of the workers
escaped, others were chased and beaten. Krishnappa reflects, ‘That
day everything was smashed because we couldn’t withhold the  reli-
gious feeling of the people’. Eventually, police from other locations
came and controlled the situation. Jogatis were arrested, some even
committed suicide out of fear.
DALIT STRUGGLE, NUDE WORSHIP, AND THE ‘CHANDRAGUTTI INCIDENT’ 119

Press Interference

The ‘Chandragutti Incident’ became an immediate media sensation,

aided by journalists and photographers on site. The Channaveerappa
Report, press coverage, and those interviewed agree that some of the
trouble was sparked by press photographers taking pictures of nude wor-
shippers at the riverside. Uttam Kemble is a Dalit reporter who was on
site. In his book, Devadasi and Nude Worship (1988), he recounts that
on the second morning the reformers took a stronger stand, seizing and
re/clothing the devotees. There were more female than male devotees.
By 8 AM the reformers had difficulty containing these women circled
within their human chain. He states: ‘One reformer showed the women
devotees that day’s newspapers which carried photographs of the nude
worshippers saying that, “they are parading your nudity (and shame) in
the city streets”. The result of this was that a press photographer was
badly beat up’(ibid.).
At least three journalists were assaulted and had their cameras stolen
that day. (One of them refused me an interview because it was still too
unsettling for her to talk about.) Another journalist, Philomena H.P.,
arrived early in the morning at the top of the hill near the temple. She
interviewed female devotees who explained their nude worship was due
to vows to the goddess in return (or hope) for answered prayers: for
children, health, etc. From this vantage point Philomena witnessed the
rampage, and hid all day until the trouble subsided. She subsequently
received an award for her reportage. Like her middle-class readership,
Philomena believes India is a traditional society and women should be
covered. She concedes nude worship by women at Chandragutti is
sincere, but this ‘tradition’ violates normative female modesty (per-
sonal interview, 10 October 1990). But press interference was not the
main cause given for the Incident.

Channaveerappa Enquiry Commission

The day after the Incident, the Home Minister, Mr. B. Rachiah, stated
in the House (Legislative Council) that ‘“anti-social elements” had tried
to ‘incite” the people into provoking the police to take recourse to
extreme steps like opening fire in order to bring a bad name to the
Government’ (Indian Express, Bangalore, 21 March 1986). These
120 Linda J. Epp

comments responded to criticism that the police were ineffective in

preventing this outbreak and in protecting women, Samiti workers, and
journalists’ (ibid.). Members from all political parties equally condemned
nude worship. They described it as a ‘blot on society’, ‘a barbaric custom’,
and an ‘insult to mankind’ (ibid.). The state government thereupon
ordered a magisterial enquiry into the Chandragutti Incident. However,
on 6 April 1986, this responsibility devolved from the District Magistrate
to the Divisional Commissioner, Bangalore, a Mr. Rinesingh, who circu-
lated a notice for collection of public opinion. By 31 July 1986, 57
people had made submissions. The process then came to a halt when,
without reason (a job transfer, is noted in one press report) the Rinesingh
Committee was cancelled. By December 1986 the Retired District Judge
of Chikkamagalur, Mr. J. Channaveerappa, was appointed to conduct a
one-man judicial enquiry under the Commission of Inquiry Act.
Judge Channaveerappa states in his Report that the government’s
reasons for regrading from a magisterial to a judicial enquiry are
unknown. But, in several districts the DSS had mounted substantial
protests. They called for the suspension of the Shimoga District
Superintendent of Police and ‘. . . described the enquiry ordered by the
government by a District Magistrate as an “eye wash’ ” (Deccan Herald,
5 April 1986). In May 1986, at Ambedkar’s 95th birth anniversary cel-
ebrations at Bangalore University, the Home Minister agreed to look
into charges of collusion between police and supporters of nude wor-
ship. DSS activists were aware of the Scheduled Caste background of
this Home Minister, but it is conjecture that this connection was pre-
vailed upon or influenced the setting up of a judicial enquiry. Certainly,
the newly re-elected Janata Government was acutely aware of public
sentiment against an undisciplined ‘police raj’ that flourished under the
previous Congress-I Chief Minister, Gundu Rao (see India Today, 31
March 1985: 11; Indian Express, 10 February 1987).
‘Commission of Inquiry Act’ inquiries generally probe police
excesses. The purpose of the Channaveerappa Commission was to deter-
mine the basic reasons for the disturbance: particularly for the denuding
of DSS persons and journalists; whether the police officers were derelict
in their duty; and whether other persons (and causes) were responsible
for the Incident. The new deadline for public submissions was extended
until 20 December 1986. In February 1987, about 30 witnesses testified
before the Commission, including seven police personnel, the Deputy
DALIT STRUGGLE, NUDE WORSHIP, AND THE ‘CHANDRAGUTTI INCIDENT’ 121

Commissioner, the Assistant Commissioner, one social worker, five

members of the DSS, two journalists, and 13 witnesses from the public.
No members of the VHP appeared, but a legal advocate for the organ-
ization took part. The police and the DSS were also represented by
advocates.
The bulk of the Report dealt with the actions of the police, and
their ability to maintain social control. The police officers present who it
alleged ‘. . . acted with restraint’ were exonerated. Although noting their
anguish, it dismissed the charges of women constables that the Deputy
Superintendent of Police could have prevented their denuding. However,
the Deputy Commissioner and the Superintendent of Police were both
indicted for not providing an adequate force. The latter denied making
any promises to the DSS but was further indicted on charges of negli-
gence. His late arrival was described as ‘. . . like locking the doors of the
stable after the horse had bolted’.
The Commission went on to reject the ‘vested interests’ conspiracy
theory proposed by the DSS. That is, a combination of feudal landlords
and priestly classes had knowingly incited ‘unruly elements’ to attack the
reformers. The DSS claim that perceived threats to devotion and/or live-
lihood were fanned, and liquor was distributed. By contrast, although
well-meaning, the DSS was said to have brought most of the backlash on
themselves. They brought undue publicity to nude worship at
Chandragutti, and were over-eager and short-sighted in their educa-
tional programme. The well-known enmity between the VHP and the
DSS was acknowledged, but the VHP was cleared of all charges. The pos-
sibility that a few ‘miscreants’14 might have taken advantage of the situa-
tion was noted, but the charge that this was a preplanned event was
dismissed.
The Report further suggests that the DSS was overly forceful, and
thus ‘brought the disturbance to a climax and agitated the minds of the
devotees’. To establish this case, Judge Channaveerappa cites one report-
er’s work and several enquiry witnesses. The reporter writes, ‘the main
intention of the members of the DSS was to disturb the devotees by
humiliating them . . . , their action was foolish and goonda-like’.15
Similarly, one witness claimed the DSS threw dust on a naked woman
devotee, that she fell as a result, and that they then kicked and rebuked
her. This led to a quarrel between devotees and the DSS. Further, the
Report, and more so the media, raised the question as to whether
122 Linda J. Epp

touching of women had occurred during the forceful re/clothing of

devotees. Judge Channaveerappa concluded that the devotees felt their
centuries-old religious beliefs to be under attack. Since their prayers were
obstructed, and we may infer humiliated rather than reasoned with, the
devotees’ ire was natural. The Report concluded that DSS agitation,
together with insufficient police support, was the cause of the
Chandragutti Incident.
As regards nude worship by female devotees, Judge Channaveerappa
posits that this brings dishonour to the reputation of Indian women and
‘insults the very creed of womanhood’. He notes on all auspicious occa-
sions and festivals the Indian woman, fully clothed in sari and with orna-
ments, attends places of worship: ‘She is the monument of culture and
symbolic as the deity of the country’. By contrast, nude worship is ugly
and uncivilized and must be stopped. ‘Goddess Renukambe herself
would feel sorry to know such blind ignorance existed and would be
ashamed to see such sights’.
The final Report concludes by reviewing the unfortunate social
conditions and persons who promote such blind beliefs among
Backward Class people. Singled out for blame are these ‘middle-class
hermaphrodites called jogatis who for their livelihood roam from village
to village, begging for alms, . . . who ill-advise suffering family members
to go for nude service at the Renukambe Jalra.’ Thus, Judge
Channaveerappa recommends: legislation against jogatis’ propagating
nude service; education of the people; and a ban of the entire festival
(not only of nude worship) to be in effect for several years. Placing the
primary emphasis on law and order, neither demonstrations for or
against nude worship would be permitted at the Chandragutti jatra. In
every case there will be loss of social control. These recommendations
were tabled before the Legislative Assembly on 2 March 1987. Deputy
Inspector of Police, Mr. J.E. George, urged the state government to set
a five-year ban, subsequently legislated merely days before the jatra of
9–10 March 1987.
For these two days Chandragutti became a police camp. Under the
supervision of the newly indicted Superintendent of Police, 2,000 police
turned back bus loads of devotees, reporters and social workers, restricted
local business, and banned all photography. This ‘high-handed’ imposi-
tion of the ban incited many. Local villagers who welcomed the ban on
nude worship nevertheless thought the rest of the jatra should proceed.
DALIT STRUGGLE, NUDE WORSHIP, AND THE ‘CHANDRAGUTTI INCIDENT’ 123

Some businessmen who set up temporary shops to make a ‘fast buck’

during the festival were pro-nude worship. They told reporters the god-
dess would be angry at the government. The trustees of the Renukambe
temple resigned in anger at ‘police harassment of devotees . . . causing
the [devotees] mental torture’ (Deccan Herald, 10 March 1987). Nearly a
year later, on 22 February 1988, these discontented trustees filed a public
interest writ petition in the High Court. They asked that all pujas and
performances, except nude worship, be allowed to proceed at
Chandragutti. Police vigilance has relaxed over the years, but the state
ban on bettale seve remains.
Beyond law and order, Judge Channaveerappa’s plea for an extended
ban ideally exists to promote education, legislation and reasoned discus-
sion. As of 1991, neither the DSS nor the government have put an edu-
cational programme specific to nude worship into place. One sympathizer
caustically comments on the aftermath of Chandragutti: ‘DSS is now
factionalized in this region [partially over this event, and due to division
over political alignments] and not a strong force. Who can replace the
jogatis? They at least consistently offer the devotees hope . . .’ (personal
interview, February 1991). Yet, he notes, across the state more youths are
now joining the Dalit movement. Perhaps they will transcend past divi-
sions and take up the necessary educational work. The Chandragutti
activists I interviewed agree with Judge Channaveerappa that their edu-
cational programme was shortsighted. But they still consider the
Chandragutti protest a success, because nude worship was banned. If
required, they would do it again, in much the same way. Says Krishnappa:
‘As a mother forces an adamant [i.e., recalcitrant] child to take medicine
by closing his nose tight and making him drink at least a portion . . .
adamants must be suppressed.’

Analysis and Conclusion

I have given centre stage here to reformist and Dalit perspectives on

Chandragutti. In fact, many stories comprise this larger narrative about
the Chandragutti protest and backlash. However, underlying the entire
description is a tension between reasoned forms of analysis and the stark
confrontation of ‘the religious’, ‘the sexual’ and ‘the feminine’. From this
account, it is clear that no easy resolution is forthcoming.
124 Linda J. Epp

An ‘Emic’ Model: Religious ‘Opportunists’ and ‘Dupes’

A reformist position on such institutional nudity is that it is an insulting

feudal tradition. Upper caste men, landlords and temple keepers deliber-
ately chain Dalits in superstition to maintain their lordly use-rights. DSS
activists claim, ‘If their own women were going in nude, they would be
up in arms’. Lower caste males therefore perceive an affront from domi-
nant caste males through the nudity of their women. The Dalits con-
clude that this institutionalized class domination and caste humiliation
proves once more that as a group they have not yet gained full ‘human’
stature within the nation. The Dalit call for social reform, particularly of
Untouchability, remains unresolved. This leads to a politics of contempt
for parliamentary democracy and for participation in its formal
parameters.
We can only surmise about the religious complex and counter-
movement. In its emerging model of nude worship the DSS presents
four sub-groups: temple trustees, VHP members, jogatis and devotees.
These, united as reform’s counter-protagonists, all uphold this ‘heinous
religious tradition’. Temple trustees, who have hereditary earning rights,
are presented here as opportunists, out to ‘make a fast buck’ at the impov-
erished devotees’ expense. The VHP presence at the jatra signals organi-
zational collusion to extend Hindu fundamentalism in rural life. Through
this backward form of culture, these politics are served. Jogatis are both
promoters and practicians of nude worship and related Mother Goddess
customs. As wanderers and religious mendicants, they can best recruit
devotees in the rural areas. Reformers, and even more so Judge
Channaveerappa, thus present jogatis as low caste, illiterate transvestites
who insidiously propagate nude worship. They instrumentally prey on
devotees’ fears due to their need to protect their sole economic base.
Whereas the former are all opportunists, by contrast, the devotees are
dupes. The DSS argues, due to their blind belief the devotees are subju-
gated to these opportunists. The religious establishment exercises a
‘rational-religious will’16 to dominate and accrue financial and moral
gain. The possibility that some may be fervent believers does not alter the
Dalit critique.
Because the DSS model is meant to serve subaltern politics it natu-
rally fails to take into account nuances in counter-positions, and other
DALIT STRUGGLE, NUDE WORSHIP, AND THE ‘CHANDRAGUTTI INCIDENT’ 125

factors. For example, there is some speculation that other local politics,
which the DSS has not acknowledged, may have factored into this agita-
tion. Krishnappa does not say who challenged him to explore nude wor-
ship at Chandragutti. We only know this was catalytic. The DSS narrative
shows them to be responsive, but independent thereafter. However, the
Jaina Mathadhipati (‘Lord of the Monastery, abbey’) in Shimoga district
prides hinself for speaking first to the (anonymous personal communica-
tion, October 1992). In this region there is a long-standing memory of
rivalry between Jains and Brahmans. This dates back to Jaina supremacy
from AD 800–1200, subsequently attacked by Hindu reformers. At that
time, these were seen by the priestly Jains as unrefined Brahman upstarts.
Since the DSS is also ideologically opposed to Brahmanical doctrine and
values, it is possible that once activated, its Dalit reform, pointed at
upper-caste Hinduism, promoted private interests of the Jaina Matha
without drawing the monastery into the public fray. From the perspec-
tive of Dalit activists and Jain priests they are both minority groups, and
non-Hindus.17 Yet, this shared status is riddled with potential contradic-
tions. First, secular reformers and religious priests are allied. Second,
male ascetic nudity and female bhakti nudity in the forms of Jaina
Digambara and nude devotees are not treated alike. One is considered
morally acceptable and the other morally reprehensible. On what basis
are these distinctions made? And alliances?
As for the temple trustees, they withdrew from their positions fol-
lowing the ban on nude worship. While this might be constituted solely
as protest against loss of income, their stated case was to protest the dev-
otees’ ‘mental anguish’ caused by the police turning them away. For, once
forced to spurn the goddess, the devotees might suffer her unmitigated
wrath. The priests function as mediators for the goddess and the devotees.
Ostensibly, the ‘public writ’ request for re-establishing worship, all but
bettale seve, was on the devotees’ behalf.
While the DSS strongly allege VHP collusion at Chandragutti, it
would seem that such a strongly moralistic and patriarchal body would
find, with equal vehemence, bettale seve degrading to Hinduism. Indeed,
it was reported that VHP members handed out pamphlets against nude
worship at the fair. However, once more the DSS claim that during this
distribution illiterate devotees were verbally encouraged to participate.
The VHP advocate before the Enquiry Commission deflected the
126 Linda J. Epp

‘miscreant role’ for its members, perhaps with some justification, by

accusing the police of turning into social workers rather than fulfilling
their role to maintain law and order.
Although presented as opportunists, the jogatis are the most ambig-
uous group. They have liminal sexual and political qualities, which may
pose the threat of social role contamination. Yet, they have their own
perspectives on the moral behaviour implied by foreigners, city enter-
tainment, and Jainist nude worship. Thus, they represent a swing cate-
gory in this political model. Their low status and high visibility combine
to make them vulnerable to scape-goatism. For example, the DSS claims
the jogatis were given ‘weapons and words’. Although formidable ene-
mies, they are yet seen as pawns of other religious profiteers. Alternatively,
Judge Channaveerappa rejected the DSS conspiracy hypothesis. But,
he singled out the jogatis as the primary proselytizers who need to be
stopped. Thus, they pose here as independent, immoral and anachronis-
tic agents, who draw on a barbaric tradition whose time and function
has passed. Although Dalits, jogatis are portrayed as enemies to social
reform. Are they its necessary casualties? Structurally liminal, the jogatis
seem to be at the mercy of religious profiteers and reformers alike.
DSS workers, going out to the countryside on a rationalist reform
mission, are not unlike the jogatis with their religious mission. Their
constituency is the same, as is their social base (albeit most DSS organiz-
ers are educated). One DSS sympathizer observed that despite their
misplaced and irrational belief, the jogatis provide consistent hope to
devotees. Through the ban on nude worship and also on devadasi
recruitment (another regional social reform issue and custom propa-
gated by these mendicants) jogatis are displaced. To replace this gap
reformers must extensively educate beyond the initial stirring of
protest.
What were the jogatis’ words? If you don’t like our nudity give us
clothes. Perhaps this requires a practical response, but may also refer to
their lack of prestige in society. Why don’t you reform Jaina Digambara
ascetics? What about those Goa hippies? Why not stop cabaret dance?
All these questions symbolically associate nudity with certain groups.
The first, while religious, consist of male ascetics. The second, due to its
beach attire and (among some) drug-related practices reinforces beliefs
about the Western world’s loose morality. But, they are foreigners. The
third is a lewd form of dance. However, practised in the cities among the
DALIT STRUGGLE, NUDE WORSHIP, AND THE ‘CHANDRAGUTTI INCIDENT’ 127

secular and monied it is far away. In effect, the jogatis’ query why the DSS
became obsessed with nude worship, singling out jogatis and female
devotees, but not with these other forms of public nudity.
Finally, the DSS’ model which imposes unity on the religious pres-
ence breaks down, for the ‘religious’ experience is not uniform. For
example, devotees themselves are male or female (and neither male nor
female), clothed or nude, voluntary or forced, possessed or sceptical,
and even upper, albeit, mostly lower caste. In their narration, however,
the reformers do not attend to these nuances. Rather, they primarily
differentiate between devotees and these other three religious groups.
This model, which identifies major actors and essential groupings,
adequately serves their political purposes.

Confronting the ‘Sexual’ and the ‘Feminine’18

1. Liberal Reformism and the Problem of Female Nudity. The

discussion to this point has brought into focus that female nudity, in
the context of a shared discourse about barbarism and civilization, pro-
vides a symbolic rallying point for all reformers. The DSS, the state and
other reformers all agree that nude worship, like other superstitious
practices, presupposes that Indian society is not fully civilized. Indeed,
the anthropological truism that nudity is the mark of the primitive,
clothing indicates the beginning of civilization’ (Sharma 1987: 7–11),
was, it seems, dramatically enacted through the re/clothing of the nude
devotees.
Denuding, touching and re/clothing are central to the public analysis
of this event. Not all nude devotees were women, nor were all low caste,
yet the Chandragutti Incident was referred to entirely in these terms.
Hence, the social discourse on female nude worship reveals the following
quasi-symbolic logic: (i) clothing and covering of women represents mod-
esty, unclothing represents shame; (ii) denuding and re/clothing women
in public is not an individual act but a communal one. Hence, a commu-
nity’s modesty and/or shame is represented and made vulnerable. A simi-
lar argument is thus made for the entire civilized nation; (iii) where one
community looks, touches, unclothes, or encourages to denude another
community’s women, communal boundaries of normative modesty and
self-respect are crossed. Consequently, the injured community has the
128 Linda J. Epp

right to retaliate to defend its honour; (iv) sometimes, however, religious

tradition reverses the normative moral code for short periods of  time.
What is shown to be at stake at Chandragutti is this ‘ritual rever-
sal’19. Nude female devotees symbolically challenge current social per-
ceptions of civil propriety and national character (in this case, its
democracy and secularism). But, places of worship sporting the silent
but graphic stone iconography-temple dancers, lingas, Renuka’s but-
tocks-are illustrative sites for contemporary struggle over woman’s con-
tinuing symbolic role. For, activists, politicians and journalists alike
share in a discourse about barbaric versus civil virtue, wherein ‘the fem-
inine’ remains a symbolic masthead of ‘tradition’. However, in contrast
to the goddess-possessed, kunkuma coloured, nude devotee is the self-
controlled, adorned and fully-clothed worshipper. It is she, says Judge
Channaveerappa, who is now ‘the monument of culture and symbolic
of the deity of the country’. All that is civilized, cultured, moral and
natural is compared to all that is barbarous, uncultured, immoral and
unnatural. Thus, a ban on nude worship is a triumph of civilization
over barbarism.
The moral shift indicated is from exteriority—where worship
requires a communal and living sacrifice, to interiority—where worship
is both privatized but distanced. Here we take our cue from Foucault’s
arguments about the moralization of madness (1973) and sexuality
(1981): In each case the body becomes a site for reform. For example,
external control, ranging from tolerance for mendicant mad men to
cruel and public punishment, is made into a moral problematic, then
refined into socially induced self-help and internal discipline. This
‘gentle punishment’ (see also Foucault 1979) is sometimes aided by the
therapist, asylum, or prison. Referring to the development of bourgeois
liberalism in Europe, Foucault states, ‘At the level of . . . “micro-powers”
. . . it was necessary to organize a grid of bodies and behaviours.
Discipline is the underside of democracy.’ Through this reform the
sacred is thus secularized. ‘Modern [wo]man finds [her]him/self categor-
ized, located in space, constrained by time, disciplined, normalized, and
individualized’ (Mahon 1992: 5). India, as a ‘yet traditional’ civilization
is now cogently represented by a demure and modestly covered woman,
at least in public worship. Nude worship transgresses private belief and
offends public decorum; it violates middle class morality, a new site for
DALIT STRUGGLE, NUDE WORSHIP, AND THE ‘CHANDRAGUTTI INCIDENT’ 129

‘tradition’. (See Milton Singer [1972] on the supremacy and reworking

of tradition in India.) But neither ‘tradition’ itself (and its perpetrators),
nor the feminine as its symbol, is contested sufficiently by this liberal
reformist victory.
2. Dalit Rationalist Reform Politics: While in some accordance with
the liberalist stance on nude worship, within this broad context, the
DSS has adopted a distinctive, countering, rationalist point of view.
Their rationalism repudiates all religious activity as superstition and
exploitation. Their activism employs force (or forceful persuasion),
humiliation, and an appeal to law and correct government. These com-
bine in the term ‘rationalist action’, whereby Dalit activists challenge the
foundations and supporters of such ‘reversed ritual’. Far from being
content with the ban on nude worship, some supporters of the DSS
regard any religious mobilization as a conspiracy and would like to see
the entire religious establishment decimated. For the DSS, ‘the Chandragutti
Incident is one more example of the efforts by “vested interests” to
maintain caste boundaries and the status quo’. While they may harbour
these notions, they regard this dismantlement as a long-term struggle,
for they recognize religion holds sway over the people. Hence, several
DSS members concede that banning nudity is a sufficient victory. They
say, ‘If the people do not practice nude worship for several years and
nothing untoward happens they will be convinced the goddess does not
require this’.
‘Rationalist action’ such as that fomented by the DSS is a subaltern
critique. The presentation of a ‘subaltern perspective’ has a specific
meaning for Indian academia: it’s focus is rewriting nationalist history
from a peasant/insurgent’s point of view. The view from below. One of
the subaltern project’s propositions is:

. . . that the moment(s) of change be pluralized and plotted as confrontations

rather than transition (they would thus be seen in relation to histories of dom-
ination and exploitation rather than within the great modes-of-production
narrative . . . [The] shift in perspective is that agency of change is located in the
insurgent or the ‘subaltern’ (Spivak 1988: 197).

The subaltern as an agent of change, and the confrontation between

the dominant and the exploited, is presented here by the educated
130 Linda J. Epp

insurgents themselves. There are many subalterns in India. The DSS’

case is that there is a subaltern below, or apart from, the class-defined
peasant. That is, those humiliated by caste who suffer specific economic
consequences due to their ex-Untouchable status. The Chandragutti
Incident also invites consideration of another depressed category, hith-
erto unrecognized, the ‘female subaltern’. Their experience and interpre-
tation of domination has frequently been decentred both by reformist
subalterns (typically male) and subalternists (see Spivak 1988: 215–21
on this point). For example, nude worship by female devotees evokes
issues of religiosity, femininity and sexuality. Social reformers (e.g., Dalit
activists, journalists, middle class social workers and the state) have
tended to focus on the moral affront to the Dalit community and/or to
society, and the need for ‘law and order’. Although the protest was nom-
inally on their behalf, the religiosity of the devotee women has been
obscured in the ensuing political discussion. But, the DSS would argue,
for good reason.
Their rationalist argument dismantles the category of the female
nude devotee. The sexual/feminine subject (i.e., the nude female) is ana-
lytically wrenched from the religious domain. At Chandragutti, theory
and practice coincide. Once nude worship was opposed, sparking that
‘dense interface’, the dominant exploitative forces behind the ‘devotion’
revealed themselves. Therefore, the denuding of Dalit women reveals
their caste humiliation and class domination.
Through activist techniques such as public protests and media
reportage, the DSS also directed its subaltern critique to their initially
reluctant reformist partners, i.e., the government and upper caste liberal
supporters. The barbaric versus civilized discourse inherently associates
the frenzied primitive behaviour of the nude devotee with low status,
whereas the demure control of the modern worshipper is high born. But
through the effective use of humiliation they inverted this structural
alignment of barbarism and culture. For example: The DSS questions
the civic virtue of the promoters of nude worship, such as the Vishwa
Hindu Parishad, ‘that self-proclaimed vanguard of Hindu culture’. As a
prod to action, they mock the secularism of the government. To make
the point that upper caste men would only concern themselves if it were
their women going nude, they compare the support that a Brahman
protest garners with that of Dalits. For example, when the Brahman
DALIT STRUGGLE, NUDE WORSHIP, AND THE ‘CHANDRAGUTTI INCIDENT’ 131

community was recently offended by a television programme their

protests were supported nationally, even by government officials, and it
was withdrawn. But they claim, ‘if a Dalit man is wrongly represented,
no one cares’.
Their rationalism is fuelled by affect. Untouchability is a commu-
nal wound that has been repeatedly injured. Is any redress of this wrong
not supportable? Even force and humiliation of their own women, for
their own good, and their own community’s self-respect? How ‘goonda-
like’ is re/clothing of devotees in the light of goonda attacks supported by
upper castes on devotees? Struggle, it might be argued, is an expedient,
if not a nice, enterprise. Yet, does Krishnappa’s appropriation of mater-
nal images soften the task of forcing recalcitrant children to take their
medicine?
There seems to be a universally strong symbolic replacement value
between children, women and primitives. We have seen how these nude
female devotees cast an undesirable primitive shadow on a civilized
reform programme at Chandragutti. But what of their substance? When
asked about the paucity of women active in the DSS, Munivenkatappa
humbly admitted, ‘that in this way we are like upper-caste men’. The
problem is compounded for a rationalist movement because, ‘our own
women are still caught up in their religion’. The discourse of barbaric
versus civic virtue primarily reflects the male and community need for
self-respect. However, when the (male) subaltern struggle appropriates
woman as symbol—hence, de-centres her—but does not incorporate
her in real terms, they are denied the strength in identification and
another subaltern’s critique.
‘The feminine’ and social reform are intimately associated in India.
Partha Chatterjee (1989) and Ashis Nandy (1990) are only two authors
who note this connection. Similarly, ‘the feminine’ is also appropriated
in communal/ethnic politics. Inevitably, women become a symbolic
medium to uphold an ideal, and frequently a physical medium, that is,
a scapegoat to defame another’s community. Further, as in the
Chandragutti case, preoccupation with goddess, mother and female-
centred myths indicates significant ‘mythopoeic ground’ that even today
pervades Indian society. This evocative nature of ‘the feminine’, and its
use, must be raised for ongoing reflection. When they become morally
problematic (as in Foucault’s treatment of madness), ‘the sexual’, and
132 Linda J. Epp

‘the feminine’ are de-linked from ‘the sacred’. But they remain in the
public domain as objects of surveillance and regulation. We must look
behind this problematic to understand operations of power, legitimacy
and politics in India.
To sum up, the rationalist reform approach thus far is unable to
extricate itself from a traditional symbolic placement of woman. She
is still tied to patriarchy and force. For one, it does not give a legiti-
mate place to her worship and mythology. Rather, all grounds for
devotion are political and economic exploitation. Thus, a tradition is
required to be abandoned and the female devotee (nude or clothed)
with it.
Jamadagni condemned Renuka/Yellamma, and their son, Parushurama,
carried out the punishment. At least, he tried to do so. Subalterns, in the
form of nude devotees, have reworked the high myth. Through her escape,
the Mother Goddess robbed Jamadagni of his patriarchal right. Indeed,
some devadasis told me, Yellamma did the unthinkable: she punished
Jamadagni, her husband. For that reason, although they too are social
reformers, they fear her power (interview, August 1991). To the extent that
worship of the Mother Goddess is a genuine expression of faith, it may be
argued a faint protest continues in the presence of patriarchy—all argu-
ments for exploitation notwithstanding. Yet, the DSS and other reformers
have earned through on this banishment. They accomplished what even
Jamadagni could not. What are the implications and what will be the costs?
The devotees say the Goddess will be angry. One educated devotee observed
that each Chief Minister who supported the ban on nude worship has been
brought down. In a letter, he warned the Chief Minister, S. Bangarappa, of
the goddess’ wrath should he continue to prevent her required worship
(anonymous personal interview, 7 June 1991). Political as well as personal
repercussions are assumed.
The final explanation on nude worship differs radically between
reformers and true devotees, i.e., communal and civic shame versus
child-like faith. It is possible that the mythopoeic basis of nude worship
is more than a pretext, in fact an important underpinning of both sides
of struggle over this practice. On these grounds, it is at least worthy of
re-examination. Certainly, the social crisis which arose from the
Chandragutti Incident is instructive to all about social reform’s, perhaps
necessary but equivocal, task of ‘violating the sacred’.
DALIT STRUGGLE, NUDE WORSHIP, AND THE ‘CHANDRAGUTTI INCIDENT’ 133

Notes
1. Earlier drafts of this paper were presented at the Canadian Anthropological Society
(CASCA) in Montreal, Quebec, in May 1992, and at the University of Toronto Centre
for South Asian Studies’ Graduate Students’ Union Seminar on 4 December 1992.
The author would like to thank all those who participated in the discussion which
followed. She would also like to thank Professors R. Anderson, B.S. Baviskar, S. Carr,
C.E.S. Franks, P. Names-Jones, M. Sackville-Hunt, D. Smith and J.R. Wood for read-
ing earlier drafts of this paper, and the Shastri Indo-Canadian Institute whose sus-
tained support during 1990–91 made this paper possible. Moreover, she would also
like to thank Mr. B. Krishnappa and the other Dalit activists who shared their stories
and concerns with the author.
2. dig ‘sky’ + ambara ‘clothing’.
3. Dr. Bhimrao Ramji Ambedkar, born into an Untouchable Caste (a Mahar), drafted the
Indian Constitution. He attended graduate school at Columbia University in the
United States. He was an economist and lawyer. His role as an indefatigable advocate
of the Depressed Classes of India has made his memory and writings prominent.
Today, he is considered the founder of the Dalit movement, particularly in
Maharashtra and Karnataka. For many, he is the ‘symbol of revolt against all repres-
sive features in Hindu Society’ (A.R. Antulay, Lokrajya, 16 April 1981).
4. This first reference will extend to all other interview materials unless otherwise indi-
cated. Subsequent quotes are drawn from these interview sources. As some sources
were public figures and willingly gave information, they are referenced, while others
remain anonymous. To aid in this, names of places where interviews were conducted
have been omitted.
5. ‘De-centre’ is an operative concept used to incorporate the psychological idea of dis-
placement, as well as the Marxist idea of appropriation. Further, it allows for play
around the idea of the constituted subject, such as that found in Nietzsche’s and
Foucault’s thought. Consider, for example, the de-centred man in Nietzsche’s Genealogy
of Morals Mahon (1992 8) explains, ‘Rather than seeking a substance in its pristine
purity at the origin, Nietzsche looked for a multiplicity, complex relations of forces,
which provide the conditions for the existence of the entities, values, and events of our
experience’.
6. Defined as: of inferior rank, (logic, of proposition) particular, not universal, also, in
military, officer below rank of Captain. The ‘subaltern school’ in Indian academe has
popularized, and extended, this definition. It generally refers to subaltern studies as
writing ‘history from below’. It is concerned with peasant and other local resistance
with the anti-colonial project uppermost as a referent, and implies a critique of
upper, or elite versions of history.
7. For an anthropological exploration of how sexuality and femininity, expressed
through nudity and body genitalia, can be used as ‘resistance’ or ‘critique’, see Shirley
Ardener (1981).
8. A Sanskrit interpretation simply means ‘Brahman literature’. But the term used in the
Karnataka Legislature was understood as ‘cattlefeed’, and taken to be an insult.
9. Hotel pronounced, ‘hoatle’, is generally a restaurant or cafeteria. Cf. ‘military
hotel = [cheap] non-vegetarian restaurant.
134 Linda J. Epp

10. For example, according to one long-term DSS member who has now left the DSS to
form his own activist group (interview, 25 July 1991), by aligning itself with polit-
ical parties the DSS has forgotten, in Maoist terms, to identify and differentiate
between the main and subordinate contradictions. In failing to do so the movement
cannot achieve its goals. Ir his view, they have forgotten their resolve to stay clear of
the formal political process Because of their downtrodden status they do not have
what is necessary to become effective politically. That is, (i) a dominant caste back-
ground, or backing; (ii) financial support; and (iii) party support are required. He
argues further that principle contradictions, such as landlordism and capitalism, are
detrimental to the interests of the poor of all castes, creeds and religions. Thus, to
define the Dalit movement as a caste movement derived from untouchability can set
poor untouchable and touchable castes against each other. In his view a predomi-
nantly caste based struggle errs because this is a subordinate contradiction.
11. Nude worship at Chandragutti, of Renuka’s buttocks, is associated with tantrism.
Five objects of worship (panchamacaras or five m’s) are reported: Meat (mamsa), fish
(matsya), roasted corn (mudra—according to some accounts not ‘corn’, but ritual
hand gestures), liquor (madya), and sex (maithuna). Intoxication can be due to spirit-
filling (claimed by nude devotees), also from liquor. Reformers deny the former.
12. This Chief Minister has been replaced as of December 1992.
13. Mr. B. Rachiah, of Scheduled Caste background, was one of the first two Cabinet
members appointed by Chief Minister Hegde after the 1985 Janata government
re-election.
14. In India, in colloquial usage, miscreant means ‘deviant’ or ‘trouble-maker’, rather
than ‘heretic’.
15. goonda = ‘hired thug’ or ‘ruffian’.
16. This term is, I think, consistent with the Dalit activist stance. Those with power in the
religious spheres apply a deliberate, and rational (i.e., calculated) use of religion to
exercise their ‘will to power’ over the devotees. This term is in reference to Nietzsche’s
analysis of the ascetic/priest.
17. The argument adopted from Ambedkar (see ‘Who Were The Shudras?’ and ‘The
Untouchables’ in Ambedkar, 1990 [1947]) is that Untouchables are Exterior Castes.
They are external to the Hindu chatuivarnya, a cosmological constitution of society
that upholds the four-fold hierarchical division of labour. While Untouchables have
been called the panchamas, meaning the fifth class, militant Dalits reject this name (as
did Ambedkar) because it is inclusive, rather than exclusive from Hinduism (see also
S.K. Gupta [1985]).
18. ‘The feminine’ and ‘the sexual’ need to, and can, be ‘analytically separated. But, I have
not done so in this paper. The discussion on nudity here reflects on how Indian soci-
ety tends to bind femininity to sexuality. One implies the other. Nudity is shocking,
but can be discussed in public in the context of reform. Yet, sexuality, as found in the
myth, has no public forum. Is the association between femininity and sexuality more
overt, while that between masculinity and sexuality more covert? Has the former
become de-sacralized, hence offensive? While the latter remains sacred, hence accept-
able? For example, nude worship of female devotees insults the public, whereas
Jainist Digambaras, do not. Similarly, in bhakti the male devotee approaches God in a
feminine role but is not censored for sexual inappropriateness.
19. Ritual reversal has been extensively studied in early anthropological literature.
Strong associations have been made with: (i) political protest such as millennarian
DALIT STRUGGLE, NUDE WORSHIP, AND THE ‘CHANDRAGUTTI INCIDENT’ 135

movements; (ii) inversions of the structurally high with the low, such as between
kings and jokers; and (iii) and with nudity, which may be found in various rites of
passage. Licentiousness, joking and levelling are common attributes. See for example,
Gluckman (1954); Goffman (1962); and Turner (1969, 1985).

References
Ambedkar, B. R. 1990. Dr Babasaheb Ambedkar Writings and Speeches, Vol. 7 (reprint 1947)
edited by Vasant Moon. Bombay: Government of Maharashtra.
Ardener, S. 1981. ‘Sexual Insult and Female Militancy’, in S. Ardener (ed.), Perceiving
Women, pp 29–54. London: J. M. Dent & Sons Ltd.
Chatterjee, P. 1989. ‘Colonialism, Nationalism, and Colonized Women: The Contest in
India’, American Ethnologist, 16(4): 622–33.
Epp, L. J. [forthcoming]. ‘Devadasis and Social Reform in Karnataka, South India’, Ph. D.
diss. York University.
Foucault, M. 1973. Madness and Civilization: A History of Insanity in the Age of Reason. (1st
ed 1965) New York: Vintage Books.
———. 1979. Discipline and Punishment: The Birth of the Prison. New York: Vintage Books.
———. 1981. A History of Sexuality, Volume 1: An Introduction. New York: Vintage Books.
Gluckman, M. 1954. Rituals of Rebellion in South East Africa. Manchester: Manchester University
Press.
Goffman, E. 1962. Asylums. Chicago: Aldine Publishing.
Gokhale, J. B. 1990. ‘The Evolution of a Counter-ideology: Dalit Consciousness in
Maharashtra’, in F. R. Frankel and M. S. A. Rao (eds.), Dominance and State Power in
Modern India: Decline of a Social Order, pp. 212–77. Delhi: Oxford University Press.
Gupta, S. K. 1985. The Scheduled Castes in Modern Indian Politics. New Delhi: Munshiram
Manoharlal Publishers.
Jogdand, P. G. 1991. Dalit Movement in Maharashtra. New Delhi: Kanak Publications.
Kemble, U. 1988. Devadasi and Nude Worship (Marathi). Bombay: Sukumas Damle Lokwadmaya
Gouha Pvt.
Krishnappa, B. 1986. ‘Experience What went on at Chandragutti’, Samuad Kannada
Magazine (Kannada). Chitradurga Samuada Prakashana.
Mahon, M. 1992. Foucault’s Nietzschean Genealogy: Truth, Power and the Subject. New York:
State University of New York Press.
Manor, J. 1984. ‘Blurring the Lines Between Parties and Social Bases: Gundu Rao and the
Emergence of a Janata Government in Karnataka’, in J. R. Wood (ed): State Politics in
Contemporary India: Crisis or Continuity? pp. 139–68. Boulder: Westview.
Nandy, A. 1990. ‘Woman versus Womanliness’, in A. Nandy (ed.), At the Edge of Psychology
(lst ed., 1980), (32–46). Delhi: Oxford University Press.
Nietzsche, F . 1967. On the Genealogy of Morals. (reprint), Translated from the German by
Walter Kaufmann and R. J. Hollingdale. New York: Vintage Books, (1989).
Sharma, A. 1987 ‘Nudity’, The Encyclopedia of Religion, Vol. 11, 7–11. New York: MacMillan
Publishing.
Singer, Milton. 1972. When a Great Tradition Modernizes. Chicago: Chicago University
Press.
Spivak, G. 1988. In Other Worlds: Essays in Cultural Politics. New York & London: Routledge
136 Linda J. Epp

Teepee. 1991. ‘Birth of Samata Sainik Dal: Karnataka Dalit Unit Takes a More Militant
turn’, Dalit Voice, 10 (June 16–30), 4.
Turner, V. 1969. The Ritual Process Structure and Ann Structure. New York: Cornell University
Press.
———. 1985. From Ritual to Theatre: The Human Seriousness of Play. New York City
Performing Arts Journal Publications.
8
Psychological Conflict
Between Harijans and Upper
Class/Middle Class Caste
Hindus: A Study in Andhra
Pradesh (India)*
Venkateswarlu Dollu

A
large number of studies make ‘Sociology of Harijans’ a significant
branch of Indian Sociology today. We may divide the literature
on this subject into three categories. The first one consists of pure
ethnographic studies throwing light on the status, life, and culture of
the Harijans who suffer from the stigma of untouchability even today
and who form one seventh of the Indian population There ate a number
of studies in this category but the more significant among them are by
Bridgs (1920), Ambedkar (1948), Fuchs (1951), Singh (1967 & 1969),
Doshi (1974), Desai (1973 So 1976), Lakshmanna (1977), Rao and
Raju (1975), Moffatt (1975 & 1979), Vidyarthi and Mishra (1977),
Sengupta (1979), Kamble (1982) and Rao (n.d.).
The second category of studies dwell on the social change among the
Harijans due to the influences of (i) socio-cultural factors like increased
aspirations and conscious demands, education of Harijans, urbanisation,
sanskritization and westernisation, social movements like the Dalit Panther
movement, religious reform movements, etc; (ii) economic factor like
138 Venkateswarlu Dollu

market economy, industrialisation, etc; and (iii) political fartors like

independence of the country and constitutional safeguards, politicization
and political consciousness. There is a greator number of studies in this
category than in the first one. Important among these are by Cohn (1955),
Epstein (1962 & 1973), Isaacs (1965), Oommen (1968 & 1975), Harper
(1968), Mexander (1968), Parvathamma (1968), Lynch (1969), Saberwal
(1970, 1973 and 1976), Zelliott (1970), Roy Burman (1970), Mahar
(1972), Patwardhan (1973), Agarwal (1974), Ramaswamy (1974 a & b),
D’Souza (1975 & 1977), Agarwal and Ashraf (1976), Kulke (1976),
Singh (1977), Malik (1979), Sharma (1983), Shvamalal (1984), and
others.
The final category of studies are relevant for us. This deals with the
emerging conflict between the Harijans and the caste Hindus which is a
consequence of the social change among the former occurring due to
the factors mentioned a little earlier and the caste Hindu response to this
change to be discussed in detail later in the paper. There are a very few
studies in this category. The studies of Mukerji (1961), Murphy (1953),
Orenstein (1965), Aiyappan (1965), Beals and Siegal (1967), Singh
(1967), Ghurye (1968), Gnugh (1970 & 1973), Mehta (1971), Das
(1976) and Oommen (1984) fall in this area. These authors have treated
the caste Hindus more or less as one conceptual category rather than as
a composite category consisting of different classes. This, paper aims to
tackle the conflict between the Harijans and the caste Hindus, treating
the caste Hindus as a composite category. Our concern in this paper
is the comflirt that exists been the Harijans and the upper|middle class1
of the caste Hindus.

The Emergence of Harijan—Upper/Middle

Class Caste Hindu Conflict
The emergence of conflict between the Harijans and some of the classes
among the caste Hindus is a natural outcome of some historico-social
factors.
The Harijans had been traditionally known as the ‘panchamas’ or
‘antyajas’ and were untouchables.2 They had suffered meekly the stigma of
unlouchability and accepted submissively the conditions of social isola-
tion, residential segregation, economic deprivation, political subjugation
CONFLICT BETWEEN HARIJANS AND UPPER/MIDDLE CLASS CASTE HINDUS 139

and cultural degradation. This position was subsequently affected

gradually by certain historical circumstances and alien cultural influences.
The influence of the Muslim rule, however, was minimal. The offshoots
of Hinduism, namely Buddhism, Sikhism, and Jainism began to attract
sizeable chunks of these untouchables into their fold as they preached and
practised openly equality of all men and women, at the same time demor-
alising the other Hindus.
The coming of Christian missionaries and later the British rule
opened new channels of social life to the Harijans. The Harijans, for the
first time now, were able to get themselves educated and treated by
the alien doctors for various diseases; they were provided financial help to
build houses and acquire other property; they were able to speak a language
to communicate directly with the aliens on an equal plane than with their
countrymen, and to sell their manually produced leather goods at mar-
kets, internal and external for the first time in exchange for cash thus
drastically changing the economy of at least some of their brethren. These
factors, apart from an administration based on rational-legal system of
rules, helped to create new social aspirations among the Harijans.
The freedom movement and their upliftment as a part of the ideol-
ogy of nationalism prevailing at that time, thanks to Gandhi and other
nationalist leaders, and a political was waged against the orthodox
Indian society by one of their own leaders, B. R. Ambedkar, enabled to
create among the Harijans a burning desire and an urge to be equal with
others. They for the first time, not only became socially aware of their
status and conditions, but also began to make demands for achieving
equality and realizing their aspirations.
The guarantee of educational and economic development, social
equality through abolition of untouchability, political representation in
state legislature and the House of the People, reservation in public ser-
vices, etc. incorporated in the Indian constitution3 raised new hopes
among the Harijans. Further the factors of growth of wide-ranging
market economy in place of traditional exchange system, urbanization,
industrialization, and the spreading of mass media have changed the
outlook of the Harijans. They are no more submissive and passive. They
have gradually begun to assert their rights, especially the educated and
the employed among them.
The caste Hindus, on the other hand, responded differently to
these historico-social changes. At the macro level, the ritually ‘higher,
140 Venkateswarlu Dollu

economically dominant and the politically powerful caste Hindus

oppose the state incentives for the all-round development the Harijans
and the growing voice of these people in the political and national
affairs.4 At the local level, they consciously resist and obstruct any
developmental or progressive change in the status and condition of the
Harijans, thus making futile state efforts. These people generally belong
to the higher cultivating castes such as Jats, Reddys, and Kammas, if
not the highest castes. We will call this class as the ‘upper class caste
Hindus’.
The middle-level caste Hindus who are less powerful economically
or politically are less opposed to any progress by the Harijans. They also
may put up resistance or obstruction consciously, but not as strongly as
the upper class caste Hindus do. We will refer to these people as the
“middle class caste Hindus”. The lower caste Hindus like the profes-
sional castes and the artisan castes generally share an equal status with
the Harijans except that they do not suffer the stigma of untouchability
as the latter do. They are as poor and politically underrepresented as the
Harijans are. They are only conscious of their higher ritual status vis-a-
vis the Harijans. This class which we may call the ‘lower class caste
Hindus’ will be excluded from our discussion for the reason to be men-
tioned presently.
The Harijans can be said to enter into conflict only with the upper
class and middle class caste Hindus when they demand for a concession
like entry into temples, which has been traditionally denied to them,
and which is denied even now, inspite of the existence of a law abolish-
ing such a discrimination. The lower class caste Hindus are generally not
opposed to any economic-political development of the Harijans.
Therefore they “normally do not have any conflict with the Harijans,
except in exceptional situations wherein their higher ritual status is
threatened. We can safely exclude this class from our discussion because
of the virtual non-existence of conflict between them and the Harijans.
How intensive is this conflict and how powerful is the resistance of the
caste Hindus depends upon the particular class of the latter with whom
the Harijans are in conflict.
What are the dimensions of such a conflict situation and in
which nature it exists, we will see after a brief look at the concept of
conflict, as it is defined at present and its applicability to our specific
problem.
CONFLICT BETWEEN HARIJANS AND UPPER/MIDDLE CLASS CASTE HINDUS 141

The Concept of Conflict

Although Marx had never defined the concept of ‘conflict’, it is generally

inferred that his ‘class struggle’ concept is closer to that. Marx explains
the class struggle as a consequence of the economic contradiction that
exists between the proletarian and the bourgeoisie classes. Our reference
to conflict in this paper is to the conflict between the Harijans and the
upper middle class caste Hindus. The Marxian understanding of ‘class
struggle’ would not help us here because this conflict does not develop
from only economic contradictions, but cumulatively due to social,
economic and power contradictions.
Simmel did not define conflict anywhere in his classic work
(Simmel, 1955). For him, conflict was only an integrative process,
bringing together the disparate elements; and though it is inevitable, it
does not always lead to change in social forms (Turner 1975: 619).
Further, conflict is only a “part of the dynamic by which some men are
drawn together into those uneasy combinations which we call groups”
(Bughes in Foreword to Simmel 1955: 9). This Simmelian view of con-
flict has been sufficiently criticised by scholars such as Rex and Wertheim.
For these scholars, conflict can be ‘disruptive’, ‘dysfunctional’ and can
bring-forth sudden and radical social changes. Coser defines conflict as
“a struggle over values and claims to scarce status, power and resources
in which the aims of the opponents are to neutralize, injure or eliminate
their rivals.” (Coser, 1956: 8). In the case of Harijan versus upper middle
class caste Hindu conflict, the confllict exists because of the denial of
equal social, economic and political status by these caste Hindus, to the
Harijans. The Harijans and the upper middle class caste Hindus are in
different positions of bargaining power. Hence, Coser’s definition also
would not suit us, as what the Harijans are demanding is not ‘scarce
status’, power resources’ but ‘status, power and resources which are
denied to them’.
Dahrendorf ’s and Kriesberg’s definitions of conflict would be closer
to our understanding of conflict. Dahrendorf writes that “all relations
between sets of individuals that involve an incompatible difference of
Objective—i.e., in its most general form, a desire by both the contestants
to attain what is available to only one or only in part—are, in this relations
of social conflict” (Dahrendorf 1959: 135). Kriesberg defines conflict as “a
relationship between two or more parties who (or whose spokesmen)
142 Venkateswarlu Dollu

believe they have incompatible goals” (Kriesberg 1973: 17). However

these two definitions are a little vague and ambiguous in the sense that
they look at the ideological aspect of a conflict, rather than the realistic or
behavioural aspect.
We may evolve our own definition of conflict to better explain the
Harijan versus upper/middle class caste Hindu conflict specifically. For
us, conflict is “an attitude or behaviour of two or more parties antagonistic
towards each other.” This covers both the ideological and the behavioural
aspects of conflict.

Fieldwork and Methodology

Fieldwork was conducted in six villages, two each in the three cultural
regions of Telangana, Coastal Andhra and Rayalaseema in the State of
Andhra Pradesh in the year 1977. A general survey was undertaken in all
the six villages initially to find-out the demographic distributions of
various castes and the socio-economic conditions of the populations in
the villages.
However, the data used in this paper are drawn from the intensive
schedules which were administered to 396 persons evenly distributed
between the Harijans and the caste Hindus in all the six field villages.
The sample was selected by stratified as well as purposive sampling
methods. The caste Hindus have been selected from the upper class and
the middle class categories only.

Dimensions of Conflict

There are broadly two dimensions in this author’s view to the, Harijan
versus upper middle class caste Hindu conflict. These are psychological
and manifest. The existence and perception of tensions in social, eco-
nomic, political and ritual aspects of social life by the Harijan and the
upper middle class caste Hindus is treated here as ‘psychological con-
flict.’ This may occur in the form of an attitude or an opinion of a
person different from that of others, or a feeling of antagonism in a
person against another person.
Thus a Harijan, who wishes to pray at a Hindu temple can be said
to be in psychological conflict with the caste Hindus as he wants to
CONFLICT BETWEEN HARIJANS AND UPPER/MIDDLE CLASS CASTE HINDUS 143

enter the temple and offer worship but the caste Hindus, who follow a
tradition, would not allow him to do so. In other words, what are
referred to as tensions in the literature on conflict sociology is called here
the psychological form of conflict. It is only with this ‘psychological
conflict’ we are concerned with in this paper.
The conflict that occurs in a physical or explicit form is called
‘manifest conflict’. This form may be an abuse, a beating, an arson, a
raid, a looting, burning a hut, a murder and so on. Thus a caste Hindu
and a Harijan may be said to be involved in manifest conflict if the
former has raped the latter’s sister or wife. We are not concerned with
this ‘manifest conflict’ dimension here.5
While the basis of psychological conflict may be determined by the
existence of social, economic, political and religious differences between
the Harijans and the caste Hindus, the basis of manifest conflict must
always be the psychological conflict. The antagonistic feelings or opin-
ions must already exist between a Harijan and a caste Hindu to involve
them in manifest conflict later.

Psychological Conflict

The psychological form of conflict can be discussed broadly under four

sub-heads, namely social tensions, economic tensions, political tensions
and ritual tensions.
1) Social Tensions: Social tensions exist between Harijans a the upper
middle class caste Hindus when they perceive and act differently in
regard to social issues like temple entry seating of Harijans among the
caste Hindus in a public place, marriage processions of Harijan bridal
couple, and other issues mentioned in the Tables I and II as follows:
For instance, on the issue of temple-entry, most of the Harijans feel
that the temples are still barred to them. A higher percentage of the
upper class sample object to the Harijans’ entry into temples than the
middle class sample. The Harijans also feel still that they are not allowed
to enter the houses of the caste Hindus. On this issue also, a higher
percentage of the upper class sample than the middle class sample of the
caste Hindus object to the Harijans entering their houses. However, on
the issue of drawing water from a public well or a tap, a higher percent-
age of middle class respondents object strongly than the upper class
respondents.
Table I
144

Harijan Responses Regarding Untouchability and Caste Hindu Hostilities

Very Less
Sr. No. Item Frequently Frequently Frequently Rarely Never Total M S. D.
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10
1. Bar on temple entry 60 (30.30) 51 (25.76) 20 (10.10) 40 (20.20) 27 (13.64) 198 (100) 2.39 20.54

2. Objection to sitting among caste 44 (22.22) 57 (28.79) 51 (25.76) 9 (4.55) 37 (18.69) 198 (100) 2.36 18.80
Hindus in a public place
3. Objections to entering caste 46 (23.23) 60 (30.30) 50 (25.25) 12 (6.06) 30 (15.15) 198 (100) 2.40 19.54
Hindu houses
4. Objection to taking a marriage 46 (23.23) 59 (29.80) 44 (22.22) 8 (4.04) 41 (20.71) 198 (100) 2.31 19.11
procession through caste Hindu
locality
5. Objection to drawing water from 38 (19.19) 36 (18.18) 45 (22.73) 15 (7.58) 64 (32.32) 198 (100) 1.79 14.16
a public well or tap
6. Beating by the caste Hindus 24 (12.12) 51 (25.76) 59 (29.80) 8 (4.04) 56 (28.28) 198 (100) 1.89 15.26
7. Raiding 28 (14.14) 47 (23.74) 53 (26.77) 24 (12.12) 46 (23.23) 198 (100) 1.93 14.86
8. Looting 27 (13.64) 52 (26.26) 50 (25.25) 23 (11.62) 46 (23.23) 198 (100) 1.95 15.24
9. Kidnapping 10 (5.05) 18 (9.09) 53 (26.77) 21 (10.61) 96 (48.48) 198 (100) 1.12 8.99
10. Insults to Harjian women 54 (27.27) 62 (31.31) 32 (16.16) 28 (14.14) 22 (11.11) 198 (100) 2..49 20.76
Venkateswarlu Dollu

11. Torture 22 (11.11) 34 (10.10) 70 (35.35) 40 (20.20) 32 (16.16) 198 (100) 1.87 14.00
12. Attempt to murder 11 (5.56) 28 (14.14) 36 (18.18) 22 (11.11) 101 (51.01) 198 (100) 1.12 8.55
13. Refusal or a demand for higher 49 (24.75) 41 (20.71) 21 (10.61) 31 (15.66) 56 (28.28) 198 (100) 1.98 16.78
wages
14. Protest against changing 33 (16.67) 55 (27.78) 31 (15.66) 39 (19.70) 40 (20.20) 198 (100) 2.01 15.80
occupation
15. Attempts to occupy lands 56 (28.28) 45 (22.73) 46 (23.23) 20 (10.10) 31 (15.66) 198 (100) 2.38 19.66
16. Prevention from exercising 50 (25.25) 36 (18.18) 43 (21.72) 23 (11.62) 46 (23.23) 198 (100) 2.11 17.26
franchise
17. Prevention from participation in 47 (23.74) 33 (16.67) 31 (15.66) 29 (14.65) 58 (29.29) 198 (100) 1.91 15.79
political activity
18. Threats against not voting for 58 (29.29) 70 (35.35) 19 (9.60) 13 (6.57) 38 (19.19) 198 (100) 2.49 22.34
their candidate
19. Threats against contesting an 25 (12.63) 57 (28.79) 50 (25.25) 31 (15.66) 35 (17.68) 198 (100) 2.19 16.27
election
20. Forced rendering of services in 30 (15.15) 43 (21.72) 63 (31.82) 15 (7.58) 47 (23.74) 198 (100) 1.97 15.34
respect of birth
21. Forced rendering of services in 30 (15.15) 40 (20.20) 58 (29.29) 34 (17.17) 36 (18.18) 198 (100) 1.98 14.71
respect of marriage
22. Forced rendering of services in 32 (16.16) 38 (19.19) 70 (35.35) 28 (14.14) 30 (15.15) 198 (100) 2.07 15.76
CONFLICT BETWEEN HARIJANS AND UPPER/MIDDLE CLASS CASTE HINDUS

respect of death
Figures in brackets are percentages.
145
 146

Table II
Caste Hindu Samples Attitudes Towards Untouchability

Sample Strongly Not Not

Sr. No. Item Class Objected Objected Objected Objected at all Undecided Total M SD
1. Temple entry to Harijans UC 12 27 10 20 15 107 1.58 9.42
(11.21) (25.23) (9.35) (18.69) (15.51) (100)
MC 10 25 16 36 4 91 2.01 10.10
(10.99) (27.47) (17.58) (39.56) (1.40) (100)
2. Seating of Harijans among UC 19 25 12 26 25 107 1.88 10.76
caste Hindus in a public (17.76) (23.36) (11.21) (24.30) (2.36) (100)
place
MC 23 30 12 24 2 91 2.58 13.80
(23.27) (32.97) (17.19) (26.37) (2.20) (100)
3. Harijan marriage UC 12 23 27 20 25 107 1.77 9.65
processions (11.21) (21.00) (25.23) (18.69) (23.36) (100)
MC 8 18 21 36 8 91 1.80 8.68
Venkateswarlu Dollu

(8.79) (19.78) (26.08) (39.56) (8.79) (100)

4. Drawing water from a public UC 13 14 25 18 7 107 1.79 9.18
well or a tap (12.15) (13.08) (2.36) (44.86) (6.54) (100)
MC 12 12 20 32 15 91 1.71 8.14
(11.19) (13.19) (2.98) (35.16) (16.48) (100)
5. Entry of Harijans into CASTE UC 10 24 15 54 4 107 1.83 9.83
Hindu houses
(9.35) (22.43) (14.02) (50.47) (3.74) (100)
MC 8 19 46 2 91 1.50 8.56
(8.79) (17.58) (20.88) (50.35) (2.20) (100)
Figures in brackets are percentages
UC—Upper class caste Hindus
MC—Middle class caste Hindus
CONFLICT BETWEEN HARIJANS AND UPPER/MIDDLE CLASS CASTE HINDUS
147
 148

Table III
Caste Hindus Responses Regarding Type of Violence by the Harijans Against Them

Sample Beating Raid Looting

Class Y N T Y N T Y N T
12 95 107 2 105 107 2 105 107
UC (11.21) (88.79) (100) (1.87) (98.18) (100) (1.87) (98.15) (100)
7 84 91 1 90 91 1 90 91
MC (7.69) (92.31) (100) (1.10) (98.90) (100) (1.10) (98.90) (100)
Kidnapping Insulting Women Torture Attempt to murder
Y N T Y N T Y N T Y N T
4 105 107 1 106 107 2 105 107 107 107 107
(3.74) (96.26) (100) (0.93) (99.07) (100) (1.87) (98.13) (100) Nil (100) (100)
2 2 89 (100) (1.10) 91 1 90 91 Nil 91 91
(2.20) 89 91 (97.80) (100) (2.20) (97.80) (98.90) (100) (100) (100) (100)
Figures in brackets are percentages
Venkateswarlu Dollu
CONFLICT BETWEEN HARIJANS AND UPPER/MIDDLE CLASS CASTE HINDUS 149

Table IV
Caste Hindu Responses with Regard to Certain Concessions from the
Government

Sample No
Sr. No. Questions Class Yes No Opinion Total
1. Do you think that the UC 29 70 8 107
Harijans should be (27.10) (65.42) (7.48) (100)
allotted land by the
Government? MC 20 65 6 91
(21.98) (71.43) (6.59) (100)
2. Do you think that the UC 50 51 6 107
Harijan Children should be (46.73) (47.66) (5.61) (100)
sent to schools/colleges?
MC 32 54 5 91
(35.16) (59.34) (5.49) (100)
3. Do you think that the UC 26 78 3 107
Harijans should be given (24.30) (72.90) (2.80) (100)
house-sites by the
Government? MC 20 68 3 91
(21.98) (74.73) (3.30) (100)
4. Do you think that the UC 24 76 8 107
Harijans should be given (22.43) (70.09) (7.48) (100)
loans by the Government/
Banks? MC 20 70 1 91
(21.98) (76.92) (1.10) (100)
5. Do you think that the UC 25 74 8 107
Harijans should be (23.36) (69.16) (7.48) (100)
favoured by the
Government for MC 15 70 6 91
employment? (16.48) (76.92) (6.59) (100)
Figures in brackets are percentages

Physical violence has often been perpetrated against the Harijans by

the caste Hindus,6 according to Harijan respondents. A majority of the
Harijan respondents reported that they were beaten the response rang-
ing from very frequently to rarely. There were also cases of raids on the
Harijan hamlets or houses. Violence was also said to have been perpet-
rated in the form of kidnapping, hurling insults, rapes, physical torture
150 Venkateswarlu Dollu

and threats or attempts at murder. Most of the upper middle class-caste

Hindu sample answered negatively when asked about violence perpetrated
by the Harijans against them (see Table III). The few that answered
positively could not substantiate their answers.
The upper (middle class respondents were also asked about the
desirability of the governmental concessions to the Harijans. They
mostly reacted in a negative manner. However, interestingly, the
middle class sample was more negative than the upper class sample
(see Table IV).
2) Economic Tensions: Caste tensions in the economic field of village
life may occur when the Harijan laborers demand higher wages, intend
to change from their traditional occupation to a more remunerative
occupation and either the Harijans or the caste Hindus try to occupy
each other’s land’ forcibly (for Harijans responses, see Table I and for
caste Hindus responses, see Table V).
During the peak periods of agriculture, such as sowing and har-
vesting times when the demand for agricultural labour is high, the
Harijan labourers like their brethren from other castes get paid more
than the minimum wage announced by the government. But at other
times like weeding or watering, when the demand for labour is low, the
wages also are low.
Tensions occur when the Harijan labourers demand for higher
wages during the dull seasons also, and when they are denied the same
or physically harmed for demanding the same. Similarly, when the
Harijans want to switch over from their traditional occupation to
some other occupation, they are harassed by being abused or beaten.
More upper class caste Hindus resent the Harijans’ switching over to
other occupations than the middle class caste Hindus.
Forcible occupation of each other’s land also leads to economic ten-
sions. Some Harijans respondents complained of forcible occupation of
their lands by the caste Hindus. But only one upper class caste Hindu
respondent complained that his land was forcibly occupied by the
Harijans. However, on enquiry, it was not found to be true.
3) Political Tensions: Tensions in the political sphere of village life may
occur due to reasons such as the Harijans and the caste Hindus prevent-
ing each other from exercising franchise in an election, participating in
a political activity, contesting an election, or threatening each other for
not voting for a particular candidate. Here also, the victims are mostly
CONFLICT BETWEEN HARIJANS AND UPPER/MIDDLE CLASS CASTE HINDUS 151

the Harijans who often become political pawns in the predominantly

upper class politics in the villages. Thus many Harijan respondents said
that they were prevented from exercising their franchise in an election
(see Table I). Only one upper class respondent said that he was ever
prevented by a Harijan (see Table V). The Harijans have been prevented
sometimes from participating in a political activity like organizing a
meeting when a Harijan leader visits their village. They also have been
threatened with violence when they wanted to contest in an election. No
caste Hindu respondent said that he was threatened by any Harijan.
4) Ritual Tensions: Ritual tensions may result when the Harijans refuse
to discharge their traditional obligations to their jaimani patrons. The tra-
ditional duties vary from carrying a message of a birth or a death in the
patron’s family to his relations in another village. The Harijans sometimes
refuse to carry out such obligations if they have to attend to farm labour
or if they have changed to some other occupation which is financially
more rewarding than their traditional occupation. Often the patrons
insist on the Harijans to do these favours for them merely as a mark of
respect without wanting to pay anything in cash or kind. Conflict tends
to develop in such cases. Many of the upper class and the middle class
sample reported on the refusals by the Harijans to render some ritual
services (see Table V). The Harijan respondents also reported about their
being forced to render some ritual services (see Table I). The services may
be with regard to traditional obligations or duties in respect of a birth,
marriage or a death ceremony in a patron’s family. Here also the percent-
age of the upper class sample that complained about Harijans’ refusals to
render some ritual services to them is more than the middle class sample.
The responses discussed above refer to the existence of tensions in
the social, economic, political and ritual relations between the Harijan
respondents and the upper middle class respondents as they perceive it.
As the tensions can be and have been tackled only at the psychological
level, it has been called ‘psychological conflict.’ It is also clear from
the above discussion that the psychological conflict exists in wider range
and in more intensity between the Harijans and the upper class caste
Hindus than between the former and the middle class Caste Hindus.
The prevalence of conflict in a greater degree between the upper
class caste Hindus and the Harijans is because it is the upper class caste
Hindus rather than the middle class ones who are more affected by any
progressive social change among the Harijans. They are the most
 152

Table V
Caste Hindu Responses Regarding Harijan Hostilities Against Them

Sr. Sample They very They did They very

No. Item Class much did They did not much did not Undecided Total M S.D.
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11
1. Protests or refusal of higher UC 9 (8.41) 17 (15.89) 50 (16.73) 30 (28.04) 1 (0.93) 107 (100) 2.03 11.61
wages MC 8 (8.79) 5 (5.49) 40 (50.55) 30 (32.97) 2 (2.20) 91 (100) 1.86 10.70
2. Refusal to continue their UC 15 (14.02) 16 (14.95) 36 (33.64) 26 (24.30) 14 (13.08) 107 (100) 1.93 10.36
traditional occupation MC 11 (12.09) 15 (16.48) 35 (38.46) 30 (32.97) N 91 (100) 2.08 10.20
3. Occupation of land UC 1 (0.95) N 46 (42.99) 30 (28.04) 30 (28.04) 107 (100) 1.18 9.33
MC N N 38 (41.76) 25 (27.47) 28 (30.77) 91 (100) 1.11 8.35
4. Preventing exercise of UC N 1 (0.93) 53 (49.53) 47 (43.93) 6 (5.61) 107 (100) 1.46 11.17
franchise MC N N 47 (51.65) 40 (43.96) 4 (4.40) 91 (100) 1.47 10.69
Venkateswarlu Dollu
 5. Preventing political UC N 1 (0.93) 50 (46.73) 48 (44.86) 8 (7.48) 107 (100) 1.41 10.68
participation MC N N 47 (51.65) 42 (46.15) 2 (2.20) 91 (100) 1.49 10.75
6. Threats against not voting UC N 1 (0.03) 26 (24.30) 80 (74.77) N 107 (100) 1.26 9.18
for a Harijan candidate MC N N 20 (21.98) 70 (76.92) 1 (1.10) 91 (100) 1.21 8.41
7. Threats against contesting an UC N N 48 (44.86) 51 (47.66) 8 (7.48) 107 (100) 1.37 10.47
election MC N N 50 (54.95) 40 (43.96) 1 (1.10) 91 (100) 1.54 11.25
8. Refusal to render services in UC 23 (21.50) 29 (27.10) 29 (27.10) 20 (10.69) 6 (5.61) 107 (100) 2.40 13.45
respect of a birth MC 17 (18.68) 21 (23.08) 25 (27.47) 28 (30.77) N 91 (100) 2.30 11.25
9. Refusal to render service in UC 26 (26.17) 30 (28.04) 29 (27.10) 20 (18.69) N 107 (100) 2.62 14.95
respect of marriage MC 10 (10.99) 18 (19.78) 34 (37.36) 25 (27.47) 4 (4.40) 91 (100) 2.03 10.21
10. Refusal to render service in UC 30 (28.04) 29 (27.10) 26 (18.69) 18 (16.82) 10 (9.35) 107 (100) 2.48 14.81
respect of death MC 7 (7.69) 20 (21.98) 40 (43.96) 23 (25.27) 1 (1.10) 91 (100) 2.10 11.01
Figures in brackets are percentages
CONFLICT BETWEEN HARIJANS AND UPPER/MIDDLE CLASS CASTE HINDUS
153
154 Venkateswarlu Dollu

powerful, the dominant and the highest castes in the Hindu social
system. This superior position of theirs would get undermined if the
Harijans were to achieve equal political power (in the real democratic
sense), economic development and social equality; on the other hand,
the middle class caste Hindus, although resistant as they too are to a
certain extent to the developmental change among the Harijans, are not
as strongly opposed as the upper class caste Hindus because of their
middle level positions in the social, economic and political sub-systems.
The existence of psychological conflict forms the basis for the
explicit occurrence of the conflict which at this stage may be called the
‘manifest conflict’ and this has been left out of the scope of this paper.

Notes
*This is an abridged version of a part of the author’s doctoral study on ‘The Harijan-Upper
Class Conflict in Andhra Pradesh’ submitted to the Jawaharlal Nehru University, New Delhi.
The author expresses profound gratitude to Dr. Yogendra Singh who supervised his doc-
toral work.
1. We will explain whom we teat as the upper class and middle class Hindus in the next
section.
2. For a description of the conditions and life of these people in the ancient past, see the
translation of Manu’s scripture partly reproduced in B. R. Ambedkar, The Untouchables:
Who were they and why they became untouchables.
3. See articles 15, 17, 46, 330, 332, 334, 335, 338 and 341 of the Indian Constitution.
4. The anti-reservation riots in Gujarat a few years before and revived recently more
than illustrate this point.
5. This has been discussed in detail elsewhere. See the author’s article (1981).
6. Only the Harijans’ psychological perception of the violence perpetrated against
them by the caste Hindus is dealt with here. The actual manifest form of conflict
between the Harijans and the caste Hindus has been discussed in the author’s art-
icle, ibid.

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House.
Marx, K. and F. Engels. Selected Work, Moscow, Progress Publishers.
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to Indian Sociology, IX (1).
———. 1979. An Untouchable Community in South India, New Jersey, Princeton, Princeton
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Mukerji, Radhakamal. 1951. Intercaste Tensions: A Survey under the auspices of UNESCO,
Lucknow University.
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———. 1975. “Scheduled Castes: then and now”, in B. N. Pande (ed.).
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Economic and Political Weekly, IX (29).
———. 1974. “Self-identity among scheduled castes: A study of Andhra”, Economic and
Political Weekly, IX (47).
Rao, N. V. K, and M. V. T. Raju. 1975. “Malas and Madigas: An enthnographic study of two
scheduled Castes of Telangana”, Journal of Social Research, XVIII (2).
Rao, U. (n.d.). Deprived Castes in India, Allahabad, Chugli Publications.
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of India, New Delhi, Registrar General of India
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———. 1973. “Receding pollution: Intercaste relations in urban Punjab”, Sociological
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———. 1976. Mobile men: Limits to Social Change in Urban Punjab, New Delhi, Vikas
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 PART IV
Interrogating Change:
Theory and Practice
9
Reservations and the
Sanskritization of Scheduled
Castes: Some Theoretical
Aspects
Gopal Guru

Introduction

T
he study of Sanskritization in general has been a source for
sociologists both in India and abroad, for their analyses (Srinivas,
1956) It has also been considered as an effective source of influ-
encing the behaviour patterns of the Scheduled Castes and their cultural
enhancement (Aggraval, 1977; Beteille, 1969; Baiely, 1963; Gould,
1961: Patwardhan, 1973; Singh, 1964; Singh, 1973, Sachchidananda,
1977; Lynch, 1974). These scholars have made interesting case studies
of the process of Sanskritization working among the Scheduled Castes
in India. Some of these analysts have taken occupation, education,
political participation, and economic and culture factors as the variables
for analysing the process of social transformation, modernisation and
Sanskritization. Reservation has also been used as an important variable
leading to socioeconomic and political mobility of the Scheduled Castes
(Aggrawal, 1977). But reservations as a factor affecting the process of
Sanskritization has not been studied in details.
Therefore, here an attempt has been made to make some useful
enquiries into the following problems. This would, perhaps, enable us
160 Gopal Guru

to postulate some hypotheses for further empirical investigations. First,

what implication does reservation have on the process of Sanskritization?
Second, is it possible for the Scheduled Castes to gain consensus for
their Sanskritization from the high caste Hindus? Finally, in the given
Indian social structure, does the process of Sanskritization play the
viable and more meaningful role in achieving transformation of
Scheduled Caste community as a whole? The following body of mater-
ial will try to find out the answers for the present problems posed here.

Development of the Concept of Sanskritization

In its historical evolution the concept of Sanskritization was an important

feature of traditional Indian society, where it appears to have been the prin-
ciple idiom of social mobility (Beteille, 1969: 116). In the past, the process
of Sanskritization was slow and gradual and it offered very limited possibil-
ities to the lowest section of the society for upper mobility. This made it
difficult for lower castes to quickly acquire economic and political power or
having once acquired it, to shed its traditional marks of inferiority. There
were, in addition, legal and ritual sanctions which acted against too radical
change in styles of life. These sanctions operated with particular force upon
the Scheduled Castes who were able to cross the barriers of untouchability
rarely, if at all.
Later on the British rule released the Backward Classes (including
the Scheduled Castes) from the grip of the traditional oppressive sanc-
tions. The new courts of law refused to recognise the rights of the upper
castes to the exclusive use of particular symbols of status. The avenues of
Sanskritization were thrown open to ever increasing sections of society.
The first to seize the new opportunities were those whose social position
had been low in traditional society but above the line of untouchability.
Thus, Sanskritization served to lower the barriers of sanctions of society,
which had at one time been clearly separated.
It is true that the Britishers had opened up new avenues of Sanskriti-
zation for the Scheduled Castes but it was more so because of the introduc-
tion of capitalist system for, it was not easily possible to realize any kind of
Sanskritization under the feudal set up. However, the process of Sanskriti-
zation helped the Britishers to pump out the agitating tendencies from the
Scheduled Castes, Scheduled Tribes and Other Backward Classes (the lower
RESERVATIONS AND THE SANSKRITIZATION OF SCHEDULED CASTES 161

castes above the line of untouchability are classified under the Other
Backward Classes) in order to make their position comfortable in India.
This was not a difficult task for the Britishers, as some social move-
ments for the upliftment of Scheduled Castes, instead of attacking the
basic economic and political colonial structure, in the beginning, seem
to have launched their attack of superstructure by searching for legit-
imacy for social position through religious and traditional means. In the
beginning, (for example, the Mahar Scheduled Caste movement in
Maharashtra) its leaders seem to have ventured to seek social sanctions
to their social position through religious and traditional means (Zelliot
quoed in Smith and Brill, 1978: 88). Even Dr. B. R. Ambedkar, the
prominent Scheduled Caste leader from Maharashtra, in the beginning
of his leadership, concentrated his efforts on status enhancement of
Scheduled Castes (Zelliot, quoted in Eugene, 1966: 196). It is believed
that he adopted this course of action as a strategy to consolidate his
movement. And when he felt that he achieved his goal, he did not try to
claim that the heterodox religious practices of Scheduled Castes were
worthy of respect, nor did he encourage Sanskritized religious practice
(Zelliot, quoted, Smith and Brill, 1978: 94). Secondly, he tried, later on,
to gain a large number of civic rights, a necessary pre-condition for
upward mobility of any kind for Scheduled Castes.
However, one thing needs to be mentioned here is that Mahatma
Phule, a great social-reformer in Maharashtra, while uplifting the
untouchables, did not crack his mind on Sanskritising the untouchables.
On the contrary, he encouraged the non-Brahmins and the untouch-
ables against the process of Sanskritization (Malse and Keer, 1982. In
this connection, even the Gandhian movement against untouchability
and Adivasi welfare concentrated mainly on teaching these oppressed
people against the use of liquor, toddy and meat and encouraged the
latter to follow the norms of the high caste Hindus (Singh quoted in 15.
R. Nanda, 1980: 158).

Sanskritization in Contemporary India

In contemporary Indian society the role of Sanskritization was first ana-

lysed in detail by Prof. Srinivas in his study of the Coorges of South India
(Srinivas, 1952). Srinivas has put forward the concept of Sanskritization
162 Gopal Guru

to explain some features of religious, cultural and social change in India.

According to him Sanskritization is the process by a which a Hindu caste,
a tribal or other group changes its customs, ritual, ideology and way of life
in the direction of high or frequently twice born castes (Srinivas, 1974: 7).
This definition of Prof. Srinivas is challenged by the conversion of
Scheduled Castes in Maharashtra to Buddhism, as Buddhism denounces
all cultural, religious domination of the high castes or twice born castes
(Patwardhan, 1968: 192). Secondly, the unit of the process of Sanskritization
is those castes who had been traditionally favoured and the new benefi-
ciaries of westernisation (Sharma, 1980: 106). Finally, as Srinivas believes,
the process of Sanskritization can be regulated through the economic and
political power (Srinivas, 1962: 56, 1978: 100). Finally, it is argued that the
process of Sanskritization brings about the cultural integration of Scheduled
Castes with the larger upper caste society (Patwardhan, 1968: 194;
Bandopathya, quoted in Srinivas Seshaiah. V. S. Parthasarthy, 1977: 119.).
Therefore, to study and understand the Sanskritization of Scheduled
Castes in the light of the above positions taken by various scholars, we will
have to analyse the role of the reservation for Scheduled Castes in their
process of Sanskritization and its implications on the Scheduled Caste
common folk. The following analysis would help us to take some theoret-
ical position that would be possible through the interplay between the pro-
cess of Sanskritization and the provision of reservation.

Reservation and the Sanskritization of

Scheduled Castes
It is pointed out in the above analysis (Srinivas, 1962) that economic and
political power makes the process of Sanskritization possible. Since the
constitutional provision made for the Scheduled Castes helps the Scheduled
Castes to wield economic and political power the same would help us to
understand the Sanskritization of the Scheduled Castes. Secondly, the con-
cept of Sanskritization is a group process and helps understanding group
mobility (Sharma, 1980: 106). Similarly, the unit of reservations is a group
or class though it starts from an individual unit (Dushkin, 1979: 662).
Thus, reservations create the groups which qualify themselves for the reg-
ulation of Sanskritization process among the Scheduled Castes. So, with
this kind of framework one can work out the kind of relationship between
the process of Sanskritization and the provision of reservations.
RESERVATIONS AND THE SANSKRITIZATION OF SCHEDULED CASTES 163

Reservations and Sanskritization—A Paradox

We have tried to see in the above analysis that the reservations may
boost up the process of Sanskritization by being complementary to each
other at the operational level. But theoretically and technically speaking
these two terms are antithetical to each other. This complex situation
can be made further clear on the basis of the constitutional criteria
meant for the realization of the reservation provisions.
A person, in order to receive the benefits of the reservation facilities,
must identify himself with the Scheduled Castes, Scheduled Tribes and
Other Backward Classes, and usually must present elaborate verification of
his claim. Unwillingness to so identify oneself results in ineligibility for ben-
efits, as untouchables converted to Buddhism and Christianity have experi-
enced. This situation stands contrary to the concept of Sanskritization as
you cannot be Sanskritized with the stigma of social disabilities plagued
with you. However, though the Scheduled Castes decide technically to
remain socially backward in order to enjoy the reservation benefits, still they
try to improve their social status and prestige (Sachchidanand, 1974: 282).
However, it is argued that after independence the Scheduled Castes
have given up the chase for Sanskritization and turned towards compe-
tition for economic and political power (Beteille, 1969: 114). It is true
that in the beginning the Scheduled Castes had shifted their emphasis
from Sanskritization to competition for position of office and power.
But this was so as long as there was a fair play of competition for reser-
vation among the Scheduled Castes to remove their backwardness
slowly and gradually. When the essence of competition for reservation
started being confined to a microscopic middle class from these Castes,
the Scheduled Castes once having developed educationally, econom-
ically and politically restarted raising their cultural status to the level of
the cultural status of upper castes (Deshpande, 1978: 101–112).

Reservation and De-Sanskritization

The relationship between reservation and Sanskritization is not only
paradoxical but it also to the process of de-Sanskritization (here the term
de-Sanskritization has been used in a pejorative sense). Economic
backwardness and craze for power status lead to the process of de-
Sanskritization of those economically backward upper castes through
164 Gopal Guru

aspiring for reservation benefits. These castes, in order to avail themselves

of the facilities of reservation, must adopt one of the categories of
Scheduled Castes, Scheduled Tribes and Other Backward Classes noti-
fied by the Indian Constitution. This has been successfully done by the
upper caste people. Some of the upper castes have been adopting the
lower castes since the British period in order to enjoy the fruits of reser-
vations. For example, when the Britishers adopted the policy of political
concessions for the minority communities, Backward Classes and
Depressed Classes, there was a competition among the upper castes to
adopt the names of the lower castes so as to qualify themselves for the
benefits of British reservations. This was done by the Viswabrahmin
caste, one of the non-Brahmin upper castes of Madras State, who had
tried to join the lower castes for the sake of getting reservation benefits
from the Britishers (Saraswathi, 1974: 128).
Even now-a-days the upper castes are ready to de-Sanskritize their
castes for the sake of getting reservation benefits given by the Indian
constitution to the above mentioned castes. According to the
Commissioner for Scheduled Castes and Scheduled Tribes, there are a
number of instances where upper caste candidates for entry into the
services under the Central Government. State Government and Public
sector undertakings, secured false certificates by unscrupulous means
in support of their claim to belong to Scheduled Castes or Scheduled
Tribes (S. C. & S. T. Commissioner, 1977: 48). Thus, reservations, as a
practical necessity to remove the economic backwardness, compell the
upper castes to undergo the process of de-Sanskritization.

Scheduled Castes and Their Compulsive

Sanskritization: A Need for Structural Integration
and Social Sanction

Upper castes experience compulsive de-Sanskritization out of the need

for economic relief, but Scheduled Caste elite class experience compul-
sive Sanskritization out of the need for their structural integration with
the upper caste society through the social sanction of the latter. It is
argued that because of the forces of modernisation. Sanskritization has
brought about the cultural integration between various castes, once sep-
arated, by lowering the barriers between them (Bandopathya, 1947;
RESERVATIONS AND THE SANSKRITIZATION OF SCHEDULED CASTES 165

Patwardhan, 1968). This may be true at the cultural level only. But the
structural integration of the Scheduled Castes with the upper castes still
remains a perennial problem. Even today the Scheduled Castes, whose
life style is tentamounting to that of upper caste life style, are still socially
being discriminated by the upper castes (Deshpande, 1978: 101–112,
S. C. & S. T. Commissioner, 1977; Mandal Commission Report, 1980).
Moreover, the problem of Scheduled Caste integration with the upper
caste society can further be elucidated by looking into their problem of
accommodation in upper caste localities. My observations about educated
and employed Scheduled Castes in Nipani in Karnataka and Kolhapur in
Maharashtra throw light on the case of compulsive Sanskritization of
Scheduled Castes which has been linked up with their problem of accom-
modation in upper caste localities. In these towns there arc instances where
the Scheduled Caste persons have tried to avoid identification of their
castes or to hide it altogether of falsify it. They play all these tricks because
of two reasons. ‘First, they do not like losing their accommodation in upper
caste decent localities by exposing their caste to the land-owner. Moreover,
the falsification of caste helps them to overcome the psychological problem
of identifying themselves as Scheduled Caste. Secondly, they decide to be
socially un-assertive by concealing their castes because they find it quite
appaling and degrading to go back to their Scheduled Caste settlement
(ghetto). Therefore, to avoid these complications, they decide to claim their
false high caste illusionary status. For this maintenance they change their
life style to match in social status with their landlords’ upper caste status by
adopting upper caste rituals and value. Thus, because of problems such as
these, Sanskritization becomes compulsory for the Scheduled Castes even
though they do not mean Sanskritising themselves.
Though this compulsive Sanskritization of Scheduled Castes is an
essentially operating reality, this becomes an insignificant development
when, by and large, most of the Scheduled Caste people in urban areas form
Housing Societies based on their own castes. This separate settlement of
Scheduled Castes has been encouraged by two things: First, these Scheduled
Castes want to avoid this compulsive Sanskritization and the problem of
social discrimination. Secondly, this separate Housing Society creates among
the Scheduled Castes a sense of social security. This may be true about other
castes also. However, to discourage this tendency of separate settlement, and
to bring about the structural integration of an otherwise diversified social
milieu, the government has been trying to create secular, cosmopolitan
166 Gopal Guru

housing societies where all lower and upper castes would be structurally
assimilated. Government has even enacted a condition that every
co-operative housing society must have as its member at least one Backward
Class person. Unfortunately, here also, as we have observed in Kolhapur the
allottees of these houses try to bribe the concerning officer so that he would
allot the houses in such a way that the people would have their own caste
fellow’s house within their very close physical proximity.
However, the changing pattern of discrimination, which is practiced
by the caste Hindus through the unconspicuous reaction and the separate
settlement of the Scheduled Castes and their submission to the compulsive
Sanskritization, postpones the conflict that would otherwise be immedi-
ately possible. Therefore, it is interesting to mention here that it is this
submissive and elitist character of the middle class of Scheduled Castes
which is often reflected in the violent reaction of Dalit Panthers and is
described as “Dalit Brahmin” in Dalit literature (Pawar, 1980).

Sanskritization and the Poor Scheduled Castes

In the above analysis we have taken the reservation beneficiaries, and

educated employed middle class of the Scheduled Castes as a unit to
understand the process of Sanskritization among the Scheduled Castes.
Therefore, it is equally important to work out any connection that
would be there between the process of Sanskritization and the Scheduled
Caste poor in the countryside.
The Report on Marathwada Vidyapeeth Namantar Virodhi Atyachari
Andolan Samiti (a committee report on Marathwada University
Antirenaming Atrocities Agitation) mentions that in the Marathwada
riots the high caste Hindus singled out and attacked the Neo-Buddhists
and the assertive educated Mahars who had given up their traditional
roles and had accepted a new cultural symbol against the Hindu cultural
symbol (Gaikwad, 1980). Therefore, it is the assertiveness and the sense
of revolt of the rival Scheduled Castes which challenge the mechanism of
cultural domination of the dominant class in rural India.
However, it is not only that the high caste Hindus would like to
commit atrocities on Scheduled Castes just to suppress their assertiveness
and the sense of revolt against the cultural domination of the upper
castes, but it is equally true that the upper castes harass the Scheduled
Castes folk to protect their socio-economic interests. It is precisely
because of this reason that the protection of administration is much
RESERVATIONS AND THE SANSKRITIZATION OF SCHEDULED CASTES 167

more important for the Scheduled Castes than the need for Sanskritization
(Bailey, 1963: 73, 226, 264). Moreover, the young Scheduled Castes can
dispense with Sanskritization for the sake of getting some political ben-
efits (Beteille, 1969: 135). Thus, the process of Sanskritization, as it is
argued by some of the scholars, fails to bring about the cultural integra-
tion of rural India (Bandopadhya, 1977: 119).
Thus, on the basis of the above body of material we can draw the
following conclusions:—

1) The reservation for and the Sanskritization of Scheduled Castes are para-
doxically related to each other. On the one hand reservations fetch political
and economic power to the Scheduled castes to realize any amount of
Sanskritization. But on the other, technically speaking, lower caste social
background, which is a criterion for reservations, is contrary to the realiza-
tion of Sanskritization.
2) The reservations play a contradictory role in the process of Sanskritization.
On the one hand it enables the Scheduled Castes to undergo a process of
Sanskritization through seeking upward mobility, but on the other, it com-
pells the economically backward upper castes to seek downward social
mobility on the process of de-Sanskritization, as they have to adopt lower
caste status in order to enjoy reservation benefits.
3) The Scheduled Castes, howsoever they are Sanskritized, do not get social
sanction either by the upper castes or by the law (Galanter quoted in Singer
and Cohn, 1968: 318, 319). Therefore, these middle class Scheduled
Castes try to hide or falsify their social background to solve their socio-
psychological problems. These problems goad the Scheduled Castes
towards a kind of compulsive Sanskritization imposed by the upper castes.
4) Since the process of Sanskritization does not incorporate the rural people
and Scheduled Castes and because of its complications, the Scheduled
Caste elites become a submissive or isolated phenomenon forming separate
housing societies in the urban sector; the Sanskritization creates a cultural
gap between the Scheduled Castes. Therefore, when Sanskritization fails to
bring about the horizontal cultural integration of the Scheduled Castes,
then it is very difficult to say that this would help bring about a vertical
cultural integration of the Indian social milieu.

References
Aggarwal, Pratap C. 1977. Equality Through Privilege: A Study of Special Privileges Granted to
Scheduled Castes in Haryana, New Delhi, (ICSSR).
Bailey, F. G. 1963. Politics and Social Change in Orissa in 1959, Berkeley, University of California
Press.
Beteille, Andre 1969. Caste: Old and New, Bombay, Asia Publishing House.
168 Gopal Guru

Bandopadhya, Suraj. 1977. “Caste Lost and Caste Regained—Some Aspects of a Sociology
of Empirical Research on Village India” in Srinivas, Seshaiah and V. S. Parthasarathy
(eds)., Dimension of Social Change in India, New Delhi, Allied Publishers Pvt. Ltd.
Deshpande, Vasant. 1978. Toward Social Integration: Problem of Adjustment of Scheduled
Caste Elite, Poona, Shubhada Saraswat.
Dushkin, Lelah. 1979. “Backward Class Benefits and Social Classes in India: 1920–1970”,
Economic and Political Weekly, Vol. 14, No. 14.
Gould, Harold A. 1961. “Sanskritization and Westernisation—A Dynamic View”, Economic
Weekly, Vol. 13. No. 25.
Keer & Malse. 1982. Mahatma Phule Samagra Wangmaya (Marathi), Government of
Maharashtra, Publication Deptt.
Lynch, Owen M. 1974. The Politics of Untouchabiliiy, New Delhi, National Publishing House.
Pawar, Daya. 1978. Baluta (Marathi), Bombay, Granthali.
Patwardhan, Sunanda. 1973. Change Among India’s Harijan—Maharashtra: A Case Study,
New Delhi, Orient Longman Ltd.
———. 1968. “Social Mobility and Conversion of Mahars”, Sociological Bulletin, Vol. 17,
No. 2.
Sachchidananda. 1974. Research on Scheduled Castes with Special Reference to Change—A Trend
Report in ICSSR Survey of Research in Sociology and Social Anthropology, Bombay:
Popular Prakashan.
———. 1977 Harijan Elite, Faridabad: Thomson Press (India) Ltd.
Saraswathi. 1974. Minorities in Madras, New Delhi, Implex India.
Singh K. S. 1980. “The Freedom Movement and Tribal Sub-Movements 1920–1917”, in
B. R. Nanda (ed.), Essays in Indian history, Delhi, Oxford University Press.
Singh, T. R. 1969. The Madiga—A Study of Social Structure and Change, Lucknow, Ethonographic
and Folk Cultural Society.
Singh, Yogendra. 1973. Modernisation of Indian Tradition, Delhi, Thomson Press (India) Ltd.
Sharma, K. L. 1980. Essays on Social Stratification, Jaipur, Delhi Rawat Publication.
Srinivas, M. N. 1952. Religion and Society Among the Coorges of South India, Bombay, Oxford.
———. 1974. Caste and Social Change in Modern India, New Delhi, Orient Longman Ltd.
———. 1978. Report of Marathwada Vidyapeeth Namantar Virodhi Atyachari Andolan
Committee (Marathi), Bombay, People’s Education Society’s Siddharth Publication.
———. 1975, 1976, 1976, 1978–1977. Report of the Commissioner for Scheduled Castes\
Scheduled Tribes.
10
Purity, Impurity,
Untouchability: Then and Now
A.M. Shah

A
lthough the phenomenon of purity and impurity, including the
related one of untouchability, was studied in Indian sociology
and social anthropology since the beginning of the discipline
around 1920, its modern systematic analysis may be said to have begun
with M.N. Srinivas’s work on religion among the Coorgs of south India
(1952; see also Dumont and Pocock 1959). Since then, a large body of
work has grown, and we have now a fair understanding of the phenom-
enon. In this article, I propose to discuss some aspects of it, focussing
on changes taking place in the modern times. I am aware of the enor-
mous complexity of the phenomenon and its regional diversities, and of
the necessity to be extremely careful in making general statements about
it. The issue of untouchability in particular is highly emotive and polit-
ically explosive. However, the phenomenon poses important problems
for both social theory and policy, and social scientists would be failing
in their duty if they do not deal with them in a cool and calm manner.
Ideas of purity/impurity were present all over Hindu society for
centuries: in domestic as well as public life, in exchange of food and
water, in practising occupations, in kinship and marriage, in religious
action and belief, in temples and monasteries, and in a myriad different
contexts and situations. These ideas played a crucial role in separat-
ing A.M. Shah one caste from another, and in arranging them in a hier-
archy, that is to say, in ordering the basic structure of the society. We
170 A.M. Shah

have by now considerable literature presenting elaborate analyses of the

ritual hierarchy of castes based on ideas of purity/impurity. A Hindu
man or woman’s life was permeated with ideas of purity/impurity from
the moment of birth to the moment of death, and every day from the
moment s/he got up from bed till s/he went to bed. Even if one manages
to read the entire literature on purity/impurity, I doubt if one would be
able to grasp all its ramifications. A complete list of pure/impure actions,
ideas and materials would occupy a whole book, perhaps as large as an
encyclopaedia. The Hindu civilisation is sometimes called a civilisation
of purity and pollution, and the Hindu psyche is believed to be patho-
logically obsessed with them. One has only to conjure up an image of
the orthodox Hindu taking different kinds of purificatory baths and
their frequency. I may give just one illustration. The main character in a
Gujarati novel written towards the end of the 19th century (Nilkanth
1900), a Brahman named Bhadrambhadra was travelling on a train for
the first time from Ahmedabad to Bombay. He considered his co-
passengers polluting, and therefore took a purificatory bath on the plat-
form of every station the train halted at.
Gods and goddesses and their abodes, the temples, were attributed
the highest degree of purity, and therefore protected from every conceiv-
able source of impurity. In the same manner, temple priests were consid-
ered the purest men who had to observe the rules of purity/impurity
meticulously. Although the Brahmans were considered the purest caste,
a Brahman priest was purer than an ordinary Brahman. The Brahman
sub-castes were also ranked, and the Brahmans performing mortuary
rituals were considered the lowest. Similarly, many non-Brahman mem-
bers of certain highly Sanskritic sects observed the rules of purity/impur-
ity so meticulously, particularly while worshipping their deities, that
they considered the ordinary Brahmans less pure, if not polluting. Many
holy men among lower castes and tribes, such as Bhagats and bhuvas,
also observed the rules of purity/impurity strictly.
Every caste, as a collectivity, was ranked relatively pure or impure vis-à-
vis another caste on the basis of mainly its observance of rules of purity/
impurity. The concern for purity/impurity decreased as one went down the
ladder of hierarchy. However, there was a continuous process of every caste
trying to improve its status by adopting higher levels of purity, as part of
the process Srinivas (1956) called sanskritisation. As he pointed out and as I
have discussed in two recent papers (A.M. Shah 2005, 2006a), the Brahmans
PURITY, IMPURITY, UNTOUCHABILITY: THEN AND NOW 171

were not the only source of Sanskritic influence. Some other higher castes as
well as certain non-caste institutions, such as sects, temples, monasteries,
religious literature and religious discourses, could also be its source.
The fact that certain castes were considered impure, polluting and
untouchable, and occupied the lowest rungs of the hierarchy, has been a
major problem of study in social sciences as well as a major concern for
social reformers and statesmen in modern India. It is a multi-dimensional
problem, and I will discuss mainly the dimension of untouchability qua
untouchability. I submit, we would be ignoring social reality if we do not
consider untouchability an integral part of the entire complex of purity/
impurity in Hindu society and culture. Just as men and women belong-
ing to certain castes were considered untouchable, men and women
belonging to non-Untouchable castes were also considered untouchable
in certain contexts, mainly in the domestic domain. In its general sense,
untouchability prevailed in every Hindu home. For example, in ortho-
dox Hindu homes, the woman or man cooking food in the kitchen was
pure compared to other members, such that s/he did not allow them to
enter the kitchen, served food outside it, and took care not to touch
them and their plates while serving them food. A woman during her
menstrual period was considered polluting, and therefore segregated in
her home. Even her sight and shadow were considered polluting and
inauspicious on certain occasions. Similarly, a woman after childbirth
was considered polluting and was isolated in the home for as long as a
month or so. Maximum impurity was attached to a dead body, and
therefore everyone connected with it, even a relative residing far away
from it, was considered highly impure and polluting, and was isolated.
The rules about sutaka, pollution arising from death, were so many and
so complicated that only a few persons in a village or an urban neigh-
bourhood knew them thoroughly.
The word asprishya, the Sanskrit equivalent of ‘untouchable’, was
used even for contexts of highest purity. In Pushti Marg, a Vaishnava
sect founded by Vallabhacharya in the 16th century, a member had to
worship his/her deity in a state of intense purity. This state, in the temple
or the home, was called asprishya (aparash in Gujarati and Hindi) and all
other persons were prohibited from touching the worshipper. This
shows the concept of untouchability could be applied to the most
impure as well as the most pure. Its use to mark out entire castes as
untouchable was a special application of the concept.
172 A.M. Shah

II

While the Dharmashastras and other ancient Hindu texts described the
society as divided into four varnas, they also mentioned a category of
people outside the varna order, usually called anirmt avarna (without
varna) as contrasted with savarna (with varna). They were oil the margin
of the social order, and are generally considered to be the precursors of
the category of people called Untouchables in the modern times. A clear
understanding of untouchability, however, requires us to recognise the
fact that the Untouchables were never a homogeneous group; they were
divided into a number of endogamous castes (jatis) which were arranged
in a hierarchy, in the same way as castes in the rest of the society were
divided and arranged. The ancient texts, however, do not mention the
numerous jatis of the Untouchables we now have–more than a thou-
sand of them. We begin to get references to some of them in the litera-
ture of the regional languages which began to develop in the medieval
period. However, this literature would not help us compile a compre-
hensive list of Untouchable jatis in any region. Such lists began to be
compiled only when the British administrators launched the Census of
India, the Gazetteers, and the castes-and-tribes volumes in the second
half of the 19th century. These lists became more or less a bench mark.
However, we have to inquire: How were these lists prepared? On what
basis were the various jatis considered untouchable? And, how far were
these lists objective and reliable?
Simon Charsley, in a well-documented essay (1996) on the career of
the concept ‘Untouchable’, shows how Herbert Risley, the Census
Commissioner of India for 1901, was the first to propose, as part of his
scheme to classify castes of the Shudra varna into five categories, a cat-
egory called ‘Asprishya Shudra’ (Untouchable Shudra). He gave instruc-
tions to the census officials in different parts of India as to how to Flare
various castes in this category, Charsley narrates the complicated
problems these officials, and ultimately Risley, faced in their task.
Nothing like a coherent and consistent list of Untouchable castes for
any region, leave alone for India as a whole, emerged. Charsley remarks,
‘From this unpropitious start, representing as it did more of a rebuff
than a successful initiative, the career of a key term was launched’ (ibid.:
3). In the social and political movements to uplift the Untouchables,
which began more or less simultaneously with Risley’s census, the social
PURITY, IMPURITY, UNTOUCHABILITY: THEN AND NOW 173

reformers, statesmen, bureaucrats and others also got involved in

identifying specific Untouchable castes for their purpose.
Charsley goes on to narrate the career of the terms related to
Untouchable, such as Depressed Class, Excluded Caste, Scheduled
Caste (henceforth, SC), Harijan, and dalit.1 It is clear that, in preparing
a list or schedule for every one of these categories, the census officials,
other bureaucrats, social reformers and politicians always agreed about
including the lowest caste, namely, the Scavengers, but disagreed about
others. The main reason was the differences of opinion about what con-
stituted ‘untouchability’, the defining criterion for each category.
Charsley remarks, ‘As a concept, “Untouchability” suppressed diversity
and variation’ (ibid.: 12). He does not tell how compromises were
made and the differences accommodated to finalise any list—this
should be a problem of research. The basic point, however, remains
that all lists of untouchable castes, past and present, do not have the
objective reality or finality claimed for them. Secondly, an idea that the
Untouchable castes were separated from the rest of the castes by a fixed
and inviolable line got established in all discourse, including the
anthropological and sociological one, on Indian society and culture.
We shall soon examine this line.
Whatever the line dividing the Untouchable castes from the rest of
the castes, separation of one Untouchable caste from another and their
arrangement in a hierarchy were based on essentially the same ideas of
purity/impurity that guided the separation and hierarchy of the rest of
the castes. We have some intensive studies elaborating this point (see
Moffatt 1979).
Often the Untouchable castes in a region included a few castes simi-
lar to certain castes in the rest of the society. For example, as in most
other regions, a caste of priests occupying a status similar to that of the
Brahmans existed among the Untouchables in Gujarat. Called Garo
(or Garoda, derived from Sanskrit guru), they claimed to be Brahman,
put on the sacred thread, and adopted Brahmanical surnames such as
Joshi, Trivedi. Vyas and so on (see Stevenson 1930; A.M. Shah 1987;
Randeria 1989). This caste formed part of a hierarchy of several priestly
groups related to the hierarchy of castes in the region. (a) The highest
were of course the Brahmans. However, only a minority of them worked
as priests, while the majority practised other occupations such as agricul-
ture, teaching, clerical work, government service, money lending, etc.
174 A.M. Shah

The rites of passage and some other rituals among the Brahmans
themselves were performed by certain superior priests forming a grade
within the caste. (b) The members of high Brahman sub-castes worked
as priests for high non-Brahman castes. (c) The members of a few low
Brahman sub-castes worked as priests for lower-middle non-Brahman
castes. (d) The Barber sub-castes provided the priestly service to the
lower, though not Untouchable, castes. (e) The Garos provided the
priestly service to the other Untouchable castes, except the Scavengers.
(1) A few Garos forming a grade within their caste provided the priestly
service to other Garos. Thus, existence of a Brahman-like priestly caste
among the Untouchables was not mere ‘replication’ of existence of
Brahmans among the upper castes, as Moffatt (1979) would have called
it. In fact, it was one more example of a common characteristic of the
caste order, namely, that when a caste providing its service to a higher
caste denied the same service to a lower one, some other caste provided
it to the latter, or a few members within the latter learnt to perform the
service.2 If the number of such members within a caste increased, a new
caste or sub-caste might develop in course of time.
While the Untouchable Brahmans occupied the highest ritual
status among the Untouchables, the scavengers were considered most
impure and polluting, occupied the lowest status, and were, therefore,
segregated by other Untouchable castes. There were many other castes
between the two ends, all arranged in a hierarchy according to the
norms of purity and pollution. As is often said, there was untouchabil-
ity amongst the Untouchables. In this situation, it is highly problem-
atic to apply the statements of ancient texts about the avarnas
uniformly to the entire range of a thousand or more Untouchable
castes of today.
Let us return to the assumption that the line dividing the
Untouchable from the non-Untouchable was fixed and inviolable. If we
follow the category prescribed by the state, such as Scheduled Caste, it
was fixed.3 But, was it so in social reality? We have to consider three kinds
of inter-caste relations in this regard in a local area, comprised of, say, a
town and the villages around it,4 and populated by members of some
twenty to twenty-five castes, including a few Untouchable ones: (i)
relation between the castes just above and just below this line, that is,
between the highest of the so-called Untouchable castes and the lowest of
the so-called non-Untouchable ones; (ii) relation between a few middle
non-Untouchable castes and a few middle Untouchable ones; and
PURITY, IMPURITY, UNTOUCHABILITY: THEN AND NOW 175

(iii) whether the Brahmans and a few other high castes considered the
low non-Untouchable castes as untouchable or not. Our main problem
is that usually we observe the two ends of the hierarchy, the Brahman and
the Scavenger, and their relationship. Consequently, the general view of
the Untouchables tends to be either the Brahman’s view of the Scavenger
from the top, or the Scavenger’s view of the Brahman from the bottom,
and therefore partial either way. This view needs to be corrected.
If the above-mentioned three kinds of inter-caste relations are
viewed together, we would not find a fixed and inviolable line dividing
the Untouchable castes from the non-Untouchable ones. The status of
many castes was ambiguous. For example, in a village in Gujarat where
I did fieldwork in 1955–58, a few households each of two low castes,
namely, Senwa and Vaghri, the former an SC and the latter a non-SC,
lived side by side on the edge of the village. The Vaghris did not treat the
Senwas as untouchable, while the upper castes treated both as untouch-
able. Similar ambiguity prevailed regarding castes of specialised urban
craftsmen making articles of leather, such as footwear, bags, straps, belts,
seats, drums, saddles, shields, and so on. While the highest castes con-
sidered them untouchable, the middle ones did not mind touching
them.5 For example, in a small town near my field village in Gujarat, the
Mochis (Shoemakers) had their homes as well as shops on the edge of
the town. When a high caste man went to a Shoemaker’s shop to get
shoes made, he did not allow the Shoemaker to measure his feet. Instead,
he stood at the entrance of the shop, put his foot on a piece of paper,
drew a line with a pencil or pen around it, and gave the paper to the
Shoemaker without touching him. Moreover, in these high castes, a few
persons deeply conscious of purity did not wear leather shoes at all, they
wore sandals made of wood or thick jute cloth. The middle and lower
castes, however, did not mind touching the Shoemaker.6 Intensive
research is required on the so-called line of separation between the
Untouchable and the non-Untouchable in different parts of India so
that we get a more realistic view of the entire caste order.

III

What kind of purity/impurity was practised among the Untouchables

in their homes and in their personal life? That there was untouchability
in every Hindu home was stated earlier. Can the same be said about the
176 A.M. Shah

Untouchable’s home? Unfortunately, there is very little ethnographic

literature on this issue. I have only bits and pieces of information. All of
them indicate that, although the Untouchables were impure vis-à-vis
other castes, and some of them performed such highly impure work as
that of skinning dead animals and removing garbage in baskets kept on
their head, they were all concerned about purity/impurity in their own
life. It seems every Untouchable caste had its norms in this regard, a
higher one having more sanskritised norms than a lower one. As men-
tioned earlier, the process of sanskritisation operated as much among
the Untouchable castes as among the rest of the castes, and that there
was a continuous striving among them to achieve higher levels of purity.
The fundamental point is that, despite the line separating the
Untouchables from the rest of Hindu society, all Hindus shared the
culture of purity/impurity, and untouchability was an integral part of
this culture.
As mentioned earlier, there were castes of priests among the
Untouchables. Where there was no such caste, a few families of some
higher Untouchable caste performed priestly functions. At least’ some of
these priests had acquired a high level of literacy and could read Hindu
scriptures, mostly in a regional language but sometimes also in Sanskrit.
Similarly, a few individuals in every Untouchable caste had become
members of certain Sanskritic sects, which placed them in a relationship
of some equality with higher caste members of the same sect (see
A.M.  Shah 2006b). In this context, the recent book on ‘untouchable
saints’ edited by Eleanor Zelliot and Rohini Mokashi-Punekar (2005) is
revealing. It shows that, since about the 10th century, there were
Untouchable saints who composed exquisite poetry in worship of gods
and goddesses: Tiruppan and Nandnar in Tamil Nadu, Chokhamela in
Maharashtra, and Ravidas in north India. Their poetry showed a high
level of religiosity as well as literary quality, and high castes accepted it
and made it an integral part of their temple and domestic worship.
Tiruppan was given the high status of an Alvar, and Nandnar, that of a
Nayanar. Similarly, Chandrawadia (2007) narrates, rather briefly, life of
seventeen ‘Harijan saint poets’ (fifteen men and two women) during
15th to 18th century in Saurashtra and Kutch sub-regions of Gujarat (see
A.M. Shah 2007a). Their poems reveal their knowledge of philosophical
and theological ideas of Hinduism, and their affiliation with Hindu sects.
Efforts must be made to inquire about such saints in the rest of Gujarat
PURITY, IMPURITY, UNTOUCHABILITY: THEN AND NOW 177

and in other regions of India. They belie the assumption of chasm

between the Untouchables and the rest of the society in the past.

IV
Radical changes have been taking place in the entire culture of purity/impu-
rity due to the processes of industrialisation, urbanisation, westernisation,
modernisation, secularisation, rationalism, humanitarianism, and mere exi-
gencies of modern life, roughly with the beginning of the British rule in the
early 19th century (see Srinivas 1966). The upper castes who were the first
to take western education were also the first to change their purity/pollution
behaviour, in the domestic as well as the public sphere. This change occurred
first in urban areas, and gradually affected rural areas. Its pace increased with
the pace of urbanisation during the second half of the 20th century, and is
likely to be faster during the 21st century (see A.M. Shah 2007b).
A few examples may suffice. The taboo on cooking and eating food
without taking bath has more or less disappeared in most urban homes.
Women in menstrual period are no longer prevented from cooking and
serving food, except in orthodox homes. They move freely in all parts of
the home, except the corner for worship. The prohibition on eating food
with footwear on has disappeared, not only outside but even inside the
home. There is no difference between kaccha and pakka food as regards
their relative purity. Many people now do not take purificatory bath on
returning home from a funeral, let alone after receiving news of death
from long distance of a relative’s death. Even when a bath is taken, it is
much less elaborate than in the past. The period of pollution arising
from childbirth is reduced or is not observed at all in many homes. Many
people do not mind touching a woman who has given birth to a child.
In fact the father, grandparents, other relatives and friends are expected
to visit the mother in the hospital and take the newly born baby in their
hands, without bothering to take purificatory bath afterwards. Hardly
anyone now takes purificatory bath on returning home from a train or
bus journey or from visiting a hospital. Most men after hair cut and
shave by a barber are no longer required to take purificatory bath to
remove pollution and resume normal life. There is hardly any concern
now for avoiding the use of articles of leather and for avoiding contact
with craftsmen working with leather, except in the sanctum sanctorum
in temples and in the corner for worship in the home. Many of those
178 A.M. Shah

‘petty’ pure/impure behaviours connected with cooked foods and their

ingredients in the kitchen, with lavatory and urinal, and with a myriad
other contexts and situations, are becoming less and less common.
Just as the concern for purity/pollution has declined in the domes-
tic and personal domain, it has also declined in relations between castes.
The prohibition on exchange of food and water between castes is hardly
visible in urban areas. People of all castes eat food at restaurants and
hotels without bothering to inquire about the caste of the cook, the
waiter, and the person sitting on the adjoining seat. Similarly, at meals
served during weddings and such other occasions, members of different
castes are not seated any longer in separate rows (pangats), nor are they
bothered about who cooks and serves food. Members of higher castes,
including Brahmans, now eat in lower caste homes. This freedom of
food transactions is spreading in rural areas, and will spread faster with
the increasing pace of urbanisation.
The concern for purity/pollution continues to be the strongest in
the field of religion. For example, even highly westernised and mod-
ernised men and women do not worship their deities without taking
bath. Women do not perform the puja in the home or the temple, or fix
the dates of weddings and other important rituals and ceremonies,
during their menstrual period. They even time this period with the help
of modern drugs to suit the dates of important rituals and ceremonies.
Temples continue to be attributed massive purity. Temple rituals,
particularly in the great temples of Hinduism, are far more complex
than most devotees assume them to be. In fact, most devotees have very
little knowledge of what goes on in a large temple, particularly in the
sanctum sanctorum. Ideas of purity/impurity permeate it in more com-
plex ways than they do the life outside it. Nevertheless, even here some
relaxations in the concern for purity/pollution have taken place, particu-
larly in the smaller and local temples.
At the other end, the most visible expression of untouchability, even
in urban areas, continues to be the job of cleaning street’s and collecting
garbage exclusively by the members of the Scavenger caste, and they are
also segregated usually in their own streets. In practically all other spheres
of urban life, overt untouchability has disappeared. Not only is there no
concern among upper castes for avoiding physical contact with the
Untouchables, but the Untouchables too have no difficulty in eating
with other castes in public places such as restaurants and hotels. There are
PURITY, IMPURITY, UNTOUCHABILITY: THEN AND NOW 179

still some subtle forms of avoidance, but they are on their way out. Upper
caste children in urban areas now grow up without any experience and
even knowledge of untouchability in schools, buses, trains, restaurants,
etc. When they go to college, they come under the impact of modern
ideas of eradication of untouchability. To such children, if untouchability
seems irrational, the reservations for the Untouchables qua untouchables
in educational institutions also seem irrational. This attitude can no
longer be called ancient prejudice-against the Untouchables.
As mentioned earlier, with the increasing pace of urbanisation the
trend towards decline in untouchability will intensify. It is also likely to
spread to villages. For example, a villager travelling to a city on bus or
train does not know the caste of the passenger sitting next to him, of the
person taking tea with him in a tea-shop, of the clerk dealing with him
in an office, or of the shopkeeper from whom he buys goods. He will
also not take purificatory bath on returning home from the journey.
Positive changes are taking place in village society also. In his study
of untouchability in Gujarat I.P. Desai (1978) has observed that, in all
matters in what he calls the public sphere (i.e., where the government is
involved), untouchability is no longer a problem: in such matters as the
seating arrangement for Untouchable children in schools, the delivering
of letters by a higher caste postman to an Untouchable, and the handing
over of postal stamps by a post office clerk to an Untouchable. There is
considerable decline in untouchability even in what Desai calls the pri-
vate sphere: in such matters as an upper caste man touching an
Untouchable labourer while involved in agricultural work, and an upper
caste shopkeeper giving goods to and receiving money from an
Untouchable customer. The most important general change is that
while an upper caste person may avoid touching an Untouchable, if he
happens to touch him, he does not take purificatory bath as in the past.
The punctiliousness with which untouchability was observed in the past
has declined considerably even in villages.
In pre-modern India the concern for purity/pollution decreased as
one went down the ladder of caste hierarchy. In modern India, however,
there is a two-way change. While among the upper castes this concern is
decreasing due to westernisation and modernisation, it is increasing among
the lower castes, including the Untouchables, due to sanskritisation. Let
me give one illustration. In a section of the Untouchables in Gujarat I have
observed recently, the wedding and other rituals are as Sanskritic as among
180 A.M. Shah

the higher castes. Consequently, there is an increasing demand for the

services of Garo priests mentioned earlier. The demand has grown so
much that the government department for social welfare has been organ-
ising since 2000–01 a training course in Karmakand (corpus of Sanskritic
rituals) for them. This two-way change has brought about a certain cul-
tural uniformity, which has contributed to freer interaction between the
upper castes and the Untouchables. Another factor is westernisation and
modernisation of the new middle class among the Untouchables.

In modern India, a number of social reform movements have worked

for eradication of untouchability, and after independence the govern-
ment has enacted laws and devised programmes to do the same. All
these efforts have of course had their positive impact. However, the per-
vasive decline in the concern for purity and pollution among the upper
and middle castes has also been a potent factor in the decline of untouch-
ability. For present day children in these castes in urban areas, it is a
silent and largely unconscious change, so much so that I wonder if the
idea of untouchability exists in their cognitive map.
Let me hasten to clarify that I do not maintain that untouchability
has disappeared completely in Indian society. I am aware of the terrible
atrocities committed on the Untouchables from time to time in differ-
ent parts of India, of the many disabilities and indignities suffered by
them, of the discrimination practised against them in various walks of
life, and so on. At the same time, it would be a mistake to think that no
positive change has taken place. All available information indicates that
at least some of the higher castes among the Untouchables have been
able to get out of the trap of untouchability.
As social scientists we have a duty to assess the nature and extent of
social change. In this assessment, we would not be able to go very far if
we use the category Untouchable, Depressed Class, Scheduled Caste,
Harijan, or dalit as an undifferentiated one.7 We should investigate
whether all the castes included in any of these categories are affected by
change uniformly, as also whether all the castes included in the category
‘upper caste’ or ‘non-Untouchable caste’ behave in the same manner. We
should try to know which of the Untouchable castes are the normal
victims of discrimination, and investigate their social profile, rural or
PURITY, IMPURITY, UNTOUCHABILITY: THEN AND NOW 181

urban, upper class or lower class, educated or uneducated, and so on.

On the other hand, we should investigate the social background of the
perpetrators of discrimination. Such information is rarely collected, and
if collected, not published. In this process the problems of the lowest
among the Untouchables, the worst sufferers, get ignored.
I understand the politicians have reasons to go on using the category
Untouchable or dalit without differentiation. The media persons too seem
to have their disabilities. They could be unaware of the complexity of the
problem, or are afraid of the law prohibiting the use of caste names, or are
in such great hurry to flash stories about the dalits that they rarely investi-
gate the details of the dalit castes involved in an incident. They go on using
the word dalit without any differentiation, and thus create false images of
the situation in public mind. Consequently, social scientists do not get the
kind of help they would expect from the media in getting information
towards the goal of understanding the changing social reality.
Be that as it may, I do not understand why social scientists should
ignore reality.8 Are they also in a hurry? Have they come to the conclu-
sion that the original decision of the government according to the
Constitution, which identified a number of different Untouchable
castes and placed them in a schedule, calling them Scheduled Castes,
has become irrelevant? If so, then why have the schedule at all? Also,
why should there be a statutory requirement for an Untouchable to
obtain the certificate of his/her membership of a specific Scheduled
Caste for getting the benefits to which s/he may be entitled? Have the
dalits become an undifferentiated mass? Have separation and hierarchy
among the dalit castes disappeared’? Have the different dalit castes given
up the rule of caste endogamy? It has become a taboo to talk or write
about all this in public. Ignoring social facts and throwing them under
the carpet in this manner, however, is neither in the interest of social
science nor in the interest of bringing about desirable social change.

Notes
This is a revised and enlarged version of the text of my valedictory address at the All India
Sociological Conference held at Chennai on 29 December 2006. I thank B.S. Baviskar,
Laney Lobo, Tulsi Patel and N.R. Sheth for comments on the draft of the article.
1. For further elaboration of the career of these terms, see Charsley and Karanth (1998,
especially Chapters 1 and 2).
182 A.M. Shah

2. The Turi, a small caste of bards among the Untouchables in Gujarat, is another
example. It is part of several bardic castes in Gujarat and Rajasthan (see Shah and
Shroff 1958).
3. Strictly speaking, the government list of Scheduled Castes is not fixed. The govern-
ment does consider from time to time proposals to include or exclude castes in it.
However, it has remained more or less stable since 1952.
4. In our general thinking on untouchability, we rarely take cognisance of urban
Untouchables. However, we should realise that almost all the Untouchable castes
living in rural areas used to have urban counterparts even in the past, and the latter’s
life was different in many respects. Their population is now increasing rapidly.
Secondly; there were castes of certain specialised urban artisans and craftsmen who
did not have rural counterparts.
5. Note that skinning of a dead animal and tanning the skin was highly polluting, and
so were, therefore, the skinners and tanners. However, leather resulting from skin-
ning and tanning was less polluting, and so were the craftsmen working with leather.
Upper caste treatment of the skinners-and-tanners and the leather craftsmen was,
therefore, variable.
6. For some more ethnographic data from Gujarat on this issue, see my paper 1987.
7. For a more detailed discussion of differentiation of the ‘dalit’ category, see A.M. Shah
(2002).
8. Take, for example, the recent book on untouchability in rural India written jointly by
five authors (one political scientist, one economist, two sociologists, and one activist),
based on an extensive all-India survey (G. Shah et al. 2006). They clarify that their
work is confined to castes included by the government in the list of Scheduled Castes
(ibid.: 37). They are also aware that ‘All Scheduled Castes do not experience untouch-
ability to the same degree.’ However, they go on to state, ‘We did not specifically
inquire into the question of who among the dalits experience more untouchability
and in which sphere’ (ibid.: 171). Consequently, the book gives the impression that
there is no differentiation among the dalits regarding the various aspects of their life
the authors have surveyed.
R.S. Khare’s otherwise sophisticated work on the Chamars of Lucknow (1984)
does not include even a passing reference to the multiplicity and hierarchy of the
Untouchable castes, neither in Uttar Pradesh nor in India as a whole. The non-
Untouchable castes are also conceived narrowly—mainly Brahmans. Many of the
general theories about the Untouchables are, therefore, based on a weak empirical
foundation.

References
Chandrawadia, J.M. 2006. Madhyakalin Gujaratman harijan sant kaviyo (in Gujarati)
(Harijan saint poets in mideaval Gujarat). Shabdasar, 5 (December): 44–47.
Charsley, Simon. 1996. ‘ “Untouchable”: What is in a name?’, Journal of the Royal
Anthropological Institute, 2 (1): 1–23.
Charsley, Simon and G.K. Karanth (eds.). 1998. Challenging untouchability: Dalit initiative
and experience from Karnataka. New Delhi: Sage Publications.
Desai, I.P. 1978. Untouchability in rural Gujarat. Bombay: Popular Prakashan.
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Dumont, Louis and D.F. Pocock. 1959. ‘Pure and impure’, Contributions to Indian Sociology,
III: 9–39. Paris: Mouton.
Khare, R.S. 1984. The Untouchable as himself: Ideology, identity, and pragmatism among the
Lucknow Chamars. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Moffatt, Michael. 1979. An untouchable community in south India: Structure and consensus.
Princeton: Princeton University Press.
Nilkanth, Ramanbhai Mahipatram. 1900. Bhadrambhadra. Edition used, Bombay:
S.M. Shah and K.M. Shah, 1953.
Randeria, Shalini. 1989. ‘Carrion and corpses: Conflict in categorizing untouchability in
Gujarat’, European Journal of Sociology, 30: 171–191.
Shah, A.M. 1987. ‘Untouchability, the untouchables and social change in Gujarat’, in Paul
Hockings (ed.): Dimensions of social life: Essays in honour of David Mandelbaum
(493–505). Berlin: Mouton de Gruyter.
———. 2002. ‘The “Dalit” category and its differentiation’, Economic and Political Weekly,
37 (14): 1317–18.
———. 2005. ‘Sanskritisation revisited’, Sociological bulletin, 54 (2): 238–49.
———. 2006a. ‘Some further thoughts on sanskritisation: Response to Nirmal Singh’s
rejoinder’, Sociological Bulletin, 55 (1): 112–17.
———. 2006b. ‘Sects and Hindu social structure’, Contributions to Indian Sociology, 40 (2):
209–48.
———. 2007a. Harijan santo: Samajshastriya pariprekshyaman (in Gujarati) (Harijan saints:
In sociological perspective). Shabdasar, 6 (March): 12–14.
———. 2007b. ‘Caste in the 21st century: From system to elements’, Economic and political
weekly, 42 (44): 109–116.
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2006. Untouchability in Rural India. New Delhi: Sage Publications.
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———. 1956 ‘A note on sanskritisation and westernisation’, Far Eastern Quarterly, 15 (4):
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phenomenon. Delhi: Manohar.
11
Stigma Goes Backstage:
Reservation in Jobs and
Education
Tulsi Patel

R
emedying the effects of historical discriminatory practices against
the ‘ex-untouchables’ (achhut) termed ‘avarna’, that is, outside
the varna (in Rig Veda, the important Hindu scripture dating
back to 1500–1000 BC), have been attempted in India since the second
half of19th century. Believed to have become more rigid over time, the
caste system is regarded to have made mobility across caste lines increas-
ingly difficult. By the 1850s, missionaries and Indian visionaries had
begun to discuss the problems of these communities referred to as
‘depressed classes’. The remedial attempts covered the entire country
with the birth of its Constitution in 1950. Untouchables, or ex-
untouchables, outcastes, or ‘Harijans’, as Mahatma Gandhi preferred to
term them, from the 1930s, came to be known as Scheduled Castes
(SCs) after the provincial Census superintendents in British India pre-
pared the schedules to affect their status. In 1935, the British enacted
‘The Government of India Act, 1935’, incorporating the reservation of
seats in provisional and central legislatures for ‘Depressed Classes’, which
came into force in 1937. The vague definition got crystallised in ‘The
Government of India (Scheduled Castes) Order, 1936’, which contained
a list, or schedule of castes throughout the British provinces.
The  Scheduled Caste (SC) became, before the government a legal
RESERVATION IN JOBS AND EDUCATION 185

designation, a single category consisting of numerous caste communities

each with its own distinct identity, and with regional variations in caste
hierarchy. The Scheduled Caste Order, promulgated by the President in
1950, was more of a re-enaction of the 1936 list, though many
more  castes were incorporated and a few new regional lists, too
(Galanter 1984).
The assumption behind the clarion call outlawing untouchability
by the constitutional provision of independent India provided quotas
in legislative bodies, government service and educational institutions
to work as springboards for betterment of lives of the untouchables and
to further their integration into Indian society. Article 17 of the Indian
Constitution, for abolition of untouchability and the ensuing efforts
towards it, has been implemented for seven decades now. SCs form
one-sixth of India’s population (16% as of 2001 Census). As men-
tioned above, they are an aggregate of socially stratified ex-untouchable
castes.
This paper does not deal with reservations in legislative bodies as
legislature candidates have an entirely different set of norms and prac-
tices of canvassing and becoming people’s representatives in the Indian
democracy. The constitutional provisions for reservation in the legisla-
tures belong to a different order. They are time bound, in that every
five years or so, people’s mandate is sought for political representation.1
Quotas in legislative and other positions of political power through
getting people’s mandate work as an assured means towards a balance
of power and possibly social integration. This paper takes up only
those reservations that happen to be more politically charged and
much debated. I am looking at reservations in the spheres of higher
education and government service for SCs, whose leaders prefer them
to be called dalits (depressed/oppressed). Since the 1970s, they have
shown a clear dislike for any of the other terms of reference used for
them, either as a category or individual caste name, especially on public
platforms.2
I conducted participant observation in an office in Delhi and in the
residential colony of a public sector industry in Punjab for several
months. A few focus group discussions in a public sector industry in
Uttar Pradesh and several unstructured interviews with employees of
these organisations were conducted. Notes were made about such com-
ments and observations during other anthropological fieldwork
186 Tulsi Patel

conducted in parts of Rajasthan, Uttar Pradesh, Madhya Pradesh and

Delhi, and rather briefly in Punjab and Haryana. Context-specific con-
versations and participation in heated discussions about SCs and reser-
vations in response to the recent declaration by the Ministry of Human
Resource Development to extend reservation provisions to higher and
professional education for Other Backward Classes (OBCs) to the tune
of 27 per cent of the seats in higher education institutions and similar
reservation in government jobs (apropos the Mandal Commission) in
1990–91 were often recalled in the lay, as in the academic, discussions
in 2006. These constituted a part of the data source for this paper. On
both the occasions, the ensuing controversy was covered extensively by
the mass media, both audio-visual and print; the striking students in
higher educational institutions, especially those in professional courses
generated a great deal of response in the academic and residential circles
in and outside Delhi. Parents and relatives of children (even children
themselves) who worked very hard and aspired to get into professional
education after high school board examinations often expressed anxiety
about the possibility of admissions in professional courses. As though by
natural association, the issue of reservation denying chances of hard
working non-reserved category students was brought up in conversa-
tions when it came to children on the verge of finishing high school.
Over several years such conversation was collected from children, par-
ents and teachers in school and higher educational institutions in differ-
ent sites and contexts. This paper is based on the analysis of the above
mentioned discourse.
In my research on the issue of reservations, I have come across the
use of terms such as ‘reserved’ and ‘quota’ to mean both the practice and
the persons in question who fall in the reserved category. The term is not
always used neutrally; there is a general resentment often expressed
against the policy of reservations in higher education and jobs, particu-
larly in the urban areas of Delhi, Haryana, Punjab, Rajasthan and Uttar
Pradesh from where my data is drawn. I have found deriding and
demeaning comments with reference to SCs. Casteist expressions are
used against castes that happen to be numerically dominant in the
North Indian region such as Chura or Bhangi for scavenger caste and
Chamar or Bhambi for leather worker caste. The polite references for
these castes are safai wale, Mehtar or Harijan for the former and
Meghwal or Balai for the latter caste.3 A more respectable reference for
RESERVATION IN JOBS AND EDUCATION 187

the scavenger caste, used often in Delhi is Balmiki, a name also preferred
by members of the caste to refer to themselves.
Little labour is required to recall the ethnographic accounts of the
experiences where SCs were made to feel that they held an unequal
status in comparison to the upper castes. The law to abolish untouch-
ability and prohibition of its practice (Article 17 of the Constitution),
passed more than five decades ago has not been fully translated in prac-
tice. Additionally, despite movements like the Arya Samaj that had more
influence in Punjab and northern India, caste hierarchy is still persist-
ing, to a large extent, especially in domestic arenas, as also the notions
about caste purity and impurity. The erstwhile untouchable castes
amongst themselves have a hierarchy and probably for similar reasons as
do the upper castes. While commensal discrimination is punishable by
law, it is present in indirect ways. SCs seemingly carry, especially in
informal contexts, the blot from their past despite the equality of all
citizens before law. The statement, ‘ab to Bhangiyon ka raj hai’ (literally,
now it is the rule of the scavengers) signifies the duplicity of practice and
perception more than its literal translation. SC as a category still carries
the stigma, which is not easy to shed. This paper addresses the stigma
experienced by SCs.
The first part of the paper provides a range of disparaging observa-
tions non-SCs often make about SCs behind their backs, especially
regarding their advantages owing to reservations. This part dwells more
on the deriding comments and gestures made by staff and their family
members with reference to SC colleagues working in the public sector
undertakings, government departments, and educational institutions
from urban areas in Delhi and its bordering states in North India. Data
is also drawn from conversations with people in public places such as
trains, buses, and residential areas.
The image of a SC is portrayed as less than desirable in the context
of reservation-induced social interaction. Several discounted aspects of
SCs are invoked to project their falling short of societal expectations.
The devaluing prejudice against a group of people, which perpetuates
and strengthens the existing social inequalities, in Erving Goffman’s
sense, patterns stigma (Goffman 1968). In the SC case, it is ‘tribal
stigma’, believed to transmit through lineage to all the members.
Reducing a SC person/group from a whole to a tainted one is done
usually in exclusively non-SC circles. The discrediting comments are
188 Tulsi Patel

rarely inflicted on SCs in their face; these are instead made when an SC
is out of earshot. The instances revealing unfavourable views about SCs
behind their back are a shift from what Coffman (1973) calls the front
region to the ‘backstage/back region’.
In the second section of this paper, I draw upon historical and con-
temporary evidence on attempts by SC individuals and groups at over-
coming their caste specific odium, as attempts at management of
stigmatised identity. Lastly, I try to show that affirmative action (not the
same as quota/reservation) in early school education is perhaps a better
means for SCs to overcome tribal stigma.

Representing Reservations or Highlighting

Spoiled Identity?

As mentioned above, it is no longer thought proper as also politically

correct to use discrediting and devaluing language by castes above the
SC level (non-SCs) while interacting with SCs, especially in urban
North India today. Though direct verbal discounting is rare, perhaps
due also to fear of legal action, I have been reported of a few instances
when demeaning comments were made by non-SCs not realising that
the person they were speaking to was a SC. Such awkward scenes are
embarrassing when a non-SC realises the impolite remarks about SCs
are unknowingly made before a SC person. Direct demeaning of SCs
invites legal action. Nevertheless, tribal stigma is invoked as a means to
belittle the reservation entailed achievements of SCs, especially in arenas
thought to be the traditional stronghold of non-SCs, for example, in
prestigious government posts, or seats in professional courses. In what
follows, let us see the ways of discrediting deployed by non-SCs.
A Brahmin clerk in a government office in Delhi was often late to
report and did very little work during the day. He almost never listened to
his immediate boss, the section officer, who was a SC. Once, after several
reminders from a higher authority that he must perform his duty sincerely
and efficiently, he justified his non-compliance in the following manner:

I recall for you the time when this man (the section officer) came into the office
as a cleaner boy [that is, he was employed to dust the furniture and serve water,
tea/coffee and run other such errands for the staff in the office]. I was a junior
clerk at that time. In the last twenty years I have got one promotion and this
RESERVATION IN JOBS AND EDUCATION 189

fellow has got several. He is now my boss. Do you know how it (being superseded
by incompetent subordinates only because they are ‘reserved’) feels? And he (the
section officer) does not know anything at all. He is completely ignorant. I can
give you so many instances of his incapability and ignorance. I request you to
listen to him speaking on the phone. He cannot even attend a phone. He cannot
take a phone call. He does not know what to say on the phone if a caller inquires
about any matter pertaining to this office. I really urge you to eavesdrop once
when he is attending to a phone. If the caller happens to speak in English at the
other end, then his handling of the phone is a matchless spectacle. He mutters
something under his breath and keeps the phone down; and does it again if the
call is repeated. How can one work under such a useless man.

The disgruntled clerk would generally act in a dismissive way to any

instruction given by his boss (the SC section officer). He would often
have fun at the boss’s expense. Not following the SC boss’ instruction
and not doing any of the assigned tasks on time had become his habit,
while his retired bosses spoke appreciably of his work and efficiency. But
now he shirked work with pride and justified the absence of diligence by
invoking the injustice he faced in being bypassed through the policy of
reservation, not only at the entry point but also within the job ladder
(which got introduced into the reservation scheme later in the day
through political pressure and judicial approval4, and was not part of
Article 16 of the constitution of India [Shourie 1991]). His disregard for
his boss cost not only his office heavily as lie put in a minimal of the
expected work, but also set off a trend in the office where most other
subordinates followed suit. They would frequently please themselves in
not listening to the boss. They would often giggle among themselves
and make faces when he gave some instruction or made a comment.
It is partly true that the boss who is mentioned in the instant case
was not a highly efficient person. But he was not as inefficient as
described by his subordinate who felt wronged by the reservation
scheme. It cast the mould in the office towards less efficient work as
most office staff were happy to be less efficient in the shadow of the
second person (the Brahmin clerk) in command. This person had set an
example for others not to comply with the section officer’s orders. He
was often heard addressing his boss by the first name and in singular
rather than in plural or as babooji, a term used for many an office clerk,
and for one’s boss in clerical/administrative offices.
The following is a similar case from an industrial set up and pertains
to the level of officers in the engineering category. A group of engineers
190 Tulsi Patel

at a dinner chatted away about several things, and as usually happens,

something about their factory also cropped up in the conversation. One
of them said about the absent colleague, ‘He knows nothing. After all he
is from the quota’ (from the reserved caste category, used for both SCs
and the Scheduled Tribes, though in this case the person in question
happened to be from the former group). Another one said, ‘Kuchh aata
jaata to hai nahi, as gaga hai afsar lagne’ (literally, he does not know any-
thing, has just become an officer for no reason). They all laughed aloud
joined by their wives. Then another one said, ‘The other day he was
sitting in his office and his JE (junior engineer) barged in and sat down
before him without being asked to take a seat. Who cares for these
people? What can they do?’ Another one butted, ‘He will be your boss
soon. They all get promotions before others’. And again there was laugh-
ter. ‘He knows only lal salam [a communist greeting] and nothing much
otherwise’.
Ideas about purity and impurity of castes are less stringently
observed in urban (Shah 1987) and industrial settings (Parry 1999).
Jonathan Parry describes the rare case of sharing of food between a
Satnami and his upper-caste colleague in Bhilai Steel Plant in
Chhatisgarh. And non-commensality apparently got stricter in the vil-
lages from where the Plant staff originally came than in the township or
the shop floor. The food-sharing case is an exception proving a rule of
noncommensality. And this is despite the institution of each employee
shaking hands with all the others at the beginning of each shift in the
Plant. Similarly, I found that in a large public sector industrial set up in
Lucknow, there is little sharing of food and water between SC and
non-SC employees and their families. But they attend weddings and
parties, and eat and drink at the buffets served on such occasions, where
the food is professionally cooked by non-SC caterers.
In the field of medicine, the scene is the worst. It is common to call
a quota doctor as ‘bandemar doctor’ (literally, a doctor who kills people).
The term is quite prevalent among the medical fraternity. Doctors
themselves speak lowly about their quota colleagues. This is also reflected
in a few private clinics run by doctors belonging to SCs in many parts
of North India. There is greater chance of a SC doctor being spoken of
poorly by his non-SC colleagues. As the field of private medical practice
is highly competitive in Delhi, it comes handy to use the discounting
stereotypes against SC doctors. It does not take long for word to spread
about a doctor being less competent, especially if he is from the SC
RESERVATION IN JOBS AND EDUCATION 191

category. Patients in Delhi are known for doctor hopping, and the
practice is rampant as reported by doctors who operate out of small
private clinics.5 At times, adverse judgements about medical doctors are
also made from public platforms. In the heat of controversy generated
by reservations, P.C. Chatterji (1996) refers to Karan Singh, usually
urbane, philosophical, and concerned with ultimate values, who while
addressing a student rally in Delhi, stated that reservation in medical
colleges would render Indian hospitals unsafe because one could assume
in advance that the doctor will not be properly qualified.
The discourse about tile category of professionals who make it in
life through reservations is highly prejudiced against SCs. Jokes,
instances of their inefficiency, their lack of class and culture-specific
tastes, their subordinates’ disregard for them are brought up every now
and then by way of light entertainment at their cost. Sometimes this
disregard is shown directly as happens routinely in the case of the
administrative office cited above. It also happens when patients do not
prefer to consult a doctor who is from the reserved category, as they
believe that such doctors are less competent.
If a highly competent person happens to be a SC, s/he gets brack-
eted with others as ‘reserved’, that is, assumed to have been initially
incompetent or ignored as an exception. I have not come across people
pointing out cases of efficient colleagues who happen to be from
the reserved category. If such a case is ever pointed out, the response is
one of surprise and there is an element of disbelief, not always an inno-
cent one. The recurrent pun reinforces the picture of an inefficient cate-
gory of colleagues who come from the reserved quota. The surprise at
someone efficient and belonging to SC is overshadowed by the frequent
quibbles about slip-ups by numerous others belonging to the reserved
category. Use of stereotypical images in social interaction and social strat-
ification is rampant in this kind of discourse. It stigmatises the category
of SCs who are competitors for government jobs, and are in competition
for the still limited possibilities for promotions to rise within the jobs.
Discourse has the potential to create facts: as word gets around and is
reiterated in different contexts, as in instances cited above. It is in the
nature of such repetitions to get considered as true after a while. People
in general come to believe that because it is so commonly said, it must
be true. Many who make such statements are convinced of their truth-
fulness. Stereotyping is a powerful instrument in everyday interaction; it
freezes images and time. Stigma is constructed through frozen images.
192 Tulsi Patel

Deflecting Stigma

It is not surprising that people from the SC category react in ways to

avoid their traditional caste or surnames and use the relatively caste neu-
tral surnames, such as Kumar, Pal, Ram, Lal, Chand and Nath. They
also prefer to use surnames used by higher castes to hide their caste
identity and the anticipated ensuing humiliation in life. Some of these
surnames are Singh, Vyas, Guru and Charan. Parents, especially fathers
who have been in jobs through the reserved quota have given their first
names as surnames to their children to conceal their quota category
identity, such as Kapoor, Chand and Swaroop. Very few of these newer
surnames were used by the first generation beneficiaries of the ‘quota
jobs’, who had various forms of unpleasant experiences during their
work life, partly because their surnames gave away their caste identity.
The idea is to present themselves and/or their children the way in which
they would like to be thought of by individuals or groups they directly
or indirectly interact with.
Changing names and surnames is an individual’s or a group’s
attempt at presenting itself as what he/she wants others to view him/her
or the caste group as. In the case of SCs it is a conscious attempt at cov-
ering up their inferior identity, a special attempt at transformation of
social cognition through such re-baptising with the goal to affect social
transaction. The self-presentation through changed surname portrays
attempts at disembedding from an inferior social, especially ritual rank-
ing and embedding into a higher ranking group. Such attempts by indi-
viduals and groups to change their occupations, eating practices, and
other customary rituals and practices have been familiar to us through
Srinivas’ (1956) concept of sanskritisation.
Concealment of caste names for escaping/obviating sly and humil-
iating reactions from others, that is, deflecting stigma, is what amounts
to management of impression by managing their ‘spoiled identity’.6
Impression management is a process through which people try to con-
trol the impressions other people form of them. It is the goal-directed
conscious or unconscious attempt to influence the perceptions of other
people about them. Coffman (1968) also finds attempts to influence the
perception of one’s own image, as self-presentation.
One of the few factors leading to the decision not to collect caste
data in the Indian censuses since 1931 has been the futility of it through
RESERVATION IN JOBS AND EDUCATION 193

the rampant attempts to claim higher status in official records by lower

castes through changing their caste names. R. Pant (1987) discusses the
numerous arbitrary attempts towards standardisation of caste names
from 1872 to 1931 on the part of the British census officials at categoris-
ing and configuring caste groups in the country’s censuses they under-
took (see Galanter 1984 on the influence of such a practice in the process
of listing of SCs). Pant discusses instances of such attempts at caste
Configuration.

Occupational naming of castes considered low, is prominent in traditional

nomenclature systems of North India. In the Himalayan belt of the North
West provinces, for example, caste names include Tamata or copper-worker;
Lwar or iron-worker; Auji or tailor; Hurukia or player of a small drum, that is,
an entertainer. Crooke’s accounts show similar names for sub-castes in other
parts of the province. However, occupational names traditionally also indicate
ritual status, and the sub-castes bearing names such as, barber, washerman,
potter, perform very definite ceremonies at the celebration of rites of passage
for members of castes considered higher to them. While some administrator
ethnographers, such as Nesfield, were quite conscious of this, others at certain
times seem to have taken qualification by occupation more literally. E.A.H.
Blunt, for example, as Provincial Census Commissioner for NWP (North
West Provinces) in 1911 was approached by several lower castes, for a formal
change of name in the census record. He rejected the claims of those wanting
to suffix or prefix a twice-born varna term like Brahmin or Vaishya to the
original sub-caste name. The claims he permitted were on grounds of a literal
occupational change: ‘Occasionally too, sub-castes which had taken up a
new occupation claimed to be separate from their old castes: and such cases
were usually admitted. Instances are the Chamar-Julaha, ChamarKori,
Kayastha-Darzi and Kayastha-Mochi’ (Census 1911: 323). Similarly, Russell
reported that he did not enter claims to new caste names, such as Rathor-Teli,
but permitted names that signified shift of occupation such as Teli-Bania for
Telis who had taken to shop keeping, and Banjara-Kunbi for erstwhile
Banjaras who had taken to settled agriculture (Russell and Hira Lall 1916: 12)
(Pant 1987: 153).

As the traditional aspects of the caste system were still strong and high
castes resented the appropriation of the symbols, style and manner- isms
of high rank by the low, opening up of trade and other new opportuni-
ties thrown up by the British rule were taken advantage of. But, as
Srinivas (1996) recalls, the high castes no longer had the political
authority to punish the parvenus from the lower castes, though they
often had moral authority.
194 Tulsi Patel

It was in this context that the institution of the decennial census, introduced
by the British, came unwittingly to the aid of ambitious low castes. Sir01
Herbert Risley, the commissioner of the 1901 census, decided to make use of
the census investigations to obtain and record the exact rank of each caste.
Not unnaturally a number of castes decided to seize this occasion to claim
high rank. . . . There was a widespread move among castes to assume new and
high-sounding Sanskritic names generally ending with suffixes indicating
‘twice-born’ rank’ (ibid.: 81).

Mythology and history were drawn on without making a distinc-

tion between the two. Caste sabhas or associations were instrumental in
acceleration of mobility. Both the above comments on census taking
show group and individual attempts at recording high caste names in
the censuses. And Srinivas also shows that high-sounding names for
individual/small sections of a caste were more easily accommodated
than those for whole caste groups in a local area.
Change of religion has been a concerted move for removal of SC
stigma. It is well known that Ambedkar’s conversion to Buddhism was
motivated by his belief that only in leaving Hinduism could his people
free themselves from the burden of pollution and untouchability. It is no
coincidence that the largest untouchable castes in various regions
responded more eagerly to the motivation to convert to Buddhism.
Change of religion or surnames to conceal one’s SC identity goes on
alongside procurement of SC certificates to reap the benefit of reserva-
tion policy. While SCs have no qualms about availing the quota facilities
meant for them as citizens of the Indian state, they prefer to hide their
SC identity in unofficial/social settings as a balancing act. SCs have tried
to retain their reserved category status even after having converted to
Christianity and Buddhism. But the stigma apparently does not dis-
appear easily even after religious conversion. Buddhist and Sikh con-
verts continue to be considered lower in caste status. A. Fiske (1972)
found Christian Dalits in Kerala continued to experience ill-treatment
and reported the matter to Ambedkar in writing.
Aggression is also adopted as a means by some SCs, especially in
secure public sector jobs to fight stigma. There are several instances
where senior officers in government and/or autonomous organisations
reported one or more of their temperamental SC colleagues who
threaten legal action against non-SC colleagues for their caste bias. They
openly defy official orders and come to be known as leaders who shirk
work and challenge their bosses with threats of appeal to higher authorities
RESERVATION IN JOBS AND EDUCATION 195

(SC and ST Commission) for action against the bosses. Legal threats by
SCs are contrived to further strengthen the stereotyped image of SCs
being incompetent and mischievous.
Discrimination remains a serious issue for the Indian society
despite constitutional and legal provisions, and after much progress
with the implementation of the reservation policies for the Scheduled
Castes. Though this paper does not take up the reservation for the
‘Other Backward Classes’ (OBCs) the issue is alluded only to men-
tion that castes just above the SC belt are acutely envious of the
latter.

Conflicting Principles in Reservation:

Hope from Good School Education

As mentioned earlier, SCs/Dalits are not a homogeneous group. They

are divided into many castes (jatis) and form a hierarchy in every
region. Social stratification among different jatis of SCs exists despite
the implementation of positive discrimination provisions. Some castes
have advanced themselves through quotas in education and jobs, while
others have been unable to do so. Similarly, many families of a caste
and individuals within families have taken advantage of reservations,
while others have not been so successful. An elite/creamy layer from
within the SC jatis has emerged. Consequently, the reservation policy
has been in controversy off and on. Broadly speaking, the controversy
has two opposing views drawn from the merit and the compensatory
principle. Countering the argument of merit as an arbitrary construct,
the compensatory view holds the merit principle as a hegemonic
device. Ram Jethmalani (1991: 394) complains that those who raise
the principle of merit and efficiency do so because they do not support
reservations which are based on the compensatory principle. He says
that the preamble to the Constitution preferred justice as a superior
goal and made it a fundamental principle of governance of the
country.
There are further complexities involved in these two positions, both
in terms of the principle of equality of the democratic individual (like in
the logic of one citizen, one vote) and redress of past deprivations and
denials. A.M. Shah (1996) has pointed out the Constitution’s stress on
efficiency. He has analysed the issue of efficiency in different organisations
196 Tulsi Patel

and how they have fared over time. Some sociological issues reservations
have thrown up are listed by B.K. Roy Burman (1991). These are: (a)
caste class relations, (b) efficiency of public services, (c) reverse discrim-
ination against merit, (d) encouragement of primordial loyalties, and (e)
weakening of the country faced with multiple challenges. According to
Andre Beteille,

The Indian constitution is committed to two different principles that both

relate to equality; the principle of equal opportunities and the principle of
redress. It is difficult, even under the best of circumstances, to evolve a
coherent policy that will maintain a satisfactory balance between the two
(1991: 384).

The clash of interest generally flows from this incoherence and

contradiction, where the state on the one hand upholds equality of all
citizens and thus has the onus of providing conditions, in principle, for
equality of opportunity. On the other hand, the onus of the state is in
providing redress to certain of its citizens to enable all citizens (to achieve
the capability) to have equality of opportunity. Obviously, in trying to
achieve the latter, the former is compromised. Those who support the
principle of redress claim that there is no level-playing field, without
which equality of opportunity in practice, let alone in principle, makes
little sense. While those who are critical of redress, at the cost of effi-
ciency, bring forth empirical evidence to show inefficiency and declin-
ing standards, on the one hand, and on the other, reverse discrimination
is viewed as denial of opportunities to the competent.
Reservation in education is the source for SCs to obtain degrees in
higher education, and degrees are essential for government jobs. But
Pierre Bourdieu and Jean-Claude Passeron (1977) have provided empir-
ical evidence from French society that education usually reproduces the
dominant class structure. Samuel Bowles and Herbert Ginits (1976)
provide similar evidence for North America where children of the
wealthy get better education and have access to highly rewarding jobs.
In India, several studies in different parts of India, at different times and
for various educational streams and institutions, have shown a some-
what similar but a relatively more complex picture. Thomas Weisskopf
(2004) carefully adduced data from a number of studies in India and
found the proportion of SC enrolment rising marginally from 7 per cent
in the late 1970s to 7.8 per cent in the late-1990s. He adds that most SC
RESERVATION IN JOBS AND EDUCATION 197

students in elite universities and professional and technical institutions

could not have made it in the absence of reservations,

. . . because they rarely have access to high quality secondary education, or to

privately funded preparatory workshops and tutorials, all of which contribute to
the substantial competitive edge enjoyed by students from the relatively well-
to-do families. Even with the lower cut-off points for admission, SC and ST
students typically do not come close to filling the available reserved seats at such
institutions . . . even 50 years after independence, at least half of the seats
reserved in Indian higher educational institutions for SC students, and at least
two-thirds of the seats reserved for ST students, go unfilled. . . . Those SC stu-
dents who enrol in medical schools tend increasingly to come from a few domi-
nant dalit castes and from relatively well-off dalit families living in urban areas,
which enables them to attend private secondary schools’ (2004: 4340–41).

Besides, many drop out for inability to cope with the demands,
many take much longer to complete their degrees, and manage to just
scrape through to pass. Education as an ideology provides a window as
to how and to whom education serves. What in theory may have the
potential to redress through education, may in practice not often be the
case. Notwithstanding the findings that education is not the magic wand
to level inequalities, it has opened avenues and provided opportunities.
Though slight, one may state that these opportunities for betterment
have been welcome when compared with those without any education in
India, especially when compared with the time when the reservations
were introduced. When combined with reservation in jobs, reservation
in education makes a greater impact, is more visible, and is also more
articulated in the reservation debate.
Provision of reservation/quota is in policy terms meant for certain
caste groups, but its implementation is operationalised at the level of
individuals belonging to these castes. The individual-group dynamics
in reservation introduces another issue to the controversy around reser-
vations. Individuals and individual households or families benefit from
reservations and continue to garner those benefits in the subsequent
generations by virtue of belonging to the reserved caste category. Caste-
based reservations have resulted in oligopolies among the SC elite.
Caste based reservations go to a small number of the better-off mem-
bers of the castes concerned. Reserved quotas in education and public
service and leapfrogging provisions in jobs are a disdain for many
among the castes that do not fall under the reserved category. Senior
198 Tulsi Patel

secondary level students and their parents can be heard making

unending complaints about how their deserving and slogging children
are unreasonably deprived admissions in higher educational institu-
tions, especially those that provide professional degrees, such as engi-
neering, medicine, teacher training. As professional degrees have closer
links with employment, the cribbing is largely for such courses.
Reservations in education and jobs thus should not be viewed as uncon-
nected. In fact, there is a close link between the two, and closer the link,
greater the resentment against reservation by the high castes. Such
resentment happens to be directed against those individuals who
make it through the quota. It is felt by non-SCs that SC inefficiency is
perpetuated through reservations.
People are well aware that obtaining a degree, especially if it is a
non-professional one, is not enough by itself. It needs legs to walk to a
job. And understandably so, the controversy revolves more vehemently
around jobs and those degrees that easily fetch jobs. Using failure in
education to justify that the reserved castes have an innate deficiency to
cope with the demands of education, is a means of ‘othering’. While
purity-pollution principle is weakening, the non-SCs hold a perception”
that SCs are, by heredity, less meritorious. Social mobility has increased
noticeably over the past seven or more decades, and simultaneously, the
ideas of purity and pollution in public social relations between castes
have also weakened. Srinivas describes the sources and fallout of these
developments in Indian society,

The most potent but indirect source of mobility, has been adult franchise
resulting in the social and political mobilisation of castes. The pursuit of eco-
nomic development subsuming the development of both agriculture and
industry, and ‘protective discrimination’ for sizeable sections of the popula-
tions, has resulted in aspirations for mobility becoming nearly universal. It is
only natural then that acute conflict for access to resources becomes wide-
spread, resulting in the first place, in competition among backwards, and sec-
ondly, between backward and the Scheduled. Meanwhile, the ‘forwards’ have
had to evolve their own strategies for survival (1996: xiv).

He further observes that the emulatory aspect of sanskritisation to

achieve high rank among castes has been transformed. Sanskritisation is
now a gesture of defiance. The lower castes, while staying in the Hindu
fold dare high castes to stop their adoption of high caste ritual and
symbolic appurtenances.
RESERVATION IN JOBS AND EDUCATION 199

By invoking innate incompetence of biology or castes, education-

induced inequalities escape from being blamed as manmade. But the
human body is a tabula rasa, and all bodily expression/action is learned,
as Marcel Mauss (1979/1950) says. In discussing about making the
body social, Mauss argues that all bodily expression is learned. Both
Mauss (ibid.) and A. van Gennep (1960) showed that ‘body techniques’,
whether used in ritual or in routine life, correspond to socio-cultural
mapping of time and space. Education is understood as the means to
provide this mapping for the body. Also, it is not easy to see the deficien-
cies of the educational system, as it is this very system that has enabled,
along with other means, the social and economic mobility of many SCs.
Every society has a range of educational institutions. Do we not know
that majority of the scientific awards and research funding in the USA
goes to a few scientists from Harvard, Yale, Chicago and Princeton.
Most of those who go to good educational institutions are competent.
In fact, they are produced as competent. Educational institutions mould
pupils and good ones do it better than others. Well-run educational
institutions, with a commitment to chisel their students to meet the best
standards, produce good pupils. The bias of innate incompetence is
wiped out when educational institutions perform their duties conscien-
tiously. The best example in recent decades is the information technol-
ogy industry, its education and its market, not just in India but also
outside the country. It is a revolution that has raised eyebrows about the
intelligence and capability of Indians the world over. Immigration caps
for Indians in Europe and the USA have been raised.7 There is an open
door policy for the qualified Indians.8 Biases against Indians (coloured
race) have got softened. Within the country, IT sector, consumer service
industry, call centres, etc. are opening opportunities for undergraduates
and those with good ‘public school’ education with little caste consider-
ation. Those who have had opportunities to go to good schools have an
open job market. What lessons does this experience provide?
We can easily recall the guild and caste-like institutions in all societies,
be it the institution of fencing in Germany or oldboys’ associations and
alumni associations in other parts of the world. These forms of network
societies benefit through association, but are not based directly on caste
principles. Similarly, Vivek Kumar (2005) recalls the recruitment practices
through referral in highly successful Indian and other enterprises. These
practices may require a separate understanding and treatment. The stress
is on the existential realities within a democratic framework with benefits
200 Tulsi Patel

accruing through networks and more opportunities. The effort here is to

be able to achieve a level playing field. The reality before us in Indian soci-
ety today is one where government jobs are shrinking; conventional
undergraduate and some post graduate degrees, if not from reputed insti-
tutions, require covering qualifications such as diplomas for jobs in the
market; impermanence of jobs is becoming a permanent feature of urban
life; and marketable skills and knowledge matter. Keeping up with the
requisite skills is essential to keep afloat in the job market. Nevertheless,
for SCs, the harsher biologically traced stratification prevails, as described
above. While jobs outside the government and the public sector are on the
rise, stigmatising and ‘othering’ goes on, so does the defiance against it.
Hence, it is equally important not to lose sight of the processes of status
achievement through the non-government market. And, in effect, this is
what affirmative action (not reservation) as means of positive discrimina-
tion, is asking for. Affirmative action (which is not the same as reservation
based positive discrimination) in effect means building capacities, rather
than being picked up or dropped by the wayside.
From the experience of Indians in the IT sector in the western
job market, a lesson may be drawn at home. It is in the educational
system where action is required to produce competent human power.
The shield around basic elementary education is strong. Basic school-
ing in India is a bit removed from quotas in higher education and
access to jobs. Thus, little attention gets paid to the kind of ground-
ing it provides to its pupils. But good schooling is the key to many a
higher door. It is in elementary school that ‘body technique’ (Mauls
1979) is nurtured. Inculcating cultural and symbolic capital takes
time; universal, good quality school education and training from
early on can provide that critical input. Merely admitting students
through reserving seats in higher studies without attending to them
in early school is not affirmative action; it is simply reservation.
Feeding the hungry is one thing and teaching the hungry to feed
themselves is another. The latter might eventually counter the ineffi-
ciency stigma attributed to SCs.

Notes
(An earlier version of this paper was presented at the Felicitation Seminar for Professor
K.L. Sharma on 19–20 November 2004 at the Jawaharlal Nehru University, New Delhi.
I am thankful for all the comments that I received at the presentation. I am also thankful
RESERVATION IN JOBS AND EDUCATION 201

for the comments from Professor A.M. Shah, Dr Lancy Lobo and Dr Arima Mishra on an
earlier draft of the paper.)
1. It is of interest to mention that almost all reserved constituencies have very low voter
turnout and very low percentage of voting.
2. I am not taking up the Scheduled Tribes (STs), as their case is somewhat different
from that of SCs. Although STs have also benefited from the quotas in higher educa-
tion and services, my data specifically pertains to SCs alone. STs have not been sub-
jected to social oppression that SCs have. Some traces of that oppression are visible
in the present day Indian society in a different garb in certain contexts.
3. Significantly, the castes subsumed under the reserved category in a local area or
district are also referred by the specific caste name which happens to have creamed
most of the reservations in the area. It would be worth exploring if the reactions
towards Scheduled Tribes that have creamed most of the reserved seats are different
from those for their Scheduled Caste counterparts, for example, Meena tribe in
Rajasthan.
4. When the judicial approval for quotas in internal promotions in services was given in
the 1970s, the news was not well received by non-SC employees, who saw it as
unjust. Among the pre-emptive attempts by officers against the implementation of
the order to reserve posts for internal promotions, officers working in a company—
government undertaking in Punjab—had moved court. Issues of injustice and
promotion of incompetence were then feverishly raised in non-SC circles for a
few weeks.
5. For an in-depth account of doctor-shopping in private general practice in Delhi, see
Shifalika Goenka (2003).
6. Different castes among SCs have adopted different surnames (A.M. Shah, personal
communication), and there have been attempts of collective mobilisation among
many SCs to adopt caste concealing, surnames in recent times (Tila Kumar, personal
communication).
7. I have been told by many in Germany (during 2005–06) that Indian IT professionals
are reluctant to accept German ‘green cards’ because they have the USA as their des-
tination where life is better and professional growth has Better prospects.
8. The Netherlands had towards the end of 2004 reduced visa clearance time for Indian
11’ professionals from six to three months; Germany had extended initiations despite
some representatives defeating others by raising the slogan, protect your own chil-
dren, not Indians’ in domestic politics; and the US had relaxed caps on HB1 visa
applications from Indians by several thousand a year.

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Index
ahimsa, theory of, 96
Ambedkar, B.R., 11
Ambedkar Centres, xx
animism, 32
Arya Dharma, 87
Aryans, 34, 38n10
Arya Samaj, xl, xlix, 187
ashramas, 9–10
Asiatic mode of production, xxxiii
asprishya, 171
Backward and Minorities Communities
Employees’ Federation
(BAMCEF), 12
backwardness, 46
Bahujan Samaj party (BSP), xx,
li, 100
Bourdieu, Pierre, 196
Bowles, Samuel, 196
brahmacharya ashrama, 9
Brahmins/Brahmans, l, li, xli, xxx, 6,
8–9, 16, 19, 25, 32, 51,
173–74. See also Machhra
village, case study of
interaction among scheduled castes
(SCs) and, 61
untouchable, 174
bristle industry and trade, 84–88
decline of, 89–91
Burman, B.K. Roy, 196
caste-based discrimination, xxi
caste endogamy, xxxvi
caste occupation, xxiv, xxvii, xxxii
castes and caste system, study of, xxix,
xxiii–xxxiii
caste-based discrimination, xl, xxi
caste-based exclusion, xxxvii–xxxviii
caste endogamy, xxv
changes due to conversion, xxvii
as combined subjective and
objective conceptualisations,
xxix–xxxiii
conflicts/struggles, xxxix–xliv
Desai's view, xxxii
Dumont’s hierarchy, xxvi
external features of, xxvii
‘field-view’ of, xxiv
Ghurye’s analysis of, xxiv, 23–37
as humiliation, xxviii
hypergamous and hypogamous
practices, xxv
objective view of, xxiv–xxv
post-Independence period, xxxvii
as pride, xxviii–xxix
repulsion, hierarchy and hereditary
tendencies of, xxvi
subjective view of, xxvi–xxix
Cawnpore Brush Factory, 82–84
Centres for the Study of Social Exclusion
and Inclusive Policy, xx
204
Chamars, l–li, 10, 15–16, 81–82,
97–99, 186
Chamar songs, xxix
Chand, Babu Khem, 11
‘Chandragutti Incident’ of 1986,
107–8, 114–19
Channaveerappa Enquiry
Commission, 120–23
Krishnappa’s experience, 108–9
press coverage, 119–20
Charsley, Simon, 172–73
class concept, 19
‘class struggle’ concept, 141–42
core institutional order, 28, 32, 38n6
cow protection movement, 96–97
Crime and Punishment (Dostoevsky), xxvii
dalitbahujans, 13
Dalit empowerment, xx
Dalit movements, xxii
Dalits
autobiographies, liv
caste hierarchy among, xxxv–xxvii
causes of poverty of, 19
definition of, 5–7
dimensions of change, xliv–xxxviii
as ‘Harijan’, 11–12
identity of, 10–12
lack of recoginition to
contributions, 17
literature, lii, 17–19
nomenclatures at the grassroots, 10
research on, xix
reservations for, xlvi
ridiculing of, 15–17
social discrimination of, 14
social exclusion of, 6–7, 13–14
status in Indian society, 7–10
Dalit Sangharsh Samiti (DSS), 108–9,
111–14
Dalit studies, xx–xxi
depressed classes, 11, 184
Desai, I.P., 55, 137, 179
Towards Sociology of Dalits
de-Sanskritisation, 163–64
Dhanuk, 81
Dhobi, 81
discrimination, xxxiii–xxxviii
Dostoevsky
Crime and Punishment, xxvii
Douglas, Mary, 79
Dravidians, 34
Dumont, Louis, 8, 79
purity, concept of, xxvi, 8, 79
equality, principle of, xxi
exclusion, xxxiii -xxxviii. See also social
exclusion
exploitation, xxx
Gandhi, Mahatma, 184
garhasthya ashram, 9
Ghurye, Govind Sadashiv, 23–37
The Aborigines-so-Called and Their
Future, 30
analysis of castes and tribes,
xxiv, 23–37
on antiquity of settlers in India, 33
assimilation of Scheduled Castes into
Hindu society, 35–36
assimilation of untouchables,
26–29
Caste and Race in India, 24
caste hierarchy, 31–32
on Chandalas, 25
distinction between Smritis and
Shrutis, 24
India’s population, 31
on Mritapas, 25
on multiple identities, 33
on Namashudras of West Bengal, 26
peasant society, 31
political unity of India, 35
‘pure’ and ‘impure’ untouchables, 26
on Scheduled Castes, 24, 29–30
on Scheduled Tribes, 30
The Scheduled Tribes, 30–31
INDEX
similarity between Hinduism and
animism, 32
on Svapachas, 25
Ginits, Herbert, 196
Government of India Act, 1935, 35
Guha, Ranjit, 14
Gujjars, lxvii
Harijan v. upper class, conflicts between
dimensions of conflict, 142–43
economic tensions, 150
field and methodology, 142
political tensions, 150–51
psychological form of conflict, 143–54
ritual tensions, 151–54
social tensions, 143–50
hereditary occupation, xxiv
Hetcher, Michael, 34
Hinduism, lx, xlix, lii, 32, 36, 96–97,
126, 139, 176, 178, 194
ideology, xxvi–xxix
Hindu social order, 6
‘Human Distress Index’ (HDI), 20–21
humiliation, xxviii
identity
Dalits, 10–12
of depressed classes, 11
of ‘Harijan,’ 11–12
multiple identities, 33
of ‘Scheduled Castes,’ 12
Indian society, Marx’s commentary on,
xxx–xxxi
Inequality and Integration in an
Industrial Community, 66
institutionalized spokesmen, 51
inter-caste relations, 174–75
Jats, xlvii, xxviii–xxix
Jethmalani, Ram, 195
Kala Bachcha (Black child), 94–95,
100–1
205
Kalal, xxxvi
Kanpur, scheduled castes and Muslims
in, 80–82
Karma–Dharma principle, xxvi–xxix, 6
Khatiks, lviii
Khatiks of Kanpur
as bristle manufacturers, 84–88
industrial decline of bristle manufac-
turing and trade, 88–91
Muslim-Khatik relationship, 78–79,
93–95, 99
notions of purity and pollution,
79–80
pig farming, 91–93
population, 79–80
status, post-Ayodhya riots, 78,
93–95
Khun, Thomas, 18
Kori, 81
Kshatriya, xxx, 8–9, 19, 111
legitimized spokesmen of the society,
50–52
literature, Dalit, 17–19
Loss of Nerve (Vernier Elwin), 31
Machhra village, case study of
economy of, 56–58
nature of deprivations in, 60–63
population of, 56
untouchability in, 58–60
Mandal Commission, xlvii
Mayawati, xxii
meat-eating, 97–99
middle-class Dalits, xx
Mukerji, D.P., 24
Nagas of India, 33
nation-state, 36
Naxalbari movement, 33
nomenclature of Dalits, 10–11
non-dvija caste Hindus, 11
nudity and nude worship, 107
206
Dalit rationalist action, 129–33
as emic model, 124–27
reforms and, 127–29
social discourse on female, 127–28
tripartite nature of, 109
version of Jamadagni and Renuka
myth, 110–11
objective conceptualisation of caste,
xxix–xxv
official norms, 49–50
displacement of, 50
and functional relationships, 50
Oommen, T. K., 13
Other Backward Classes (OBCs), xlvii,
48, 160–61, 163–64, 186, 195
Pasi, 81
Passeron, Jean-Claude, 196
pollution, notion of, 79
Poona Pact, xxii
poverty, 46–47
Punjab
distribution of towns in, 72–75
Scheduled caste population in,
70–75
purity/impurity
changes in concept of, 177–80
Dumont’s concept of, 79
food-sharing case, 190
in Hindu society, 169–70
at homes and in personal life,
175–77
rules of, 170
social reform movements and, 180
Rajah, M.C., 11
Ram, Kanshi, l, xx
reservation policy, xlviii–l, 29, 38n8
caste-based, 197–98
conflicting principles in, 195–200
in educational institutions, 195–200
in field of medicine, 190–91
Towards Sociology of Dalits
food-sharing case, 190
government office in Delhi,
experiences, 188–89
stigma images, 191–95
use of stereotypical images in social
interaction and social stratifica-
tion, 191
use of terms ‘reserved’ and
‘quota,’ 186
ridiculing of Dalits, 15–17
Roosevelt, Franklin D., 48
Sanatana Dharma, 87
Sanskritisation, 5, 19, 100, xlix
among the Scheduled Castes,
166–67
compulsive, 164–66
in contemporary India, 161–62
evolution of concept of, 160–61
reservation policy and, 162–63
Sanyasa, 10
Scheduled Caste Order, 1950, 185
Scheduled Castes and the Scheduled
Tribes (Prevention of Atrocities)
Act, 1989, xxxvii
Scheduled Castes (SCs), xxxiii–xxxv,
185–88
acceptance by Brahmins, 62
compulsive Sanskritisation, 164–66
eating habits, 97–99
functional categories, 71, 73
Ghurye’s treatment, liv
identity of, 12
interaction among Brahmins and, 61
in Kanpur, 80–82
politics in Kanpur city, 100
reason for non-acceptance of, 63
representation in cities, 70–77
reservations for, xlvi–xlvii
in urban areas, 65, 68–69
segments of society, 47–49
Shah, A.M., 195
Shilpkar, 81
INDEX
Shudhi movement, xlix, 111
Shudra, 7–9, 15, 25, 172, li
Singh, Yogendra, 16
social change
conflict between Harijans and caste
Hindus, 138–40
population, role of, xlv
sanskritisation, xlix
state, role of, xlv–xlvi
social discrimination of Dalits, 14
social exclusion, 4, 46
of an ex-untouchable, 6
of Dalits, liv, xxxviii, 13–14, 20–21
defined, 5–6
social exclusion of an ex-untouchable, 6
social mobility, 67
social practices and conditions, 45–47
social structure of a community, 67
society, sections of, 47–49
socio-economic development, 69
socioeconomic hierarchy, 67
Sovani, N.V., 66
Srinivas, M.N., 8
Srinivasan, R., 11
state, role in social change, xlv–xlvi
stratification system, 46
subjective conceptualisation of caste,
xxvi–xxix
taboos, 79
Treaty of Westphalia, 36
Tulsidas, Acharya, 15
Untouchability Offences Act of 1955,
xxxvii
207
untouchability/untouchables, xxi,
xxxiii–xxxviii, 47. See also
Machhra village, case study of
Charsley’s views, 172–73
definition, 45
endogamous castes, 172
identified change in status, 54
in the modern times, 172
relationship between upper castes
and ‘untouchables’, 55–56,
174–75
urban India untouchability, xlv
urbanization
occupational complexity and,
69–70, 76
over-urbanization, 66
push and pull factors, 66
Vaishya, 6–9
value-based research, xxi
caste as the context, xxi
value neutrality, xxiii
vanaprastha, 10
varna-ashrama dharma, xxx
varna division of Hindu society, 4
varnas in Hindu social order, 7–8
vegetarianism, 96
Vishwa Hindu Parishad (VHP), 114
Viswanathan, Gauri, 13
Weisskopf, Thomas, 196
wild boar, 95–97
About the Editor and
Contributors

Editor

Paramjit S. Judge is Professor of Sociology and Coordinator, Centre for

the Study of Social Exclusion and Inclusive Policy, Guru Nanak Dev
University, Amritsar. He has worked and published in the areas of social
movements, Dalit studies, historical sociology and classical sociology.
Some his works are: Insurrection to Agitation: The Naxalite Movement in
Punjab, Terrorism in Punjab: Understanding Grassroots Reality (co-
authored), Mapping Dalits: Contemporary Reality and Future Prospects
(co-authored), Changing Dalits: Exploration Across Time, Foundations of
Classical Sociological Theory: Functionalism, Conflict and Action. He is
also an eminent Punjabi novelist.

Contributors

Maren Bellwinkel-Schempp, 120 Alte Weinsteige, D 70597, Stuttgart,

Germany.

Victor S. D’Souza was Professor of Sociology at Department of

Sociology, Panjab University, Chandigarh.

Venkateswarlu Dollu is the retired Professor of Sociology from Sri

Venkateswara University, Tirupati.
ABOUT THE EDITOR AND CONTRIBUTORS 209

Linda J. Epp was the research scholar at the Department of Sociology,

York University, Ontario, Canada att eh time of his contribution.

Gopal Guru is Professor of Political Science at Centre for Political

Studies, School of Social Sciences, Jawaharlal Nehru University,
New Delhi.

Vivek Kumar is Associate Professor, Centre for the Study of Social

Systems, School of Social Science, Jawaharlal Nehru University,
New Delhi.

R.D. Lambert was Professor of Sociology at the University of

Pennsylvania, Philadelphia at the time of contributing the article.

T.K. Oommen is Professor Emeritus, Jawaharlal Nehru University,

New Delhi.

Tulsi Patel is Professor of Sociology, Department of Sociology, Delhi

School of Economics, Delhi University, Delhi.

A.M. Shah is retired Professor of Sociology, Department of Scoiology

Delhi School of Economics, Delhi University, Delhi.

S.S. Sharma is the retired Professor of Sociology from CCS University

Meerut, UP.
Appendix of Sources

All articles and chapters have been reproduced exactly as they were first
published. All cross-references can be found in the original source of
publication.

Grateful acknowledgement is made to the following sources for permis-

sion to reproduce material for this volume.

1. “Situating Dalits in Indian Sociology,” Vivek Kumar

Vol. 54, No. 3 (September–December), 2005: 514–532.

2. “Scheduled Castes, Scheduled Tribes, and the Nation: Situating

G. S. Ghurye,” T.K. Oommen
Vol. 60, No. 2 (May–August), 2011: 228–244.

3. “Untouchability as a Social Problem: Theory and Research,”

R.D. Lambert
Vol. 7, No. 1 (March), 1958: 55–61.

4. “Untouchability—A Myth or a Reality: A Study of Interaction

between Scheduled Castes and Brahmins in a Western U.P. Village,”
S.S. Sharma
Vol. 35, No. 1 (March), 1986: 68–79.

5. “Scheduled Castes and Urbanization in Punjab: An Explanation,”

Victor S. D’Souza
Vol. 24, No. 1 (March), 1975: 1–12.
APPENDIX OF SOURCES 211

6. “The Khatiks of Kanpur and the Bristle Trade: Towards an

Anthropology of Man and Beast,” Maren Bellwinkel-Schempp
Vol. 47, No. 2 (September), 1998: 185–206.

7. “Dalit Struggle, Nude Worship, and the ‘Chandragutti Incident’,”

Linda J. Epp
Vol. 41, No. 1&2 (March and September), 1992: 145–168.

8. “Psychological Conflict between Harijans and Upper Class/Middle

Class Caste Hindus: A Study in Andhra Pradesh (India),”
Venkateswarlu Dollu
Vol. 36, No. 1 (March), 1987: 77–98.

9. “Reservations and the Sanskritization of Scheduled Castes:

Some Theoretical Aspects,” Gopal Guru
Vol. 33, No. 1&2 (March and September), 1984: 29–38.

10. “Purity, Impurity, Untouchability: Then and Now,” A.M. Shah

Vol. 56, No. 3 (September–December), 2007: 355–368.

11. “Stigma Goes Backstage: Reservation in Jobs and Education,”

Tulsi Patel
Vol. 57, No. 1 (January–April), 2008: 97–114.
Sociological Probings in
Rural Society
Readings in Indian Sociology
Series Editor: Ishwar Modi

Titles and Editors of the Volumes

Volume 1
Towards Sociology of Dalits
Editor: Paramjit S. Judge

Volume 2
Sociological Probings in Rural Society
Editor: K.L. Sharma

Volume 3
Sociology of Childhood and Youth
Editor: Bula Bhadra

Volume 4
Sociology of Health
Editor: Madhu Nagla

Volume 5
Contributions to Sociological Theory
Editor: Vinay Kumar Srivastava

Volume 6
Sociology of Science and Technology in India
Editor: Binay Kumar Pattnaik

Volume 7
Sociology of Environment
Editor: Sukant K. Chaudhury

Volume 8
Political Sociology of India
Editor: Anand Kumar

Volume 9
Culture and Society
Editor: Susan Visvanathan

Volume 10
Pioneers of Sociology in India
Editor: Ishwar Modi
 READINGS IN INDIAN SOCIOLOGY
VOLUME 2

Sociological Probings in
Rural Society

EDITED BY
K.L. Sharma
Copyright © Indian Sociological Society, 2013

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or utilised in any form
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any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the
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Contents

List of Tables ix
Series Note xiii
Foreword by Prof. Yogendra Singh xvii
Preface and Acknowledgements xix
Introduction by K.L. Sharma xxi

Section I: Rural Society and Rural-Urban Relations

1. Rural Sociology: Its Need in India 3
A.R. Desai
2. Symposium on Rural-Urban Relations:
The Industrialization and Urbanization of Rural Areas 20
M.N. Srinivas
3. Modernization and the Urban-Rural Gap in India:
An Analysis 30
N.R. Sheth
4. ‘Fringe’ Society and the Folk-Urban Continuum 50
M.S.A. Rao
5. Rural Family Patterns: A Study in Urban-Rural Relations 57
K.M. Kapadia

Section II: Social Stratification in Rural India

6. Measurement of Rigidity–Fluidity Dimension of Social
Stratification in Six Indian Villages 77
Victor S. D’Souza
7. Bhadralok and Chhotolok in a Rural Area of West Bengal 95
Surajit Sinha and Ranjit Bhattacharya
8. Caste System in Contemporary Rural Bihar:
A Study of Selected Villages 114
Gaurang Ranjan Sahay
viii Sociological Probings in Rural Society

9. Power Elite in Rural India: Some Questions and Clarifications 138

K.L. Sharma
10. Social Stratification and Institutional Change in a
Gujarat Village 155
K.C. Panchanadikar and J. Panchanadikar

Section III: Village Profiles

11. Chokhala—An Intervillage Organization of a Caste in Rajasthan 175
Brij Raj Chauhan
12. Modernization and Changing Fertility Behaviour:
A Study in a Rajasthan Village 187
Tulsi Patel
13. Ideology, Power and Resistance in a South Indian Village 213
N. Sudhakar Rao
14. Voices from the Earth: Work and Food Production in a
Punjabi Village 239
Radhika Chopra

Section IV: Religion and Rituals

15. Public Shrines and Private Interests: The Symbolism of the
Village Temple 257
Ursula Sharma
16. A Study of Customs in Rural Mysore 278
K.N. Venkatarayappa
17. Ritual Circles in a Mysore Village 291
Gurumurthy K. Gowdra

Section V: Social Change in Rural India

18. Study of Social Change in Independent Rural India: Critical
Issues for Analyses in the Fourth Decade of Independence 307
H.S. Verma
19. Downward Social Mobility: Some Observations 335
K.L. Sharma
20. Dimensions of Agrarian Structure and Change: Issues in Theory 353
Pradip Kumar Bose

Index 370
About the Editor and Contributors 378
Appendix of Sources 381
List of Tables

Chapter 3
Table 1 Index of Growth of Population in Towns 39
Table 2 Proportion of Population at Different Levels of
Education 42
Table 3 Consumer Expenditure for a Period of 30 Days 43

Chapter 5
Table 1 59
Table 2 60
Table 3 61
Table 4 62
Table 5 64
Table 6 65
Table 7 66
Table 8 69
Table 9 70

Chapter 6
Table 1 Arithmetic Means of Numbers of Different Types of
Occupations in Caste Groups Followed by Heads of
Households, by Village and the
Minimum Size of Caste Groups 81
Table 2 Number of Judges Grading the Prestige of Heads of
Households by Village and Number of Castes
Represented 82
Table 3 Index Scores of Social Stratification by Village and
Type of Index 83
x Sociological Probings in Rural Society

Table 4 Spearman’s Coefficients of Rank-Order Correlation

for Pairs of Indices of Social Stratification in Six Villages 83
Table 5 Demographic, Locational and Developmental
Characteristics 85
Table 6 Scores on Attitudinal Dimension of Modernity 89
Table 7 Index of Adoption of Recommended Agricultural
Practices during the Season Preceding the Field Study 92

Chapter 7
Table 1 Para-wise Caste Distribution in Bergram 98
Table 2 Layout of Khiruli Village 99
Table 3 Hierarchy of Castes in Bergram 99
Table 4 Caste-wise Landholding in Bergram 102
Table 5 Caste and Community-wise Landholding in Khiruli 103
Table 6 Landholding in Debagram Majhi Para 103
Table 7 Division of Castes in Bergtam in Terms of
Economic Classes 103
Table 8 Non-Agricultural Occupations in Bergram 104
Table 9 Non-Agricultural Occupations in Khiruli 106
Table 10 Caste and Position in Power Structure 108

Chapter 8
Table 1 Caste and Occupation 118
Table 2 Caste and the Services of Purohits, Paunis and
Mahabrahmans 126
Table 3 Class and the Services of Purohits, Paunis and
Mahabrahman 132

Chapter 10
Table 1 Caste-wise Distribution of Adult (1966) and
Student (1967) Population in Mahi Village 159
Table 2 Land Ownership and Caste 162
Table 3 Caste-wise Distribution of Landholding 162
Table 4 Membership and Economic Assets of the
Three Cooperative in Mahi 1996–67 168
LIST OF TABLES xi

Table 5 Caste-wise Distribution of Seats Filled in the Seven

Panchayats in Mahi, 1941–1965 170

Chapter 11
Table Composition of Guests in Caste Dinners 185

Chapter 12
Table 1 Distribution of Fathers/Mothers by Children Born,
Dead and Surviving at the Time of Sterilisation 196
Table 2 Distribution of Average Fertility, Child Mortality and
Child Survival per Couple by Mother’s Age 199
Series Note

The Indian Sociological Society (ISS), established in December 1951,

under the leadership of Professor G. S. Ghurye at the University of
Bombay celebrated its Diamond Jubilee in 2011. Soon after its founda-
tion, the ISS launched its biannual journal Sociological Bulletin in March
1952. It has been published regularly since then. The ISS took cogni-
sance of the growing aspirations of the community of sociologists both
in India and abroad to publish their contributions in Sociological
Bulletin, and raised its frequency to three issues a year in 2004. Its print
order now exceeds 3,000 copies. It speaks volumes about the popularity
of both the ISS and the Sociological Bulletin.
The various issues of Sociological Bulletin are a treasure trove of the
most profound and authentic sociological writings and research in India
and elsewhere. As such it is no surprise that it has acquired the status of
an internationally acclaimed reputed journal of sociology. The very fact
that several of its previous issues are no more available, being out of
print, is indicative not only of its popularity both among sociologists
and other social scientists but also of its high scholarly reputation,
acceptance and relevance. Although two series of volumes have already
been published by the ISS during 2001 and 2005 and in 2011 having
seven volumes each on a large number of themes, yet a very large number
of themes remain untouched. Such a situation necessitated that a new
series of thematic volumes be brought out. Realising this necessity and
in order to continue to celebrate the Diamond Decade of the Indian
Sociological Society, the Managing Committee of the ISS and a sub-
committee constituted for this purpose decided to bring out a series of
10 more thematic volumes in such areas of importance and relevance
both for the sociological and the academic communities at large as
Sociological Theory, Untouchability and Dalits, Rural Society, Science
xiv Sociological Probings in Rural Society

and Technology, Childhood and Youth, Health, Environment, Culture,

Politics and the Pioneers of Sociology in India.
Well-known scholars and experts in the areas of the chosen themes
were identified and requested to edit these thematic volumes under the
series title Readings in Indian Sociology. Each one of them has put in a lot
of effort in the shortest possible time not only in selecting and identify-
ing the papers to be included in their respective volumes but also in
arranging these in a relevant and meaningful manner. More than this, it
was no easy task for them to write comprehensive ‘introductions’ of the
respective volumes in the face of time constraints so that the volumes
could be brought out in time on the occasion of the 39th All India
Sociological Conference scheduled to take place in Mysore under the
auspices of the Karnataka State Open University during 27–29
December 2013. The editors enjoyed freedom not only in choosing the
papers of their choice from Sociological Bulletin published during 1952
and 2012, but they were also free to request scholars of their choice to
write forewords for their particular volumes. The volumes covered under
this series include: Towards Sociology of Dalits (Editor: Paramjit S.
Judge); Sociological Probings in Rural Society (Editor: K.L. Sharma);
Sociology of Childhood and Youth (Editor: Bula Bhadra); Sociology of
Health (Editor: Madhu Nagla); Contributions to Sociological Theory
(Editor: Vinay Kumar Srivastava); Sociology of Science and Technology in
India (Editor: Binay Kumar Pattnaik); Sociology of Environment (Editor:
Sukant K. Chaudhury); Political Sociology of India (Editor: Anand
Kumar); Culture and Society (Editor: Susan Visvanathan); and Pioneers
of Sociology in India (Editor: Ishwar Modi).
Sociological Probings in Rural Society (edited by K.L. Sharma with a
foreword by Yogendra Singh) is the second volume of the series titled
Readings in Indian Sociology. This volume focuses mainly on the chang-
ing face of rural–urban relations. The articles included in the volume
have been arranged in five sections, taking a note of rural–urban rela-
tions, rural social stratification, rural profiles, religion and rituals and
social change in village India. The volume maps out the structure and
process of rural–urban relations, along with divides and gaps between
the rural and the urban settings, and the role of urbanisation, industri-
alisation, land reforms and development agencies. The very concept of
‘village’ needs to be questioned as village is no longer an entity as char-
acterised in terms of its small size, self-sufficiency, isolation, autonomy
SERIES NOTE xv

and so on. Today, ‘village’ has acquired a new face. Non-farm sources of
income are quite conspicuous. Migration, mobility, regular cash income,
education, means of transport and communication have become a
normal feature in the village as one can see in towns and cities.
‘Introduction’ by the editor provides a semblance of the papers in a suc-
cinct manner.
It can hardly be overemphasised and can be said for sure that this
volume as well as all the other volumes of the series Readings in Indian
Sociology, as they pertain to the most important aspects of society and
sociology in India, will be of immense importance and relevance to stu-
dents, teachers and researchers both of sociology and other social sci-
ences. It is also hoped that these volumes will be received well by the
overseas scholars interested in the study of Indian society. Besides this,
policy-makers, administrators, activists, NGOs and so on may also find
these volumes of immense value. Having gone through these volumes,
the students and researchers of sociology would probably be able to feel
and say that now ‘We will be able to look much farther away as we are
standing on the shoulders of the giants’ (in the spirit of paraphrasing the
famous quote by Isaac Newton).
I would like to place on record my thanks to Shambhu Sahu, Sutapa
Ghosh and R. Chandra Sekhar of SAGE Publications for all their efforts,
support and patience to complete this huge project well in time against
all the time constraints. I also express my gratefulness to the Managing
Committee Members of the ISS and also the members of the subcom-
mittee constituted for this purpose. I am also thankful to all the editors
and all the scholars who have written the forewords. I would also like to
thank Uday Singh, my assistant at the India International Institute of
Social Sciences, Jaipur for all his secretarial assistance and hard work put
in by him towards the completion of these volumes.

Ishwar Modi
Series Editor
Readings in Indian Sociology
Foreword

P
rof. K.L. Sharma has earned an international reputation for his
studies in the field of rural sociology. As his introduction to the
volume makes explicit, his approach tends to be comparative, his-
torical and multi-dimensional. Through his analysis and his choice of
papers selected for this volume, this methodological orientation is fully
articulated. The twenty papers chosen for this volume bring out the
varieties of perspectives from which village studies have been under-
taken in India. These demonstrate the new structural and cultural
changes that the Indian villages are now going through. He rightly states
that villages in India never existed as social isolates, a point missed in
most studies by western sociologists and social anthropologists.
I commend Prof. Sharma for his commendable composition of the
papers in this volume and I am sure these would be widely read and
inspire debates on the rural sociology in India both by scholars and per-
sons engaged in the development task for rural social and economic
transformation.

Yogendra Singh
Professor (Emeritus)
Centre for the Study of Social Systems
J.N.U., New Delhi.
Preface and
Acknowledgements

T
he Indian village is no more static and undifferentiated. Contacts
and interaction of the village people with towns and cities have
resulted into absorption of urban way of life in the village and
that of the rural culture in the towns and cities. No doubt, contacts and
interaction between the two settings–rural and urban, are not uniform
as they are differentiated, and so are the people in both villages and
towns. The village has an urban face, and the town has accommodated
rurality. Rural-urban divide has been diminishing with the passage of
time due to inroads of the means, such as education, employment, com-
munication and transport, and also due to aspirations of the rural people
for upward mobility.
Both structural and cultural factors have contributed to this process
of change and transformation. However, inter-regional, intra-regional
and inter-village and intra-village differences in terms of the impact of
the village on the town and of the town on the village persist causing
social inequality and status-differentiation. The village people, who have
already been benefited by structural changes, are voicing their concern
for protection of human rights, dignity and honour. Developmental
interventions change the material condition of the people, and then one
can see social awakening and realization for social justice and egalitarian
social order.
We have included 20 papers in the volume and have put them in
five sections: (1) Rural Society and Rural-Urban Relations, (2) Social
Stratification in Rural India, (3) Village Profiles, (4) Religion and
Rituals, and (5) Social Change in Rural India. Papers by eminent schol-
ars, such as A.R. Desai, M.N. Srinivas, K.M. Kapadia, M.S.A. Rao,
xx Sociological Probings in Rural Society

N.R. Sheth, Victor S. D’Souza, Surajit Sinha, Brij Raj Chauhan, Ursula
Sharma, Pradip Kumar Bose and some others have been included in the
volume. I am sure such a collection of papers would prove to be a useful
guide and a baseline for rural studies in future.
I am immensely indebted to Prof. I.P. Modi, President of Indian
Sociological Society, for providing me opportunity to edit this volume.
His constant reminders, e-mails and affectionate warning bells made me
to work on the volume, despite other pressing commitments and
engagements. I am honoured to have the Foreword of the volume by
Professor Yogendra Singh, who has given a new direction to Indian
sociology through his seminal writings and ideas. Mr. Sandeep Bakshi,
Chancellor of Jaipur National University, wholeheartedly welcomes aca-
demic endeavours. Whenever, I am involved in such an activity, he
gladly spares me from routine responsibilities. I express my sincerest
thanks to him. Lastly, I thank Mr. Pramod Shanker Mathur for all the
secretarial assistance, which he has offered, unhesitatingly.

K.L. Sharma
Vice-Chancellor
Jaipur National University
Jaipur.
Introduction:
Reconceptualising
The Indian Village
K.L. Sharma

I
ndian village has witnessed ups and downs from times immemorial.
Rains, floods, droughts, epidemics, exploitation, powerlessness,
ignorance, and many such problems have made village life unbear-
able and unsustainable. However, intra-regional and inter-regional vari-
ations are quite visible in rural India in terms of proximity to towns,
irrigation facilities, availability of electricity, means of transport and
communication, and education. Differences have been found, for exam-
ple, between a dry and a wet village (Epstein, 1962), and suburban and
remote villages (Sharma, 1974).
Today, as a result of the expansion of towns and cities, the villages
which were in the periphery are now merged with the neighbouring
urban centers. Today, such villages have acquired an urban face as the
people who live there are no more dependent on traditional pattern of
agriculture, handicrafts and jajmani system. Salaried jobs, both in
public and private sectors, have been the main source of livelihood.
Non-farm economy is today to the extent of 30% in India’s villages. But
on the other side, nearly 60% of the rural people have dependence on
agriculture, and there is a noticeable fragmentation of landholdings.
Rural-urban divide has considerably changed. Country-town nexus
has acquired a new form as there is a lot of ‘urban’ element in rural life,
and a lot of urban people live like poor rural folks in the heart of metrop-
olises. Hence, reconceptualisation of Indian village is required to have a
relook at the country-town nexus.
xxii K.L. Sharma

Bernard S. Cohen (1968) talks about three approaches to the study of

Indian society. These are: (1) the orientalist, (2) the administrative, and
(3) the missionary. These approaches refer to the Indian society as
depicted in Sanskrit texts, official documents and records, and in the
policies and actions of the Christian missions, respectively. Such
approaches to Indian society provide a macro-view, however, the ‘realist
view’, which has been brought in, for example, in the thirteen volumes
of the subaltern studies, do not find a place in the three approaches.
Today, Indian society can’t be viewed in terms of simply having
tradition-oriented (static), administratively-determined, jajmani – based
division of labour, etc. Both ‘caste’ and ‘village’ have undergone consid-
erable transformation. No more Indian village is a ‘closed’ and ‘isolated’
system, as it was perceived by several scholars of yesteryears (Dumont,
1966; Maine, 1871; Baden-Powell, 1892; Karl Marx, 1951). Indian
society was also characterized by the Asiatic Mode of Production,
Idyllic Village culture, Oriental Despotism, Barbarian Egotism, Caste
and Slavery. Village was seen as a static society, having solidarity, self-
governance, self-sufficiency and isolation.
In principle, such features of Indian society and village community
were written off in 1947 on the eve of India’s Independence. Adult fran-
chise, community development programmes, panchayati raj institu-
tions, green revolution, development schemes, legislations, means of
transport and communication have created a new face of the Indian
village. Today, dependence on agriculture has come down to 60% from
80% at the dawn of independence. Nonfarm income has gone beyond
30%. Migration and mobility have become normal features. The two
studies by Wiser (1930; 1936), namely, Behind Mud Walls and Hindu
Jajmani System lost their aura in 1950s and 1960s.
The Indian village has been graphically characterized in the three
publications, brought out by Marriott (1955), Srinivas (1955) and
Dube (1955). The year 1955 was the year of village studies in sociology
and social anthropology. The village was presented as a political entity,
as a part of wider system, and as a place, where group, family and
individual could be identified distinctly in specific social arenas. Not
just village, but villager was also noticed. Though some scholars contin-
ued to look at village (Chauhan, 1967; 2009) as a ‘little community’,
INTRODUCTION: RECONCEPTUALISING THE INDIAN VILLAGE xxiii

following the idea taken from Robert Redfield (1956). But the view that
village had a small size, self-sufficiently, autonomy and self-governance
was soon under attack. The idea of ‘factions’ in the village (Singh, 1970;
Lewis, 1958), prevalence of “networks” (Mayer, 1960), “bridge-action”
(Bailey, 1960), and “downward social mobility” (Sharma, 1973) focused
on nexus between village and town, rejecting clearly the idea of unchang-
ing divide between village and town.
The monographic-holistic studies of the 1950s were replaced by the
multi-village comparative studies (Mukherjee, 1957; Singh, 1969;
Sharma, 1974; Bailey, 1957; Epstein, 1962), and the variable-based
studies (Joshi, 1976; Lindberg and Djurfeldt, 1976). These studies have
gone beyond the application of the ‘participant observation’, mainly
practised by Srinivas (1952) and his student (Beteille, 1966). Multi-
village studies recognize specific differences in given villages, based on
history, land-tenure system, caste hierarchy, proximity to towns and so
on. Comparison facilitates understanding of the pace of social change in
different villages. The issues, such as land reforms, poverty, health,
development, empowerment, social justice do not find enough space in
the village studies of the 1950s and early 1960s. The studies of village
community in India were loaded with the idea of ‘cultural mobility’,
which Srinivas advanced through the concepts of ‘sanskritization’, ‘dom-
inant caste’ and ‘westernization’, and all the three revolved around the
caste system (Srinivas, 1952; 1955; 1966; Marriott, 1955). Marriott was
also confined to intra-tradition interaction between ‘little traditions’
and ‘great tradition’. Srinivas always thought of a change in the caste
system and not of the system. So was the view upheld by Louis Dumont
in Homo Hierarchicus (1970). The very idea of caste as a hierarchy
implies that caste is a system based on values and norms, such as of
being pure and impure. As such the pure encompasses the impure, in
terms of superior and inferior objects, things, and persons. The Indian
village has been seen as the real laboratory of the practice of caste system
as perceived by Srinivas and Dumont.

II

In our view, cognitive and ontological bases of village life have consider-
ably changed. New issues and dilemmas have surfaced. Multi-village,
comparative and variable-based, historical, double-synchronic and
xxiv K.L. Sharma

diachronic studies have opened up new vistas for our understanding of

everchanging rural society. Studies by M.N. Srinivas (1952), S.C. Dube
(1955), D.N. Majumdar (1958), Oscar Lewis (1958) are single village
studies. The studies which focus on a comparative and variable-based
approach are by Ramakrishna Mukherjee (1957), F.G. Bailey (1957),
Scarlett Epstein (1962) and K.L. Sharma (1974). An apt example of a
double synchrony is a study by Pauline Kolenda (1978, 1989) who stud-
ied the same village twice with a gap of nearly three decades. The
change-agents in some of these studies are, for example, land reforms,
green revolution, panchayati raj, urbanization, migration, education
and white-collar employment. Our study (Sharma, 1974) shows disap-
pearance of jajmani system and pollution-purity syndrome, and renewed
nexus with towns and cities. We may ask: Was village ever a community?
Is village a community now? Is not there an ‘individual’ in the village?
Was there group (caste) alone in the village?
In our study of six villages in Rajasthan (1974), a distinction
between individual, family and group was clearly visible and it was also
observed by the people themselves. It is not just a heuristic distinction;
it is rooted into ontologically differentiated social reality. Within a given
group (caste), there are a number of families, and then there are individ-
ual members in the families. The three are no doubt interrelated, but
they are not reducible to each other. Such a reality does not lend support
to the ‘sanskritization’ thesis and to the idea of ‘dominant caste’. There
is an ‘individual’ in the village, and so is the ‘family’, and the two are not
just the shadows of caste alone. The two exist independent of caste as
well. In this way, social change occurs in the village not simply in the
cultural realm, that is, imitation of the social and cultural life of the
upper castes by the lower castes. Economic and political changes are
more around individual and family than having group as the epicenter.
Sources of change are generally extra-systemic, and the channels of
change are education, migration, mobility, modern occupations and
entrepreneurship. In political realm, adult franchise, participation in
elections, seeking positions of power and authority, etc., have brought
about social change.
Different patterns of change have been noticed in village India. A
comparative study of two villages in Karnataka (Epstein, 1962) shows
that the dry village had far less economic change, but had a lot more
social change due to exposure to the outside world. On the contrary, the
INTRODUCTION: RECONCEPTUALISING THE INDIAN VILLAGE xxv

wet village had substantial economic change, but much less social
change due to insulation of the people within the village. A synchronic
study of a village in Western Uttar Pradesh (Kolenda, op.cit) shows that
over a period of time, discourse on development changes from poverty,
unemployment, illiteracy, etc., to the issues of dignity and honour.
Country-town nexus (Sharma and Gupta, 1991), village networks
(Shah, 1991), emergence of a new middle class in rural Gujarat
(Ghanshyam Shah, 1991), differentiated structures (Beteille, 1966), and
downward social mobility (Sharma, 1973) indicate paradigm shifts in
rural society. The conceptual framework, comprising of the ideas of san-
skritization, dominant caste, parochialization and universalization, is
not comprehensive enough to explain such changes in the village.
In the wake of green revolution, debate on capitalist mode of pro-
duction in agriculture occupied center-stage in social sciences. Due to
weakening of the caste system and its subsidiary institution of jajmani,
‘empowerment’ became the focal theme, particularly in relation to the
functionary castes and weaker sections. Adult franchise and participa-
tion in elections have shown the way for casteism and caste-based polit-
ical alliances. Studies of caste have come up considering caste not as a
system but more of a phenomenon, a means of identity, and alliance for
political gains. Migration and mobility have acquired a new form and
pace. As a result of this, studies of the changing face of the village focus-
ing on decreased dependence on agriculture, growth in non-farm activ-
ities and income, and new employment avenues and opportunities are a
recent development. Besides, these new grounds of the village studies,
the studies of panchayati raj institutions, uneven development and
inequality, environmental issues, irrigation, electricity, prices of agricul-
tural produces, government schemes, etc., have been reported from dif-
ferent parts of India (Sharma, 2013).

III
The fact is that the Indian village has never been in isolation. Even as an
entity, it has not been ‘isolable’, heuristically. The writings on the Indian
village in the 1950s created a myth around it that it was like a ‘little
community’ as depicted by Robert Redfield (1956). Country-town
nexus has always existed. Today, the Indian village is very different
from  the village of the 1950s and 1960s. Means of transport and
xxvi K.L. Sharma

communication, migration, urban employment, development pro-

grammes, schools and colleges, non-farm activities, government offices
and agencies have changed the face of nearly 80% of the villages in
India. A village, which we studied in mid-sixties in Sikar district, has
almost become a part of the town, mainly due to fast expansion of the
town itself. Another interior village in the district is no more cut off
today from the outside world due to road connectivity with the district
and tehsil headquarters. Today, the village has Primary Health Centre,
Senior Secondary School, Offices of the Gram Panchayat, Village Level
Worker, Cooperative Society, etc. Functionaries, such as female nurse,
wireman, vaccinator and postman, are stationed in the village.
Today, village is a part of wider administrative, political, social, and
economic organizations. Panchayati raj institutions, political parties,
access to urban market and expansion of the marriage circle have made
the village an integral entity of the wider world. Rural-urban polarity or
differences have shrunk to a great extent due to coming of the ‘urban
pattern of living’ in the village, and as a result of the incorporation of the
village and villagers in the urban world. Villagers hardly think of ‘sanskri-
tization’ or of the upper castes as ‘reference groups’. Non-farm income,
presence of the middle (agrarian) castes and visibility of some lower caste
influentials do imply a rethinking of the idea of Indian village.
One can see the presence of two distinct, though not unrelated, dis-
courses, namely, on development and dignity (izzat) in village India.
What is development? Where is development? Whose development?
Who are beneficiaries of the initiatives taken by the government? Who
corner the non-farm income? The lower castes no longer tolerate the
oppressive activities of the landowning people. Their women can’t be as
an ‘object’ of the gaze of the bullies of the upper castes. They retaliate
against any injustice done to them. These questions on ‘development’
and statements on ‘honour’, respectively, reflect the changing socio-cul-
tural and political contours of village life. Resistance to such expressions
by the upper castes is hardly there as it used to be in the 1950s and 1960s.

IV

Now the question is : What is rural? Certainly, today Indian village is

quite different from the village of the 1950s, 1960s, and even 1970s.
Since caste is no more an everyday life phenomenon, nexus between
INTRODUCTION: RECONCEPTUALISING THE INDIAN VILLAGE xxvii

caste and economic life, and caste, class and power has become a matter
of past history. Social justice, empowerment, and employment are the
main concerns, leaving behind the questions of land reforms, green rev-
olution, mode of production, etc. Construction of roads, opening of
senior schools and colleges, education of girls, fair prices of agricultural
produces, healthcare facilities, and viable employment have attracted
the attention of the rural people. People are demanding for more of
these amenities and opportunities by saying that there is ‘urban bias’
(Lipton, 1993). Rural people remain behind their urban counterparts
due to urban bias of the development policy.
Interventions in rural life caused by green revolution, capitalist
mode of production, empowerment of the weaker sections and women,
and strategy to improve economic and social life of the rural poor have
considerably changed the rural society. Dipankar Gupta (2005, 751–
758) talks of change of both culture and agriculture, fearing withering
away of the Indian village. Tradition is under severe stress in rural India.
One can see a range of owner-cultivators, and as such agriculture is no
more a monopoly of the traditional principal castes, such as Yadavs, Jats,
Kurmis, Patels, Marathas, Jat Sikhs, Reddys, Kamas, etc. Even classifica-
tion of peasantry in terms of rich farmers/kulaks/capitalist landlords has
become outdated. In some parts, one can see agri-business cultivators,
particularly where green revolution has been there for quite some time.
Suicide by farmers in some parts of India is attributed to their ambition
to become rich overnight. The burden of farm loans and inability to
repay debt to the banks have created such a horrifying situation. M.S.
Tikait pleaded for easy access to facilities of irrigation and electricity for
the farmers of Western Uttar Pradesh (Dipankar Gupta, 1991). Land
reforms were quite effective, but subsequent to land reforms and green
revolution, reforms have largely been ineffective.
Politics is different from economics in more than one way. For
example, the Bahujan Samaj Party (BSP) argues that the dalits outnum-
ber the Jats, Gurjars or Rajputs, hence welfare measures must be for
them, and not for the well-entrenched peasantry. According to Pauline
Kolenda (op.cit.), the category of the rural poor and agricultural labour
also needs to be changed as they today talk of their dignity and honour
and particularly of their womenfolk.
New rural activism, led by owner-cultivators having income from
agriculture, and earnings from nonfarm activities, has changed the rural
xxviii K.L. Sharma

socio-economic and political map of the Indian village. Gupta (2005)

states that the issues are: larger state subsidies, higher prices, and more
favourable terms of trade with urban world. Caste and agriculture no
longer exercise their vigorous hold. Fluidity in occupational choices,
migration to towns and cities, and vote-bank politics overshadow the
issues related to agriculture, jajmani system, inter and intra caste rela-
tions. Country-town nexus, rural non-farm income and control over
rural institutions, such as cooperatives, panchayats, are the main
considerations.
An example of a farmer settled in Delhi would explain the
country-twon nexus. Ram Singh (name changed), a farmer owns 21
bighas of wet land in Baghpat of Meerut region in Uttar Pradesh. He has
given away his land on annual contract for rupees one lac. He owns an
autorickshaw in Delhi. His view is that in Delhi he earns and spends
everyday, whereas in the village, he has money at the time of harvesting.
Life in Delhi is better for him as he is also educating his two sons in an
English-medium school. Such a story applies to all parts of India. Now
the question is: Who is a farmer? One moves out of the village but
retains his roots in the village? The one who has taken up Naukary,
Mazdoori, Weaving, etc., in the city? A person who has developed social
connections at the work place, and also visits his village from time to
time? There are people in the village who know a lot about administra-
tive mechanisms, courts, hospitals, etc. They are also aware about terror-
ism, communal riots, and tensions between different castes. Some
people own substantial land and assets. They hire people to work at their
farms or for some other tasks. There are moneylenders, substantial
self-cultivators, and poor people who work for others. This does not
imply that the village is getting emptied as more and more people are
migrating to towns and cities. The fact is that this indicates an ongoing
process, showing new dynamics and dialectics. Non-farm income is
restraining this process to some extent, but the point is: Who are the
people cornering this income? Are they well off farmers, salaried people,
politically influential individuals and families?
Yogendra Singh (2009, 178–195) analyses social change based on
the changing nature of social praxis in a village in eastern Uttar Pradesh.
The notion of an ideal typical village has become outdated and redun-
dant today. Singh observes two levels of social praxis: (1) the state
policies of development, and (2) a new resurgence in entrepreneurial
INTRODUCTION: RECONCEPTUALISING THE INDIAN VILLAGE xxix

ventures. These changes, Singh observes, have significantly altered the

traditional bonds of community. He writes: “The inter-caste relation-
ships have ceased to be village-centric. Increasingly, as the policies of
positive discrimination in favour of the dalits, the backward classes, and
other weaker sections have gained momentum, the inter-caste relation-
ships have been politicized”. Such a process has affected/weakened the
nature of community and caste in the village.
We have earlier explained how structural and cultural changes
occurred in the six villages of Rajasthan (Sharma, 1974) in the first two
decades after India’s independence. Class cleavages became much
sharper as the people of the lower rung voiced against the old social and
cultural order. Such a situation demands reconceptuation of the notion
of the Indian village and its allied institutions, such as community, caste
and class (Singh, 2009). Caste in everyday life is no more a source of
anxiety or happiness. The way it is used/misused or not used has made
caste a very different phenomenon.

Now, a brief note on the papers included in the volume may be pre-
sented here. We have included twentyfour papers in this volume, divid-
ing them in five sections as follows:

1. Rural Society and Rural-urban Relations

2. Social Stratification in Rural India
3. Village Profiles
4. Religion and Rituals
5. Social Change in Rural India

Rural Sociology as a distinct branch of sociology in India has

emerged in the 1950s, though village studies were conducted even
before India’s independence, which were inspired by the views of
Metcalfe, Maine, Baden-Powell, Robert Redifield, etc. A.R. Desai’s
edited volume – Rural Sociology in India (Desai, 1969), is not only a
substantial contribution to this field, it puts together several empirical
and analytical studies, beneficial for both students and researchers.
Further, the studies by M.N. Srinivas, S.C. Dube, McKim Marriott (all
in 1955), D.N. Majumdar (1958), F.G. Bailey (1957), S. Epstein
xxx K.L. Sharma

(1962), Ramakrishna Mukherjee (1957), B.R. Chauhan (1957), Andre

Beteille (1966), K.L. Sharma (1974) and many others set the ball rolling
for single village as well as multi-village (comparative) studies. The focus
in these studies was mainly on descriptive analysis of rural social
structure, including caste, jajmani, family relations, religion and rituals,
agriculture and panchayati raj. However, it was also felt that due to mac-
ro-structural changes, village could not remain isolated, and as such the
role of adult franchise, community development programmes, and later
on the impact of ‘green revolution’ also attracted attention of some
researchers.

VI

A.R. Desai (1956, 09–28), in the opening paper, brings out trajectory of
rural sociology in general and in India in particular. He states that there is
a vital need to study the life process of rural society analytically and syn-
thetically (or substantively), to suggest an appropriate approach of such a
study, and to indicate the significance of research to analyse the process of
structural and functional transformation of the rural society in India.
The remaining papers in the first section by M.N. Srinivas (1956,
79–88), N.R. Sheth (1969, 16–34), M.S.A Rao (1959, 13–18), and
K.M. Kapadia (1956, 111–126) focus on rural-urban relations. Srinivas
describes how industrialization and urbanization in south India have
affected rural areas. Brahmins are the ones who have welcomed the new
changes in terms of education, migration and modern employment.
N.R. Sheth argues that rural-urban differences in India coexist in all
communities in different degrees. One could see ‘rural elements’ in
urban areas, and vice-versa. Urban-rural disparity is the main consider-
ation in regard to the impact of modernization. There are barriers, both
material and human, which restrict parity between the urban and the
rural people. While considering the limitations of the conceptual
scheme of folk-urban continuum as formulated by Robert Redfield,
M.S.A. Rao, based on his study of a village near Delhi, puts forward the
idea of the ‘fringe society’ as a tool to study the process of urbanization.
Rao proposes that with the help of the idea of ‘fringe society’, one can
understand the dynamic forces of interaction and rural-urban differ-
ences as a two-way directional movement between village and city (see
also Rao, 1970).
INTRODUCTION: RECONCEPTUALISING THE INDIAN VILLAGE xxxi

Like Rao, K.M. Kapadia, based on his study of five villages, near
Navsari town in Gujarat, analyses the pattern of family life. The impact
of the town on the family pattern is dependent on the social composi-
tion of the villages in the vicinity. The component of the joint family is
higher in the town and even its size is larger than in the rural area. The
five impact villages stand midway between the village and the town.

VII

The section two includes five papers on social stratification in rural

India. The papers are by Victor S. D’Souza (1969, 35–49), Surajit Sinha
and Ranjit Bhattacharya (1969, 50–66), Gaurang Ranjan Sahay (1998,
207–220), K.L. Sharma (1973, 59–77) and K.C. Panchanadikar and J.
Panchanadikar (1976, 225–240). All the papers have focused on the fact
that social stratification is not just synonym of caste in rural India.
Victor S. D’Souza discusses the rigidity – fluidity dimension of social
stratification through the indices of occupational or educational mobility
based on data from six villages, now in Himachal Pradesh (earlier in
Punjab). Occupational prestige is among the most important variables
determining the prestige of an individual. Hereditary groups show a con-
siderable degree of heterogeneity in the distribution of occupational pres-
tige. The other two variables are heterogeneity of individual prestige and
the index of consensus about individual prestige. D’Souza meticulously
demonstrates with appropriate application of statistical measures the rela-
tionship between the indices of social stratification and the various indices
of social complexity. In D’Souza’s analysis, ‘individual’ and his ‘achieved
status’ are important criteria of status-evaluation and rank-order.
Surajit Sinha and Ranjit Bhattacharya discuss social stratification in
Bengal in terms of Bhadralok-Chhotolok divisions. Though Bhadralok
and Chhotolok in rural Bengal are higher and lower status groups, how-
ever, they are not synonym of castes or varnas. The elements of class and
power are considered more significant in the Bhadralok-Chhotolok
system of social stratification than caste and some other considerations.
“The Bhadralok-Chhotolok division includes blocks of castes rather
than individuals and families.” This system does not ensure absolute
supremacy of the Brahman, and he is lumped together with the Kayastha,
and the Vaidya. Castes are recognized as component units, and it
‘roughly approximates’ the varna order. It is essentially a flexible, simple
xxxii K.L. Sharma

and workable hierarchy which facilitates day-to-day interaction among

the people of the village. The system indicates ‘style of life’ and ‘status
stratification’, and as such class and power become the main features of
the Bhadralok-Chhotolok system.
Based on his study of six villages in Rajasthan, K.L. Sharma observes
that often upward social mobility is noticed and on the contrary downward
social mobility caused by structural factors remains undermined.
Downward social mobility does occur and is a complex process involving
social and economic, cultural and motivational factors. There are structural
declines, both primary and secondary, positional decline, and domain-
specific decline. The former landowning castes and families could not
retain their landholdings due to the abolition of jagirdari system, it became
quite difficult for them to sustain with meager means. On the contrary, the
beneficiaries of the land reforms suddenly witnessed improvement in their
economic standing. Such a simultaneous process of structural change
transformed the system of social stratification in rural Rajasthan.
Gaurang Ranjan Sahay works out a matrix of socio-cultural and eco-
nomic relations based on his study of four villages in Bihar. Sahay states
that caste-based occupations no longer exist in the villages. A large number
of families of different castes do not perform their caste occupations. No
ex-communication is prevalent on account of following a non-traditional
occupation. Both the caste system and the jajmani system have changed
notably as the interlinking of caste with occupation has ceased to exist.
Institutional change affects social stratification as shown by K.C.
Panchanadikar and J. Panchanadikar in their study of a village in
Gujarat. Community Development Programmes and the Cooperative
Bank facilitated formation of cooperatives, loans, subsidies and innova-
tive entrepreneurial activities. Intra-caste socio-economic differentiation
is an obvious consequence of unequal access to the new opportunities
created through the two institutions. Education and migration have also
received a greater momentum due to institutional changes in the village.
The study reveals that the Leuwa Patels (an agricultural caste) and the
village elites compete for the scarce positions in the newly introduced
institutions, and this has created rivalry and factions among the Leuwas.
The members of another caste, namely, Baraiya, who are somewhat
numerically preponderant in the Milk producers’ cooperative tilt the
balance between the Leuwas’ factions. Women are also active members
in the new situation. Such a faction ridden situation has, however, not
affected adversely the process of development in the village.
INTRODUCTION: RECONCEPTUALISING THE INDIAN VILLAGE xxxiii

VIII

Village profiles are included in the third section. Four papers in this
section deal with an Intervillage Organization of a Caste, Modernization
and Changing Fertility Behaviour (both in Rajasthan), and Ideology,
Power and Resistance in a South Indian village, and Voices from the
Earth: Work and Food Production in a Punjabi village. Let us briefly
highlight the main features of the four profiles provided by Brij Raj
Chauhan (1964, 24–35), Tulsi Patel (1990, 53–73), N. Sudhakar Rao
(1996, 205–232) and Radhika Chopra (1994, 72–92).
Inter-village ties between members of a caste are expressed through
the word-CHOKHALA, as observed by Brij Raj Chauhan, in a
Rajasthan village. Chauhan writes: “A CHOKHALA may be defined as
the unit of a caste (sub-caste) spread over a number of contiguous vil-
lages binding the members of the caste (sub-caste) to certain codes and
regulations considered to be falling within the traditional jurisdiction of
the caste (sub-caste) network in that area and subjecting the members to
some effective controls through collective action”. Chauhan outlines
functions of the Chokhala and demonstrates the same by citing four
cases. Chauhan considers ‘Chokhala’ as an alternative of the caste-courts
for social control.
An attempt is made by Tulsi Patel to understand fertility behaviour
of the people in a Rajasthan village. The study concerns 713 ‘ever mar-
ried women’ in the village and their husbands. 64 persons (45 women
and 19 men) had got sterilized. The Family Planning Programme (FPP)
has not been quite successful. The reason given by Patel is that the poli-
cy-makers have not been sensitive to the people’s perceptions and social
pressures that work on them. However, sterilization has been consider-
ably effective mechanism in the FPP. Both mothers-in-law and husbands
disapprove of sterilization. It is considered as a sinful and deviant act.
Mothers-in-law view the daughter-in-law’s expression of a desire to get
sterilized as an act of defiance. It is felt by them that the daughters-in-
law can use the excuse of complications after sterilization to escape the
drudgery of domestic work, and also because of fears of child mortality.
Husbands fear underming of their authority, deference to elders and of
woman’s position in society.
In an interesting paper on ideology, power and resistance in a south
Indian village, N. Sudhakar Rao observes that generally movements, pro-
tests and successes by the Dalits have been reported in various studies and
xxxiv K.L. Sharma

analyses. Rao writes: “Actually, everyday protests of the Dalits and lower
castes in the villages occur more frequently and address the above men-
tioned vital issues besides highlighting the power relations between the
Dalits and the dominating groups, but these have barely drawn any
attention”. The main point in this paper centers around the forms of
resistance and implied strategies of power in an Andhra village. While
pouring in a lot of qualitative data, Rao mentions that not consensus but
dissent exists among the Dalits. “The ideology contradicts hierarchy. The
Dalits are conscious of their deprivation, exploitation and powerlessness”.
Dalits gladly accept egalitarianism even if it emanates from caste-ideol-
ogy. However, the Dalits have not evolved an egalitarian system of their
own. Styles of domination and also the forms of resistance vary depend-
ing upon the context, situation and the issue involved therein.
Radhika Chopra believes that culture and production are inter-
twined. She states that “processes are part of the way people think about
themselves and represent the work they do in terms of cultural catego-
ries and normative codes”. Chopra’s observation is based on her study
of a village in Punjab. The main point of the paper is to elucidate the
rituals of agriculture and the beliefs embedded in them. The author
tries to know appropriate work for different people. Women are engaged
in some agricultural activities, and not in all sorts of farm operations.
Chopra writes: “Work is a way of establishing relationships, whether
with nature or with people, and labour the medium through which
their relations are expressed. Just as there are prescribed ways of
approaching people, there are ‘proper’ ways of approaching nature;
indeed, it is an act of respect to do things the correct way”. Culture is
preeminently present in village economy. All acts of agricultural pro-
duction are embedded with meanings. Culture is a guide for economic
activities in the village.

IX
We have three papers in Section IV, which is, on Religion and Rituals.
The papers are by Ursula Sharma (1974, 71–92), K.N. Venkatarayappa
(1962, 208–220), and Gurumurthy K. Gowdra (1971, 24–38). Two
papers are based on observations made in rural south India about cus-
toms and ritual circles, and one paper is on public shrines based on
ethnographic data in a village in Kangara district in Himachal Pradesh.
INTRODUCTION: RECONCEPTUALISING THE INDIAN VILLAGE xxxv

Ursula Sharma has presented relevant information about the shrines

of Ghanyari, in District Kangra of Himachal Pradesh. The village
shrines, Shrama states, are not elaborate structures. She provides a
graphic view of seven shrines, alongwith their deities, types, and castes
of families associated with the shrines. The public shrines are distin-
guished from domestic shrines. She asks: “How public shrines are
‘public’ in reality?” Association of a family with a diety may also hinder
in projecting a shrine as a public institution. Shrines are not cared prop-
erly, nor common rituals are performed frequently there. Sharma writes:
“The nature and strength of the association between the shrine and the
proprietary group, the types of rights and responsibilities it holds may
vary so greatly as to defy further generalization”. In some cases, the
members of ‘unclean castes’ are not allowed to have access to shrines.
Sharma compares the shrines of the Kangara village with that of other
parts of India, and holds the distinction between the ‘public’ and the
‘private’ shrines. It is, however, quiet vague to find a ‘public’ shrine in
the village as one could see in the case of the great temples of Hinduism.
K.N. Venkatarayappa describes some customs in Mallur village in
Mysore region of Karnataka. There are a number of temples and some
shrines in the village. People in the village believe that all ills can be
cured by proper worship of the gods and goddesses. Several ceremonies
are performed to avoid the adversities and calamities in the village. The
author describes in detail the main rituals and religious practices in the
village. All the castes have faith in the village traditions, and observance
of customs is a way of their life. They relate happenings in the village
with some superior power. The village is a ‘community’ in a true sense
of this concept. However, the villagers are not averse to new technology,
healthcare facilities, use of roads, electricity, newspapers and magazines,
etc. A semblance of tradition and modernity signifies this village.
The paper by Gurumurthy K. Gowdra is also on rituals in a Mysore
village. The village has two divisions, namely, Uru and Adive, and it has
eight ritual circles, five in Uru and three in Adive. All the rituals are
performed for protection and welfare of the village people and for good
agricultural production. The word ‘circle’ distinguishes between one set
of activities and the place where the activities are performed from the
other sets of activities and the places. The author refers ‘circle’ as a ‘ritual
boundary’. The village festivals create a sense of social solidarity among
the people. Ritual circles reveal the differences among the people and
also between different areas in the village.
xxxvi K.L. Sharma

The fifth and the last section is on social change in rural India, incorpo-
rating three papers. These are by H.S. Verma (1979, 83–119), K.L.
Sharma (1976, 45–62) and Pradip Kumar Bose (1989, 183–198). The
three papers discuss the dynamics of social change in rural India based
on various studies, development programmes, changes in rural power
structure and agrarian relations.
An analysis of social change in the first four decades since indepen-
dence by H.S. Verma deals with motivations, conceptualizations, mechan-
ics, methodologies, prescriptions and contributions of social scientists to
judge the reliability, objectivity and relevance of the studies on social
change for the academics and the policy planners. Verma observes that a
large number of studies have shown a clear preference for western values,
and have tried to ‘fit’ in their data with the alien frameworks. Verma
writes:……….. “measurement of change has turned out to be a highly
coloured exercise in which approaches and methodologies were contrived
to give different qualitative and quantitative profiles of the same phenom-
enon”. The author blames the social scientists for faulty understanding
and analysis of social change in rural India. Methodologically, there are,
what Verma says, ‘scientific pretensions’ and ‘practised imperfections’.
Barring a few studies, Verma says that the geographical coverage and
numerical data-base of most other studies are indeed very meager. There
are sweeping generalizations about the society, cultural traditions, reli-
gions, communities, castes, etc. Thus, Verma refers to two tendencies: (1)
an indigenous, Indian tradition of interpreting empirical situations, and
(2) imported theoretical frameworks. Sociology of research and researcher
is the main concern expressed comprehensively by H.S. Verma.
K.L. Sharma discusses power elite in rural India, drawing insights
from his study of six villages in Rajasthan (1974). The main questions
taken up by Sharma refer to legitimacy of dominance, basic sources
which facilitate dominance in village community, distinction between
group and individual dominance, and direction and factors of domi-
nance mobility. The author explains that individuals, families and castes
are found dominant in different contexts and situations. “The rural
power elite do not comprise a homogeneous social segment because they
do not have the characteristics of a group such as unity, commonality of
interests, equality of status and economic position”. Sharma states that
due to the post-independence developments, the group dominance and
INTRODUCTION: RECONCEPTUALISING THE INDIAN VILLAGE xxxvii

solidarity are at stake, and corporate mobility particularly in political

and economic domains as a group endeavour does not sound as a viable
proposition. The author presents a critical examination of the idea of
‘dominant caste’ and ‘cultural mobility’. He puts forward the idea of
‘dominance mobility’ to explain the structural change as a consequence
of land reforms, adult franchise, panchayati raj institutions and other
developments.
The last paper of this section and also of the volume is by Pradip
Kumar Bose on agrarian structure and change. Like the papers by the
other authors in this section, Bose also looks at the studies of agrarian
structure and change from a theoretical perspective. He has delineated
three approaches, which use (1) Indian ‘tradition’, (2) ‘native’ categories,
and (3) Marxian, Weberian or Durkheimian ideas. While analyzing var-
ious studies, analyses and approaches, Bose focuses on certain crucial
aspects of structure, change, rural-urban interface and the theoretical
problems arising out of the various ways in which the process has been
comprehended. The author finds conceptual and theoretical confusions
on the one hand, and on the other there are partial, incomplete and
often essentialist concepts. The concept of ‘tradition’, for example, is
treated as an absolute one, without seeing its ideological contents. In the
study of agrarian classes, the element of ideology is concealed. So is the
use of the concept of ‘power’. It is ‘base’ or ‘superstructure’? How is it
related to ‘class’? Convergence of contradictory forces in rural India has
become a reality. This needs to be seen as a guide for reconceptualisation
of the prevalent approaches to the study of rural society in India.

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 SECTION I
RURAL SOCIETY AND
RURAL-URBAN RELATIONS
1
Rural Sociology: Its Need in
India
A.R. Desai

Rural Society: Need for Its Systematic Study

A systematic study of rural social organization, its structure, function

and evolution, has become urgent today in India for a number of
reasons.

(1) Indian society is overwhelmingly rural. A study of Indian Society is possible

only if its predominant rural sector is comprehended in all its rich
complexity.
(2) Under the British impact, the agrarian structure-its economy, its polity, its
familistic and caste basis-its ideology and its aesthetics has experienced a
profound transformation.
(3) Indian rural life provides a spectacle of acute misery, social disintegration,
cultural backwardness and above all an all-enveloping crisis.
(4) The extensive participation of rural masses in the long drawn out national
liberation struggle; the devastating communal frenzy which swept over the
rural world resulting in an uprooting of a great section of the village popu-
lation in a number of provinces; the deep ferment which is at present seeth-
ing in the agrarian area and which frequently bursts out in varied forms of
struggles between different classes and sections of the rural people; the
numerous prejudices that are corroding the life of the rural people and
which manifest themselves in various caste, linguistic, provincial, relimous
and other forms of tensions, antagonisms and conflicts-all these phenom-
ena reveal that rural India is not inert. The seething cauldron of rural life is
4 A.R. Desai

neither to be treated as a passive quiet backpool of urban society nor to be

treated as a mere appendage of the dazzling metropolis. It has to be studied
in its own magnitude and significance.
(5) Attempts to revitalize the rural life are meeting enormous obstacles. The
struggle of scores and scores of individuals and institutions to reform one
sector or the other of the rural life have been frustrated against an insuper-
able blind wall. Welfare workers on the economic front find formidable
political, social and educational hurdles in their way. Social reformers stum-
ble over economic, political and cultural obstacles. All these well-intentioned
activities of rural workers either contradict each other or at best yield
fragmentary one-sided results. Sectional cures and symptomatic treatments
are usually proving worse than the disease itself, causing frustration
among workers and engendering scepticism and cynicism, if not pessimism
among them.
(6) After the achievement of Independence the State is playing a very decisive
and significant role in reconstructing rural society. A new conscious endeav-
our is being made to bring about an overall change in rural social life.

To reconstruct rural society on a higher basis, it is urgently neces-

sary to study not only the economic forces but also the social, ideo-
logical and other forces operating in that society.
Hitherto, scholars, economists, politicians, social workers and
others have given greater attention to the problem of the urban sector of
the Indian social world. We have, relatively, a considerable literature
throwing some light on the different facets of the urban life. Whatever
studies have been made of the rural life are spasmodic, one-sided, sec-
tional and mostly cursory. A synthetic, all-sided and inter-connected
account of the rural social life is not merely not available but even its
sketchy outline is absent. No systematic effort has still been launched to
study the rural society in all its aspects, to study its life processes in their
movement and further in their interconnections. It is a colossal task, full
of complexity. In fact rural sociology in India or the science of the laws
governing the specific Indian rural organism has still to be created.
Such a science is however, the basic premise for the renovation of
Indian Society as a whole.
Rural sociology or the science of the laws of development of rural
society in general has come into being only recently.
Reflections on rural society are as old as the rural society itself.
Shrewd observations on various aspects of rural life are available from
very early times. However, systematic observations on the history of the
RURAL SOCIOLOGY: ITS NEED IN INDIA 5

origin and the transformation of rural society have begun only since
about the middle of the nineteenth century. The impact of the capitalist
industrial civilisation upon the rural economy and the social structure in
various parts of the world forced the attention of scholars to the study of
the trends of rural social development. Olufsem, Maurer, Maine,
Hexthausen, Gierke, Elton, Stemann, Innes, Coulanges, Nasse,
Laveleye, Baden Powell, Ashley Pollock, Maitland, Lewinsky, Seebohm,
Gorame, Guiraud, Jubainville, Slater, Vinogradoff, Meitzon and others
have been some of the outstanding scholars who have thrown great light
on the rural society from various angles.
Subsequently eminent scholars, professors and others interested in
the phenomena of the rural life have published in various countries
enormous material dealing with its various aspects.
However, rural sociology as an organised discipline consciously
developed is of very recent origin. Its prerequisites were evolved in the
U. S. A. during what is called the “Exploiter Period” of American Society
(1890–1920), a period when American Rural Society witnessed all
round decay.
The Report of the Countrylife Commission appointed by President
Theodore Roosevelt in 1907, the doctorate theses by J. M. Williams,
W. H. Wilson, and N. L. Sims, and a group of rural church and school
studies were the three streams which provided nourishment for the
emergence of Rural Sociology.
“Rural Sociology” of Prof. J. M. Gillette published in 1916 was the
first college text-book on the subject.
Subsequently the literature on the subject grew both in the U. S. A.
and other parts of the world. The publication of “A Systematic Source
Book in Rural Sociology” in 1930 regarded as “epoch making” contrib-
uted decisively to accelerate the advance of Rural Sociology. The found-
ing of the journal “Rural Sociology” in 1935 and the establishment of
“Rural Sociological Society of America” in 1937 were further land-
marks in its growth. In the U. S. A., rural sociology, inspite of its imma-
turity, is being developed by more than 800 professors and research
workers.
It is spreading in other countries also. Various international
organisations, which emerged in the present century, like the League of
Nations, the I. L. O. the F. A. O. the U. N. O. the UNESCO and others
have and are contributing to the rapid advance of rural sociology.
6 A.R. Desai

Such in brief is the history of the emergence of Rural Sociology, the

youngest among the social sciences. And like every young science and
particularly a social science there is a lot of controversy about its scope.
Inspite of fierce controversies that are going on among the rural
sociologists about the exact scope of the science, all of them agree on the
following basic points: (i) Though the rural life and the urban life inter-
act, each segment is sufficiently distinct from the other; (ii) Rural and
urban settings exhibit characters which are peculiar and specific distin-
guishing one from the other; (iii) the prime objective of Rural Sociology
should be to make a scientific, systematic, and comprehensive study of
the rural social organisation, of its structure, function and objective
tendencies of development, and on the basis of such a study, to discover
its laws of development.
To consciously develop the science of Rural Society in India, it is
necessary to approach the rural phenomena simultaneously from many
angles. Various significant aspects of rural life have to be studied in their
inter-connections. A synthetic approach to rural society alone will lay
the foundations of this science, so necessary for the effective and all-
sided improvement of the rural world. Seeking guidance from the explo-
rations by eminent scholars in this branch in other countries, we will
briefly suggest the lines of studies which may be undertaken for this
purpose.
The village is the unit of the rural society. It is the theatre where the
quantum of rural life unfolds itself and functions. Like every social phe-
nomenon, the village is a historical category. The emergence of the vil-
lage at a certain stage in the evolution of the life of man, its further
growth and development in subsequent periods of human history, the
varied structural changes it experienced during thousands of years of its
existence, the rapid and basic transformations it has undergone during
the last hundred and fifty years since the Industrial Revolution-all these
constitute a very fascinating and challenging study.
Eminent sociologists have advanced a number of criteria to classify
village communities. (1) According to one criterion, the village aggre-
gates have been classified according to the type which evolved during
the transition from Man’s nomadic existence to settled village life viz.
(a)  the migratory agricultural villages, where the people live in fixed
abodes only for a few months; (b) the semi permanent agricultural vil-
lages where the population resides for a few years and then migrates due
RURAL SOCIOLOGY: ITS NEED IN INDIA 7

to the exhaustion of the soil; and (c) the permanent agricultural villages
where the settled human aggregates live for generations and even cen-
turies.1 (2) According to the second criterion, some times called
Ecological criterion, villages have been classified into grouped (or nucle-
ated) villages and dispersed villages. This distinction is considered vital
by these sociologists because each type of habitat furnishes a different
framework of social life. The nucleated village is marked by “proximity,
contact, community of ideas and sentiments” while in dispersed habitats
“everything bespeaks separation, everything marks the fact of dwelling
apart.”2
(3) The third criterion adopted to classify the village aggregates is
that of social differentiation, stratification, mobility and land owner-
ship. Six broad groupings of village aggregates have been made on the
basis of this criterion viz. (a) that composed of peasant joint owners;
(b) that composed of peasant joint tenants; (c) that composed of farm-
ers, who are mostly individual owners but also include some tenants and
labourers; (d) that composed of individual farmer tenants; (e) that com-
posed of employees of great private landowners; and finally (f ) that
composed of labourers and employees of the state, the church, the city
or the public land owner.3
A systematic classification of the Indian village aggregates on the
basis of the above criteria, an exhaustive survey of Indian villages
co-relating the villages classified according to these norms, and a study
of their history will provide valuable information about village com-
munities in India, about varied types of social institutions which have
come into being in rural India and about the complex cultural pat-
terns which have influenced and have been influencing the life pro-
cesses of the Indian rural people. Further it will help to disclose the
laws of the peculiar development of Indian village communities and
will assist rural workers to evolve scientific programmes of rural
reconstruction.
The study of the emergence of larger rural regions is one of the
most baffling problems confronting the student of rural society. The
factors which have combined to evolve homogeneous rural regions
demand a very careful examination. Again, it is found that the larger
rural regions change their characteristics with the change in the techno-
economic, socio-economic and socio-political forces. The epoch of
self-sufficiency evolved one category of regions. Under the impact of the
8 A.R. Desai

Industrial Revolution and capitalist production for the market a totally

new type of areas came into being. The change from market economy to
planned economy, where the agrarian sector is consciously developed as
a part of the total life of the community is creating in some countries a
new type of regional units.
And, above all, the gigantic development of productive forces,
which is evolving an international economic and cultural community, in
the modern epoch, is forcing the students of human society and spe-
cially rural society to discover the appropriate variety of rural regions
which will be in consonance with this development. Efforts are being
made to define economic, linguistic, administrative, religious and cul-
tural regions in various countries. Efforts are also being made to find out
where these regions coincide and also to study the laws which bring
about this concurrence.
The work of anthropologists, regional sociologists, scholars dealing
with geographical factors and others has thrown considerable light on
the phenomena of the development of such zones.
On the basis of the findings of these studies, a detailed map of
India indicating various natural and economic regions, indicating
the areas inhabited by populations living in various stages of eco-
nomic development, showing linguistic’ regions, including regions
based on different dialects as well as different variations of main lan-
guages and showing further, religious regions based on different reli-
gious beliefs prevailing among the people, will throw great light on
some of the most burning problems of Indian Society. It will also
assist those engaged in the difficult task of reforming rural society to
locate some of the most fundamental causes of the present crisis of
that society.
A systematic study of the rural people, its birth and death rate, its
density, its proportion to the urban people, its age and sex composition
and its general health, longevity and diseases is of primary importance.
Family, caste, race, nationality and the linguistic and the religious
composition of the people also has great significance. This gives rise to
a rich complex and diversified social life and varied patterns of culture.
More often it breeds animosities, antagonisms and conflicts. The
emergence of ghastly communal Hindu-Muslim riots are still shudder-
ingly vivid in our minds. The growing nationality and caste conflicts
which are slowly corroding the body politic of India also reveal the
same truth.
RURAL SOCIOLOGY: ITS NEED IN INDIA 9

A co-ordinated and inter-related study of the rural people from all

these angles is urgently necessary to erect a solid foundation of Rural
Sociology.
Since economic production is the basic activity of a human aggre-
gate, the mode of production (productive forces and social relations of
production) plays a determining role in the shaping of the social struc-
ture, the psychology and the ideology of that human aggregate. Rural
Society is based predominantly on agriculture. Land is the basic means
of production in the countryside. The economic life of rural Society
has to be studied from a number of angles. Rural sociologists are increas-
ingly paying attention to the following aspects of the economic life:
(a)  Motif of production. Hitherto, this aspect has been much neglected.
Whether the agricultural production has for its objective the direct sat-
isfaction of the subsistence needs of the rural aggregate or is carried on
for the market and profits of the producers who do not themselves con-
sume their products or whether it is adapted to the consciously assessed
needs of the community-all these aspects require a proper comprehen-
sion. For instance, in pre-British India village agriculture mainly pro-
duced for meeting the needs of the village population. This subsistence
village economy was considerably shaken during the British period. This
in its wake brought about a veritable revolution in the rural social organ-
isation. (b) Techniques of production. The investigation into the character
of the technique of production used by the rural aggregate for the pur-
pose of agriculture is another aspect which should be studied. Three
broad categories of technical cultures have been located, viz.
(i) Hoe Culture. (ii) Plough culture (iii) The higher technical culture,
the phase of tractors and fertilizers. The first generally excludes the use
of draft animals or any kind of power. The plough is worked with the aid
of the draft-animals. The tractor eliminates even the necessity of
draft-animals and is propelled by oil or other power. It must be noted
that the technique of production determines the productivity of labour
as well as the extent of the material wealth of the rural society. It also
determines the division of labour among the members of the society, (c)
Land relations and their role. The vital significance of land or property
relations in the economic and general social life of the rural people is
increasingly being realised by students of rural society. The property
relations determine on one hand as to who will control and direct the
processes of productions and on the other, as to who will regulate the
shares of various socio-economic groups associated with agriculture in
10 A.R. Desai

the total agricultural wealth. As a consequence, they become responsible

for the degree of enthusiasm and interest of various groups bound up
with agriculture in the process of production. They also play a decisive
role in determining the homogeneity or hetrogeneity of the rural popu-
lation. By regulating the share of the material wealth of various sections,
the land relations also specify the relative weight of those sections in the
social, political and cultural life of rural society. The nature of property
relations also decides the degree of stability and social harmony in the
agrarian area. The history of past and present rural societies reveals how
numerous mighty struggles had their genetic cause in the property rela-
tions. The question of land relations has become the crucial question in
all backward countries of the world today. All this indicates the necessity
of studying the nature of property relations, to properly grasp the pres-
ent state and future tendencies of rural society. (d) Standard of life. The
problem of the standard of life of the rural population has been keenly
studied by eminent sociologists like Sorokin, Zimmerman, Sims,
Kirkpatrick and others. The criteria and the methods laid down by them
for such a study can serve as a useful guide to the students of rural
society in India.
From any criteria of the standard of life, the Indian people suffer
from the most acute poverty.
According to some thinkers, family and familism impress their
stamp on the entire rural structure. Familism, according to these think-
ers, during the subsistence phase of village economy provides the gestalt
to the rural society. ‘‘All the other social institutions and fundamental
social relationships have been permeated by, and modeled according to,
the patterns of rural family relationships”.4 The following eight traits
found in the rural society of pre-capitalist phase are broadly considered
as signs of familism. (1) Marriage earlier and its higher rate; (2) Family,
unit of social responsibility; (3) Family, basis of norms of society;
(4) Family, providing norms of political organization; (5) Co-operative
rather than Contractual relations; (6) Family, unit of production, con-
sumption and exchange; (7) Dominance of family cult and ancestor
worship; (8) Dominance of tradition.
Until the impact of the Industrial Revolution and competitive cap-
italist market economy, familism was the heart of village communities.
Subsistence, agrarian economies and rural societies based on them were
familistic through and through. The rise and development of modern
RURAL SOCIOLOGY: ITS NEED IN INDIA 11

industries steadily undermined subsistence agrarian economy and

brought the rural economy within the orbit of capitalist market econ-
omy. This transformation together with the growing pressure of various
urban forces brought about the increasing disintegration of the old rural
society. The rural society, too, more and more lost its familistic traits.
The Indian rural society provides a classic field for the study of rural
family. It probably contains at present within itself all the four categories
of institutions which are described by Prof. Rivers as types of family
institutions viz the kindred, the matrilineal joint family, the patrilineal
joint family and the Individual family composed of parents and chil-
dren.5 The third type, the patrilineal joint family is generally considered
as the classic type which corresponds to the phase of agricultural econ-
omy based on the plough and the domestication of animals and essen-
tially producing for subsistence. The partilineal joint family, which also
predominantly shaped the family structure of the Indian rural society
prior to the impact of British rule and capitalist economic forces in
India, possessed the following characteristics: (1) Greater homogeneity;
(2) Based on peasant household; (3) Greater discipline and inter discip-
line; (4) Dominance of family ego; (5) Authority of father; (6) Closer
participation in various activities.
During the last hundred and fifty years the traditional joint family
and familistic rural framework have been undergoing a great transform-
ation. From status to contract; from the rule of custom to the rule of
law; from family as a unit of production to family as a unit of consump-
tion; from family having its cementing bond in consanguinity to family
having it in conjugality; from family being an omnibus social agency to
family as a specialised reproductive and affectional unit shorn of most of
its economic, political, medical, religious, and other social and cultural
functions; from a massive joint family composed of members belonging
to a number of generations to a tiny unit composed of husband, wife
and unmarried children-all this change is steadily taking place in the
rural family, denuding rural society of its familism as its Gestalt and
creating a veritable revolution though slowly in the rural social frame-
work in India.
A systematic study of rural family, its types, its transitions, its struc-
tural and functional changes has never become so necessary as at present
in India. Such a study will assist the social workers to evolve appropriate
programmes for rural reconstruction. It also will help the students of rural
12 A.R. Desai

society to locate the laws of the transformation of one of the most classical
familistic civilisations that has emerged in the history of humanity.
A very peculiar type of social grouping which is found in India is
the caste grouping. In India, caste largely determines the function, the
status, the available opportunities as well as the handicaps for an indi-
vidual. Caste differences even determine the differences in modes of
domestic and social life, also types of house and cultural patterns of the
people which are found in the rural area. Even land ownership exists
frequently on caste lines. Due to a number of reasons administrative
functions have also been often divided according to caste, especially in
the rural area. Caste has further shaped the pattern of the complicated
religious and secular culture of the people. It has fixed the psychology of
the various social groups and has evolved such minutely graded levels of
social distance and superior-inferior relationships that the social struc-
ture looks like a gigantic hierarchic pyramid.6
This institution which provided a frame-work of social equilibrium
to the Hindu society is undergoing great changes in modern times. It is
experiencing, in fact, the powerful impact of numerous economic, polit-
ical, ideological and other forces, is subjected to mortal blows from these
forces, in an increasing state of decay. However, even in its death ago-
nies, it is still having its grip over the rural social life.7
One of the most important tasks before the student of rural society
in India is to evolve an approach which will be able to appraise its social
and cultural processes within the matrix of the caste structure. Failure to
develop such a perspective bad, in spite of an immense accumulation of
economic and other factual data, obstructed the elaboration of a living
composite picture of rural society. A systematic study of the caste system
and its relations with other aspects of rural life is urgently necessary.
It  could be done fruitfully on the following lines: - (1) Caste and
Economic Life. This will include (a) Caste and production, (b) Caste
and ownership, (c) Caste and consumption, (d) Caste and indebtedness,
(e) Caste and standard of living, (f ) Caste and habitat, (g) Caste and
mobility and others. (2) Caste and Family Life (3) Caste and Educational
Life (4) Caste and Religious Life (5) Caste and Political Life (6) Caste
and the Value System of the community (7) Caste and types of Rural
Leadership (8) Mutual Attitudes of Caste Groups (9) Castes as a
Laboratory to Study Social Distance (10) Impact of New Constitution
on Caste (11) Caste and Hinduism (12) Caste, Joint Family and Village
RURAL SOCIOLOGY: ITS NEED IN INDIA 13

Community, their Inter-relationship and Interdependence (13) Doctrine

of Casteism and Brahmainic Supremacy.
To properly unravel the causes of the octopus like stranglehold of
the caste system is very urgent for the adequate comprehension of the
life processes of rural society in India and also for the laying down
the lines of its future development. A systematic study of the origin, the
development, the disorganization and its recent slow but definite disin-
tegration is vital to unlock the mysteries that envelop the history of
Indian rural society in particular and Indian society in general. The sci-
ence of rural society in India will not mature till proper implications of
the role of this institution are measured.
One of the vital problems that requires to be intelligently studied by
the rural sociologists is the political life of the rural population. Hitherto
very little attention has been paid to this aspect of the rural life. However,
as seen earlier, the active, energetic and sometimes stormy participation
of the rural people in political life in various countries including India
has exploded the myth of passivity and inertness of the rural people. In
fact the growth of political consciousness among peasant populations
and their increasing political activities is one of the striking features of
the life of mankind today. In India, its study has becomes very urgent,
first because the Constitution of Independent India has provided uni-
versal adult suffrage to the Indian people and secondly because, unlike
during the pre-British period, the State at present plays a very decisive
and all-pervading role in their life.
A systematic study of the rural political life may be fruitfully made
on the following line: —

(1) The study of the governmental machinery in the rural area.

(2) The study of non-governmental political
(3) organizations in the rural area.
(4) The study of the political behaviour of the rural people and its various
sections.

The study of the governmental machinery which could be done at

the village level as well as at the level of larger units raises the following
problems: (a) How far the administrative machinery is responsible to
the opinions and wishes of the people; (b) How far the people are asso-
ciated with it and participate in its functioning; and (c) How far it is
cheap, efficient and sensitive to the problems of the people.
14 A.R. Desai

The study of non-governmental political organizations demands a

close analysis of the rise, growth, decay and disappearance of various
political parties, indicating the trends of political moods of the rural
people. The study of the political behaviour of the rural people includes,
on the one hand, the study of various programmes which various strata
of the rural people strive to fulfil. This study indicates the aspirations
and dreams, immediate needs and ideologies of the rural people. On the
other hand, the rural sociologist should study the various methods
which the rural people adopt to realize their dreams, aspirations and
needs. The following methods have been considered important from the
sociological point of view: (1) Petitioning; (2) Voting; (3) Demonstrations
and Marches; (4) Hijrats or Mass Emigrations; (5) Satyagraha, Passive
Resistance; (6) No-rent No-tax campaigns; (7) Spontaneous Elemental
Revolts; (8) Guerilla Warfare; and (9) Organized Armed Struggles.
Indian rural society provides a classical laboratory for the study of a
rich variety of these methods.
The role of land relations and caste in rural politics of India is still
insufficiently realized.
A thorough study of rural religion and its significant role in deter-
mining the life processes of the rural society should form an essential
part of the study of that society for a number of reasons. (1) It is
observed, all over the world that the rural people have greater
predisposition for religion than what the urban people have (2) The
religious outlook of the rural people overwhelmingly determines their
intellectual, emotional and practical life. This is particularly true of
the societies resting on subsistence basis. (3) In societies based on
subsistence economies, the leadership of village life in all domains was
provided by the priestly group, in India the Brahmins. (4) The new
forces which were generated in India in modern times after the advent
of the British rule and particularly after the emergence of a State
wedded to secularism brought into being the new economic and polit-
ical environs and new norms, basically non-religious and secular and
derived out of a liberal democratic philosophy. These have been strug-
gling to supersede the old ones founded on religion. The contempo-
rary rural society in India has become a battle ground of struggle
between the forces of religious orthodoxy and authoritarian social
conceptions on the one hand and those of secular democratic advance
on the other.
RURAL SOCIOLOGY: ITS NEED IN INDIA 15

The study of rural religion from the following three aspects has
proved useful in other countries and would bear great fruits in India also.
(1) Rural religion as providing a specific world outlook. It consists of such
ingredients as (a) magical conceptions, (b) animism, (c) the conception of
a bizarre world peopled by spirits, (d) the conception of a posthumous
world of dead ancestors who have to be worshipped, and (e) mythology.
(2) Rural religion as a body of practices consisting of prayers, sacrifices
and rituals. (3) Rural religion as an institutional complex.
Rural religion which is composed of numerous sects and cults is
considerably institutionalized. There are national, provincial and local
organizations with Temples, Maths, Ashramas, with huge properties and
organized staffs of priests and preachers.
One distinguishing feature of the Indian society, which deserves to
be studied, was the absence of state religions in contrast to Christianity
or even Islam in other parts of the world. The significant role of Bhaktas
as sponsors of great democratic mass movements for religious, social and
other reforms also needs to be studied.
The study of rural religion, with its regional variants will assist con-
siderably in evolving a composite picture of the past cultural evolution
of the Indian people. It will also help the student of the rural society to
comprehend the nature of transformation that is taking place in the
ideology, the institutions, the rituals, the ethics and the aesthetics of the
rural people under the pressure of new material and cultural forces.
Aesthetic culture is an integral part of the total culture of a society.
It expresses in art terms the ideals, the aspirations, the dreams, the values
and the attitudes of its people, just as its intellectual culture reveals its
knowledge of the natural and social worlds which surround them.
A systematic study of the aesthetic culture of the Indian rural soci-
ety in its historical movement of the dissolution of old types and the
emergence of new ones, is vital for the study of the changing pattern of
the cultural life of the rural people. Further, since art reflects social life
and its changes, such a study will help the rural sociologists to compre-
hend the movement of the rural society itself as it progressed from its
past shape to its present one. It will also reveal the changes in the psy-
chological structures of the rural groups and sub-groups. Eminent
sociologists have enumerated the following principal arts comprising
the aesthetic culture of rural society. (1) Graphic arts such as drawing,
painting, engraving and others which have two dimensional forms;
16 A.R. Desai

(2) Plastic Arts which involve “the manipulation of materials to yield

three dimensional forms that is to say carving and modelling in high
and low relief and in the round”; (3) Folklore comprised of “myths,
tales, proverbs, riddles, verse together with music”; (4) Dance and
Drama which combine the three forms mentioned above and therefore
are “synthetic Arts”.8
Well-known students have located a number of characteristics of
the aesthetic culture of the rural people living in a society based on sub-
sistence economy. The following are important among them; (1) Art
was fused with life; (2) People as a whole took part in artistic activities;
(3) Art was predominantly familistic; (4) The technique of art was
simple; (5) Art had agrarian processes as its main content; (6) Art cre-
ations were predominantly collective creations and collective in spirit;
(7) Art was non-commercial; (8) Artistic craftsmanship and culture were
transmitted from generation to generation orally.9
Under the impact of modern technological, economic, political,
social and ideological forces, these characteristics of rural art are under-
going great changes.
The enormous rich material comprising the rural aesthetic culture
has to be first assembled, analysed and classified. The next task is to
interpret it with deep historical imagination and sociological insight.
This alone will assist the student of rural society to arrive at a living
objective picture of the rural society and the rural life as they existed in
the past. This is specially necessary because no detailed written history
of the past society is available. It is also essential for the Indian rural
sociologist to study the aesthetic culture of the contemporary rural Indian
people and the transformation it is undergoing. Such a study will enable
him to comprehend the transformation of the life of the rural people
and their struggles, dreams and aspirations.
Like all other phenomena, the rural society too has been changing
since its emergence. Its technology, economy and social institutions; its
ideology, art and religion; have undergone a ceaseless change. This
change is sometimes imperceptibly slow, sometimes strikingly rapid,
and at some moments even qualitative in character resulting into the
transformation of one type of rural society into another.
To discern change in a system, to recognize its direction, to under-
stand the subjective and objective forces which bring it about and, fur-
ther, to consciously accelerate the process of change by helping the
RURAL SOCIOLOGY: ITS NEED IN INDIA 17

progressive trends within the changing system-this constitutes a scientific

approach to and active creative intervention in the life of a system.
Close investigators of rural society have enumerated a number of
forces and factors, conscious or unconscious, which bring about change
in rural society.10 The following are the principal among them;
(1) Natural factors like floods, earthquakes, famines etc; (2) Technological
factor. The invention of new tools, new means of transport and commu-
nications and discovery of new materials, produce profound changes
even beyond the calculations of the inventors.
Along with these factors, there are also methods and devices adopted
by social groups and organisations to conscioulsy bring about the alter-
ation or transformation of the rural world. The following are chief
among them; (1) Persuasive method: This method popularizes the need
of various changes. The protagonists do not initiate or participate in
implementing the programme; (2) Demonstrative method: This method
is known as propaganda by example or deed; (3) “Compulsory” method:
The state often intervenes and through legislation brings about changes
in rural life. It is not the will and initiative of the people but of the State
that determine and accomplish these changes; (4) Method of social pres-
sure: This method which is adopted by a rural individual, a group or a
class to achieve a desired change includes petitioning, passive resistance,
individual or group Satyagraha, processions and marches, strikes and
demonstrations, even individual terrorism, mass rebellions, revolutions
and others; (5) Contact method: “It is generally recognised that one of
the most effective means of social change is found in contact of cultures
where peoples of different cultures come in touch with one another,
cross fertilization takes place”.11 (6) Educational method: A group of
social thinkers invest the educational method with decisive importance
in bringing about the rural change.
All these methods should be carefully studied to evolve a pro-
gramme of rural reform or reconstruction. Also its study is necessary to
evaluate the forces that work to overhaul the rural social structure.
Enormous energy of individuals, groups and associations is spent in
the movement of rural uplift and reconstruction. However, due to a lack
of synthetic perspective and integrated outlook, the efforts suffer from
numerous drawbacks. Exclusive one-sided concentration on one aspect
of rural life, predominantly emotional bias, lack of co-ordination of
work, insufficient ability to assess the results and, above all an absence of
18 A.R. Desai

a proper sociological perspective are the major defects leading to either

ineffectiveness or partial success.
Rural sociology will help the rural worker to make a correct diagno-
sis of its ills and will, thereby enable him to evolve a correct prescription
(a scientific programme) to overcome these ills.
Here comes the decisive creative role of rural sociology which is as
indispensable for the purpose of rural reconstruction as the science of
medicine is to a medical practitioner.
The present paper has the aim first, of emphasising the vital need of
studying the life process of the rural society analytically and synthet-
ically; secondly, of suggesting some of the appropriate lines of approach
of such a study; and, thirdly, of indicating what enormous research and
theoretical labour are necessary to get a proper insight into the process
of structural and functional transformation the rural society has experi-
enced in the past and in the present.
It is, however, painful to record that our authorities who are today
interested in transforming rural society have not realized the signifi-
cance of such sociological approach to rural society. The Planning
Commission does not still find it essential to associate sociologists in
their panel of advisers. The Union and State Governments have not still
felt it necessary to organise or finance on a significant scale, sociologi-
cal studies of rural life. Sociology is still treated as a Cinderella among
social sciences. Our seats of culture, our universities and research insti-
tutions still do not realize the need to positively encourage this subject
as a vital prerequisite of education.
It is unfortunate that while enormous sums are being spent on nat-
ural science researches, some sectional studies of Societies or on social
workers’ training classes, sociological studies of a fundamental nature are
suffering from step motherly treatment or are experiencing shortage of
financial resources so essential for adequate theoretical and field researches.
Indian rural social structure is passing through an acute crisis. This
crisis is enveloping every aspect of rural life. A comprehensive insight for
a proper assessment of the specific weight and role of various factors
whose action and inter-action provide movement to the rural society is
essential, if effective and progressive action is to be undertaken.
The unplanned and segmental approach to the problem of analysing
and transforming the rural society requires to be replaced by a planned
and integral approach.
RURAL SOCIOLOGY: ITS NEED IN INDIA 19

The need for developing Rural Sociology in India is overdue and

indispensable.

References
1. Art. “Village Community”. Encyclopaedia of Social Sciences, Vol. 15. p. 254.
2. A Systematic Source Book in Rural Sociology, Vol. I, p. 263.
3. Ibid. p. 560.
4. Ibid. Vol. II. p. 41.
5. Refer Social Organization by Prof. W. H. R. Rivers. pp. 15–16.
6. Refer “Caste and Class in India”, by. G. S. Ghurye. Chapter I.
7. Ibid. Chapters VII and VIII.
8. Refer Man and his Works, Melville J. Herskovits.
9. Refer A Systematic Source Book in Rural Sociology, Vol. II, Chapter XV.
10. Refer Elements of Rural Sociology, by N. L. Sims. Chapter 29.
11. Ibid. p. 670.
2
Symposium on
Rural-Urban Relations:
The Industrialization and
Urbanization of Rural Areas
M.N. Srinivas

A
point which everyone will readily concede is that rural areas are
changing in every part of India. All social change is in a sense
relevant for our purpose but some of it is more directly relevant.
It is on the latter kind that I wish to concentrate.
To understand social change it is necessary to know what the soci-
ety is changing from. I shall therefore try to characterize rural society in
pre-British India as a prelude to the delineation of the change. In this
connection it is necessary to make clear that all those forces, external
and internal, which broke the isolation of the village and helped to bring
about a change, however slight, in the traditional social system, paved
the way for industrialization and urbanization. For industrialization
does not merely refer to the use of large and complicated machinery, and
urbanization does not only mean the great concentration of human
beings in small areas; they both require certain types of socioeconomic
relationships and a weltenschaaung which are in conflict with the social
system, which obtained in pre-British India.
I guess that the characteristics which I am about to mention were
broadly true of rural areas all over India. The first and the most striking
SYMPOSIUM ON RURAL-URBAN RELATIONS 21

characteristic is the isolation of villages from each other consequent on

the absence of roads. Even now, after a century of improvement in roads,
inter-village communications are often primitive. A great many of these
roads are not even fit for bullock carts. And in large parts of the country,
villagers live in a state of more or less complete isolation during the
monsoon. In a village not thirty miles from the great city of Bombay the
inhabitants had to store up provisions and fuel for the monsoon like
the citizens of a beleaguered city, and this state of affairs was put an end
to only fifteen years ago when a bridge was built. The building of the
bridge may be described as the watershed in the history of that village as
it was the single most important factor in urbanization.
It is essential to stress that this isolation was not, however, complete.
Contact was always there, with a few neighbouring villages, with the
nearby weekly markets, with the centres of pilgrimage, and perhaps with
the town where the chief or Raja had his capital. Neighbouring villages
exchanged girls in marriage, and the festival of a village deity frequently
demanded the co-operation of several villages. In northern India, vil-
lages are exogamous, and the optimum distance between affinal villages
seems to be between eight-twelve miles.
Again, the division of labour enjoined by caste necessitated cooper-
ation between neighbouring villages. Every village does not have every
essential caste—in fact, it is frequently found that a barber in village A
also serves B and C, and a washerman in village C also serves A and B,
and so on. This is strikingly seen in Kerala where dispersed villages are
the rule, and one artisan family has the rights of service (avakasham) in
several neighbouring villages. The circles of villages served by each of the
artisans in a village overlap only to a limited extent.
I fear that I have laboured an obvious point, but as the myth that
the traditional Indian village was a self-sufficient little republic has had
distinguished advocates and has such political implications this appears
to be worthwhile. The typical Indian village was not self-sufficient even
in the days of primitive communications, and it is absurd to talk of
‘reviving’ something that never existed.
Another feature of the pre-British rural India is the prevalence of
widespread political instability. The lowest level in the political
system was that of the village headman and the next level was that of the
chief who ruled a cluster of villages, and whose relations with
neighbouring chiefs were not always friendly. This chief was subordinate
22 M.N. Srinivas

to a Raja who was perhaps in turn subordinate to an emperor or his

viceroy. A weak emperor or viceroy often meant that the Raja became
practically independent and this was also true of lower levels. In such a
system, the political cleavages were very real and tended also to be cul-
tural and social cleavages. Social relations tended to be confined within
a chief ’s or Raja’s territory—in Malabar, however, the Nambudri
Brahmins seem to have been regarded as superior to the political cleav-
ages by virtue of their ritual position. One of the consequences of such
a vertical division was that the horizontal spread of caste ties could not
cross the political boundary. In other words, the castes living in a chief-
dom were forced to look to each other for help. It was Pax Brittanica
which freed castes from these vertical barriers. The improvement of
communications, the introduction of cheap postage and printing
enabled members of a caste living far apart from each other to meet
occasionally and to keep regular touch. This, together with the preferen-
tial treatment extended to the backward castes by the British, laid the
foundation for the casteism about which we hear so much these days.
In pre-British India relations between individuals and groups were
largely determined by birth in a particular caste and family. Again, the
same two individuals were tied to each other by a variety of ties, eco-
nomic, kinship, political and ritual. This was both the result and condi-
tion of stability. Besides, the fact that very little money circulated in the
country as a whole, and especially in the rural areas, guaranteed that
rural society was kept out of participation in the urban sector.
Political conquest by the British was followed by the development
of communications. A uniform civil and criminal law was introduced,
and an organization was gradually evolved to fight the periodic famines.
Measures were taken to improve public health. Certain customs like
suttee were abolished and Western education was introduced. Each of
these measures had a profound effect on social life in the villages. The
establishment of British rule in India meant that every village, however
remote, became part of the widest political community then known,
viz., the British Empire. This was soon followed by the extension of an
economic network which spread over the whole world including India.
For instance, the fortunes of the cotton crop in the U. S. A. affected the
Indian cotton-grower; the cotton famine and civil war in the U. S. drove
home to the British manufacturers in Lancashire the wisdom of having
an alternative source of supply of cotton in India. The development of
SYMPOSIUM ON RURAL-URBAN RELATIONS 23

cotton as a cash crop affected the peasantry in several parts of the

country. It brought money to the villages and tied up the fortunes of
peasantry with events happening 5,800 miles away, and over which they
had no control. But the prosperity which cotton brought had important
effects on the growers. An interesting account of the effects of cotton
prosperity in the Wardha Valley during the American Civil War is given
by Rivett-Carnac who was Cotton Commissioner of the Central
Provinces then. “The cultivator was emancipated during that period
from the moneylender and many capital improvements were made, fruit
trees planted, wells dug, irrigation developed and housing improved.
There was also a general levelling up of the caste hierarchy (though not
without struggle) as the lower castes secured enough wealth to take on
the costumes and customs of the higher castes. Marriage and other cere-
monies became more lavish and ‘silver plough shares and tyres of solid
silver for cart wheels made their appearance here and there!. “ Rivett-
Carnac’s observations on the peasants of Wardha Valley in the sixties of
the last century hold good to some extent of our peasantry during the
boom of the second world war. Mrs. Trent (Manhalli in Mysore) and
Shri N. G. Chapekar (Badlapur near Kalyan) both report increased
spending on weddings as a result of the war boom. Mrs. Trent also
reports better ploughs, fertilizers, etc.
Prosperity does not always result in spending on the same items
either in the case of individuals or in the case of villages. The inhabitants
of Badlapur repair their temple while those of Manhalli would like to
spend on personal luxuries and on decorating the walls of their houses.
The inhabitants of Kere renovated their temples while the leaders of
Rampura invested money in rice and flour mills, buses, shops, and
urban housing.
When Rivett-Carnac reported that the lower castes secured enough
wealth to take on the customs and costumes of the higher castes, he
highlighted a widespread and important process. When a caste becomes
prosperous, it tries to stake a claim to being a higher caste. This claim is
usually preceded by attempts to alter diet, dress, customs and rituals. An
expanding economy brings money to more groups and occasionally to
groups very low in the caste hierarchy. When the latter sanskritise, con-
siderable disturbance occurs in the traditional social system. The
politico-economic forces set in motion by British rule brought about
greater mobility in the caste system.
24 M.N. Srinivas

I shall now consider the changes which are occurring in a few

villages. The first example will be in much greater detail than the rest.
Mrs. T. S. Trent of Manchester University is about to complete a
study of economic and social changes in Manhalli, a village about
5 miles from the sugar factory town of Bella. The factory was started in
1933 by the Government of Mysore following the construction of the
Viswesvarayya canal fed by the reservoir Krishnarajasagara about nine
miles from Mysore City. Before canal-irrigation reached Manhalli, only
one hundred acres of arable land were irrigable and the rest depended on
the monsoon rains. The former were irrigated somewhat unsatisfactorily
from a tank. Paddy was grown on irrigated land, and ragi and jowar on
rainfed land. A certain amount of sericulture provided cash to a few
peasants.
Canal-irrigation increased both the extent of cultivable area and
productivity per acre. The cultivable area increased by about 23% and
there is scope for further expansion. While only 12% of arable land was
irrigable before 1939, 76% is irrigable at present. Sugarcane was a new
crop to Manhalli and its cultivation brought many new and difficult
problems. It is an 18-month crop, requiring the acquisition of new and
complicated techniques, and needing investment of more capital. It
requires iron ploughs, sturdier bullocks and fertilisers, and the cultiva-
tor’s family has to be supported during the long period between sowing
and selling the cane to the factory.
Before irrigation, the price of land varied between Rs. 100–300
per acre whereas in 1955, an acre of dry land fetched between Rs. 300–
700, and an acre of wet land between 1000–2000. Irrigation thus more
than trebled land values, but in the first few years many of the smaller
landowners sold a part of their land to raise the money to bring the rest
under cultivation. Even then cane cultivation would have been confined
to a few only, if the factory had not shouldered the burden of economic
development. Its success clearly demonstrates the crucial role which
extra-village agencies play in stimulating industrialization and urbaniza-
tion of rural areas.
The factory advanced sums of money to peasants at 6% interest to
cover cultivation and harvesting costs. It sent round trained fieldsmen to
teach peasants how to grow sugar-cane. It also assured the cultivator of
a buyer and a fixed price. The factory field-supervisors estimated the
crop per acre and the cultivators could supply cane to the factory up to
SYMPOSIUM ON RURAL-URBAN RELATIONS 25

the amount at a fixed price per ton. This, incidentally encouraged the
formal partition of joint families, as the factory bought not on the basis
of the amount of land cultivated by a family but on the basis of so much
cane from each family. Mrs. Trent says that nowadays it is common for
families to break up after the birth of the first child. The factory was also
responsible for improving the roads along which the peasants carted
their cane. It realized early the need for a good network of roads and
provided the money necessary for building and maintaining them. The
improvement of roads has in turn popularized buses and cycles.
The factory also started a few farms of its own in the neighbour-
hood, and one such farm is situated in Manhalli. It extends over
130 acres. The land was formerly classified as ‘government waste.’ The
farm employs some men from Manhalli who are given a regular cash
wage higher than that obtaining in private farms in Manhalli. The farm
workers also get a bonus, a cost-of-living allowance, and also the bene-
fits of the factory’s welfare services, co-operative retail factory, and a
savings’ bank scheme.
Before canal-irrigation came in, all agricultural labour was paid for
in grain—the quantity was fixed and did not vary with the changing
price of crop. Even now labour on paddy-fields is paid in paddy. The
traditional village servants are also paid in grain but these payments have
assumed the character of gifts as the demand for the traditional services
is fitful and not serious. This is seen in the fact that only one out of four
potters does pottery work and that too as a part time occupation. The
washerman and barber have agriculture as a secondary occupation.
The  barber in Bella town is preferred to the village barber, and soap
enables the housewife to wash the family’s clothes herself. The laundry
at Bella is also patronised.
The workers in cane-fields are, however, paid cash. And the role of
cash is increasing—carts, bullocks and ploughs are hired for cash now-
adays. Monetisation has also encouraged local retail trade-five small
shops serve Manhalli, and their main trade is in beedis, cigarettes,
sweets, fruit and groundnuts. Two coffee shops have also been started in
the village. Bella is visited frequently for shopping and cinemas.
Incidentally, in 1931 Bella was a town with a population of 5,958,
whereas in 1951, the population was 21,158. The sugar factory employed
over 1000 people. Its importance increased further when Bella was made
the capital of a new district. An intermediate college was also started in
26 M.N. Srinivas

the forties. Trade and transport converged in Bella. Its weekly fair grew
in size while the weekly fairs of neighbouring villages either declined, or
remained stationary.
Canal-irrigation brought with it severe malaria which resulted in
high infant mortality. Manhalli’s population rose from 623 in 1931 to
only 689 in 1941, but in 1951 it was 949. The increase in the second
period was in great part due to the success which attended the efforts of
the malaria control board which was established by the Govt. of Mysore
in 1946. According to Mrs. Trent, at the present rate of population
increase, the prosperity induced by agriculture will be short-lived unless
there is emigration or further industrialization.
Manhalli in this respect reflects a national problem. Famine control
and prevention and the adoption of public health measures by the State
have resulted in a great increase of population, and consequently, pres-
sure on land. The fact that occupational specialization of caste does not
prohibit every caste from taking to agriculture as a subsidiary occupa-
tion and the ties of caste and extended kinship have augmented the
pressure. Here is a problem which it is beyond the village society’s
resources to solve—customs ordain early marriage, abortion is both
risky as well as immoral, infanticide is a crime, emigration is difficult if
not impossible, and knowledge of birth control is absent. Thus the
larger society creates problems for the village which the latter is unable
to solve with the existing knowledge and resources.
An important point which emerges from Dr. A. R. Beals’s study of
Namhalli, a village near Bangalore, is that it is increasing participation
in the monetised national or international economy which effectively
draws the village community into the ambit of the larger society—mere
legislative measures undertaken by the larger society are not as effective.
Thus it was the requirement, under the Ryotwari Settlement of 1886, to
pay land tax in cash which resulted in the reversal of most village land to
the State which in turn enabled the latter to raise its share from one
third of the harvest to half. It was the need to pay tax in cash which
forced the villagers to sell some of their produce to urban tradesmen.
Finally, the inflations brought about by the two world wars effectively
made Namhalli economy and social system a part of the larger society.
During the first world war and for a few years after it, cash crops
such as bananas, potatoes and peanuts received greater emphasis. The
villagers’ wants changed as a result of urban contact—they wanted
SYMPOSIUM ON RURAL-URBAN RELATIONS 27

mill-made cloth and factory tiles. Some of their cash was spent on urban
coffee-shops and theatres and cinemas.
After 1920, there was a greater recourse to urban law courts—more
education, more contact with urban life, and the need to express land
ownership in British Indian legal terms were responsible. This gradually
eroded the authority of the village panchayat, which suffered a severe
blow when all but one member perished in the great ‘flu’ epidemic of
1919. A further fact was the gradual diminution in the size of the family
unit which made it necessary for more families to be represented on the
panchayat than before. Small families also meant that less capital and
manpower were available for agriculture which resulted in inefficiency.
The second world war brought prosperity to Namhalli. Bangalore
was a big supply base and many men of Namhalli found jobs as clerks
and factory workers. Black-marketing and prostitution also brought in
money. Namhalli farmers started growing carrots, beets, etc., for the
troops. The sudden prosperity resulted in improved agricultural imple-
ments and livestock, in the building of new houses, in giving higher
education to children, in buying cycles, wearing suits, paying doctors’
bills, betting on horses, etc. But the boom of the war years ended and
the clerks and workers lost their jobs, and the price of foodstuffs
and  vegetables came down sharply. Meanwhile the population had
increased, and with it, unemployment.
Rampura, the village in Mysore District which I studied in 1948
and again in the summer of 1952, is a roadside village and the second
world war brought prosperity to it. The leaders, besides being rich, are
men of considerable intelligence. Early in 1948 the leaders submitted a
petition to a visiting minister requesting the loan of bulldozers and trac-
tors, and asking for electricity. In 1952 a bulldozer was levelling the
headman’s land, and by 1955 the village had been electrified. There was
a radio in the headman’s house and the two rice mills which had been
started in 1950–51 were working with electric power. The profits and
savings of the war years had been invested in productive and modern
ways. In 1950–51 headman started two profitable bus lines, and built a
few houses in Bella town for renting; Patron II opened a grocery and
cloth shop during the war and bought a small Japanese rice mill in 1951,
while Patron III started a big rice mill. Patrons II and III belong to the
same lineage and while in 1948 it looked as though the lineage of
Patron  II would force him to withdraw his support to the headman
28 M.N. Srinivas

(Patron I), in 1952 the younger members of the joint families of Patrons
II and III were openly giving expression to their dislike of each other.
The headman was supporting both.
The leaders of Rampura are peasants by caste and but for the second
world war would have remained rural landlords. Their surplus income
would have been invested in land, houses and jewellery. But the
second world war brought a considerable amount of cash to them and
also changed their outlook. Increased contact with the city, higher edu-
cation of their sons and the considerable amount of surplus cash placed
in their hands by the war were responsible for the change. They have
now become incipient capitalists with one foot in the village and another
in the city. They are getting the benefit of participation in both types of
economy and social system. Their further development as capitalists is
dependent upon State policy—not only policy of Mysore State, but
even more important, the policy of the Government of India.
Kumbapettai in Tanjore District was studied by Dr. Kathleen
Gough in 1951–52. The village is typical of Tanjore District where the
Brahmins have economic power in addition to their position as heads of
the caste hierarchy. In the rural areas they are landowners and the other
castes are dependent upon them. Symbols of authority and respect have
been highly developed.
In recent years considerable immigration has taken place into
Tanjore District from neighbouring and less fertile areas. As a result
there is today a large body of landless labourers and poorer tenants
in Tanjore District, and legislative action in favour of the latter on the
part of Madras Government has not fully solved the problem. Besides,
there has been some amount of migration of the Brahmins to the towns,
and their authority is being increasingly questioned by the lower castes.
The Non-Brahmins refuse to show the same respect which they showed
before, and inter-caste eating and drinking taboos are weakening some-
what. One very important development is the success which communist
propaganda is having among the untouchables and castes slightly higher.
Communism seems to be particularly strong among the lower castes in
east Tanjore.
One last point about urbanization, and it is true of South India with
the probable exception of Kerala. Urbanization in South India has a caste
component—the Brahmin caste led the others in deserting the ancestral
villages for the towns. They were the first to sense the advantages of
SYMPOSIUM ON RURAL-URBAN RELATIONS 29

Western education, and the sons of those who left the villages became
the first teachers, officials, lawyers, doctors and judges. Their position in
the social system was strategic—in the rural areas they constituted the
religious and landed aristocracy, and in urban areas they had a near
monopoly of all the higher posts. Most of these Brahmins retained their
ancestral land if they did not add to it. Gradually however, the expenses
of higher education, dowry system, costly weddings and funerals, made
it necessary for them to lose their pied-a-terre. The virtual monopoly
which the Brahmins had of the important posts and the British policy of
preference to the Non-Brahmin and Backward Castes soon led to a pop-
ular anti-Brahmin movement. As a result, the Brahmin is nowadays
being kept out of government service. Castewise allotment of seats in
educational institution is common.
The unemployment of the thirties and the second world war
resulted in phenomenal occupational and spatial mobility for the
Brahmins. They entered business at all levels and the defence services in
all capacities. The Westernization of the Brahmins proceeded fast. The
educated Non-Brahmin who borrowed Brahmanical ways found that
the Brahmin was very busy discarding what the others were busy acquir-
ing. Both the processes, the Sanskritization of the Non-Brahmin castes
and the Westernization of the Brahmins is proceeding apace today.
3
Modernization and the
Urban-Rural Gap in India:
An Analysis
N.R. Sheth

I
n this paper1 it is intended to review some of the literature on the
social, political and economic gulf dividing urban and rural com-
munities in India. Especially, I shall try to summarize the informa-
tion relevant to answering questions such as: What is the relative impact
of modernization in India on rural and urban communities? Does it
widen the gap between the two? If it does, how far can the gap be filled?
What steps are being taken by the Government and others in this
direction?

To most people, it may sound platitudinous to state that India is steadily

modernizing. Indians seem to hold innumerable ideas on the form, con-
tent and acceptability of modernization. There is, however, likely to be a
general agreement among social scientists to view modernization as the
complex process of social, economic and political change taking place in
India as a result of contact with the West. Srinivas (1966: 50–52), for
instance, uses the term modernization as virtually synonymous with
Westernization and argues that it has affected traditional Indian society at
four levels, namely, technology, institutions, ideology, and values. From
MODERNIZATION AND THE URBAN-RURAL GAP IN INDIA 31

this point of view, a society or its part can be regarded as modernized to

the extent that it imbibes the following features commonly attributed to
the Western societies: (a) the system of production is based on the
modern machine technology, (b) the system of social stratification
emphasizes individual achievement of status rather than ascription of
status by birth, (c) the political organization is democratic and stresses
the ideals of equality and social justice, and (d) a secular and scientific
outlook is developed by its members. During the British rule, these
characteristics were foreign to Indian society and those sections of the
population who imbibed them were in the process of borrowing social
qualities from other cultures. Since Independence, however, some
important Western institutions, values and ideology (such as a demo-
cratic political structure and acceptance of equality as the basis of social
order) have become integral parts of Indian social structure.
In reality, on the other hand, modernization in India has not yet
gone very far. To a large extent, India is still ‘traditional’ in as much as the
Western institutions and values are limited to the Indian Constitution
and the behaviour-patterns of the elite classes. Nearly 82 per cent of
India’s population lives in villages and most of them are far removed from
the basic urban facilities such as electricity and modern means of trans-
port and recreation, as well as from the institutions and values of the
West. About 28 per cent of the people cannot read or write and are hardly
aware of what is happening outside their local group. Over 69 per cent of
the country’s population is still peasant, and the bulk of this population
uses old and simple farm equipment. The ideals of an egalitarian society
have not yet reached very far; one often hears of the exploitation and
humiliation of lower castes and “untouchables” by their wealthy, high-
caste brethren.
Facts of this kind have induced the picture of contrast frequently
portrayed in scholarly treatises and public discussions about India. The
proverbial coexistence of the Boeing and the bullock-cart and the func-
tioning of an atomic reactor in an environment of cowdung fire are hard
facts about modern India. It is not uncommon to hear arguments to the
effect that modernization in India is skin-deep. Various historical and
cultural factors can be mentioned to explain this. For one thing,
although the process of Westernization began several decades ago, the
erstwhile British rulers made a piecemeal approach to social change for
various reasons. The concept of planning for India as a whole became
32 N.R. Sheth

effective only after Independence. Hence the impact of modernization

remained uneven for a long time after it began. Secondly, the illiteracy
and poverty existing among the masses in this country acted as barriers
to modernization, as the forces of modern Western culture travelled
mainly on the tracks of education and wealth. Thirdly, many of those
who were modernized changed only some facets of their social life (food
habits, material culture, educational achievement, etc.) but retained
their traditional values and outlook on life.
The difference between the modern and the traditional in India can
be perceived at various levels. Some administrative and cultural regions
are more modernized than others. Generally speaking, the rich are more
modernized than the poor. Higher castes have a modernizing edge over
lower castes and tribal groups. The educated are more fortunate than
their non-educated brethren in enjoying the benefits of modernization.
In the same vein, the urban population is considered to be far ahead of
rural people in the ability to modernize. Townsmen are likely to be in
more direct contact with modern technology, Western culture and
amenities and the democratic political framework than villagers are.
Moreover, urbanites are regarded as much more adaptable to changing
values and ideologies than the ruralites who are often believed to be
obsessed by their traditionalism and hence to resist change. On this
assumption, the existing gap between urban and rural communities is
likely to increase.
There is considerable awareness among intellectuals and political
leaders about the gulf dividing towns and villages in India and, as we
shall see later, earnest efforts are made to bridge the gulf. However, it
appears that both our understanding of the problem as well as the meas-
ures to solve it are far from adequate. Most Indian school children write
essays on the relative merits of city and country, but scientific literature
on the comparative social, economic and political structure of our towns
and villages is depressingly poor. As Hoselitz (1962a) has shown, the
problems of urbanism and urban growth failed to attract social scientists
for a long time after social sciences emerged in India. Urban studies are
quite fashionable now, but most of the work done in the field is demo-
graphic or in the style of the socio-economic survey. Some work has
been done on specific urban areas, but here also the emphasis is on diag-
nosis of problems of urban life, such as housing, beggary and disease.
Very little attention has been paid to urban social structure in relation to
MODERNIZATION AND THE URBAN-RURAL GAP IN INDIA 33

the social structure of rural areas, although one may find stray references
to this question in different studies. The conceptual framework of
urban-rural differences in India and South East Asia was discussed at a
Seminar convened in 1962 by UNESCO (1964). Some aspects of
urban-rural differences are found in Acharya (1956), Rao (1962 and
1966), Mukherjee (1965), Srinivas (1959 and 1965), Sovani (1966) and
Redfield and Singer (1954). Besides, some tangible problems of
urban-rural differences and their implications for the country’s develop-
ment were discussed within policy framework by various contributors to
a seminar held at Berkely (see Turner 1962). The National Sample
Survey of India (1959, 1962 as well as several other Reports) has also
studied some aspects of economic differences between urban and rural
areas. However, all these studies, taken together with the information
available in census and other official reports, cover only a small part of
the total picture of urban-rural relationships obtaining in the country.
The first main problem one faces in a discussion of urban-rural dif-
ferences is where to draw the line between urban and rural. The most
convenient way to do this is to define urban and rural primarily in terms
of population size and density. Then there is the concept of urbanism as
a way of life (Wirth 1938), according to which any local community
which shows predominance of non-agricultural economy and acceptance
of certain standards and value patterns of social life is regarded as urban.
Until 1951 the Indian census authorities applied mainly the criterion of
size. For the most part, a local group with a population of 5000 or more
was classed as urban. In 1961, however, the Census of India arrived at a
more complex definition. A place was classed as a town if it met three
conditions: (i) its population was more than 5000, (ii) the density of
population was not less than about 400 per sq. kilometer, and (iii) not less
than 75 per cent of the adult male population was engaged in non-
agricultural activities. The third condition is clearly a departure from the
purely physical definition of ‘urban’ towards “urbanism as a way of life.”
Another difficulty in distinguishing urban areas from rural is that
there is great internal variation within both urban and rural categories.
Metropolises such as Bombay and Calcutta, big cities like Ahmedabad
and Kanpur, small cities like Bhopal and Jaipur, large towns, small
towns,—all these show different characteristics of social and economic
structure, and differ considerably in their role in their respective hinter-
lands. Similarly, large villages in close proximity to urban areas are
34 N.R. Sheth

different from small and remote villages. The Census, the National
Sample Survey and social scientists have divided towns and villages into
different size-classes to suit their convenience. It is not possible here to
go into the details of these classifications, but we must remember that if
an analysis of urban-rural differences is to be useful, one must keep in
view the conceptual continuum implied in the terms rural and urban.
Moreover, urban areas and rural areas are not uniformly urban and
rural. There are pockets of rural population within a metropolis such as
Delhi or Calcutta; on the other hand, some Indian villages contain sec-
tors with urban characteristics. I will return to this point later. In the
present context, however, we shall discuss urban and rural mainly in
terms of concentration of population, as our emphasis here is on the
social, economic and political role of urban agglomerations rather than
on the degree of urbanism.

II

While dealing with the role of urban agglomerations in India one cannot
neglect the fact that this country has a complex and highly developed
cultural tradition which dates back to many centuries. As urban com-
munities have been a part of this tradition, it will be useful to review
briefly the historical background of urban-rural differences in India.
City life in India is traced back by historians to the Indus Valley
Civilization nearly 4000 years ago. However, the earliest significant
towns can be said to have emerged only after the Aryans settled down
in the country. These early towns were either cultural or political cen-
tres. These towns represented, according to the typology suggested by
Redfield and Singer (1954: 55ff ), the primary phase of urban develop-
ment. That is, they acted as torch-bearers of contemporary Hindu civ-
ilization to the outside world. The cultural role played by such towns is
described by Red-field and Singer as orthogenetic.
The second important phase of urban growth in India began with
the Muslim invasion of the country. The Muslims, particularly the
Mughals, brought with them a distinct tradition of empire-building,
leisure, art, and architecture. As a result, great cities like Agra, Ahmedabad,
Hyderabad, Delhi and Lahore grew up. Apart from that, India’s trade
and commerce with other countries were steadily growing and gave rise
to urban centres like Surat and Cochin which became clearing-houses
MODERNIZATION AND THE URBAN-RURAL GAP IN INDIA 35

for exchange of goods between inland India and the outside world.
Some of these towns also specialized in specific industrial activities. In
terms of the Redfield-Singer typology, these political-administrative and
commercial-industrial towns indicated a trend towards the secondary
phase of urbanization, which is a result of contact between “people and
widely different cultures.” Such towns played a heterogenetic role, as
they created “original modes of thought . . . (having) . . . authority
beyond or in conflict with (the old culture and civilization)” (1954: 58).
The distinction between orthogenetie and heterogenetic towns is
mainly a conceptual distinction and one may find it difficult to estab-
lish a town as purely ‘orthogenetic’ or ‘heterogenetic’ at any point in
history. Nevertheless, we can easily describe the history of urban centres
in terms of a progressive expansion of their contacts with the outside
world, that is, in terms of increasing social and cultural heterogeneity.
Not much is known about the differences in the social, economic
and political structures between these medieval urban communities and
the rural areas which surrounded them. However, the available historical
material suggests that there were significant differences between the
two, (see, for instance, Moreland 1962, and the sources examined by
Srinivas and Shah 1960). Unlike the overwhelmingly peasant popula-
tion in rural areas, the urban population included civil and military
hierarchies, courtesans, merchant communities, professional classes,
artisans, craftsmen, domestic servants and slaves. A crude factory system
prevailed in urban industry, and exchange of goods and services was
considerably governed by money rather than barter. The level of educa-
tion in urban areas was fairly higher than in villages, and towns were
regarded as the abode of the elite in society.
This medieval urban spectrum began changing soon after the
impact of Pax Britannica. One of the first effects of British arrival in
India was that new cities and towns emerged to provide for the British
needs in respect of business, habitation, and leisure- Bombay, Calcutta,
and Madras are some of the towns owing their modern urban origin to
the commercial and administrative undertakings of the British in India.
The British also set in motion a progressive expansion of commerce and
industry within the Indian economy. The result was the establishment
of urban centres specializing in modern industry and trade, such as
Ahmedabad and Kanpur. On the other hand, the expansion of British
interests in India touched the old urban centres and made them
36 N.R. Sheth

progressively heterogenetic by introducing into them elements of new

business and industry. Moreover, in the wake of long-drawn struggles
for political power between the British and scores of Indian princes and
empire-seekers, a large part of the country was parcelled out among the
latter. These native rulers were highly impressed by the culture and
administration of their British overlords and hence developed urban
settlements like those put up by the latter. In consequence, modernized
capital towns such as Mysore, Baroda, Jaipur, Hyderabad and Gwalior
emerged on the Indian scene.
The British brought with them a complex of culture and values
which were substantially different from the status-oriented, rigid value
system of traditional India. They brought in a revolution in communi-
cation with the help of the printing press. Knowledge, which was so far
the privilege of a few, started proliferating among the wider population.
The result was that the humanitarian and secular ideals of the West
gradually spread among Indians who received Western education. Many
educated Indians started reinterpreting Hindu religion, and social and
religious reform movements were engineered by persons like Ram
Mohan Roy, Ranade and Tilak. As modern education was by and large
confined to urban areas, the Western cultural values and modernization
were largely monopolized by town-dwellers. There arose a new cultural
cleavage between urban and rural areas. The new economic system of
commerce and industry, the new learning and the new cultural ideas
and ideologies were the hall-marks of towns. Villages symbolized all that
was traditional—peasant economy, rigid stratification, ignorance,
superstition, etc.

III

The above discussion assumes a clear-cut dichotomy between urban and

rural communities and an absence of interaction between them. The
assumption, however, is not altogether valid. While the base of the
British was in towns, they were not completely oblivious to villages. In
fact, the new rulers were concerned about the woes suffered by villagers
on account of lack of communication, extreme poverty and disease,
exploitation by landlords, and “inhuman” caste-norms. The first step
they took to solve this rural problem was to survey land and settle rev-
enue. They also tried to establish order by codifying law and developing
MODERNIZATION AND THE URBAN-RURAL GAP IN INDIA 37

well-structured army and police forces. To some extent, they also

improved the means of transport and communication between villages
and towns. The frontiers of British culture and administration thus
touched village boundaries. As communication improved, sections of
villagers developed contacts with towns and thus with modern Western
values. Villages started urbanizing.
At the same time, population was steadily growing and pressure on
land was progressively increasing. This situation was aggravated by fre-
quent famines and scarcity. Hence, at some stage or other, Indian villagers
looked to towns and cities which were in need of manpower for their com-
mercial and industrial enterprises. Once this movement started, it acquired
a momentum of its own as people were attracted to the opportunities and
amenities available in towns. The push from villages was reinforced by the
pull of the towns and a continual movement arose between rural and urban
areas. The urban satellites of village families came in contact with different
elements of modernization, such as food habits, dress, modern medicine
and secular ideas, and some of these were transmitted to the villages.
The socio-economic gulf dividing towns and villages at the begin-
ning of this century did not fail to attract the attention of the leaders of
the nationalist movement. Gandhi, for instance, examined the effect of
British rule and culture on Indian society and came to the conclusion
that the new process set in motion by alien rule modernized cities and
towns at the cost of villages. With his distinctive ideals of morality and
equality and tendency to take up the cause of the underdog, Gandhi
came to consider most elements of modernity as undesirable for India.
He advocated maximum social, economic and political decentralization
and looked upon the small village community as the focal point of the
social reconstruction programme.
This approach to bridging the urban-rural gulf attracted many fol-
lowers in the beginning. However, when Independence came in 1947,
the political leaders in authority found Gandhian ideals one-sided and
impractical and began to think of social change and economic develop-
ment in the world context. No doubt they were concerned about the
cultural and economic lag suffered by villages in relation to towns, but
they wanted to balance village uplift with other aspects of social change
in relation to the socio-economic development of the whole country. Of
course, there is even today a strain of political thinking which favours the
view that social and economic reforms in India should predominantly be
38 N.R. Sheth

village-based. But concrete programmes are designed to meet the needs

of both urban and rural development.

IV
The coming of Independence introduced not only acceleration in the
process of modernization but also qualitative change in it. The merger
of princely states into the Union of India implied that there would be a
uniform political structure and organization for the country. The ideals
of liberty, equality and justice incorporated in the Indian Constitution
paved the way for comprehensive attempts to reduce existing inequali-
ties of status, power and wealth, and created a framework suitable for
changing the society in the direction of an achievement-oriented, ration-
alistic social order. The introduction of adult franchise and parliamen-
tary democracy provided a powerful means of political modernization
and education for the masses. Concurrently, a programme for the eco-
nomic and social development was undertaken by the Government
within the framework of the five-year plans.
This new process has considerably influenced the structure and
function of urban agglomerations in India. Growth in commerce
and industry is a vital aspect of planning for economic development, and
Indian planners have stressed this considerably. Thus expansion of exist-
ing commercial and industrial enterprises and the development of new
industries of all kinds have been emphasized in successive five-year
plans as a continuous process. Industry and commerce have largely been
concentrated in urban areas due to the various facilities available in
them and this trend continues in respect of growth. Industrial develop-
ment has thus implied growth of existing towns and cities. Besides the
natural increase of population, the urban areas have progressively
attracted more migrants from nearby and distant areas. Secondly, new
cities and towns have emerged since Independence as centres of admin-
istration (Chandigarh, Bhubaneshwar) or industry (Durgapur, Bhilai,
Rourkela).
A pace has thus been set for the growth of urban areas and urban
population in India. The percentage of urban population to total popu-
lation has increased from 10.84 in 1901 to 17.97 in 1961. The growth
of cities and large towns has been generally higher than that of small
ones. Between 1901 and 1951 while the total urban population increased
by 58.94 per cent, the population in towns of 20,000 or more rose by
MODERNIZATION AND THE URBAN-RURAL GAP IN INDIA 39

Table 1
Index of Growth of Population in Towns

Total More Less

Urban Than 50,000– 20,000– 10,000– 5,000– Than
Year Population 100,000 100,000 50,000 20,000 10,000 5,000
1901 100.00 100.00 100.00 100.00 100.00 100.00 100.00
1911 100.35 107.68 83.86 111.56 92.07 98.17 111.09
1921 108.64 120.61 107.02 116.62 92.29 102.14 128.04
1931 129.41 143.48 140.93 150.82 112.29 112.97 117.30
1941 170.79 246.96 194.24 183.90 131.88 131.68 95.63
1951 241.55 416.87 258.64 253.62 160.40 159.61 126.40
1961 305.34 617.04 323.26 359.36 193.26 118.97 53.94
Base: 1901–100.
Source: Srinivas 1965: 27.

111.94 per cent. Table 1 shows the indices of growth of urban popula-
tion in the different size-classes, taking figures for 1901 as 100.
However, it has been the contention of social scientists that urban-
ization in India has proceeded at a very slow rate in comparison with the
pace of urbanization at similar stages in the West. This phenomenon has
been explained in terms of sluggish economic growth. Even so, demog-
raphers such as Davis have expressed the fear that urban concentration
of population will soon be heavily disproportionate to economic devel-
opment. Davis (1962: 8–9) has worked out by logistic and historical
extrapolations that in the year 2000 A.D. at least 21.2 per cent and
perhaps 50 per cent of the population will be in places of 100,000 or
more. The estimate of percentage for towns of 20,000 or more in the
same year varies from 30.8 to 52. Whatever the validity of demographic
extrapolations and international comparisons, it appears certain that
urban agglomerations in India are steadily expanding and the process
will continue for a long time to come. Also, large towns and cities are
likely to be the fashion in urban growth during the coming years.
What socio-cultural types of urban agglomerations can be called
characteristic of modern India? It has been argued earlier that as a result
of the British rule the orthogenetic town tended to be replaced by the
heterogenetic. In Sjoberg’s (1960: 14) typology, this would mean that
the trend is from the pre-industrial to the industrial town whose main
40 N.R. Sheth

features are “secularization, voluntary associations, segmented social

roles and poorly defined norms.” It is not possible here to enter into the
validity of Sjoberg’s analysis of urban history. We must only remember
that insofar as Indian towns are industrializing, they are bound to take
on some attributes of the industrial urban way of life (see Wirth 1938).
On the other hand, Marriott (1954) has argued that the Indian city will
be commercial rather than industrial for a long time and that while it
will be achievement-oriented it will stress particularism in social rela-
tionships. One may infer that Indian towns will remain at the pre-
industrial cultural level for some time. However, in the absence of
adequate concrete data, the extent to which Indian towns possess the
“urban way of life” is anybody’s guess.

To what extent do urban and rural areas differ in receiving the benefits
of modernization? The discussion of this question will have to be gen-
eral and cursory due to the inadequacy of available data.
In an important sense, the disparity between villages and towns
flows from the fact that the former have a predominantly agricultural
economy unlike the latter. There is a considerably higher degree of
organization involved in commercial and industrial activities than in
agriculture. The exigencies of commercial and industrial work necessi-
tates certain minimum standards of transport, communication, literacy,
organized recreation, etc. Hence many villages lack certain facilities
which are readily available in towns, such as electricity, hygienic water
supply, and medical care. Secondly, the local administrations in towns
and cities are economically and organizationally much more viable than
their rural counterparts. Due to this, it is possible for townsmen to
secure certain special benefits which villagers cannot get. For instance,
many important towns have implemented schemes to procure a regular
supply of milk. Urban dairies buy most of the milk available in the sur-
rounding rural areas and distribute it among town-dwellers. The result
is that there is little or no milk available to villagers themselves. Similarly,
when an overall deficit of food supply was felt in India, the Government
introduced statutory rationing in large cities so that the population
there would not have to suffer much hardship. However, villagers were
virtually left alone in this respect and this led to an imbalance of food
supply between urban and rural areas. Other facilities such as higher
MODERNIZATION AND THE URBAN-RURAL GAP IN INDIA 41

education and proximity to government offices are also more easily

available to town-dwellers than to rural folk.
The census data as well as studies by the National Sample Survey
indicate some urban-rural differences in age and sex composition. In
short, the proportion of adult males of working age is higher in towns
than in villages (see National Sample Survey 1959: 38). This fact
is ascribed to adult males migrating to urban centres, leaving their wives
and children behind in villages. Migration from rural to urban areas
may have important effects on rural society in the long run. It may
deprive villagers of human resources and thus impoverish them further.
However, one argument is that migration of people from villages is a
healthy sign as it may encourage modernization of agriculture in the
absence of adequate manpower. We 60 not have sufficient information
on what is happening in Indian villages in this regard. In her study of
the role of a city on its surroundings, Acharya (1956) describes how the
city draws out not only people but also money and rents from the vil-
lages. She argues that the trade between a city and its hinterlands is
balanced in favour of the former.
There is also a higher proportion of upper and middle caste groups
among urban populations than in rural areas. It is now well known that
many higher and artisan castes in different parts of India traditionally
live in towns or cities and some of them emigrate to villages for trade
and artisanry. In general, the higher caste groups are economically richer
and politically more powerful than lower castes. Their wealth and urban
living have given them an advantage over their low-caste neighbours.
This means that the urban population has certain basic advantages over
rural people. The former have a potential capacity to modernize through
their wealth and education, which the ruralites lack.
There are highly significant differences of literacy and educational
achievements between urban and rural areas. People in the urban areas
are much more literate and educated than those in rural areas. Table 2
shows the urbanrural disparity in educational standards.
There are different views regarding the size and types of family in
urban and rural areas. The census and related data suggest that the size
of an average household is smaller in the urban area than in the rural.
The implication is that urban families tend towards the Western-type
elementary family whereas in rural areas the predominant feature is the
joint family. This view has lately been challenged by sociologists. It is
now realized that the average size of the household is not at all reliable
42 N.R. Sheth

Table 2
Proportion of Population at Different Levels of Education

Urban Rural
Level of Education % %
Illiterate 53.05 80.98
Literate (without education level) 23.49 13.29
Primary or Junior Basic 16.17 5.02
Matriculation and above 7.24 0.69

99.95 99.98
Compiled from Reports on Census of India, 1961.

as an index of the jointness or nuclearity of family. In his recent study of

urban-rural relationships, Mukherjee (1965: Ch. 2) did not find signifi-
cant differences between urban and rural family structures. The ideal of
extended family was common to both, and the structure of family over-
lapped a great deal between them. One contention is that the economic
mechanism of business and industry is more conducive to joint family
than the vicissitudes of land, and hence the joint family is more common
in urban than in rural areas. The information in this regard is however
too incomplete to warrant any useful generalization.
Economically, the differences between urban and rural communi-
ties are obvious. The vast majority of rural population subsists on agri-
culture and related occupations, whereas in towns and cities industry,
commerce and professional pursuits preponderate. In 1961, more than
79 per cent of the total working population in rural areas were engaged
in agriculture, whereas the corresponding percentage for urban areas was
just over 10. The income and expenditure pattern in urban areas indi-
cates greater financial turnover and orientation to things other than bare
necessities than in rural areas. Drawing on information collected by the
National Sample Survey, Sovani presents the relative difference in con-
sumer expenditure between urban and rural areas as shown in Table 3.
Table 3 suggests that although the difference in expenditure on
food is marginal, non-food expenditure varies sharply between the two.
While a considerable proportion of non-food expenditure may be
incurred on the basic necessities of life such as housing, the above statis-
tics indicate the relative affluence and acceptance of the modern way of
life among town-dwellers.
MODERNIZATION AND THE URBAN-RURAL GAP IN INDIA 43

Table 3
Consumer Expenditure for a Period of 30 Days

In Rural Areas In Urban Areas

Item of Expenditure Rs. Rs.
Food 13.54 14.81
Non-food 7.90 14.91
Total 21.44 29.72
Based on Table 14 in Sovani (1966: 58), which is adapted from a series of statistics
available in the National Sample Survey Report No. 16.

In the field of political behaviour, all Indians are constitutionally gov-

erned by a uniform democratic set-up. They have equal opportunities to
vote and to contest elections, irrespective of their educational or income
levels. During elections and otherwise, the various political parties try to
cover every corner of the country and hence villagers as well as urban people
are exposed to political activity. Unfortunately, there is hardly any systematic
information available in this matter. Weiner and Kothari (1965) describe
voting behaviour in urban and rural areas, but do not attempt to draw lines
of comparison between them. However, it can be stated that townsmen
show more political awareness and participation than villagers. This can be
explained in terms of better means of communication, higher rates of liter-
acy, relatively greater acceptance of the new political institutions, and the
proximity to centres of political activity among urban populations.
Moreover, the values, attitudes and beliefs of urban people are con-
siderably different from those of villagers. In schools, colleges, shops,
factories, buses and restaurants, urban people are exposed to goods,
ideas and ideals that can be called modern. As compared to villagers,
they are in closer contact with modern technology and modern way of
life. One would then expect that urban people are less inhibited by trad-
itional institutions such as caste and joint family and more open to
social and cultural change. Sovani (1960: 78), for instance, argues that
caste-control is loose in urban areas and there is more proneness to social
change. For instance, he found that urban people were more willing to
accept modern family-planning methods than rural folk (p. 76). However,
Srinivas (1965) and Redfield and Singer (1954) point out that the bonds
of caste are not as loose in town as one may imagine. There is segrega-
tion of castes and classes in many urban centres, and hence to some
extent the individual is obliged to be under caste control. Similarly,
44 N.R. Sheth

Hoselitz (1962 b) has emphasized the contention that values and atti-
tudes in Indian towns are remarkably traditional.

VI
The foregoing discussion of urban-rural differences in India is essen-
tially an abstraction. It assumes urban and rural communities as separate
entities and neglects the fact that the urban and rural traits are found
coexisting in all communities in different degrees. Even a metropolis
like Bombay or Delhi has its rural sectors of population (see, for example,
Bopegamage 1956) and it is possible to find most rural characteristics
among these people. The advantages of urban living mentioned above
are not uniformly available to all urban residents and many urbanites
live on the borderline of hunger and deprivation.
On the other hand, all villagers are not equally aloof of modern and
urban society and values. The political leaders at various levels are aware
of the urban-rural gap and have been trying hard to bridge it. The
Government of India has introduced a comprehensive programme of
community development for the economic and social uplift of villages.
This programme has brought villagers into contact with the modern
methods of farming and of organizing community life. Plans for improv-
ing the standards of literacy, housing and sanitation have been under-
taken and at least to some extent, executed. Rural electrification and
small-scale industry have also been introduced in many parts of Indian
rural world. Plans to provide adequate employment to villagers have
been undertaken in the context of planning for development. The
Government also tries to provide modern means of recreation such as
radio and mobile cinema. Health and family planning methods have
been propagated in villages through systematic propaganda. Politically,
village panchayats (new village councils to manage local affairs) have
been instituted in most regions. The councils are popularly elected
bodies and are designed to achieve decentralization of power, to enable
villagers to control their own affairs and thus to raise the level of political
consciousness.
Apart from these attempts made at the Government level to fill the
rural-urban gap, we must note the important fact that there is a con-
tinual interaction between urban and rural areas. As we have seen, a
large part of urban people are migrants from rural areas. Many of these
migrants keep their families in villages and visit them frequently. In this
MODERNIZATION AND THE URBAN-RURAL GAP IN INDIA 45

process, they carry some of the urban characteristics and values to the
villages. On their part, villagers visit towns and cities in ever increasing
number and thus come in contact with various traits of modernity. An
urban centre has its hinterland and there is a lot of exchange of goods
and values between them. There are definite indications of changes in
the consumption patterns of villagers and a tendency among the younger
generation to be rational in its relationship with the old.
A realistic assessment of urban-rural disparity thus needs to take
into account the relative rates of change over a period of time and the
interaction between the two types of community at a given point of
time. We need to ask: how fast are the towns and villages changing? If
the village changes at a faster pace than the town, we can visualize the
divergence between them narrowing in course of time. If the converse is
true, the gulf may widen inspite of the visible signs of progress in rural
areas. It is a pity that we cannot go far beyond guesswork in this regard.
From an ideal democratic point of view, whatever gap divides urban
and rural areas can be considered dysfunctional to a section of the society
and hence undesirable. In this regard, the urban population may appear to
be eating away a disproportionately large slice of the national cake. However,
we must bear in mind that there is an extent to which urban-rural disparity
is inevitable and may even be desirable. It has been argued before that urban
areas have certain inherent advantages over villages due to their economic
base. Urban areas perform certain special functions for the country which
cannot be performed by small village communities. The former have a
major share in the total economic development of the country. As Davis
and Golden (1954: 23) have argued, the city is functional for greater
accumulation of capital and forces innovation. Secondly, urban areas are
instrumental in projecting the image of the Indian society in relation to
the outside world. The urban elites act as links between the community
they live in and the outsiders. Also, urban areas act as carriers of moder-
nity to their hinterland. These and others are valid functions performed
by the urban agglomerations for the country and the special advantages
flowing from these functions have to be conceded as desirable and essen-
tial. This kind of gulf between urban and rural is bound to exist in every
society.
Insofar as an urban community performs functions such as those
just mentioned, it can be called generative, following Hoselitz (1955:
278), as its impact on economic growth of a region or the country is
favourable. On the other hand, a town or village may exert the opposite
46 N.R. Sheth

influence on its surroundings. It may depend on its hinterland without

giving much in return. In that case Hoselitz would call it parasitic.
Acharya (1956), for example, has sought to depict Nasik as a parasitic
town. But perhaps an apparently parasitic town performs certain
important functions which may not lend themselves to sheer economic
analysis. A religious or educational centre may be an expensive phenom-
enon from the viewpoint of the country’s resources but nevertheless
functional. Most towns are likely to be performing partly generative and
partly parasitic functions (see Hauser 1957) and the net effect may not
be easily determined. As Tangri (1962) points out, the contribution of a
town to economic development cannot be properly worked out without
considering the socioeconomic costs of alienation and anomie prevalent
in it. Social scientists will indeed make a distinct contribution to the
growth of the Indian society if they follow this suggestion and strive at
working out the inputs and outputs in respect of urban areas within a
composite socio-economic framework. While it is clear that most social
phenomena are not reducible to monetary measures, efforts in this
direction may yield valuable results in the long run.
This is not to argue that urban-rural differences cannot or should not
be ironed out, Looking at the gulf from the angle of the rural community,
there is no doubt that villages are in many respects in positions of disadvan-
tage; hence the goal should always be to minimize the disadvantage as far as
one can. The multidimensional programme of social, economic and polit-
ical development of the village community undertaken by the Indian
Government is no doubt a step in the right direction. The successive five-
year plans have stressed the need for overall development of the Indian vil-
lage, and this is bound to go a long way in narrowing the urban-rural gap.
However, at the present stage there are many problems involved in
making these programmes successful. As Rao (1962) suggests, economic
growth is only the beginning of the story. Before economic change can
be successfully generated, it has to cross the hurdles of social tradition.
At many places in India, programmes such as family planning and mech-
anization of farming have run into bad weather due to opposition from
villagers who are controlled by traditional values and prejudices. On the
other hand, most leaders and officers are urban-bred and they do not
have adequate knowledge or proper attitudes to engineer change in a
custom-bound society. Moreover, professional people and experts such
as engineers, doctors and teachers are mostly urban-oriented and refuse
to serve in villages. One often hears about innumerable rural schools and
MODERNIZATION AND THE URBAN-RURAL GAP IN INDIA 47

dispensaries without manpower while potential teachers and physicians

starve in towns. If this dismal imbalance is corrected, it can contribute a
lot to the achievement of desirable proportions in the development of
urban and rural communities.
This gulf of attitudes and prejudices between the villager and the
urban elite cannot be bridged easily and quickly. It is difficult to say
what the best method to solve this problem is. But one of the most
effective tools appears to be the right kind of education. Programmes of
mass literacy and compulsory rural service for university students are
under way. These are valuable, but the whole approach to education
needs to be geared to bringing about changes in unhelpful attitudes.
Many people think that the urban-rural gap is largely due to the fact
of centralization of commerce and industry. On the one hand, expanding
industrial centres face problems of many sorts—accommodation, water,
power, sanitation. On the other, rural areas are deprived of the chance to
develop. The remedy then lies in decentralization. This is a forceful argu-
ment, but it must be examined in the overall perspective of a poor and
developing economy. Starting new industrial centres implies enormous
investment of money and there is not likely to be any return for years
together. On the contrary, if industry, is developed in already existing
industrial centres, it involves minimum over-heads and yields quick
results. It is argued that this is necessary for a remarkably poor economy
like India’s. Chaudhuri (1962) examines in detail arguments for and
against decentralization and concludes that decentralization is dis-
economic. It means sluggishness and low productivity. He advocates
increase in agricultural productivity and rural economic development
without decentralization. However, others say that we must think more
and more in terms of long-term social and economic goals and hence
must  not be shy of making investments not yielding quick results.
A  middle-of-the-road suggestion is that maximum emphasis be placed
on  agriculture-based industry and on optimum commercialization of
agriculture. In this connection, it may be mentioned that in some regions,
such as Punjab, there are visible signs of economic prosperity and modern-
ization as a result of the peasants’ quick acceptance of modern farming
methods and equipment.
At present, planning is done separately for the urban and rural levels
as the two have their distinctive problems. To a degree, this is unavoid-
able. However, it is necessary to plan for development of urban and
rural areas in an integrated way. As Redfield and Singer (1954: 58) put it,
48 N.R. Sheth

rural-urban integration depends on the mutuality of interests or what

they call a “symbiotic” relation between them. The urban area should
provide a service centre to the region around it and the latter in turn
should act as a “food-basket” for the former. Moreover, planning at one
level should be in relation to the problems faced at both levels. For
instance, when rural planning is done, the question of attitude of officers
and experts such as doctors and engineers should be incorporated in it.
Similarly, urban planning should be based on migration and population
movement estimates. We hardly know anything about who the potential
migrants to our urban areas are and what their needs are. If our aim is
integrated growth, we must find out some way of forecasting and con-
trolling the various types of migration.
At the political level, the modern democratic machinery and village
panchayats are of great value to educate the masses. Unfortunately, pol-
itics at the village level is still often based on caste and village factions,
but the existence of an alternative political structure is valuable in itself
and can eventually introduce change in the traditional set-up.
In the final analysis, there may not be much disagreement about the
goals pursued by India in respect of urban-rural differences. In a nut-
shell, the goal is to remove the barriers that divide urban communities.
However, there is much scope of difference on means. The economic,
political and social inequalities between urban and rural areas should be
minimized. But to do this one needs unlimited resources, both material
and human. In fact, resources are limited. Which then is better: to go on
making investments in existing urban areas for immediate economic
growth or to focus on removing rural backwardness in the interest of
prosperty? Does one think of the future and make investments without
much reference to immediate needs or does one invest wisely and
hope  that the stage will soon come when it will be possible to invest on
long-term socioeconomic ends more easily? Obviously, the art lies in
balancing the two. At this stage the issues become naive to the sociologist
and radiate into the boundaries of other social sciences and practical
affairs.

Note
1. This is a revised version of a working paper submitted for the 34th Study Session of
the International Institute of Differing Civilizations, held at Aixeo-Provence, France,
in September 1967. I wish to record my gratitude to the Institute for granting special
MODERNIZATION AND THE URBAN-RURAL GAP IN INDIA 49

permission to publish the paper in India. I am grateful to Professors M.S.A. Rao and
A.M. Shah for their comments, thanks are due also to Messrs S.P. Jain and J.S. Gandhi
and Miss Suman Rajpal for their help in collecting the source material for the paper.

References
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———. 1962a A Survey of the Literature on Urbanisation in India. In Turner (1962).
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———. 1962 Housing Conditions. No. 67. Government of India.
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4
‘Fringe’ Society and the
Folk-Urban Continuum
M.S.A. Rao

T
he present article aims to focus its attention on one of the points
of the folk-urban continuum, namely, the rural-urban fringe. It
is only a suggested formulation of a frame of reference for a
study of village communities within the ‘field’ of metropolitan or city
dominance. I will start with a discussion of the folk-urban continuum
which is a wider conceptual framework.
The conceptual scheme of folk-urban continuum has been fairly
discussed, criticized and employed by anthropologists and field sociol-
ogists during its history of about twenty five years. Professor Redfield
who formulated the concept, was largely concerned with the construc-
tion of the typology of the folk society (1947—pp. 293–308). The folk
type of society is characterized as a society which is small, isolated,
non-literate, and homogeneous, with a strong sense of group solidarity.
The ways of living are conventionalised into that coherent system
which we call “a culture”. The behaviour is traditional, spontaneous,
uncritical, and personal; there is no legislation or habit of experiment
and reflection for intellectual ends. Kinship, its relationships and insti-
tutions, are the type categories of experience and the familiar group is
the unit of action. The sacred prevails over the secular; the economy is
one of status rather than of the market. Secondary and tertiary tools—
tools to make tools—are relatively few as compared with primary tools.
It is a group economically independent of all others; there is not much
‘FRINGE’ SOCIETY AND THE FOLK-URBAN CONTINUUM 51

division of labour (Ibid, pp. 293–308). The other pole of the

continuum, namely, urban type is only constructed in contrast with
the folk people.
Oscar Lewis came out with scathing criticism of the folk-urban
conceptualization of social change (1935; 1953, pp. 131–137). Horace
Miner, in his illustrious article, countered many of the objections raised
by Oscar Lewis and other critics and pointed out some useful improve-
ments and modifications in the areas of the problem of fit, the defin-
itions of characteristics and the limited theoretical insight. He concludes
by saying about the utility of the concept that “probably the most valu-
able feature of the continuum is the fact it provides a framework within
which various theoretical fields may be integrated to provide greater
understanding of the nature and course of culture change” (1952,
p. 537). Redfield again reinforced the concept by tagging on to it the
emergent qualities of the natural history of the folk society and the rela-
tion between Great Tradition and the Little Tradition (1953,
pp. 224–28).
‘Peasant Society’ is another point on the folk-urban continuum.
Redfield (ibid) conceives ‘peasant society’ as “showing folk-society and
state of civilization more nearly in even balance, for the peasant society
is that society in which the moral order that prevails among the most
primitive societies still prevails, but now in persisting relationship with
a technical order of developed tools, trade and formal political and
administrative institutions. The peasant village is a half-way house, a
stable structure, along the historic road mankind takes between the
imagined polarities.”
The concept was further strengthened by an examination of the
forces operating at and the characteristics of the urban end of the contin-
uum. Both Redfield and Milton Singer analysed the cultural role of the
cities into orthogenetic and heterogenetic, the former transforming the
Little Tradition into Great Tradition, i.e., the folk culture into its civi-
lized dimensions by carrying forward, developing and elaborating a
long-established local culture or civilization, and the latter accomplish-
ing the freeing of the intellectuals, aesthetic, economic and political life
from the local moral norms and developing, on the one hand, an indi-
vidualized expedient motivation, and on the other, a revolutionary,
nativistic, humanistic or ecumenical view point, now directed towards
reform, progress and designed change. The city of orthogenetic
52 M.S.A. Rao

transformation is the city of the moral order and the city of heterogenetic
transformation is the city of the technical order. The city is imagined as
that community in which orthogenetic and heterogenetic transform-
ations of the folk society have most fully occurred. Further, the authors
associate the orthogenetic and heterogenetic roles with primary and sec-
ondary processes of urbanization and point out many cultural conse-
quences of these two processes (1954, pp. 53–73).
This brief review of the concept over the years shows that it has,
proved a useful one in the analysis of social and cultural change Even
Oscar Lewis, its most ardent critic, makes the typologies of the peasant
societies the basis of comparative studies of Mexican and Indian villages
(1958, p. 322). It can also be seen that the concept of folk-urban con-
tinuum provides so wide a framework as to encompass the analysis of all
types of cultures and civilizations and the processes of culture change in
an integrated way. The following remark of Redfield about India is sig-
nificant: “In civilization where tribal life also persists, as in India and
parts of Latin America, one may recognize a structure of levels, tribal,
peasant and urbanized or manorial. This structure can be recognised as
making up the whole civilized society, while one may describe the pro-
cesses of change whereby a particular community or individual is moved
from one level to the next” (1956, p. 63).

II
It is in this wider framework of reference that another point on the con-
tinuum at the nearer end of the urban pole may be developed. This
point may be called ‘Fringe’ society or ‘Rurban’ society, partly for want
of a better term and partly because of the convergence of attention of
sociologists, human ecologists and land economists on this point.
The first systematic discussion on the rural-urban ‘fringe’ appeared
in 1953, when it was examined both from the urban and the rural points
of view (Lively, C. E., and others, 1953).
The ‘rural-urban fringe’ has been used to describe a number of dif-
ferent situations and characteristics. G. S. Wehrwein defines it “as the
area of transition between well recognised urban land uses and the area
devoted to agriculture” (1942). W. Firey considered rurban fringe as a
marginal area (1946). Dickinson considered it “as an extension of the
city itself, present or potential” (1952, p. 120).
‘FRINGE’ SOCIETY AND THE FOLK-URBAN CONTINUUM 53

Attention is also given to describe the population characteristics of

the fringe (J. A. Beegle, 1947). It is shown that the fringe generally
occupies an intermediate position in certain demographic characteris-
tics between rural and urban situations. The economic life of the people
in the fringe is shown to have characteristics of combination of farm and
non-farm occupations, part-time farming and commuting (Eonklin,
Horward E., 1944; Black, H. H., 1945). Emergence of new family
forms in the fringe area is studied by G. E. Jaco and I. Belknap (1953).
They suggest that the historic functions of the family are seemingly
better retained in the urban fringe. Rural-urban fringe is also used to
study the process of fringe settlement as a two directional movement
where the differential characters of families migrated from rural and
urban places are examined (M. W. Rodehaver, 1947).
The various characteristics associated with the rural-urban fringe in
these and other studies point out that the fringe society represents a
focal point on the folk-urban continuum with many transitional fea-
tures of the peasant-urban society. It also suggests that there are new
types which are only found in the fringe society.

III

The rural-urban fringe in India, however, differs from that in the United
States in an essential feature. In the U.S., it is largely the result of decon-
centration of urban population, whereas in India it is the result of the
growing impact of metropolitan cities on the villages nearby. The
‘extended fringe’ formed by the invasion of the countryside by the city
people exists only in a limited sense in India. The fringe villages in the
area of metropolitan dominance while retaining their identity, react to
the urban situation and their social structure, organisation and cultural
values and undergo drastic changes in the process. The rural-urban
interaction in the fringe villages is more intense not merely because of
their physical propinquity but because of greater connections with the
city. Different processes and levels of adjustments to the urban influence
manifest themselves, and the time dimension in the processes of social
change assumes significance.
A few significant studies of the villages near a town, city or metropolis
in India reveal changes in their social and economic structure which
approximate to some of the characteristics of the Fringe society—A. R. Beal’s
54 M.S.A. Rao

study of Namhalli, a village near Bangalore and T. S. Trent’s study of

Manhalli, a village near a sugar factory town in Mysore (see M. N. Srinivas,
1956), N. G. Chapekar’s study of Badlapur, a village near Kalyan (1954),
Hemalata Acharya’s study of four villages around Nasik (1956) and
K. M. Kapadia’s study of five ‘impact’ villages around Navsari (1956). We
are very much looking forward to the results of Prof. G. S. Ghurye’s study
of country-town relations in Haveli Taluka.
The first stage analysis of the data collected during the course of ten
month’s field work in a village on the rural-urban fringe of Delhi* exhib-
its some characteristics which may be designated as peculiar to the fringe
society.
In the area of caste structure and occupational mobility it is found
that there is greater mobility in the younger generation. The analysis of
the employment histories of 282 males (all the self-supporting persons
of the village) exhibit significant variations in the mobility patterns
which may be taken to characterize a fringe society. At the one end,
there are cases of consistent deviation from the caste occupations, where
individuals start with different occupations from those of their caste,
change but do not return to the caste occupation any time. At the other
end, there are cases where individuals start with their caste occupation
and continue in that without changing. In between there are many vari-
ations: the individuals start with a different occupation but return to
their traditional occupation immediately or subsequently, either to stay
in or go off from it. The second variation is provided by those who start
with the traditional occupation but change and do not return to caste
occupation. The third variation is the combination of traditional and
different occupation where either of the two is secondary. The fourth
variation is one where the persons follow their traditional occupation
but at a different level of economy. For instance, many Bhangis work in
the nearby Badli dump where the nature of work is the same as their
traditional occupation but they work for a monthly salary.
Thus, although the caste occupation has undergone many changes
under the impact of the urban environmental forces, it is seen to func-
tion as a cushioning agency to absorb the shocks due to the vagaries of
the employment situation.
The urban-market-oriented-economy has brought a greater degree
of competition but it has significantly altered the traditional cooperative
activities in caste and kinship. Although the urban-employed persons
‘FRINGE’ SOCIETY AND THE FOLK-URBAN CONTINUUM 55

show a greater dichotomy of the urban and peasant values, they conform
more to the latter.
There is a greater number of nuclear families, but they do not
approximate to those in the urban areas. The brothers get separated
more for the sake of convenience, to avoid conflicts between their wives.
The joint-family system is still respected and its advantages are praised.
The family organisation shows a level of adjustment which is not found
either in the urban or in the rural society.
It is not the purpose of this article to report at length the results of
the study nor to make fuller, detailed statements about the features of
the fringe society with respect to all the areas of social, cultural and per-
sonality behaviour. It only seeks to present a case, ignoring other issues,
that the ‘fringe society’ can be treated as a social isolate and used as a tool
of analysis to study the process of urbanization in fringe villages and for
understanding the dynamic forces of interaction and rural-urban rela-
tions as a point of two-way directional movement on the folk-urban
continuum. ‘Fringe Society’ represents that structural level in the con-
tinuum which is half-way between the peasant and the urban society,
exhibiting the characteristics of peasant society in a more intensified
manner, with some new types coming in.

Note
* The village ‘Shamepur’ with 207 households is seven miles to the northwest of Delhi city.
It is well connected with the city by train and road and it specializes in supplying vegeta-
bles to the city. The field work was done by the author during 1957. The author is thankful
to late Sri Lala Khubi Ram and his family, who helped his family’s stay in the village.

References
Acharya, Hemalata1956 “Urbanizing Role of a One-lakh City” in symposium on Rural-
Urban Relations S.B., Sept. 1956, pp. 89–101.
Beegle, J. A. 1947 “Characteristics of Michigan’s Fringe Population” R.S., 12,
pp. 254–263.
Black, H. H. 1945 “Rurbanization of Worcester’s Environs” E.G., 21, pp. 104–16.
Chapekar, N.G. 1954 “Social Change in Rural Maharashtra” in Professor Ghurye Felicitation
volume, (Ed.) K. M. Kapadia, pp. 169–182.
Dickinson, R. K. 1952 City Region and Regionalism.
Eonklin, H. E. 1944 “The Rural-Urban Economy of the Elmira Corn Region.” I.L. &
P.U.E. 20.
56 M.S.A. Rao

Firey, Walter 1946 “Ecological considerations in Planning for Rurban Fringes” A.S.R., 11,
pp. 411–21.
Jaco, E. Gartly & Ivan Belknap 1953 “Is a New Family Form Emerging in the urban fringe?”
A.S.R., 18, pp. 551–57.
Kapadia, K. M. 1956 “Rural Family Patterns” in symposium on Rural-urban Relations, S.B.,
Sept. 1956 pp. 111–126.
Lewis, Oscar 1951 Life in a Mexican village: Tepoztlan Restudied.
———. 1953 “Tepoztlan Restudied: A Critique of the folk-urban Conceptualization of
social Change” R.S., 18, pp. 121–137.
———. 1958 Village Life in Northern India.
Lively, C. E. & others 1953 “The Sociological Significance of the Rural-Urban Fringe” R.S.,
18. pp. 101–120.
Miner,Horace 1952 “The Folk-urban continuum”. A.S.R. 17, 52, pp. 529–37.
Redfield, Robert 1947 “The Folk Society” A.J.S., 52, pp. 293–308.
———.1953 “The Natural History of the Folk-Society”, S.F., 31, pp. 224–28.
Srinivas, M. N. 1956 “Primitive and Peasant: Simple and Compound Society” in Society in
India, (Eds.) A. Aiyappan & L. K. Bala Ratnam, pp. 54–72.
———.1956 “The Industrialization and Urbanization of Rural Areas,” in symposium on
Rural-Urban Relations,” S.B., Sept. 1956, pp. 79–88.
Rodehaver, M. W. 1947 “Fringe Settlement as a Two-Directional Movement,” R.S., 12,
pp. 49–57.
Redfield, Robert & Singer, M. B.1954 “The Cultural Role of Cities,” E.D. & C.C. 3,
pp. 53–73.
Wehrwein, G. S. 1942 “The Rural-Urban Fringe,” E.G., 18, pp. 217–28.
5
Rural Family Patterns:
A Study in Urban-Rural
Relations
K.M. Kapadia

N
avsari is a town with a population of 44, 663 according to the
Census of 1951. It is a small town with all urban amenities.
There are 11 primary schools, 2 Anglo-Vernacular schools and
5 high schools of which two cater for girls. Within the last 10 years there
have sprung up a College with units for Arts and Science courses, a
Technical high school and a Commercial high school. There are four
libraries two of which having more than ten thousand books each. There
are three cinema houses. There are two public hospitals, one of them
being run by the Government, and five private ones of which two are for
eyes and three for general surgery. The two of the latter are equipped
with X-Ray machines. There are two public maternity hospitals, one for
the Parsis and the other for the Hindus, besides three private Maternity
Homes. Electricity is available for the most part of the day for lighting
and sundry economic activities since 1923. Water supply was intro-
duced in January 1929 and drainage was completed by 1934–35.
The town has two textile mills, one started as early as 1932 and the
other in 1938. They provide employment to about three thousand
workers. There are a ‘Metal Works,’ two bobbin factories, two ice facto-
ries, two saw mills, one tanning factory and about twenty small industrial
concerns.
58 K.M. Kapadia

There are four banks the oldest of which was established in 1910 as
the State treasury (of the old Baroda State). There is also a Co-operative
Bank started in 1913 and a Land Mortgage Bank functioning from 1938.
Navsari has 145 villages spread out on all its four sides. The nearest ones
are at a distance of one mile, the farthest about fifteen miles. There are bus
routes which connect a very large number of these villages with the town.
There are eight routes on which the buses run from five in the morning to
nine in the night, and many of these routes are in use all the year round.
This brief picture of interconnections and interrelations between
Navsari and the surrounding villages envisages a significant impact of
the town on the rural life and institutions and vice-versa. This paper is
confined to the analysis of this impact in so far as it relates to one insti-
tution only, viz. the family.
The family pattern in the rural area is delineated in this paper
on the basis of the data in the 1951 Census. Fifteen villages have been
chosen, five within the range of one to three miles from Navsari, seven
within the range of four to nine and three within ten to thirteen miles.
The three dominant castes in Navsari taluka are: the Koli, the Anavil and
the Patidar. The villages are so selected that they include two or three
villages in which each of these castes is dominant. Every fifth house in a
village so selected is taken up for analysis. The present paper is thus
based on the 20% sample of the families in fifteen villages of Navsari
taluka selected with due consideration to the distance and caste factors.
The strength of the fifteen villages is 8260 families, of which 426 are
non-Hindus, 2577 Halapatis and Harijans, 2910 Kolis, 138 Bharwads,
578 functional castes, 406 Patidars including Rajputs, 90 Banias includ-
ing Jains, 525 Brahmins and Anavils, and 610 whose castes cannot be
identified.* Of these, the non-Hindus, the Halapatis and the Harijans
are excluded, leaving for the present paper 63.7% or about two-thirds of
the village families. The number of sample families is 1099 which con-
stitute 20.9% of the families accepted for analysis.
As for Navsari town, I have taken for this paper 246 families. Of
the total number of 12 wards in Navsari only 6 where higher incidence
of castes included in the village sample was traceable were chosen.
After  elimination and necessary discrimination families were selected
proportionately from each ward.
The problem of the family is approached here from the structural
point of view. The first question is whether the rural families are pre-
dominantly nuclear or joint.
RURAL FAMILY PATTERNS: A STUDY IN URBAN-RURAL RELATIONS 59

Table 1

No. of Nuclear No. of Joint Nuclear Family Joint Family

Caste Family Family in % in %
Kolis 315 264 54.3 45. 7
Functional Castes I* 52 68 43.3 56.7
Functional Castes II# 15 12 55.6 44.4
Patidars–Rajputs 27 38 38.3 61.7
Banias–Jains 8 10 44.4 55.6
Bhaiya – 1
Bharwads 16 12 57.1 42.9
Lower Castes## 6 1
Unidentified Castes 75 75 50.0 50.0
Total 553 546 50.3 49.7
* This includes carpenter, tailor, goldsmith, blacksmith, brazier, corn-seller, green-grocer
(Kachhia), potter, oil-presser (Ghanchi), perfumer (Saraiya) and bangle-seller (Chudagar).
# This includes washerman, barber, cobbler, gardener and fisherman.
## This includes basket-maker, Gosai and Jogi.

In the rural community, the proportion of joint families is almost

the same as that of nuclear families. However, when the nature of the
family pattern is viewed in relation to castes it is evident that the higher
castes, viz. the Patidars, the Brahmins and even the Banias have predom-
inantly joint family, its proportion to the nuclear family being nearly
5:3. The comparatively lower castes such as the Kolis, functional castes
II and the Bharwads show a greater incidence of nuclear family, the
proportion of the joint family to the nuclear being 9:11. That is, while
among the higher castes we find 0.6 nuclear family per every joint
family, among the lower castes every joint family has as its counterpart
1.2 nuclear families.
The Patidars and the Anavils show the same pattern. Both are pre-
dominantly agriculturists. As such joint family may be said to be pre-
dominant among the agricultural castes. The potters who are also by
now agriculturists and the Kachhias who are to some extent agricultur-
ists, even while showing a greater incidence of the joint family, show a
higher percentage of the nuclear family (viz. 46.9) than that among
the Patidars. The Kolis who have also by now taken to agriculture to
60 K.M. Kapadia

a  greater extent have 54.3% of their families nuclear. This is just in

consonance with a situation in the transitional stage. The functional
castes, however, who have nothing to do with agriculture show such a
high percentage of the joint family as 64.1%, the Ghanchis having
68.7%. From the pattern of the family found in the rural community it
becomes doubtful whether the joint family is now necessarily a concom-
itant of the agricultural economy.
As for the pattern of family in Navsari, we find: —

Table 2

No. of Nuclear No. of Joint Nuclear Family Joint Family

Caste Family Family in % in %
Kolis 18 21 46.2 53.8
Functional Castes I 32 35 47.8 52.2
Functional Castes II 10 12 45.5 54.5
Patidars 5 10 33.3 66.6
Banias 12 28 30.0 70.0
Brahmins 28 32 46.7 53.3
Kayastha 1
Bharwads 1 1
Total 107 139 43.5 56.5

The percentage of nuclear families in Navsari is 43.5** which gives

a proportion of 0.77 nuclear family per every joint family. But the com-
plement of the joint family is actually greater than this. We find that,
while 486 persons live in nuclear families, 969 live in joint families. This
gives only 0.5 nuclear family per every joint family. The general pre-
sumption is that people in cities and big towns live in nuclear families
and that towns and cities have disintegrative influences on the structure
of the family. It would not be proper to generalise anyway on the basis
of such a small sample, yet it may be said on the basis of this data that
this assumption does not hold good for Navsari. The question in this
case would rather be: How is it that people in the town are more favour-
ably inclined to the joint family?
In order to understand the impact of the town on the surrounding
villages it is proposed to analyse the pattern of the family in the five
RURAL FAMILY PATTERNS: A STUDY IN URBAN-RURAL RELATIONS 61

Table 3

No. of Nuclear No. of Joint Nuclear Family Joint Family

Caste Family Family in % in %
Kolis 101 82 55.2 44.8
Functional Castes I 28 34 45.1 54.9
Functional Castes II 4 3 57.1 42.9
Patidars 7 12 36.8 63.2
Banias 1
Brahmins 16 28 36.4 63.6
Bharwads 3 3 50.0 50.0
Lower Castes 5
Unidentified Castes 66 64 50.8 49.2
Total 231 226 50.5 49.5

villages within three miles of Navsari, villages within the aura of the town,
which may be referred to hereafter in this paper as impact villages.
It is evident from the Table that the family pattern in the impact
villages closely resembles the rural pattern in Table 1, and has no corres-
pondence with the town pattern. Here, as in the villages, the pattern
shows the caste variations. It is further found that the functional castes
show a gradual increase of nuclear families (43.3, 45.1, 47.7) and the
Patidars show a gradual decrease of nuclear families (38.3, 36.8, 33.3) as
we move from villages to the impact villages to the town. Can we attri-
bute this deviation to the impact of the town? Or is it merely an expres-
sion of caste variations?
The deviation in the town pattern from that in the villages may be
partially explained:

a. Functional Castes I: The group of castes—tailors, gold smiths, carpenters

and blacksmiths—show the same pattern both in the village and the town.
The oil-pressers, on the other hand, show a marked tendency toward nuclear
family in the town. There are ten nuclear families against eleven joint fam-
ilies in Navsari among them while the corresponding numbers are five and
eleven in the villages.
b. Functional Castes II: The fishermen, barbers and gardeners in the town
show a marked tendency towards joint living. In their case, the nature of
their vocation is conducive to joint living.
 62

Table 4

Caste Number of Families Number of Persons

Persons 1–3 4–6 7–10 11– Total 1–3 4–6 7–10 11– Total

Kolis 55 120 75 14 264 138 604 608 172 1522

Functional I 9 31 19 9 68 25 148 151 118 442
Functional II 1 6 3 2 12 3 30 26 23 82
Patidars 3 20 8 7 38 9 92 61 89 251
Banias 4 2 2 2 10 9 9 16 26 60
Brahmins 16 31 16 2 65 43 150 130 26 349
Bharwads – 7 5 12 – 37 41 – 78
Bhaiyas – – 1 1 – – 9 – 9
Lower caste – – 1 1 – – 9 – 9
Unidentified 13 37 19 6 75 31 189 148 72 440
Total 101 254 149 42 546 258 1259 1199 526 3242
In percentage 18.5 46.5 27.3 7.7 7.9 38.8 37.1 16.2
K.M. Kapadia
RURAL FAMILY PATTERNS: A STUDY IN URBAN-RURAL RELATIONS 63

c. Banias: Banias are few and far between in villages. There may be one or two
families in each village. In Navsari, on the other hand, they are mainly
traders dealing in cloth or gold ornaments and jewellery. Even in the case of
those who are not traders joint living is economically enforced because
of their high standard of living and heavy social obligations.
d. Brahmins: Many Anavils are settled in Navsari as employees in schools,
government offices and to a certain extent in factories and railways. It is
quite possible that, although they have been recorded as members of
nuclear families in the Census, their links with their parent families in the
surrounding villages, from which they have come to Navsari for employ-
ment, are not functionally severed. If this assumption be correct, the higher
percentage of nuclear families among the Branhmins in Navsari is apparent
and not real.
e. It is only in the case of the Kolis that no satisfactory explanation is possible.

In the light of this explanation the conclusion would be forced

upon us that the difference between the rural and the town patterns is
partly the result of modification of the caste family patterns by eco-
nomic factor. Caste lines as a result seem to have been partly blurred.
Having so far ascertained the types of the family it would be worth-
while to proceed to the analysis of the structure of the joint family, first
from the point of view of its size and then of the relationships among its
constituent members. To start with the size, the joint families may be
arranged into four groups for the purpose.
Family-wise the highest number of families are to be found in the
group of 4–6 persons. Next comes the family group of 7–10 members.
These together constitute about three-fourths of the joint families in the
rural area. Only one-fifth of the families are small families of 1–3 persons.
But the proportion of small families is less than one-twelfth when we
consider these groups person-wise, i.e. in terms of persons living in these
forms of families. Likewise persons living in the families of 11 and
more members constitute one-sixth of the total persons living jointly. It
may further be said that 53% of the persons, i.e., more than half of the
members of the joint families live in family groups of 7 and more mem-
bers. This fact is very interesting, because it unfolds a new perspective
which belies the usual practice of representing the pattern in terms of
average. The average size of a family in the village is very near to six.
More than half the persons are, however, seen to be living in families of
more than six persons.
Going to the town now, we find: —
 64

Table 5

Caste Number of Families Number of Persons

Persons 1–3 4–6 7–10 11– Total 1–3 4–6 7–10 11– Total

Kolis 2 9 7 3 21 5 41 55 40 141
Functional I 2 14 16 3 35 6 71 132 39 248
Functional II – 7 5 – 12 – 39 38 – 77
Patidars – 2 7 1 10 – 10 56 11 77
Banias 3 10 10 5 28 8 52 83 75 218
Brahmins 4 15 11 2 32 11 76 86 25 198
Bharwads – – 1 – 1 – – 10 – 10
Total 11 57 57 14 139 30 289 460 190 969
In percentage 7.9 41.0 41.0 10.1 2.9 29.8 47.4 19.9
K.M. Kapadia
RURAL FAMILY PATTERNS: A STUDY IN URBAN-RURAL RELATIONS 65

Family-wise about four-fifths of the families are of 4 to 10 persons

and one-tenth of 11 and more members. Person-wise, too, the percent-
age of persons living in the families of 4 to 10 members does not appear
to deviate much from that of such families. The significant difference is,
however, seen in the fact that the percentage of persons living in the
large families of 11 and more is almost double. Similarly, two-thirds of
the persons live in the families of 7 and more members, though family-
wise such families constitute only 51% of the total families.
The situation in the impact villages may be presented in the per-
spective of the rural and the town situations.

Table 6

Area Groups Family-wise Groups Person-wise Average

Size of a
Persons 4–10 7 and Above 4–10 7 and Above Family
Rural area 73.8% 35.0 75.9% 53.3 6
Impact villages 72.0 40.4 71.9 59.2 6.2
Town 82.0 51.1 77.2 67.3 7

Whether we look at the situation from the point of view of the

average size of a family, or from the point of view of the size-groups of
the families or from the point of view of persons living in the different
size-groups, we find that the town scores over the villages in the inci-
dence of higher number, and the impact villages stand somewhere
between the two.
As for the small family group (i.e. 1–3 members), the impact vil-
lages bear close resemblance to the villages, the percentages being 17.8
and 18.5 respectively from the point of view of persons. In respect of
other groups, considered both family-wise and person-wise one can see
a transition in favour of a large group as one moves from villages to the
impact villages to the town.
Two conclusions follow from the Table. First, not only the total
complement of the joint family is higher in the town but even its size is
larger there than in the rural area. The latter fact reinforces the validity
of the former, and so the predominance of joint familes in the town
cannot be regarded as accidental. Secondly, both in the strength as well
66 K.M. Kapadia

Table 7

Type I Type II Type III

Parent Brother, P. & Grand G. Ch. Joint Grand
(s) Sister Br. Sr. Total Children & R. Total Family R. Total Total
19 13 9 41 22 8 30 34 34 68 139
29.5% 21.6% 48.9%

as in the structure, the impact villages stand midway between the village
and the town, substantiating thereby the fact of impact.
When this data of the size-groups of the families is scrutinized
castewise, the following facts are observed. The Kolis, the functional
castes I and the Patidars show a gradual increase of the families of seven
and more members as we proceed from villages to the impact villages to
the town. The relevant percentages are: 33.8, 45.1, 47.6; 41.2, 47.1,
54.2; 39.5, 54.6, 80.0. The Brahmin caste has failed to show this trend.
It has, on the other hand, shown a stable percentage in respect of the
family group of 4 to 6 members in all the three areas—47.7, 46.4,
46.8—and a marked rise in that of the small family unit in the impact
villages, viz. 35.7 as against 24.6 in the villages and 12.5 in the town.
The functional castes I and the Patidars show very close resemblance in
respect of the small family units in the villages and the impact villages
both family-wise and person-wise, a correspondence which also bear
with the population as a whole of both the areas. One significant fact is
that not a single caste shows any correspondence between the town and
the impact villages in respect of the familygroups of 11 and more or of
4 to 6. Under the circumstances caste cannot precisely be said to be the
demarcating line in the family pattern, though it would not be at the
same time justifiable to rule out altogether its role in the understanding
of the family pattern.
We now proceed to the analysis of the family groups in terms of
relationships between the members constituting a family. We begin with
the town.
In the above Table I have divided the families into three types. The
third type is the traditional joint family, although its range of relationship,
generations held together, is not as wide as it once was, the present-day
family being usually the family of three generations. A man leaves the parent
RURAL FAMILY PATTERNS: A STUDY IN URBAN-RURAL RELATIONS 67

family to start his nuclear family. In course of time his sons get married, and
they do not generally leave the family on marriage but stay there and, in
course of time, as they become parents of children, extend its circumfer-
ence. A family of three generations is thus once again formed. Theoretically
it does not much differ from the traditional family. The difference lies only
in the perspective of the individual who heads it. He left the family which
consisted of his brothers, collaterals and ascendants. He now heads the
family which consists of his sons and grandsons, his daughters and
daughters-in-law, who are dearer to him than his brothers and collaterals.
While he did not like to bother about his brother or uncle, he would feel
happy to fondle his grandson, and feel proud to bolster him up. It is this
emotional reaction, the varying degrees of intensity of feelings that distin-
guishes it from the conventional joint family. But it is not solely founded on
this emotional intensity. There is lurking behind it, perhaps, a strong desire
that the sons and grandsons would provide him and his wife with food,
shelter and care in old age. This desire may or may not be fulfilled: there is
even a subconscious apprehension that it is to remain unfulfilled. The
fact that this does not tend to minimise the popularity of this form of family
indicates the stress that is laid here on emotional intensity for this form. It is
a common experience that economic obligations of the joint family are not
felt as strains in this type; they are rather met with with easy heart as filial
duty. Such a family is therefore demarcated here from the conventional
joint family as its modern counterpart and distinguished as type II. It is a
common experience for a Hindu male to look after his parent or parents
who have gone old or who are disabled for earning. In some cases the parent
may also be earning. It is as well considered a moral obligation for a person
to support his younger brothers and sisters who are in their teens and/or
unmarried and have not started on the career of earning. A joint family of a
person, his wife and children, his parent or parents and/or younger brothers
or sisters who are his dependants is of common occurrence. It is founded
not merely on the moral obligation of a person but also backed up by public
opinion. A person who is indifferent to his aged parents or to his young
brothers and sisters is condemned by his kin, members of his caste and even
residents of his locality. This type differs from the either type given above
both in its range of relationship—it being the family of two generations—
and its moral foundation. This demarcation into types helps to bring out in
bold relief the nucleus of the contemporary form of the joint family and
trends which would decide its future form and existence.
68 K.M. Kapadia

From the table it is evident that the joint family has not been in
decadance even in the town because nearly half the families in the town
are yet the traditional families. It is regretted that the Census data does
not record the relationship a member of the family bears to its head. It is
at least gratifying to note that the Census authorities have realised the
gravity of this error. Writes J. Bowman: ‘It is a pity that degrees of rela-
tionship were not tabulated more fully’.1 In spite of this omission, effort
has been made to trace certain relationships: brothers, their wives and
children, father’s brothers or mother have been identified with the help
of names, age and civic condition. In some cases this attempt failed when
the names of persons could not properly be placed into the genealogy of
the head of the family. All such persons whose relationship with the head
of the family could not precisely be ascertained, have been shown in the
Table under the column R (relatives). It is assumed that they are agnatic
relatives. It may be that in some cases some persons may be other than
the agnates. It is found that in many cases these relatives (R) are widows,
unmarried females and at times married women. Again, at least in
Navsari, the largest number of such untraced relatives are found in
Brahmin caste. It is not too much to assume that these relatives must be
more often the daughters or sisters, young or widowed, widowed
sisters-in-law or wives of such near relatives as the son, brother, uncle,
nephew etc., gone out for employment. It is not ruled out that some of
these persons may be non-agnatic relatives—cognates or affines—or
mere acquaintances. As a matter of fact in one Bania family I have been
able to find the father’s sister’s daughter, her son and daughter-in-law. In
spite of this the inclusion of these families (in the column R) in the tra-
ditional family in our analysis may not be said to lack validity.
As against a predominantly large number of the traditional family,
we have only 21.6% of the II type of joint family. It may further be
noted that of the 30 families in the latter type, 8 have one relative besides
the lineal descendants. In one case the relative is the mother’s sister and
in another the father. The relationship of persons in other cases could
not be ascertained. It may be added that in two out of these six cases one
is a widow and another a female. If the relationship of these persons
with the head of the family were known, it is not unlikely that some at
least of these families would have been found to be the traditional
families. Under the circumstances, there is a greater probability of a
higher percentage of the traditional family than is shown in the Table.
RURAL FAMILY PATTERNS: A STUDY IN URBAN-RURAL RELATIONS 69

The I type of the family is of pertinent relevance to the stability of

the joint family in modern India. It is regretted that the ages of the per-
sons who constitute the I type of the family have not been recorded by
me from the Census data. That would have enabled us to know the
exact nature of dependency. There is, however, some indication of it
otherwise. In two Bania families the sisters are widowed sisters.
Incidentally it may be noted that in this sample of 139 families
there are two families which support the widowed daughters, two,
widowed sisters, two, brothers’ widows and six, widows whose relation-
ship with the head of the family could not be precisely determined. In
all 12 families support the widows.
If the dependents constitute aged parents incapable of earning and
maintaining themselves, young siblings who are to be educated and
maintained for a pretty long time before they start on the career of earn-
ing and widowed females, then the presumption that this peculiar char-
acteristic of this family would necessitate its perpetuation for long is not
completely unwarranted.
In the case of villages, it is regretted that I have not been able to
present at this stage my data for all the 15 villages nor am I in a position
to present the data caste-wise.
If we compare these family groups with those in the town we shall, in
a sense, find greater correspondence than contrast between the two. The
percentages of the I type in the town and the villages are 29.5 and 25.7
respectively, while those of the II type, when we take families with lineal
descendants only, are 15.8 and 15.2 respectively. When we take, on the
other hand, the second type as shown in the Table there is a wide gulf,
the percentages being 21.6 and 56.0. But this comparison is vitiated by
the fact that there are few families in the town which have other relatives
and there is only one such relative in each family.† In the villages, on the
contrary, the number of families with such relatives is very nearly 2(3/4)
times the families with lineal descendants alone. Again, 20 such families

Table 82

Br. P. & G. G. Ch. Jt. Grand

P. Sr. Br. Sr. Ch. & R. F. R. Total
29 18 12 35 94 5 37 230
25.7% 56.0% 18.3%
70 K.M. Kapadia

have two relatives and 24 three or more relatives.† It is quite possible that
many of these relatives are persons, males and females (generally widows),
who form part of the traditional joint family. If so, many of these families
would have to be included in the III type. This would lower the percent-
age of the II type and raise correspondingly that of the III type in the
rural family groups. Even if this assumption is not completely valid, the
rural family groups will not so much differ from the urban groups in the
higher incidence of the II type in the rural area as is found in the Table.
The assumption in the foregoing paragraph is, however, borne out by
a small sample of rural families carried out by me personally. In this sample
of 94 families 34.1% belong to the I type, 15.9% to the II type and 50.0%
to the III type. And this is in close correspondence with the urban types.
The castewise distribution of the urban families and the 94 rural
families of my survey is:

Table 9

Navsari Rural Area

Caste I II III Total I II III Total
Koli 8 2 11 21 8 5 16 29
Functional I 9 13 13 35 4 3 10 17
Patidar 2 3 5 10 6 2 7 15
Brahmin 7 4 21 35 13 3 14 30
Total 41 30 68 139 32 15 47 94

It is evident from the Table that there is no marked correspondence

between the type of family and caste. Of the four castes only two show
more or less a similar proportion of the III type both in the town and
the villages. There is similarly a correspondence in respect of the I and
the II types only in one caste. The comparison, however, brings out one
fact, viz. the largest number of the traditional joint family is found
among the Brahmins. It is 60% in the town and about 47% in the vil-
lages. The Anavils among the Brahmins are agriculturists in the villages,
but they are mainly non-agriculturists in the town. And yet the town
shows 60% of the Brahmin families as joint families. The Kolis are also
agriculturists, but there is a large section among them, specially in the
RURAL FAMILY PATTERNS: A STUDY IN URBAN-RURAL RELATIONS 71

town, which is non-agriculturist. They too have 55.2% families of the

III type in the villages and 52.4% in the town. This substantiates our
observation that the joint family is not now invariably the result of agri-
cultural economy. Its persistence among all the castes stresses its role in
providing security to the old, the disabled, the young or the widowed
members of the family. Besides the economic implication, it has cultural
ring about it. The higher castes guarantee this economic security to the
near kin, specially the widows, in pursuance of their cultural norms. In
view of this, perpetuity of the joint family in Hindu society cannot be
easily ruled out.
This analysis of the family pattern was based on the Census data.
Even on this basis joint families are found to outnumber the nuclear
families. But it should be very pertinently added here that the persons
who break away from the parent family and start their own separate
residence and kitchen for a number of varied reasons do not necessarily
sever their entire link with the parent family. On the contrary, even
when property is shared, the members of different constituent families
meet on various occasions such as marriage feasts, Sraddha dinner, cel-
ebration of a vrata, performance of samskaras (tonsure, first-feeding,
thread ceremony), big festivals like astami, new year day or birth day of
the first male child, when the participation involves not only shar-
ing the joy of the occasion and dinner but also monetary obligations:
and they are met with with easy heart. Again, on the occasion of death
in a family, kutumba, there is not only common sharing of grief but
there are common obligations, not primarily economic but religious or
religio-social. Serious illness is another occasion when the members are
brought together with emotional poignancy and ever-readiness to help
even monetarily. It is this functional relationship that needs to be
stressed in the evaluation of the Hindu joint family. During the course
of my investigation I have found that the sentiments for the joint family
are yet fairly strong. 70 persons have reported that the relations between
their families and those of their relatives separated from them are very
cordial. As against this only seven have said that the relations after sep-
aration are neither very good nor bad and 12 have said that they are
formal. Only 3 have said that their relations are strained. This avowed
cordiality can be verified by inquiring into the nature of contacts per-
sisting between the two families after partition. For this reason I set two
questions: the occasions on which the members of the two families
72 K.M. Kapadia

(constituents of the old joint family) meet and the preparedness of the
members of each of these families to help the other. As regards the first,
37 reported that they meet on the occasion of marriage, 39 said that
they do on the occasion of illness; 34, on that of death; 7, on that of
celebration of a vrata or a festival; 10, when consultation between the
two families becomes necessary; and 4, when the family is in need of
money. As regards the second question, 53 persons have reported that
they are prepared to help any member of the kutumba provided any
help is necessary. When asked to specify the occasions when they would
be ready to help, 19 said at the time of marriage or illness; 16, in times
of difficulty; 3, at times; and 5, on all occasions. 10 have said that they
would like to help out of their feelings for the relatives, 8 have said that
they would do it as their duty and 7 have said to help either out of
prestige or under social pressure. The number of occasions for contact
and help is small here because all persons did not reply to these
questions.
The persistence of cordiality and functional tie between the fam-
ilies after separation into two or more units becomes intelligible when
we inquire into the reasons for the break up of the joint family.
20 persons had to separate from the family to go out of the village for
service or trade; 10 separated as the household was found to be very
large. In case of 22 there was some tension between the females and
children of the members of the family. 24 persons reported that there
were strained relations between the male relatives; between father and
son, brother and brother or a person and his elders. This tension
between the male relatives was not always due to the fact that all
members were not prepared to pool their income together or that
they did not help, as they should, in work on the farm. Only 8 have
said that the break up of the family was due to their keeping their
income with them and 5, for not helping on the farm. Only in 4 cases
instigation to separate came from the affines of a member of the
family. These causes do not indicate such serious strains as would
compel the members separating to sever their entire ties with the
parent family.
An analysis of the relations between the two or more households
which in recent past formed one joint family would indeed indicate that
the complement of the joint family is much higher than the one indicated
RURAL FAMILY PATTERNS: A STUDY IN URBAN-RURAL RELATIONS 73

by its mere composition, and common residence and common kitchen as

its external insignia.

Notes
* The Government have discarded recording of castes of persons in the Census data
with the result that the caste of a person had to be traced from his occupation, name
and such other evidence. Naturally in some cases castes could not be precisely
identified.
** There are 14 families consisting either of a man and his wife or any one of them.
†
12 with 3R, 5 with 4R, 4 with 6R, 2 with 7R and 1 with 8R.

References
1. I. P. Desai, Sociological Bulletin, Vol. IV, No. 2, pp. 100ff.
2. K. M. Kapadia, Sociological Bulletin, Vol. IV, No. 2, p. 185.
 SECTION II
SOCIAL STRATIFICATION IN
RURAL INDIA
6
Measurement of
Rigidity–Fluidity Dimension
of Social Stratification in
Six Indian Villages
Victor S. D’Souza

O
rdinarily, the rigidity-fluidity dimension of social stratification
is measured through the indices of occupational or educational
mobility. The measurement used in the present study1 is rather
an uncommon one, as it is based on a reinterpretation of the concepts of
caste and class, in which the two ideal-typical concepts are taken to be
the polar opposites of the rigidity-fuidity dimension of social stratifica-
tion (for a fuller discussion of this, see D’Souza 1967).
In our reinterpretation, caste system has been defined as the inte-
gration of the interacting and heterogeneous, but internally homogen-
eous, hereditary groups, into a structure of status hierarchy. Not only
does this concept describe the caste system as a superior or subordinate
relationship among hereditary groups in a society or community, but it
also explains the conditions under which such a relationship takes place.
The basis for the ranking of groups in the caste system and individuals
in the class system is the same. In both cases it depends upon certain
properties or attributes of individuals which are evaluated by the society.
But the difference lies in the pattern of distribution of these properties
78 Victor S. D’Souza

of individuals in hereditary groups. If the distribution in each group is

homogeneous so that each group differs from the other groups and from
the total population, the resulting form of social stratification is caste
system, and if it is heterogeneous such that it is more or less the same in
every group and in the total population, the form is class system. In the
first instance we have a rigid form of social stratification and in the
second a fluid one.
The pattern of distribution of properties of individuals in heredi-
tary groups in any community, however, may vary within extreme limits
so that we have caste and class systems existing side by side in an inverse
relationship and the ideal types of caste and class systems are the limit-
ing cases. Thus the measure of the pattern of distribution of the proper-
ties of individuals in hereditary groups gives us an index of the
rigidity-fuidity dimension of social stratification.
Since the occupational prestige is among the most important vari-
ables determining the prestige of an individual we have considered this
property, from among the relevant properties of individuals, for demon-
strating our proposition. Accordingly, the measure of the degree of het-
erogeneity in the distribution of occupational prestige of members in
hereditary groups may be regarded as the primary index of the rigidity-
fuidity dimension of social stratification. This maybe termed the index
of occupational heterogeneity. The greater the degree of heterogeneity, the
greater is the fuidity of social stratification.
Occupational prestige is something which determines the prestige
of individuals and of groups. But what characterises social stratification
is the prestige of individuals and of groups. It should therefore be pos-
sible for us to derive other indices of rigidity-fuidity dimension of social
stratification out of the variables of the prestige of individuals and of
groups. However, since these variables are dependent upon the variable
of occupational prestige, the indices derived out of them may be regarded
as secondary indices of social stratification.
With regard to the prestige of hereditary groups, it is clear that in
an ideal-typical caste system, there should be complete unanimity in
ranking the hereditary groups on the part of the members of the com-
munity. The decreasing degree of unanimity would indicate an increas-
ing degree of fluidity of social stratification. Therefore, the degree of
consensus about the ranking of caste groups or the index of consensus
about caste status may be regarded as one of the secondary indices of the
rigidity-fuidity dimension of social stratification.
DIMENSION OF SOCIAL STRATIFICATION IN SIX INDIAN VILLAGES 79

Again, in an ideal-typical caste system, every caste group should be

homogeneous with regard to the distribution of individual prestige of
members (D’Souza 1967: 199, 209, 210). Heterogeneity of the distri-
bution of individual prestige would indicate a certain degree of fuidity
of social stratification. Consequently the degree of heterogeneity of indi-
vidual prestige would provide us with another secondary index of the
rigidity-fuidity of social stratification.
A third secondary measure, termed the index of consensus about
individual prestige is also connected with the variable of the prestige
of individual. This index rests on the assumption that the prestige of an
individual is dependent not only on his personal properties but also upon
the pattern of distribution of the properties of members in his hereditary
group (D’Souza 1967: 197, 208). When an individual’s properties differ
from those of the members of his group as a whole, his prestige becomes
more ambiguous. The degree of lack of consensus about individual pres-
tige would also indicate the degree of fluidity of social stratification.
It has already been demonstrated that all these four indices of the
rigidity-fuidity dimension of social stratification are intercorrelated in the
study of two villages, Devigarh and Rampur (pseudonyms) (D’Souza
1967: 199–210). One of the two major objectives of this paper is to con-
sider whether this relationship also holds good in the case of six villages,
including Devigarh and Rampur, which are all chosen from the same
region and form part of the same Development Block of the Community
Development project in the State of Punjab, India. The other four villages
are Manali, Kelon, Dakala and Khera (pseudonyms). The second objective
is to test the validity of the indices by correlating them with other signifi-
cant variables which are also usually associated with social stratification.
The data used in this analysis are taken from a field study which was
conducted in 1964 . The six villages studied were chosen purposively to
represent different levels of development. The units of investigation
were households. The sample consisted of all the households from
Devigarh, Rampur and Khera, half the households from Manali and
Kelon, and one third of the households from Dakala. When a sample of
the households in a village was included, it was selected systematically.
Of the four indices, we do not have comparable information on the
index of consensus about caste status for four out of the six villages and
so we may disregard this index for the rest of our discussion. Further, it
is useful to bear in mind that the information on the remaining three
indices is not quite refined.
80 Victor S. D’Souza

For a refined index of occupational heterogeneity we have to take

into account both the diversity of occupations and the degree of their
prestige. Since occupations in this study were graded arbitrarily and since
we have to reckon with a large number of different types of occupations,
about 30 in the total sample, our grading does not indicate the precise
amount of prestige difference between any two occupations. That is to
say, the prestige gradation of occupations does not form an interval scale.
Therefore, a measure of mean deviation of occupational prestige, which
can be an adequate index of occupational heterogeneity, is not feasible.
As an alternative, the index has been computed in terms of the number
of different types of occupations followed in each hereditary group which
is conventionally referred to as a caste in the village. Traditionally each
caste group was occupationally homogeneous, in the sense that all the
members of a caste had to follow the same type of occupation. When
there are different types of occupations followed by the members of a
caste group, the group is occupationally heterogeneous. And the greater
the number of different types of occupations the greater the heterogen-
eity within the group. The occupational heterogeneity for the village as a
whole is obtained by computing the arithmetic mean of the numbers of
different types of occupations in all the castes in the village. Only the
occupations of heads of households have been considered for the sake of
convenience. Further, we have excluded for this purpose, castes with only
one household each and also occupations with unspecified names.
Table 1 shows the average number of different types of occupations
in caste groups followed by household heads, distributed according to
village and the minimum size of castes considered. It provides a
descriptive picture of occupational heterogeneity. The average number
of different types of occupations followed in a caste does not depend upon
the number of castes in a village. It is also evident that even if we vary
the coverage of castes by varying the minimum number of households
in castes considered for inclusion, the relative order of villages according
to this index does not alter significantly except when castes with single
households are included. Therefore, the arbitrary manner in which we
have computed the index of occupational heterogeneity, by including
only caste groups with two or more households, is not without
justification.
The index of heterogeneity of individual prestige is given by the
weighted mean deviation of the distribution of heads of households in
each caste according to individual prestige. For measuring the prestige of
Table 1
Arithmetic Means of Numbers of Different Types of Occupations in Caste Groups Followed by Heads of Households, by Village and the
Minimum Size of Caste Groups

No. of Households in Castes

One or More Two or More Three or More Four or More
Total. No. of
A.M. of No. A.M. of No. A M. of No. A.M. of No. Households
No. of of Types of No. of of Types of No. of of Types of No. of of Types of in the
Village Castes Occupations Castes Occupations Castes Occupations Castes Occupations Sample
Devigarh 9 3.1 6 4.2 5 4.8 4 5.8 88
Manali 6 3.3 4 4.5 4 4.5 4 4.5 71
Kelon 13 3.2 9 3.6 9 3.6 9 3.6 84
Dakala 12 2.5 9 3.0 6 3.5 6 3.5 79
DIMENSION OF SOCIAL STRATIFICATION IN SIX INDIAN VILLAGES

Rampur 8 3.0 8 3.0 6 3.5 5 3.6 60

Khera 7 1.6 5 1.8 3 2.0 2 2.5 69
81
82 Victor S. D’Souza

Table 2
Number of Judges Grading the Prestige of Heads of Households by Village and
Number of Castes Represented

Number of Castes
Village Number of Judges Represented
Devigarh 11 6
Manali 10 6
Kelon 10 5
Dakala 15 12
Rampur 10 6
Khera 9 6

individuals, a selected number of heads of households in each village were

asked to rank all the household heads in their respective village into four
hierarchical classes of prestige. The judges were chosen by the interview-
ers for their knowledge in the village affairs and also so as to represent as
many different castes as possible. The number of judges in each village
and the number of castes represented by them are given in Table 2.
Although the number of judges in each case is small, this deficiency is
somewhat balanced by a judicious selection. The four hierarchical classes
of prestige were given scores 1 through 4 in the descending order of
prestige. The prestige of any individual is given by the average of the
scores obtained according to the ranking by all the judges in the village.
The index of heterogeneity of individual prestige for a village was
worked out first by finding out the mean deviation of prestige of indi-
viduals in each caste and then by computing the weighted mean of the
mean deviations in all the castes in the village.
The index of consensus about individual prestige rests on the implied
assumption that when the stratification is rigid all the judges would agree
in giving the same prestige score to the same person. Deviation from this
pattern would indicate fluidity. This index is therefore worked out by
calculating the mean of the deviations of prestige scores given by the dif-
ferent judges in respect of every individual in the village. In the case of this
index also the main defect lies in the small size of the number of judges.
The three indices of the degree of fluidity of social stratification are
shown in Table 3. Taking into account all the three indices, it is possible
for us to divide the villages into two categories, one of a higher degree of
fluidity of social stratification, including Devigarh, Manali and Kelon,
DIMENSION OF SOCIAL STRATIFICATION IN SIX INDIAN VILLAGES 83

Table 3
Index Scores of Social Stratification by Village and Type of Index

Type of Index
Occupational Heterogeneity of Concensus about
Village Heterogeneity Individual Prestige Individual Prestige
Devigarh 4.2 0.97 0.43
Manali 4.5 0.74 0.51
Kelon 3.6 0.65 0.50
Dakala 3.0 0.67 0.25
Rampur 3.0 0.43 0.27
Khera 1.8 0.30 0.18

Table 4
Spearman’s Coefficients of Rank-Order Correlation for Pairs of Indices of Social
Stratification in Six Villages

Pair of Indices Coefficient of Correlation Remarks

Occupational heterogeneity and 0.843 Significant at .02 level.
heterogeneity of individual
prestige.
Occupational heterogeneity and 0.929 Significant at 0.01 level.
consensus about individual prestige.
Heterogeneity of individual prestige 0.600
and consensus about individual
prestige.

and the other of a lower degree of fluidity, including Dakala, Rampur

and Khera. There is also a significant degree of correlation among the
rank orders of villages on each of the indices. Spearman’s Rank-order
coefficients of correlation between the three pairs of indices are shown in
Table 4. In two cases the coefficients are highly significant. The signifi-
cance of the coefficient in the case of the third pair, namely, heterogeneity
of individual prestige and consensus about individual prestige, is relatively
low. But it is worth noting that all the three indices, even though crude,
are correlated with one another as suggested by our hypotheses.
We may next test the validity of the indices of social stratification by
examining their relationship with some of the variables which are commonly
84 Victor S. D’Souza

held to be associated with social stratification. In the indices considered, the

entire community is treated as a unit for the purpose of measurement and so
they are measures of complex entities or of group properties. Therefore, the
correlates of these indices should also be the measures of the society or com-
munity taken as a unit, measuring its group property.
Social scientists have formulated a number of constructed typo-
logies for comparison among societies as complex wholes. The better
known among these polar, ideal types are Tonnies’ Gemeinschaft and
Gesellschaft, Redfield’s Folk-Urban continuum, Becker’s Sacred and
Secular societies, parsons’ societal types expressed in Pattern Variables of
Action Orientation, and Weber’s Traditional and Rational societies
(Tonnies 1963: 12–29). Although these different pairs of ideal types
emphasise different sets of general characteristics of societies, they are all
basically the same. They all point to the same conclusion that as societ-
ies develop from simple to complex forms, they undergo similar trans-
formations in their general characteristics. Besides this, in the present
context it is important to note that all these ideal types refer to social
stratification in one way or another. It is generally assumed that as a
society or community advances from a lower level of complexity to a
higher one, its system of social stratification becomes more mobile. In
the inter-personal behaviour of members, the achieved status gains in
importance at the expense of the ascribed status. This is the same as
saying that in the rising scale of societal complexity social stratification
becomes more and more fluid as measured by our indices. Therefore, for
the validation of the indices of social stratification which are really the
measure of societal complexity, we should demonstrate their relation-
ship with variables derived from the ideal types of societies.
Among other variables, population size, literacy rate, distance from
larger communities, and level of services are often found to be correlated
with the complexity of a community. Information pertaining to these
items is presented in Table 5. Our field study was conducted in 1964,
but the data about population and literacy, given in the table, refer to an
earlier period. However, these figures for 1964 were not likely to be very
much different from those of 1961.
The variation in population does not appear to be significantly cor-
related with the indices of social stratification. The largest village comes
about fourth in the order of the degree of fluidity of social stratification.
Spearman’s Rank-order coefficients of correlation between population
size and each of the indices of occupational heterogeneity, heterogeneity
Table 5
Demographic, Locational and Developmental Characteristics

Percent Percent
Percentage Literate Literate
Increase Female to Female to
Over Percent Literate Male Percent Literate Male Distance Distance Relative
Population in Population in Literate in Population in Literate in Population in from Tehsil from Main Level of
Village 1961 1951 1961 1961 1951 1951 Town (miles) Road (miles) Services
Devigarh 447 0 24 37 5 14 11 1 medium
Manali 853 16 27 48 14 2 6 − high
Kelon 716 119 33 41 23 9 12 − high
Dakala 1344 57 12 8 4 0 12 5 low
Rampur 343 5 20 11 5 0 12 3 medium
DIMENSION OF SOCIAL STRATIFICATION IN SIX INDIAN VILLAGES

Khera 393 23 7 0 4 0 14 6 low

85
86 Victor S. D’Souza

of individual prestige, and consensus about individual prestige are

0.543, 0.543 and 0.314, respectively, which are not very significant.
Although the villages vary widely among themselves in their population
numbers, their absolute sizes are not very large, and this may be the
reason for the relative lack of influence of size on societal complexity.
However, literacy rate seems to be an important correlate of social
stratification. The coefficients of correlation of each of the indices of
with higher indices of occupational heterogeneity, heterogeneity of indi-
vidual prestige, and consensus about individual prestige with the per-
centage of literate population in 1961 are 0814 (p. < .05), 0.486 and
0.943 (p. < .01), respectively, and with the percentage of literate female
to literate male population in 1961 are 0.929 (p. < .01), 0.600 and 1.000
(p. < .001), respectively. At least two of the coefficients in each set are
highly significant.
The Indian village community is not entirely isolated or self-
contained. As Robert Redfield has pointed out (1963: 33–34), in it we
find a good example of a peasant society in which the smaller social
system of the self-contained village is in interaction with the larger social
system of the national community. Obviously the national system would
interact with the village communities through the larger neighbouring
communities. Accordingly, the city in the vicinity exerts its influence
over the surrounding villages. Among the villages coming under
the influence of the same city, the nearer the village, the greater would
be the city’s influence, and consequently, the greater would be the com-
plexity of the social system of the village.
The closest to all the six villages is the headquarters of the tehsil in
which the villages are located (tehsil = administrative division above the
village). However, except in Manali which is nearest the town, the range
of variation in the distances of the villages from the town is not
appreciably wide. But there is a significant variation in the distance
of the villages from the main road which connects them to the town,
and the three villages with higher indices of social stratification are closer
to the main road than the remaining three.
At the beginning of the study and before the sample of villages for
detailed study was chosen, all the villages in the same Community
Development Block were classified into high, medium and low catego-
ries, according to the level of community services such as schools, med-
ical facilities, special institutional arrangements for the cultivators, and
so on. As can be seen from the last column of Table 5, two of the three
villages with higher degrees of indices of social stratification had a high
DIMENSION OF SOCIAL STRATIFICATION IN SIX INDIAN VILLAGES 87

level of services, and one medium level. On the other hand, of the
remaining three villages, two had a low level of services, and one medium.
Thus, on the whole, the level of services is related to the degree of fluid-
ity of social stratification.
Also, at the beginning of the study, the Block level officials of the
Community Development Project were asked to rank all the villages in
their Block, including the six villages, into live categories of decreasing
degree of progressiveness. These categories were given scores from one
through five. The mean scores for the six villages are as follows:—

Village Rank Score

Devigarh 1.2
Manali 1.6
Kelon 1.4
Dakala 3.0
Rampur 4.0
Khera 4.3

The Rank-order correlation coefficients between the order of

progressiveness and each of the indices of occupational heterogeneity,
heterogeneity of individual prestige, and consensus about individual
prestige are 0.929 (p. < .01), 0.714 (p. < .1) and 0.943 (p. < .01), respect-
ively, two of the coefficients being highly significant. It is therefore
remarkable that even this highly subjective index of progressiveness is so
significantly correlated with the objective indices of social stratification.
Social scientists who are attempting to study the process of economic
development have come to increasingly realise that economic develop-
ment is a part of the larger process of social development, which is noth-
ing else but the transformation of the society from a lower level of
complexity to a higher one in the manner indicated by the ideal types of
society referred to above (Hoselitz and Moore 1963). In this context, the
process of development of a backward and tradition-oriented society
into an advanced one is known as modernization. Thus, the increasing
scale of complexity in a society is accompanied with a trend towards
modernization. Among his other characteristics, the modern man has
strong secular aspirations and attitudes, lays greater emphasis on the
functional role rather than the ascribed traditional one, and is
development-oriented. Consequently, he is more responsive to change
and prone to make use of scientific and technological knowledge for
88 Victor S. D’Souza

advancement. In our detailed study conducted in the six villages, we

obtained information on the attitudinal dimension of modernity, and
the adoption of recommended and improved agricultural practices
which is a tangible index of modernization. We may, therefore, examine
to what extent these variables of societal complexity are also correlated
with indices of social stratification.
The following six items were intended to elicit information on the
attitudinal dimension of modernity:

1. What is your opinion about the education of boys for making a good living
these days? Check if it is: Essential/Necessary/Immaterial/Not necessary/
Handicap/No opinion.
2. How much education do you think girls should be given these days? High
education/Moderate education/No education/No opinion.
3. In your opinion, should the girls be sufficiently educated so as to secure
employment? Yes/No/No opinion.
4. What should be the basis of election of a person to an office in a village
organization? Merit/Caste/Religon/Economic condition/No opinion.
5. For the development and welfare of village community, do you think that
young people should have separate youth organizations? Yes/No/No opinion.
6. Should young people be consulted in planning, organizing and executing
village development plan? Yes/No/No opinion.

The responses to live of these items, Nos. 1 to 4 and 6, form a

consistent pattern indicating a monotonic relationship. It is possible
that since the villagers had no experience about separate youth organ-
izations, their responses to item 5 were unrealistic. This item, therefore,
has been omitted from our analysis. The percentages of persons
responding “Yes” to items 3 and 6 and indicating “Merit” on item 4 are
adequate to discriminate among the villages. So in Table 6 these
percentages have been treated as attitudinal scores on those items for
the village as a whole. However, for a clearer discrimination, the scores
for items 1 and 2 have been obtained by giving separate scores to
response categories in such a way that the maximum item score is 100.
For instance, in the case of item l, the response category “Essential” is
given score 2, “Necessary” score 1, and the remaining categories O. The
item score is obtained by multiplying the percentage of responses in
each category by its respective score and dividing the sum of the scores
of all categories by 2.
The last row in Table 6 shows the composite index score for all the
items. To obtain this score, the score on a particular item for a village is
Table 6
Scores on Attitudinal Dimension of Modernity

Villages
Items Devigarh Manali Kelon Dakala Khera Rampur Total Sample
6. Importance of opinion of youth. 99 96 95 70 83 31 81
4. Merit as basis of leadership. 100 97 100 72 67 25 80
1. Importance of education of boys. 93 72 52 62 50 32 62
2. Importance of education of girls. 85 64 50 58 35 15 54
3. Favourable disposition towards 89 51 23 30 4 0 36
employment of women.
Composite index score. 160 119 96 93 69 30 100
DIMENSION OF SOCIAL STRATIFICATION IN SIX INDIAN VILLAGES
89
90 Victor S. D’Souza

converted into the percentage of the corresponding score for the total
sample, and the resulting percentages for all the items are averaged.
The villages vary over a wide range both on the individual item
score and the composite index score, indicating that they occupy differ-
ent positions on the attitudinal dimension of modernity. We are finally
concerned with the relationship of this variable with the indices of social
stratification. And as a matter of fact we do and a significant degree of
correlation between them. The Rank-order coefficient of correlation
between the attitudinal variable and each of the indices of occupational
heterogeneity, heterogeneity of individual prestige and consensus about
individual prestige are 0.843 (p. < .02), 0.885 (p. < .01), and 0.657
respectively, two of the coefficients being highly significant.
As to the adoption of improved agricultural practices recommended
by the officials of Community Development Project, the factors in
agricultural development may be broadly divided into two categories:
technological and socio-cultural. There is already a large body of scien-
tific and technological knowledge made available to the villagers by
external agencies. Therefore the main obstacles to be surmounted in the
application of this knowledge are socio-cultural ones. It is our
assumption that societies with a higher degree of complexity would
facilitate the adoption of practices with the possibilities of advance-
ment. Therefore, we may predict that the level of adoption of improved
agricultural practices would be correlated with the indices of social
stratification.
Our information on the level of adoption of agricultural practices
relates to 20 practices divided into five major categories: (1) Use of chemical
fertilizers, (2) Adoption of improved methods of cultivation, (3) Use of
improved variety of seeds, (4) Use of modern methods of plant protection,
and (5) Use of improved methods of animal husbandry. Each category con-
sists of four practices. However, the information on two of the practices
about animal husbandry cannot be used for comparative purposes. These
are (a) use of artificial insemination, because except in one village, Kelon,
there were no artificial insemination centres in the villages, and (b) use of
stud bull, because this practice was reported by hardly one or two respon-
dents in the entire sample.
The indices of adoption of the remaining 18 practices are shown in
Table 7. The index score on a particular practice in any village is obtained
by converting the percentage of cultivators in the village adopting the
DIMENSION OF SOCIAL STRATIFICATION IN SIX INDIAN VILLAGES 91

practice as a percentage of the corresponding percentage in the total

sample shown in the last column. In calculating the percentages of
adopters, only the cultivators to whom the practices are applicable are
considered.
The last row of the table shows the composite index of adoption of
15 out of the 18 items. The items excluded for the purpose of this
index are Nos. 14, 15 and 16, because these practices were adopted by
a negligible proportion of the total sample, and so the villages in which
it has been adopted would gain under-weightage in the composite
index.
The composite adoption index score shows a wide range of vari-
ation from 134 in Devigarh to 54 in Rampur. The three villages
Devigarh, Manali and Kelon, which have higher degrees of indices of
social stratification, have quite high adoption scores. But what is sur-
prising is that Khera, which comes last or last-but-one in the order of all
the other variables considered so far, comes second in order in the case
of this index. As a result, the correlation coefficients between this index
and the indices of social stratification cease to have any significance. The
Rank-order correlation coefficients between this and each of the indices
of occupational heterogeneity, individual prestige and consensus about
individual prestige are 0.300, 0.371 and 0.086 respectively. The Rank-
order coefficient of correlation between this index and the index of atti-
tude towards modernity is also relatively low, being 0.657.
It is true that the index of adoption of agricultural practices refers
only to the cultivators whereas the other variables considered refer to the
total sample. But this is not an explanation of the peculiar status of
Khera on the index of adoption. It is also true that if we consider only
the number of practices adopted, irrespective of the proportion of
cultivators adopting them, Khera comes fourth on the adoption index,
thus supporting our hypothesis about the relationship between adoption
index and the indices of social stratification. But this index of adoption is
too crude to fall back upon. Therefore, other factors, not included in our
discussion, may be needed to provide a satisfactory explanation.
For the time being, however, we may assume that our hypothesis
holds good and that some fortuitous circumstances are responsible for
the unexpected behaviour of Khera. If so, the behaviour of the remain-
ing five villages should confirm our hypothesis. And this is indeed the
case for in that event the Rank-order coefficients of correlation between
 92

Table 7
Index of Adoption of Recommended Agricultural Practices during the Season Preceding the Field Study

Villages Total
Practices Devigarh Manali Kelon Dakala Khera Rampur %
1. Use of fertilizers for rice at planting. 122 39 88 108 134 0 75
2. Use of fertilizers for cotton at flowering. 100 127 233 0 0 253 15
3. Use of fertilizers for groundnut at sowing. 156 35 32 93 167 0 60
4. Use of fertilizers for wheat at sowing and 167 68 40 103 167 60 60
subsequent irrigation.
5. Line-sowing of cotton. 104 104 107 6 186 157 54
6. Weeding of cotton. 156 72 33 54 175 149 57
7. Use of cotton drill. 100 30 103 10 333 27 30
8. Use of compost pits. 250 232 110 0 0 0 40
Victor S. D’Souza

9. Wheat C273 for irrigated land. 67 169 106 31 178 0 45

10. Wheat C591 or C286 for unirrgrated land. 203 116 164 26 0 116 31
11. Groundnut Pb. No. 1 or C501. 174 136 11 77 147 0 47
12. Cotton American 320 120 24 111 125 116 115 80
13. Cotton Desi 321R 145 118 104 148 6 23 66
14. Cotton Spray (BHC/DDT) 175 75 300 0 0 0 4
15. Application of BHC when planting sugar cane. 133 0 334 0 0 0 6
16. Use of solar treatment of wheat. 116 100 50 0 317 0 6
17. Vaccination against hemorrhage septicenia 150 97 111 44 154 0 61
(preceding and past seasons).
18. Vaccination against rinderpest (preceding and 21 153 135 0 186 0 52
past seasons).
Average for 15 items, excluding Nos. 14, 15 134 101 95 55 130 54 100
and 16.
DIMENSION OF SOCIAL STRATIFICATION IN SIX INDIAN VILLAGES
93
94 Victor S. D’Souza

the adoption index and each of the indices of occupational heterogeneity,

heterogeneity of individual prestige and consensus about individual
prestige increase considerably to 0.875 (p. < .05), 0.900 (p. < .02), and
0.600, respectively, the first two co-efficients being highly significant.
In so far as we have demonstrated the relationship between the indi-
ces of social stratification and the various important indices of societal
complexity, we may conclude that the measures that we have derived are
valid indices of the degree of fluidity of social stratification. However,
considering only those variables of societal complexity for which we
have more up-to-date and objective information, such as the indices of
attitude towards modernity and adoption of recommended agricultural
practices, it is evident that the indices of occupational heterogeneity and
heterogeneity of individual prestige are more reliable as the indices of
social stratification than the index of consensus about individual pres-
tige. This is hardly surprising because the last index has been derived in
a relatively more indirect fashion.

Note
1. This paper was presented at the Seminar on Trans-Disciplinary Method in Social
Sciences, at Lucknow on March 11–12, 1967. It is a revised version of Journal Paper No.
15 of Social Science Research Centre, Mississippi State University. Data utilized in this
paper were taken from a study conducted co-operatively by the Department of Sociology,
Panjab University and the Social Science Research Center, Mississippi State University.
Thanks are due to Harold F. Kaufman and Robert C. Angell for their helpful comments.

References
D’Souza, Victor S. I967 Caste and Class: A Reinterpretation. Journal of Asian and African
Studies, 11(3): 192–211.
Hoselitz, Bert F. and Wilbert E. Moore (ed) 1963 Industrialization and Society. Unesco: Mouton
Redfield, Robert 1963 Peasant Society and Culture. Chicago: University of Chicago Press
(Phoenix Books).
Tonnies, Ferdinand 1963 Community and Society. Translated from German and edited by
Charles P. Loomis. New York: Harper and Row.
7
Bhadralok and Chhotolok in a
Rural Area of West Bengal
Surajit Sinha and Ranjit Bhattacharya

I. Introduction

T
he term Bhadralok came in usage in Bengali society around the
beginning of the nineteenth century as a Sanskritised synonym
of the English term ‘gentleman’. We find the use of the term in
the Bengali newspapers and periodicals in the early half of the nine-
teenth century (Bandopadhyaya 1946). The term is literally derived
from the Sanskrit word bhadra, which carries connotations such as
shishta (cultured and of restrained manners), sabhya (civilised), mangal
(auspicious), uttam (of superior quality), marjita ruchi bishishta (of cul-
tivated taste), etc. (Das 1930). The term thus emphasizes ‘cultivated
taste’ and ‘civilsed manners’ rather than wealth and power. The
Bhadralok is to be identified by bhadrata (good manners). A Bhadralok,
according to the standard Bengali dictionary-meaning of today, is
expected to be binoyee (modest), priyabadee (gentle in speech), shanta
(composed) and shishta (of restrained manners). He is also expected to
be satbangshajata (born of good lineage) (Das 1930). One comes across
a term of equivalent meaning, shista jaina, in Chaitanya Charitamrita
composed by Krishnadas Kaviraj in the seventeenth century. The term
Chhotolok (lowly people) or Chhoto Jat (low caste) cannot be regarded as
a translation of the English terms ‘lower classes’ or ‘serfs’. The category
96 Surajit Sinha and Ranjit Bhattacharya

derives directly from the system of varna and jati in the Bengali Hindu
society.
Regardless of the fact whether the term Bhadralok originated as
the translation of an English term or of an English social category or
not, it will appear to any observer in rural as well as urban West
Bengal that the related social concept is thoroughly embedded in the
regional social mileu. The cultural pattern and the mode of inter-
group behaviour of the people of West Bengal are guided in detail by
the great divide of Bhadralok and Chhotolok. This is particularly true
for the Hindus, but holds, in a general way, also for the Moslem pop-
ulation. It is surprising that there has not been any systematic anthro-
pological study to define the socio-economic and cultural parameters
of these important categories of stratification. Anthropologists of
Bengali society, from Risley onwards, have been directly interested in
the caste system and—only occasionally—in the nature of correlation
between caste stratification and economic classes. There are only a
few passing references to the categories of Bhadralok and Chhotolok
(Sarma 1955, Nair 1961, Chattopadhyaya 1964, Bose 1967).
Recently, in an unpublished report, Danda and Danda (1968) have
dealt with the pattern of interaction between the Bhadralok and
Chhotolok in some detail.
We became specially aware of the significance of the Bhadralok-
Chhotolok dimension of social stratification in the course of a field
investigation on cultural factors differentially affecting the nature of
involvement in agricultural technology among three distinct
communities—Hindus, Moslems and the tribal Santal-in three adjacent
villages, Bergram, Khiruli and Debagram, in Bolpur police station, in
Birbhum district, during 1966.1 Further fieldwork was done by Ranjit
Bhattacharya among the Moslems of Khiruli during 1967–68 in con-
nection with a research project on social srtucture and cultural system of
the Moslems. This prolonged fieldwork provided us with enough oppor-
tunity to observe social interaction in varied contexts, to probe into the
mind of the respondents, and to get a feel for their guiding social senti-
ments. Although the focus of this paper will be on the Hindu society of
Bergram, the constrastive perspective of the neighbouring Moslem and
Santal societies will also be utilsed in order to deepen our understanding
of the essence of the Bhadralok-Chhotolok system of stratification.
BHADRALOK AND CHHOTOLOK IN A RURAL AREA OF WEST BENGAL 97

II. The Layout of the Three Villages

The categories Bhadralok and Chhotolok are graphically represented in

the layout of the habitations of the Hindu village Bergram. There is a
rough division of the population into two residential zones (paras),
Bhadralok Para and Chhotolok Para, inhabited by two clusters of castes,
the Bhadralok and the Chhotolok. Within this broad residental divide,
Sunri Para, the settlement zone of the Sunri (traditionally wine distillers
and sellers), has an anomalous position. While the uncontrovertially
Bhadralok castes, such as the Brahman and Kayastha, do not regard the
Sunri quite within their fold, the typical Chhotolok castes, such as the
Dom (labourers) and Bayan (traditionally leather-workers and drum-
mers), regard them as Bhadralok (see Table 1). Excluding the controver-
sial 7 Sunri households, Bergram has 22 Bhadralok and 20 Chhotolok
families.
In contrast to the Hindus, the Moslems of Khiruli first divide their
Paras as Moslem Para and Chhotolok Para (Para inhabited by the
Hindu Chhotolok castes) and then sub-divide the Moslem Para in
terms of cartogrpahic cardinal points, such as Pub Para (Eastern Zone),
Maj Para (Central Zone) and Pachhim Para (Western Zone). The
Moslem Para is not rigidly segmented into areas lived by distinct social
or economic strata. So, while the existence of the Hindu Chhotolok
castes provides this Moslem village with a Chhotolok Para, their own
society does not provide the precise contrast of Bhadralok Para (see
Table 2).
The tribal people in this area tend to live at some distance from
the major settlements of the Hindus or of the Moslems. The Majhi
Para hamlet of the Santal of Debagram is located away from the main
Hindu settlement of Debagram village. Although the Santal are
regarded by the Hindu Bhadralok as equivalent to the Chhotolok
castes, yet their hamlet is not labelled by the high caste Hindus as
Chhotolok Para. Just as the settlement of the Oraon in this area is
known as Oraon Para or Dhangar Para, the settlements of the Santal
are also designated as Majhi Para, as the residential area of a distinct
ethnic group. The Santal themselves do not think of their locality as
Chhotolok Para and the concept of Bhadralok does not have any
relevance within their hamlet.
 98

Table 1
Para-wise Caste Distribution in Bergram

Major Segments Para Caste Households Bhadralolk/Chhotolok

Chhotolok conception Bhadralok conception of Brahman Para Brahman 5 Bhadralok
of Bhadralok Para Bhadralok Para par excellence
Kayastha 2 ,,

Moral Para
{ Sarnakar
Konar Sadgop
1
1
Bhadralok
,,
{ Sadgop 5 ,,
Pal Para Sadgop 4 ,,
Deashi Para Sadgop 4 ,,
Sunri para Sunri 6 Status not defined
{ {
Chhotolok Para

{
Dom Para
Bayan Para
{
Dom
Sunri
Bayan or Muchi
12
1
8
Chhtolok
Status not defined
Chhotolok

Total 7 Paras 7 Castes (Konar Sadgop 49

included in Sadgop category)
Surajit Sinha and Ranjit Bhattacharya
BHADRALOK AND CHHOTOLOK IN A RURAL AREA OF WEST BENGAL 99

Table 2
Layout of Khiruli Village

Major Caste or Bhadralok/

Segments Para Community Households Chhotolok

{
Moslem Para Pub Para Moslem 31 Not defined
Maj Para Moslem 14 Not defined
Pachhim Para Moslem 26 Not defined
Chhotolok Para
{ —
—
Hadi
Dom
1
8
Chhotolok
Chhotolok

80

Table 3
Hierarchy of Castes in Bergram

Caste Status Bhadralok/Chhotolok Status

1. Brahman Bhadralok
2. Kayastha ,,
3. Sarnakar ,,
4. Sadgop ,,
5. Sunri Controvertial
6. Dom Chhotolok
7. Muchi or Bayan ,,

III. Caste and Bhadralok-Chhotolok Status Groups

From the settlement pattern itself it will be apparent that the Bhadralok-
Chhotolok status categories include clusters of castes and not individ-
uals or families, and also that these categories are particularly meaningful
in the Hindu village of Bergram, less so in the Moslem village of Khiruli,
and the least of all in the Santal hamlet of Majhi Para in Debagram.
In Bergram the members of the upper four castes would arrange the
seven castes of the village in a hierarchy as shown in Table 3. It has
already been stated that while the lowest two castes regard the Sunri as
belonging to the Bhadralok category the upper four castes regard them
as not quite within the sphere of the Bhadralok. Although the Dom and
Muchi accept their low status and Chhotolok category, there is some
controversy among themselves regarding relative caste status.
100 Surajit Sinha and Ranjit Bhattacharya

The first thing that impresses one about the Bhadralok-Chhotolok

categories is that although the broad outlines of the caste division are
accepted in this mode of classification, the detailed caste hierarchy of
seven grades is ignored in favour of two broad divisions, with an interme-
diate position for the Sunri. The people of Bergram, especially the mem-
bers of the upper castes, are aware that throughout West Bengal the three
higher castes, the Brahman, Vaidya and Kayastha, are regareded as typi-
cal Bhadralok castes—the Bhadralok par excellence—and that within this
group the Brahman do not necessarily hold the highest position. In other
words, the ritual or sacred position of the Brahman is not fully validated
in the conceptualization of the Bhadralok class. Yet the ritual criterion of
caste is not completely ignored, for the ritually low Sunri have difficulty
in gaining Bhadralok status while the more ‘degraded’ Dom and Bayan
have no chances at all of recognition as Bhadralok.
The crucial characteristic of the Bhadralok per excellence in the rural
area is the negative feature that they do not plough fields with their own
hands. They are also expected to be literate. While the three uppermost
castes, the Brahman, Vaidya and Kayastha, are universally accepted as
Bhadralok in rural West Bengal, there are certain groups in the middle
and the lower (though not the lowest) range of the varna strata who
attain Bhadralok status mainly on the basis of local dominance in land-
holding and number. The Sadgop form such a ‘dominant caste’ in
Bergram and are locally regarded as Bhadralok. They prefer supervisory
role in agriculture, although they cannot always avoid ploughing the
fields with their own hands. Only the Konar Sadgop among them totally
avoid ploughing with their own hands in order to fully validate their
Bhadralok status. It should also be mentioned that the lowest castes tend
to take the factor of local dominance more seriously than the upper castes
in ascribing status in the Bhadralok-Chhotolok hierarchy. The Dom and
Bayan, for example, regard the dominant Sadgop as the Bhadralok par
excellence, an attitude which the upper castes do not share.
Both the Bhadralok and Chhotolok groups of Hindu castes regard
the Moslems as outside the sphere of varna-based jati hierarchy. The
Chhotolok castes, however, tend to regard the Moslems as more pollut-
ing and, hence, lower than themselves and as belonging to the Chhotolok
category. The upper Hindu castes belonging to the Bhadralok category,
however, do not regard the Moslems en bloc as Chhotolok. They con-
sider the rich Moslems in the neighbouring villages as Bhadralok in a
‘secular sense’, that is, in the sense of a non-ritual upper status group.
The Hindu Bhadralok of Bergram do not feel threatened by conceding
BHADRALOK AND CHHOTOLOK IN A RURAL AREA OF WEST BENGAL 101

this status of equality to the Moslem, for the Moslems do not live in
their own village and do not compete with them for status within the
idiom of caste hierarchy.
The Moslems do not think of themselves as a distinct caste group.
They regard themselves as a distinct minority religious community with
its own set of Great Tradition and consciousness of its history. Their soci-
ety, in this area, is not divided into rigidly graded endogamous castes. Yet
the Moslem peasants in this region may be roughly divided into two
caste-like strata: (a) The upper stratum (analogous to the Bhadralok
among the Hindus) including the Saiyad, Sheik and Palhan; and (b) the
lower stratum (analogous to the Chhotolok among the Hindus) includ-
ing the weaver Jolha and the painter Patua. While the highest rank of the
Saiyad is conceded by all, there is controversy among the Sheik and Palhan
about their relative rank. In Khiruli one comes across only the Sheik while
the Moslem inhabitants of the neighbouring village of Keshabpur are all
Pathans. Although one can feel the rough divide between the Bhadralok-
Chhotolok ‘analogue groups’ among the Moslems in their tendency to
avoid marriage across the line, interaction between these groups is not
built up systematically in a set of hierarchic relationship. The upper and
the lower status groups of Moslems, or even two groups belonging to the
upper status category, do not usually live in the same village in this region.
Unlike the Hindu Bhadralok, the Moslem upper status groups are not
organically linked with their own lower status groups in building up the
local economic and social life. Apart from the factors of residential pattern
and economic relationship, the egalitarian teachings of the Koran and the
Hadith play some role in not allowing the status analogues of the Hindu
Bhadralok-Chhotolok divisions to harden too far among the Moslems.
The Great Tradition of Islam, however, does not tone down the disparity
in economic levels among the Moslem inhabitants of Khiruli.
Unlike the Hindus and Moslems, the Santals of Majhi Para in
Debagram-have no concept of status hierarchy among themselves.
They divide their twelve khunts or clans in a traditional hierarchy based
on the mythological notion of the order of their first appearance on the
earth. This traditional hierarchy, however, is merely a concept; it has no
concrete social function. The Santal are aware that they are regarded as
a Chhotolok group by the Bhadralok as well as Chhotolok Hindu
castes and also by the Moslems. They are also aware of the Bhadralok
category among the Hindus. Unlike the Hindu Chhotolok castes, how-
ever, they have not accepted the Chhotolok status assigned to them by
the Hindus who are Dikus (foreigners) and outside their social sphere.
102 Surajit Sinha and Ranjit Bhattacharya

IV. Class, Power and Bhadralok-Chhotolok

Categories

From our observation of the economic life of the village of Bergram it is

apparent that the high social status of the upper ranges of castes, that is,
the Bhadralok group of castes, has firm basis in their economic super-
iority, specially in landholding. They used to be landlords and superior
tenure holders and still are substantial landholders, while the Chhotolok
castes are either landless or poor farmers depending for their subsistence
mainly on working as hired labourers in the fields or houses of the
Bhadralok castes. Thus, in reality, class stratification is embedded, to a
great extent, within the hierarchy of castes. Caste-and community-wise
landholding in Bergram, Khiruli and Debagram Majhi Para has been
shown in Tables 4, 5 and 6.
It will be apparent from Table 4 that the Bhadralok castes virtually
monopolise the landholding in Bergram, while nearly half of the
Chhotolok castes are landless and the rest have scanty landholding. The
same table also indicates that the Sadgop decisively dominate in land-
holding. The people of Bergram divide the castes roughly as shown in
Table 7 in terms of economic classes. If has already been mentioned that
the typical Bhadralok are expected to avoid manual labour, specially,
ploughing the field. The Bhadralok women also avoid agricultural work

Table 4
Caste-wise Landholding in Bergram

Approximate Holding
of Cultivable Land Landless
Caste Households (in acres) Households
Brahman 5 30 —
Kayastha 2 16 —
Sarnakar 1 5 —
Sadgop 14 154 —
Sunri 7 19 1
Dom 12 3 7
Muchi 8 3 6

Total 49 230 14
BHADRALOK AND CHHOTOLOK IN A RURAL AREA OF WEST BENGAL 103

Table 5
Caste and Community-wise Landholding in Khiruli

Caste or Approximate Holding Landless

Community Households of Cultivable Land Households
Moslem 71 145 20
Handi 1 — 1
Dom 8 10 —

Total 80 155 21

Table 6
Landholding in Debagram Majhi Para

Approximate Holding Landless

Community Households of Cultivable Land Households

Santal 26 14 12

Table 7
Division of Castes in Bergtam in Terms of Economic Classes

Caste Economic Class

Sadgop, Sunri* Rich

Brahman, Kayastha, Sarnakar Middle class
Dom, Bayan Poor
* Though the Sunri are not actually as rich as they are shown here, and should be placed in
the middle class, the people think of them as a wealthy caste on the basis of memory of their
past record of landholding.

in the field and their children mostly go to school and do not participate
in agricultural work. Moreover, many of these Bhadralok families in
Bergram have more land than they could have cultivated with their
family-based manpower even if they all worked with their own hands.
These factors combine together to make the Bhadralok depend primar-
ily on the Chhotolok for agricultural labour, while their own role is
reduced to that of supervisors. It has been roughly estimated that one
supervisor is enough to look after the work of 2 to 3 labourers on an
area of about 13 acres. Thus while the Bhadralok provide enough
subsistence-level employment to the Chhotolok of this village as
104 Surajit Sinha and Ranjit Bhattacharya

Table 8
Non-Agricultural Occupations in Bergram

Nature of Involvement
Persons/Family
Occupation Involved Their Caste Primary Secondary
Business
Usury 4 families 3 Sadgop X
1 Sunri X
Grocery and 2 persons 1 Brahman X
cigarette shops 1 Sunri X
1 family Sadgop X
Itinerary trader in 1 person Sunri X
betel leaves
Cycle repairing 2 persons 1 Brahman X
1 Kayastha X
Professions and Services
Priesthood 3 families Brahman X
Drummer 3 families Muchi X
(caste occupation)
School teacher 3 persons 2 Sadgop X
1 Brahman X
Quack medical 1 person Sadgop X
practitioner
Medicine-man 1 person Sadgop X
Worker in cycle 1 person Brahman X
repair shop at
Bolpur
Post Master 1 person Sadgop X
Contractor 2 persons Sadgop X
Postal peon 1 person Sadgop X
BHADRALOK AND CHHOTOLOK IN A RURAL AREA OF WEST BENGAL 105

agricultural labourers, they usually have a surplus of supervisors in their

own joint families. This surplus of potential supervisors tend to go in
for non-agricultural occupations with the support of their formal
education (see Table 8).
It will be seen from Table 8 that except for the socially degrading
traditional service of drumming no other non-agricultural trade, profes-
sion or service is pursued by the typical Chhotolok castes. Dominance
of the Sadgop is again reflected in their practice of the majority of busi-
ness and professional occupations. Out of 26 families and/or persons
involved in various non-agricultural occupations the Sadgop are repre-
sented in 12 cases. One also notices the participation of the marginal
Sunri in this category. Apart from the limitations of belonging to the
polluting and degraded social groups, the Chhotolok are handicapped
from going in for the above non-caste occupations due to their lack of
capital and illiteracy.
The relatively rich Moslem families of Khiruli have landholdings
comparable to those of the Hindu Bhadralok class, particularly to that
of the dominant caste Sadgop (see Table 5). The Moslem women of
this class also remain away from the productive activities in the field.
Some of the substantial Moslem farmers, like their Hindu counter-
parts, depend primarily on non-agricultural occupations (see Table 9).
With all these similarities between the Hindu Bhadralok castes and
their Moslem equivalents, the Molems have not fully accepted
non-manual orientation of the Hindu Bhadralok castes. The Moslem
rich are not so thoroughly dependent on the poor and low Hindu
castes and the tribals for their productive activities. The poor Moslems
within the village, belonging to the high social status Sheik, provide a
good amount of the regular labour force to the rich. Unlike the Hindu
Bhadralok, the poor relatives among the Moslem upper strata groups
do not have much inhibition in serving as paid labourers or mahendar
in the house of a rich relative. They serve there as paid helping hands
but not quite as servants. As a result the employers and the above cat-
egory of employees may meet as equals on various social occasions. It
may be mentioned here that while the poor Hindu Bhadralok will
never work as a mahendar in the house of a rich relative, the Hindu
Chhotolok will not mind working as a paid labourer in the house of
one of his relatives.
The economic relation of the tribal Santal with the Hindu
Bhadralok is similar to that of the Hindu Chhotolok, namely as supplier
106 Surajit Sinha and Ranjit Bhattacharya

Table 9
Non-Agricultural Occupations in Khiruli

Nature of Involvement
Persons/ Their Caste/
Occupation Families Involved Community Primary Secondary
Business
Usury 12 families Moslem X
Business in paddy 10 families ,, X
and rice
Business in eggs 2 persons ,, X(1) X(1)
Cloth dealer 1 person ,, X
Paikar 2 persons ,, X
(dealers in cattle)
Grocer’s shop 4 persons ,, X(1) X(3)
Transport Many persons ,, X
owning bullock
carts
Occasional dealer 2 persons 1 Moslem X
in earthen ware 1 Handi X
Professions and services
Primary school 1 person Moslem X
teacher
Dafadar 1 person ,, X
Chowkidar 1 person Dom X
Builder 2 persons Moslem X
Lorry driver 2 persons ,, X
Amin (surveyor) 1 person ,, X
Mali (gardener) 1 person ,, X
Barber 2 persons ,, X(1) X(1)
Caste occupation
Midwifery 1 person Handi X
BHADRALOK AND CHHOTOLOK IN A RURAL AREA OF WEST BENGAL 107

of paid labour. As a result, they are considered equivalent to the Chhotolok

by the non-tribal population of the area. It has been mentioned that
although the Santal are fully aware of their precarious and dependent
economic position and of their low social status in the eyes of the
Hindus, they maintain a sense of ethnic pride in the isolation of their
settlement and the distinct socio-ritual life.
The land and work relations thus underlie the great divide of castes
into Bhadralok and Chhotolok to a large extent. These relations re-group
the basic building blocks of the society, namely, castes and their detailed
ritually determined hierarchy, into a flexible and workable broad div-
ision of landholders and landless or poor labourers.
The Bhadralok castes of Bergram not only dominate the economic
field, they also virtually monopolize the channels of formal and infor-
mal sources of power and influence in the village. They hold all the
offices of the new Panchayat and the School Committee and the points
of contact of the village with organizations in the outside world such as
the office of the Block Development Officer.
A distinction may here be made between the traditional structure of
influence and the contemporary realities of distribution of power. In the
traditional system of arbitration of disputes the Brahman and Kayastha
held the highest position and the Sarnakar and Sadgop came next in
influence while the Chhotolok castes and the Sunri had to play a com-
pletely subservient role. The Chhotolok accepted the arbitration of the
influential Bhandralok in the settlement of minor disputes. The new
power structure, related to the operation of the new institutions like
Panchayat, Block Development Office and national elections, closely
corresponds to the class structure, with the Sadgop in the highest posi-
tion and the Sunri, Kayastha and Sarnakar coming in the next category
(see Table 10). In both the systems the true Chhotolok have no power,
but in the new power structure the dominance of the Sadgop in the
secular spheres of number and landholding becomes the decisive factor
in placing them at the top position. By the same logic, the ritually low
Sunri is placed on parity with the upper castes in the new power struc-
ture. In other words, although the Bhadralok-Chhotolok divide is
operative in the distribution of power in bulk, the nature of detailed
distribution of influence has shifted from congruence with ritual hier-
archy of castes to the secular hierarchy based on wealth and numerical
strength.
108 Surajit Sinha and Ranjit Bhattacharya

Table 10
Caste and Position in Power Structure

Caste Position
A. Traditional Power Structure
Brahman Highest
Kayastha High
Sarnakar, Sadgop Ordinary
B. New Power Structure
Sadgop Highest
Sunri, Kayastha, Brahman, Sarnakar Ordinary

The prevailing stereotype about the Chhotolok is that he is a

landless or poor person, a mahendar (household servant and agricul-
tural labourer), a kisan (agricultural labourer on seasonal contract), or
a munish (agricultural day-labourer). His dwellings, his clothes, and
his half-fed, ill, hungry and tired look will show every sign of his com-
plete distinction. He is also ‘expected’ to lack economic initiative,
intelligence and social responsibility. The image of the Bhadralok is
just the polar opposite of the Chhotolok. He should have substantial
cultivable land, milch cows, comfortable and spacious dwellings, and
a well-fed look. He would take rest after day’s meal, lead a relatively
regulated life, and use polished language. The Bhadralok are supposed
to be responsible and intelligent and to have economic initiative.
Education is considered to be an essential quality of the Bhadralok,
and their women maintain veil and refrain from agricultural work in
the field. A Bhadralok is also supposed to be a member of a joint
family, since the joint family is regarded as an indication of good living
and prosperity.
Both the Bhadralok and Chhotolok castes of Bergram share- these
images which have considerable bearing in reality. These stereotypes are
partly shared also by the Moslems of Khiruli. They regard the Hindu
Chhotolok castes and some of their own poor artisan groups as
Chhotolok and their upper strata share many of the cultural emphases
of the Hindu Bhadralok although non-manual orientation is consider-
ably toned down in their case. The concept of ritual pollution is also
very feeble among them.
BHADRALOK AND CHHOTOLOK IN A RURAL AREA OF WEST BENGAL 109

V. Pattern of Interaction between the

Bhadralok and Chhotolok

Economic, political and social dominance of the Bhadralok and social

segregation of the Chhotolok are the main features in the interaction
between the Bhadralok and Chhotolok. Although the Bhadralok are
utterly dependent on the Chhotolok for the supply of labour force, they
look down upon the Chhotolok in all respects, including even their
mode of worship and ritual idioms. With their own sets of ‘degraded’
Brahmans viz. Napits (barbers and midwives), the Chhotolok tend to
live in their separate world not only in residential zone but also in other
aspects of social and cultural life. They can interact with the Bhadralok
only in a submissive and segregated role while the Bhadralok do not at
all participate in the social functions sponsored by the Chhotolok.
Any member of the Bhadralok caste can invite the members of the
other castes, including the Chhotolok, to a social feast, but it is a con-
vention that the Chhotolok should not only take their seat in a segre-
gated area, they should also express their deference to the Bhadralok
castes by not taking food before the latter have started eating. The mem-
bers of the Chhotolok group are not permitted to invite the members of
the upper castes to a social dinner in their own house. They may only
send uncooked food or arrange for a social feast in the house of a
Bhadralok where food will be cooked by members of the upper castes.
Illicit sexual contacts between the Bhadralok males and the Chhotolok
females is common and not considered a major social offence, although
the contrary cases, if they ever occurred, would be regarded as thor-
oughly repulsive and as severe breaches of social norms.
During the community festivals such as Durga Puja, Kali Puja,
Sitala Puja and Manasa Puja the Chhotolok castes are not allowed to
offer flowers to the idols. They are not permitted to enter any temple,
although they can worship their own house deities of inferior status.
Only on the occasion of Dharmaraj Puja in the month of Vaisakh (April-
May) the devotees, bhaktas, may belong to any caste, high or low, but
not the lowest, i.e, the Bayan or Muchi. The bhaktas attain a temporary
state of castelessness during the four days of the Puja.
The Chhotolok are fully aware of their dependent and underpriv-
ileged situation in every sphere of life. They are aware that although they
supply the major work-force for the productive activities of the village,
110 Surajit Sinha and Ranjit Bhattacharya

they have no control over the village community of Bergram. One may
wonder why the Chhotolok accept this wretched fate and do not unite
to resist the dominance and exploitation of the privileged class.
The answer lies partly in the fact that the Chhotolok class of this village
(as  elsewhere) is segmented into several mutually exclusive groups or
castes competing for status in the eyes of the Bhadralok. A sense of secu-
rity due to steady availability of bare subsistence-level wage from the
Bhadralok employer also tones down their spirit of resentment. In terms
of sheer number, again, they form a minority vis-a-vis the upper castes,
specially the dominant Sadgop caste. It also seems that the concept of
rebirth still continues, to a certain extent, to heal the strain of their poor
life-chances and to make them accept the deprived status. It should also
be mentioned that the Bhadralok are interested in keeping the Chhotolok
in a perpetual state of degradation, poverty and dependence. This they
do in a masked manner and without conscious planning. They take
every occasion to remind the Chhotolok that they are not quite fit in
their habits, customs and mental capacity to mix with the Bhadralok on
a level of parity. They do not take any genuine interest to upgrade the
Chhotolok and to let them avail of the new opportunities for primary
and secondary education on a massive scale.
Rather than any innate disposition to avoid new opportunities for
educating their children the Chhotolok have objective reasons for not
being enthusiastic about formal education. The Chhotolok, who have to
adjust themselves to the unpredictable cycle of weather and the whims of
the employers in developing their working habits, cannot afford to sub-
ject their children to the disciplined hours of the school. Further, they
cannot spend money for their children’s education for a long period,
specially when they do not perceive an open structure of opportunity for
employment. They have to train children in the technological know-
how of agriculture so that they can perform effectively in the sure source
of livelihood, namely, as hired agricultural labourers.

VI. Summing Up

From our observation of the behaviour of the people of Bergram it

appears that the stratification of Bhadralok-Chhotolok is old and deep-
rooted and not just the product of borrowed terminology and social
norms from the British. Nor does it appear to be primarily the product
BHADRALOK AND CHHOTOLOK IN A RURAL AREA OF WEST BENGAL 111

of a rising middle class under the impact of the British rule. This latter
impact may have only given a particular twist to the role of the Bhadralok
class, particularly in urban Bengal, along with the emergence of the
‘babu’ culture (Misra 1961; Sedition Committee 1918).
The Bhadralok-Chhotolok division includes blocks of castes rather
than individuals and families. The division follows a simplified version
of the varna order in distinguishing the low castes belonging to the
lower rung of the “unclean’ Sudra from the upper castes. Yet the basis of
this stratification does not lie solely in the varna order, since the absolute
supremacy-of the Brahman is not assured in this system and be is
lumped together with the Kayastha, a clean Sudra caste, and the Vaidya
as the Bhadralok par excellence. Nevertheless, it is a ‘caste-styled’ system
of stratification since it recognises castes as component units and the
stratification ‘roughly approximates’ the varna order. Apart from the
structural features, in the style of life also the varna idioms play their
role. The Bhadralok emphasis is on the satvik-rajasik mental traits, i.e.
traits of restraint, discipline and endeavour, and the Chhotolok are
stereotyped as having tamasik mental features i.e., traits of laxity and
lethargy.
Yet within the general framework of caste style, the Bhadralok-
Chhotolok stratification is essentially a flexible, simple and workable
hierarchy which facilitates day-to-day interaction among the people of
the village. It divides the superordinate and the subordinate into two
groups and thus distinguishes the supervisors from the agricultural
labourers, the masters from the ‘serfs’, the privileged from the unprivil-
eged. To be more specific, this hierarchy has stratified the manual and
the non-manual workers into two groups. This devaluation of manual
labour seems to be mainly the product of the Hindu cultural milieu in
this region, for we do not find it so pronounced among the Moslems
and not at all among the Santal.
One distinctive feature of the Bhadralok-Chhotolok mode of
stratification is its flexibility. It is not rigid in attributing proportionable
status to a group or groups of castes due to their relatively low status in
the ritual hierarchy of castes when they hold a good position in the local
structure of opportunity and power, e.g., the Sadgop of Bergram. The
Bhadralok-Chhotolok stratification is the product of practical
compromise between the long-range historical stream of varna-based
caste hierarchy and the concrete situational context of the distribution
112 Surajit Sinha and Ranjit Bhattacharya

of wealth and power. It is thus an evolved, practical and secular form of

caste stratification. It also appears that such secular hierarchic dichot-
omy in styles of life has deep historical roots in Indian civilization in the
form of division between Arya and Anarya in ethnic categories and pat-
terns of life, Sanskrit and Prakrit in language, Marga (classical) and
Deshi (folk) in music. In all these there is an effort to distinguish culti-
vated taste from the uncultivated. It is not unlikely that along with the
varna division, the above persistent trend and model to divide the sec-
ular style of life into refined and crude has also contributed to the divi-
sion of Bhadra and Abhadra as two distinct styles of life in later phase of
history.
Although the essence of Bhadralok-Chhotolok hierarchy has to be
defined in terms of ‘style of life’ and ‘status stratification’ in Weberian
sense, one also finds remarkable congruence of the dimensions of class
and power with this category of status stratification.
From our observation among the neighbouring Moslems and
Santals it appears that while the Moslems have been partially drawn into
the essentially Hindu idiom of stratification of Bhadralok and
Chhotolok, the tribal Santals have maintained their egalitarian solidar-
ity in residential and socio-cultural isolation.
The preliminary enquiry on the Bhadralok-Chhotolok divide in
rural West Bengal may stimulate us to enquire whether similar flexible
and simplified secular adaptations of the caste hierarchy have evolved in
different linguistic and cultural regions of India having different pat-
terns of jati hierarchy. The scope of comparison may be extended to the
non-Hindu communities: the Moslems, Jains, Parsis, Sikhs, Christians
and the acculturated tribals.
In looking into our data in the rural field we have deliberately
ignored the urban context. We have not enquired to what extent the
style of life of the Bhadralok is shaped after, apart from the varna idiom,
the model of the urban middle and upper class citizens. One may also
enquire to what extent the concept of Bhadralok has been individual-
ised and released from the framework of varna and caste in the urban
milieu. The Report of the Sedition Committee (1918) hinted that Bengal
has a unique pattern of penetration of the literate, upper, Bhadralok
strata into the villages. It is only on the basis of carefully collected com-
parative data that the above proposition can be tested. The existing
village-studies, with their pre-occupation with caste and intricacies of
BHADRALOK AND CHHOTOLOK IN A RURAL AREA OF WEST BENGAL 113

ritual hierarchy, will not provide adequate understanding of the above

perspective.

Note
1. This field investigation, done by Ranjit Bhattacharya, was part of a project on “Science
and Technology in Relation to Cultural Values and Institutions of South and Southeast
Asia: India and Ceylon,” sponsored by the UNESCO and directed by Surajit Sinha
during 1965–66. We are very thankful to the UNESCO and to the Chairman, India
International Centre, New Delhi, for sponsoring the project, which provided us the
initial field experience for writing this easy. We are greatful to Shri K. T. Chandy, the
then Director, Indian Institute of Management, Calcutta, for providing various facil-
ities to S.C. Sinha for directing the programme. Further field-work was possible in
the area during 1967–68 due to the kind permission of Dr. D.K. Sen, Director,
Anthropological Survey of India.

References
Bandopadhyaya, Brajendra N. ed. 1946 Sangbadpatrey Shekaler Katha (1818–1830), Part I.
Calcutta, Bangiya Sahitya Parishad.
Bhattacharya, R. 1968. Social and Cultural Constraints in Agriculture in Three Villages
(Hindu, Moslem and Tribal) of West Bengal. Journ. Anth. Soc. Indi., III (I). In Press.
Bose, N.K. 1967. Culture and Society in India. Calcutta, Asia Publishing House.
Chattopadhyaya, G. 1964. Ranjana: a Village in West Bengal. Calcutta, Bookland.
Das, J.M., 1930. Bangla Bhashar Abhidhan. Calcutta, Bangiya Sahitya Parishad.
Danda, Ajit and Deepali Danda, 1968 Development and Change in a Bengali Village.
Hyderabad, National Institute of Community Development. Mimeo.
Misra, B.B., 1961. The Indian Middle Classes: Their Growth in Modern Times. London Oxford
University Press.
Nair, Kusum, 1961. Blossoms in the Dust: the Human Element in Indian Development. London
Gerald Duekworth.
Sarma, J., 1955. A Village in West Bengal. In India’s Villages, M.N. Srinivas (ed.), Bombay,
Asia Publishing House.
Sedition Committee 1918. Report.
Sinha, Surajit (ed.) 1966. Science and Technology in Relation to Cultural Values and Institutions
of South and South-east Asia: India and Ceylon. Mimeographed report submitted to
UNESCO.
8
Caste System in
Contemporary Rural Bihar:
A Study of Selected Villages
Gaurang Ranjan Sahay

M
uch has been written on the caste system in India. But the
system is so complex and dynamic that it continues to engage
the attention of social scientists. The present study focuses on
certain aspects of the caste system in contemporary rural Bihar, and
examines in particular the linkage between caste and occupation as well
as the status of the jajmani system today.
This paper is based on the data collected from four villages of the
Buxar (Bhogpur) district of Bihar during a period of three years from
1991–93 by means of interview schedule and careful observation of
every day life practises of the villagers. The four villages selected for this
study were: Unwas, Basantpur, Bishrampur and Bharchakia. Though
they have many similarities, the villages are also dissimilar in several
respects. Two of these villages, Unwas and Basantpur, are very old while
the other two, Bishrampur and Bharchakia, are quite new. Just before
independence, Basantpur was under the zamindari system whereas
Unwas was under the ryotwari system. The other two villages came up
after independence.
In Unwas and Basantpur there are many castes while Bishrampur and
Bharchakia have fewer castes. The ‘upper castes’ dominate Basantpur and
Unwas while Bishrampur and Bharchakia are economically dominated by
A STUDY OF SELECTED VILLAGES 115

the ‘backward castes’. While Bishrampur and Bharchakia are almost spatially
divided on the basis of caste, Unwas and Basantpur are not so neatly divided.
Taken together, however, these four villages provide a representative picture
of rural Bihar. For this very reason, data pertaining to all the villages has
been put together for purposes of analysis and presentation.
A caste in contemporary rural Bihar is an endogamous group, with
a set of ritual practises which separates it from other castes. The caste of
a person is determined by his/her birth. People belonging to a particular
caste claim that the origin of their caste is different from that of other
castes. This claim is legitimized on the basis of various origin myths
which constitute an important element of caste beliefs. People belong-
ing to different castes create their mternal hierarchies according to their
origin myths and beliefs. And by doing so various castes maintain their
specific customs and traditions which help them to distinguish them-
selves from each other. The four villages amongst themselves have
twenty-four castes. Five of these—the Brahmin, Rajput, Kayastha,
Bhumihar and Mahabrahman—belong to the forward caste category.
Fifteen of these—the Yadav, Koeri, Bania, Bind, Rajbhar, Bhar, Kamkar,
Gond, Paneri, Nonia, Lohar, Bari, Nau, Kohar and Sonar—are back-
ward castes. The remaining four—the Dhobi, Chamar, Dusadh and
Dom—belong to the Scheduled Caste category. Apart from these castes
seven Muslim families also reside in the villages.
In this work the concept of class denotes a category of people who
occupy the same position in the economic structure within a social for-
mation. The position is determined by the quantity of possession of the
most important means of production in the villages, that is, land. On
the basis of their ownership of land, people have been categorized into
five classes. Those families which own more than twelve acres of land
constitute the class of big peasants. Families having more than seven
acres of land but not exceeding twelve acres constitute the so-called
upper-middle peasants. Families with three to seven acres of land
constitute the lower-middle peasant class, while families owning between
one to three acres of land constitute the small peasants. Families which
are either landless or owning not more than one acre of land constitute
the class of landless and near landless people.
Of the various practices that help in maintaining distinctions
among various castes in the villages, two stand out as being conceptually
more relevant for understanding the nature of the caste system in
116 Gaurang Ranjan Sahay

contemporary rural social formations. One is the worship of different

deities and the other is endogamy. The latter is more general and so has
more explanatory value than the former.
It needs also to be noted that various castes, apart from worshipping
some common gods and goddesses, worship their own specific deities at
least once a year. For example, the Yadav perform Govardhanpuja, the
Kayastha perform Chitragupta Puja, the Chamar perform Ravidas Puja,
and so on. Some of these castes worship their deities publicly by
organizing big functions. The deities are considered to be either the
original founders or the most important representatives of their castes.
The most important institutional practise among the various castes
is endogamous marriage. The practice of endogamy is widespread and
strictly observed. I did not come across even a single intercaste marriage.
By following the practise of endogamy and worshipping different dei-
ties, the castes separate themselves from one another and maintain their
distinct character.

Caste and Occupation

Many writers on the caste system such as Ghurye (1969) and Srinivas
(1982) have opined that a particular caste differentiates itself from
others by engaging in a particular occupation not performed by other
castes. In other words, each caste has an assigned occupation. The pre-
sent study finds such an assertion.
There are four general types of occupations in the villages. These
are: (i) agricultural farming, (ii) monthly paid government or non-
government services, (iii) business, and (iv) hiring out labour power
(HL) or working as wage labourers.
Agricultural fanning is an occupation in which the majority of the
families from different castes are involved (see table 1): 81.4 per cent of
the Brahmin, 87.5 per cent of the Rajput, 40 per cent of the Kayastha,
50 per cent of the Bhumihar, 91.6 per cent of the Yadav, 89.3 per cent
of the Koeri, 31.5 per cent of the Bania, 60 per cent of the Rajbhar,
31.8 per cent of the Bhar, 53.3 per cent of the Kamkar, 40 per cent of
the Gond, 50 per cent of the Paneri, 60 per cent of the Dhobi, 70.2 per
cent of the Nonia, 37.5 per cent of the Lohar, 47 per cent of the
Chamar, 85.7 per cent of the Dusadh, 50 per cent of the Bari, 62.5 per
cent of the Nau, 88.8 per cent of the Kohar, 85.7 per cent of the Muslim
A STUDY OF SELECTED VILLAGES 117

and 66.6 per cent of the Mahabrahman families are involved in this
occupation. It is thus clear that agricultural farming is an occupation
practised by almost all castes. Most of the families belonging to the
three categories—the forward, the backward and the Scheduled Castes-
are involved in this occupation. It is the most extensively practised
occupation in the villages, with 319 out of 475 families from the four
villages engaged in it.
Further, people belonging to all castes (except five) are employed
in government jobs or in the private sector outside the villages (see
table 1). These five castes are: Gond, Paneri, Dusadh, Dom and
Mahabrahman, whose members are not found in such jobs. There are
25 families in all who belong to these castes in the villages. We find that
50.1 per cent of the Brahmin, 56.3 per cent of the Rajput, 40 per cent
of the Kayastha, 100 per cent of the Bhumihar, 34 per cent of the
Yadav, 29.8 per cent of the Koeri, 6.9 per cent of the Bania, 100 per
cent of the Bind, 20 per cent of the Rajbhar, 4.5 per cent of the Bhar,
26.7 per cent of the Kamkar, 20 per cent of the Dhobi, 4.3 per cent of
the Nonia, 12.5 per cent of the Lohar, 12.3 per cent of the Chamar,
100 per cent of the Bari, 25 per cent of the Nau, 11.1 per cent of the
Kohar, 14.3 per cent of the Muslim and 50 per cent of the Sonar fam-
ilies have some family member or the other in a monthly paid job in
government or non-government organizations outside the villages.
Altogether 109 out of 475 families have at least one member employed
in monthly paid service.
We also find (table 1) that a majority of the families belonging to
the forward castes such as Brahmin, Rajput and Bhumihar have access
to monthly paid jobs. Other castes, with the exception of the Bari and
Bind, do not have as much access to similar opportunities. Although all
families belonging to Bari and Bind are attached to agricultural farming
their members perform meagerly paid jobs. Among the backward castes
a good percentage of families belonging to the Yadav, Koeri, Kamkar
and Sonar have access to monthly paid jobs whereas the representation
of Bania, Rajbhar, Bhar, Gond, Paneri, Nonia, Lohar, Nau and Kohar in
government and non-government services is very Chamar, Dusadh and
Dom have very limited access to such jobs. Thus, a highly uneven pat-
tern emerges, if the representation of various castes in government of
non-government monthly paid services is taken into account. In the
villages mainly three types of professions—shopkeeping, transportation
 118

Table 1
Caste and Occupation

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13
Name of Occupation Brahmin Rajput Kayastha Bhumihar Yadav Koeri Bania Bind Rajbhar Bhar Kamkar Gond Paneri
Farming 22 3 1 0 17 35 3 0 1 3 2 0 1
45.9% 18.8% 20% 36.2% 41.7% 10.3% 20% 13.6% 13.3% 16.7%
Service 7 2 1 1 1 2 0 1 1 0 1 0 0
14.6% 12.5% 20% 50% 2.1% 2.4% 100% 20% 6.7%
Business 1 0 1 0 1 0 13 0 0 0 0 0 3
2.1% 20% 2.1% 44.8% 50.0% 10%
HL 0 0 0 0 1 6 3 0 1 15 6 5 2
2.1% 7.1% 10.3% 20% 68.2% 40% 50% 33.3%
Farming and Service 14 7 0 1 14 19 0 0 0 1 3 0 0
29.2% 43.8% 50% 29.8% 22.6% 4.5% 20%
Farming and Business 1 4 0 0 4 8 5 0 0 0 1 0 0
2.1% 25% 8.5% 9.5% 17.2% 6.7%
Farming and HL 0 0 0 0 8 9 1 0 2 3 2 4 0
17% 10.7% 3.4% 40% 13.6% 13.3% 40%
Gaurang Ranjan Sahay
Farming, Service 2 0 1 0 0 2 2 0 0 0 0 0 0
and Business 4.2% 20% 2.4% 6.9%
Farming, Business 0 0 0 0 0 1 1 0 0 0 0 0 0
and HL 1.2% 3.4%
Farming, Service and 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0
HL

Farming, Business, 0 0 0 0 0 1 0 0 0 0 0 0 0
A STUDY OF SELECTED VILLAGES

Services, HL 1.2%
Services and 1 0 0 0 0 1 0 0 0 0 0 0 0
Business 2.1% 1.2%
Service and HL 0 0 0 0 1 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0
2.1%
Business and HL 0 0 1 0 0 0 1 0 0 0 0 1 0
20% 3.4% 10%

Total 48 16 5 2 47 84 29 1 5 22 15 10 6
(Table 1 Contd.)
119
 120

(Table 1 contd.)

14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25
Name of Occupation Dhobi Nonia Lohar Chamar Dusadh Bari Dom Nau Kohar Muslim Mahabr Sonar Total
Farming 0 7 0 1 0 0 0 2 1 2 1 0 103
1.2% 25% 11.1% 28.6% 33.3% 21.7%
Service 0 0 1 1 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 20
12.5% 1.2% 4.2%
Business 0 1 0 0 0 0 1 3 0 1 1 1 28
2.1% 100% 37.5% 14.3% 33.3% 50% 5.9%
HL 1 13 4 37 1 0 0 0 1 0 0 0 97
10% 27.7% 50% 45.7% 14.3% 11.1% 20.4%
Farming and Service 0 2 0 0 0 1 0 2 1 0 0 0 65
4.3% 50% 25% 11.1% 13.7%
Farming and Business 3 2 3 1 0 0 0 1 2 2 1 0 37
30% 4.3% 37.5% 1.2% 12.5% 22.2% 28.3% 33.3% 7.8%
Farming and HL 1 22 0 29 5 0 0 0 4 1 0 0 90
10% 46.8% 35.8% 71.4% 44.4% 14.3% 19%
Gaurang Ranjan Sahay
Farming, Service and 2 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 1 0 0 8
Business 20% 14.3% 1.7%
Farming, Business and 1 0 0 2 1 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 6
HL 10% 2.5% 14.3% 1.3%
Farming, Service and 0 0 0 5 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 5
HL6. 6.2% 1.1%
Farming, Business, 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 1
Services, HL
A STUDY OF SELECTED VILLAGES

0.2%
Services and Business 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 1 3
50% 0.6%
Service and HL 0 0 0 4 0 1 0 0 0 0 0 0 6
4.9% 50% 1.3%
Business and HL 2 0 0 1 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 7
20% 1.2% 1.5%

10 47 8 81 7 2 1 8 9 7 3 2 475
HL = Hiring out own labour power
121
122 Gaurang Ranjan Sahay

and trading in agricultural products—are being practiced. People

belonging to all except five castes have some sort of involvement in
these professions. The caste whose members are not involved in business
are Bhumihar, Bind, Rajbhar, Bhar and Bari. These castes comprise only
32 families. However, a small percentage of families have some members
involved in this occupation (table 1): 10.5 per cent of the Brahmin,
25 per cent of the Rajput, 40 per cent of the Kayastha, 10.6 per cent of
the Yadav, 15.5 per cent of the Koeri, 75.7 per cent of the Bania, 6.7 per
cent of the Kamkar, 10 per cent of the Gond, 50 per cent of the Paneri,
80 per cent of the Dhobi, 6.4 per cent of the Nonia, 37.5 per cent of the
Lohar, 4.9 per cent of the Chamar, 14.3 per cent of the Dusadh, 100 per
cent of the Dom, 50 per cent of the Nau, 22.2 per cent of the Kohar,
56 per cent of the Muslim, 66.6 per cent of the Mahabrahaman and
100 per cent of the Sonar families have some member of the family or
the other involved in the three professions.
Thus, there are only seven castes including the Muslim community
where 50 per cent or more than 50 per cent of the families carry out
some business activities. Among these castes Bania, Paneri, Nau, Dhobi,
Dom, and Sonar have commercialized their caste related occupations.
The Dom and Sonar constitute only three families. All of them do busi-
ness. Bania, Paneri, Nau and Sonar belong to backward castes whereas
Dhobi and Dom are scheduled castes. Altogether 90 out of 475 families
are involved in business.
In much the same way, we find that a large number of families
belonging to various castes hire out their labour (table 1). There are
only eight castes which do not hire out their labour. Among these are
the Brahmin, Rajput, Bhumihar and Mahabrahaman, which belong
to the forward castes, the Bind, Nau and Sonar, which belong to
backward castes, and the Dom which is a Scheduled Caste. The latter
four castes comprise only twelve families. We may note that 20 per
cent of the Kayastha, 21.2 per cent of the Yadav, 20.2 per cent of the
Koeri, 20.5 per cent of the Bania, 60 per cent of the Rajbhar, 81.8 per
cent of the Bhar, 53.3 per cent of the Kamkar, 100 per cent of the
Gond, 33.3 per cent of the Paneri, 50 per cent of the Dhobi, 74.5 per
cent of the Nonia, 50 per cent of the Lohar, 96.4 per cent of the
Chamar, 100 per cent of the Dusadh, 50 per cent of the Bari, 55.5 per
cent of the Kohar and 14.3 per cent of the Muslim families hire out
their labour power.
A STUDY OF SELECTED VILLAGES 123

There are eleven castes from which 50 per cent or more families
hire out their labour power or work as agricultural labourers (table 1).
Out of these eleven castes, eight belong to the backward castes and
three to the Scheduled Castes. Around 20 per cent of the families
belonging to three more powerful backward castes, such as Yadav, Koeri
and Bania also hire out their labour power. Altogether 206 out of 475
families hire themselves out as labourers-Therefore, after agricultural
farming, hiring out labour emerges as another general occupation in
the villages.
Thus, all the four major economic activities, that is, farming, ser-
vice in government or non-government sectors outside the villages, busi-
ness and labour on hire are widely practised by the people belonging to
various castes in the villages. Another important fact is that when a
person starts performing a job which is not considered his traditional
caste occupation, he is not condemned or penalised by his society. For
instance, when a Brahmin opened a shop he was not looked down upon
by his caste fellows. Likewise, when a Kayastha started working as a
labourer, he was not told by other members of his caste to discontinue
this practice.

The Jajmani Institution: An Empirical Analysis

An empirical analysis of the jajmani institution is critical for under-

standing how the caste system works because ‘caste values of pollution
and occupational division of labour, and the general cultural emphasis
upon hierarchy and inequality are all tightly involved in the jajmani
system’ (Kolenda 1981:6). Regarding the jajmani system in the villages,
it depicts a different picture from the one that is found in the various
well known and established writings (Wiser 1936; Dumont 1970). In
the villages the jajmani system seems to have a labour-buyer/wage-
earner relationship. Four terms are used to designate the persons who
are involved in the jajmani system: jajman, pauni, purohit and
Mahabrahman. The term jajman designates a person who buys the
labour power of the pauni, purohit and Mahabrahman. Paunis, purohits
and Mahabrahmans provide services to jajmans. But they provide differ-
ent services. Purohits perform rituals and worship deities for the jajman.
Mahabrahmans also perform rituals but only funerary or mortuary
ones. In turn, jajmans pay them in both cash and kind. Paunis perform
124 Gaurang Ranjan Sahay

manual work for jajmans like washing clothes, shaving, cutting hair, and
the like. Generally, jajmans pay in kind.
The wage for the services of the pauni is fixed but it may vary from
one village to another. All the families of jajmans have to pay fixed wages
to receive the services of the paunis. However, some rich families pay
more to please them and to get their work done fast and early. The wage
for the purohit and Mahabrahman is not fixed. It varies from one family
to another even in a single village. Generally, rich jajmans pay more and
the poor pay less. This is because there is a notion that those who pay
more to the purohit and Mahabrahman will receive good treatment in
the other world after death. Unlike purohits and Mahabrahmans, paunis
are not paid immediately after their assigned work is over. They are paid
when the process of harvesting crops is going on or just after it gets over.
Unlike purohits and Mahabrahmans, paunis get more or less fixed wages
even if their services keep varying from year to year in terms of quantity.
In contrast, the wages of purohits and Mahabrahmans vary depending
on the amount of work they have done for the jajmans. If they perform
more rituals for the jajmans, they are paid more, and so on. In the vil-
lages the jajmans exist within almost all castes, whereas the  purohits,
Mahabrahman and paunis come from some specific castes only.
In the villages studied not all purohits were Brahmins. There is a
family belonging to the Koeri caste which also acts as purohit. This is
a new phenomenon. Until a few years ago all the purohits used to be
Brahmins. This change occurred because some of the families, particu-
larly those belonging to the Koeri caste, did not feel comfortable with
the Brahminical set up. They wanted to oppose and change it. In their
effort they were helped by the Arya Samaj movement. They accepted
some of its principles and decided not to accept the services of
Brahmin purohits. That is why they designated one of the families
belonging to their own caste as a purohit family, to perform all the
rituals for them.
Paunis belong to more than one caste such as the Nau, Dhobi,
Lohar, Mallah and Bari. They are paid at fixed points of time. Apart
from these castes there are some other castes like the Chamar, Paneri,
Dom, Kohar and Dusadh, some of whose members perform their trad-
itional caste occupations and provide services to the people. However,
they are not paunis in the proper sense of the term because after receiv-
ing services the people pay the required wage. The wage is not fixed on
A STUDY OF SELECTED VILLAGES 125

a yearly basis. It depends on the amount of services they provide. There

may be years when some of them are not asked to provide any services
at all and therefore do not get anything.
On the occasion of death some religious rituals have to be performed.
These rituals are not performed by purohits but by persons belonging to
the Mahabrahman caste. By performing these rituals the Mahabrahman
consumes ‘impurities’ and hence is ‘polluted’ as the rituals are related to
death. Since the Mahabrahmans claim to be Brahmins of a different type
and wear the sacred thread, the jajmans treat them with respect. Like the
purohits, they get paid just after performing the rituals. The wage is not
fixed. Generally, the rich jajmans pay more and the poor pay less.
Primarily, the jajmani system in the sample villages does not denote
a relationship between various castes but between families. The point is
that caste is not the primary component of the jajmani system. The
study revealed that not all Brahmin families are purohits nor are all
Lohar, Dhobi, Nau paunis or purohits, a fact which would have been
the primary component of the jajmani system. Second, there is no caste-
based division of labour in the villages.
It is not always the case that only the so-called low castes have taken
up occupations which are traditionally supposed to be the prerogative of
the so-called higher castes. People belonging to the so-called higher and
twice-born castes have also taken up those occupations which have not
been sanctioned to them by Brahminical orthodoxy. In table 1 we can
see this substantiated clearly, as the data reveals that a lot of Brahmin and
Rajput families are in business. They have opened shops and are engaged
in commerce and trade. These jobs were traditionally supposed to be
done by lower castes like the Banias. In the sample villages the number
of families which were traditionally supposed to provide services to the
jajmans either as purohits or paunis or Mahabrahmans total 187; how-
ever, of these only 56 families provide their services to the jajmans.
Twenty-five families claim that the number of families to whom they
provide services has increased in their lifetime, whereas 29 claim that the
number has decreased. Almost all families are jajmans. But not all of
them ask for the same type of services. In fact, there is a large variation
as regards availing the services of purohits, paunis and Mahabrahmaqs
by the jajmans belonging to different castes and classes is concerned.
This is evident in tables 2 and 3, where out of 464 jajman families,
197 take advantage of the services of the Lohar, 157 of the Dhobi, 237
Table 2
126

Caste and the Services of Purohits, Paunis and Mahabrahmans

Purohits, Mahabrahmans and 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9

Paunis Brahmin Rajput Kayasth Bhumihar Yadav Koeri Bania Bind Rajbhar

Purohit, Lohar Mbhrmn 9 (18%) 0 0 0 2 (4.3%) 1 (1.2%) 0 0 1 (20%)

Purohit, Mahabrahman D,L,N 7 (14%) 0 1 (14.3%) 0 4 (8.5%) 3 (3.5%) 1 (3.3%) 0 0
Purohit, Mahabrahman 12 (24%) 0 4 (57.1%) 0 6 (12.8%) 3 (3.5%) 18 (60%) 1 (100%) 2 (40%)
Purohit, Mahabrahman, D,N 2 (4%) 0 1 (14.3%) 0 1 (2.1%) 2 (2.3%) 2 (6.7%) 0 0
Purohit, Dhobi, Mbhrmn 4 (8%) 0 0 0 3 (6.4%) 0 2 (6.7%) 0 0
Purohit, Lohar, Nau, Mbhrmn 7 (14%) 0 0 0 9 (19.1%) 2 (2.3%) 1 (3.3%) 0 1 (20%)
Purohit, Nau, Mbhrmn 4 (8%) 0 1 (14.3%) 0 0 3 (3.5%) 1 (3.3%) 0 1 (20%)
Nau, Dhobi, Koeri, Purohit 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0
Dhobi, Lohar, Koeri, Purohit 0 0 0 0 1 (2.1%) 0 0 0 0
Purohit, Dhobi, Lohar, Mbhrmn 1 (2%) 0 0 0 0 0 1 (1.4%) 0 0
Nau, Korei, Purohit 0 0 0 0 0 6 (7%) 0 0 0
Nau, Dhobi, Lohar, Koeri, Puroh 0 0 0 0 0 37 (43%) 0 0 0
Nau, Lohar, Koeri, Purohit 0 0 0 0 1 (2.1%) 1 (1.2%) 0 0 0
Purohit, Mahabrahman, L,M,N 0 2 (12.5%) 0 0 5 (10.6%) 2 (2.3%) 1 (3.3%) 0 0
Purohit, Mbhrmn, N,M,L,B 0 0 0 0 5 (10.6%) 2 (2.3%) 1 (3.3%) 0 0
Gaurang Ranjan Sahay
Purohit, Mahabrabman, M,N 0 3 (18.8%) 0 0 1 (2.1%) 0 0 0
Purohit, Mbhrmn, M,B,N. 0 0 0 0 1 (2.1%) 0 0 0 0
Purohit, Mbhrmn, B,M,L 0 0 0 0 0 1 (1.2%) 0 0 0
Purohit, Mbhrmn, D,N,M,L,B 2 (4%) 6 (37.5%) 0 0 2 (4.3%) 2 (6.7%) 0 0
Purohit, Mallah, Mbhrmn 0 0 0 0 1 (2.1%) 0 0 0 0
Purohit, Mbhrmn, D,M,L,N 0 2 (12.5%) 0 0 4 (8.5%) 0 0 0
Purohit, Mbhrmn, L,M 0 0 0 1 (100%) 0 0 0 0 0
A STUDY OF SELECTED VILLAGES

Purohit, Mbhrmn, M,B,D,N 1 (2%) 0 0 0 0 0 1 (3.3%) 0 0

Purohit, Mbhrmn, M,L,D 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0
Purohit, Mbhrmn, N,D,B 1 (2%) 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0
Purohit, Mbhrmn, D,M 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0
Purohit, Mbhrmn, M,D,N 0 0 0 0 1 (2.1%) 0 0 0 0
Temporary Purohit, M,N 0 0 0 0 0 8 (9.3%) 0 0 0
Temporary Purohit, TM,N,L 0 0 0 0 0 6 (7%) 0 0 0
Temporary Purohit, TM 0 0 0 0 0 5 (5.8%) 0 0 0
Lohar, Koeri, Purohit 0 0 0 0 0 4 (4.7%) 0 0 0

Total 50 16 7 1 47 86 30 1 5
(Table 2 contd.)
127
(Table 2 contd.)
128

Purohits, Mahabrahmans and 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17

Paunis Bhar Kamkar Gond Paneri Dhobi Nonia Lohar Chamar

Purohit, Lohar Mbhrmn 1 (4.8%) 5 (31.3%) 0 0 0 0 0 0

Purohit, Mahabrahman D,L,N 1 (4.8%) 0 1 (12.5%) 0 0 7 (14.9%) 0 0
Purohit, Mahabrahman 14 (66.7%) 5 (31.3%) 4 (50%) 5 (8.3%) 1 (10%) 34 (72.3%) 1 (12.5%) 23 (31.5%)
Purohit, Mahabrahman, D,N 0 1 (6.3%) 0 0 0 0 2 (25%) 2 (2.7%)
Purohit, Dhobi, Mbhrmn 0 3 (18.8%) 0 0 0 0 1 (2.5%) 19 (26%)
Purohit, Lohar, Nau, Mbhrmn 0 2 (12.5%) 0 0 0 1 (12.1%) 0 0
Purohit, Nau, Mbhrmn 1 (4.8%) 0 0 1 (16.7%) 2 (20%) 4 (8.5%) 0 0
Nau, Dhobi, Koeri, Purohit 0 0 0 0 0 1 (2.1%) 0 0
Dhobi, Lohar, Koeri, Purohit 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0
Purohit, Dhobi, Lohar, Mbhrmn 0 0 0 0 0 0 1 (2%) 0
Nau, Korei, Purohit 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0
Nau, Dhobi, Lohar, Koeri, Puroh 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0
Nau, Lohar, Koeri, Purohit 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0
Purohit, Mahabrahman, L,M,N 1 (4.8%) 0 0 0 2 (20%) 0 0 5 (6.8%)
Purohit, Mbhrmn, N,M,L,B 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0
Gaurang Ranjan Sahay
Purohit, Mahabrabman, M,N 2 (9.5%) 0 0 0 4 (40%) 0 4 (50%) 8 (11%)
Purohit, Mbhrmn, M,B,N. 0 0 0 0 1 (10%) 0 0 0
Purohit, Mbhrmn, B,M,L 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0
Purohit, Mbhrmn, D,N,M,L,B 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0
Purohit, Mallah, Mbhrmn 0 0 3 (37.5%) 0 0 0 0 3 (4.1%)
Purohit, Mbhrmn, D,M,L,N 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 6 (8.2%)
Purohit, Mbhrmn, L,M 1 (4.8%) 0 0 0 0 0 0 1 (1.4%)
A STUDY OF SELECTED VILLAGES

Purohit, Mbhrmn, M,B,D,N 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

Purohit, Mbhrmn, M,L,D 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 4 (5.5%)
Purohit, Mbhrmn, N,D,B 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0
Purohit, Mbhrmn, D,M 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 1 (1.4%)
Purohit, Mbhrmn, M,D,N 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0
Temporary Purohit, M,N 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0
Temporary Purohit, TM,N,L 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0
Temporary Purohit, TM 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0
Lohar, Koeri, Purohit 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

21 16 8 6 10 47 8 73
L = Lohar, D = Dhobi, N = Nau, M = Mallah, B = Ban, KP = Koeri; Purohit, TP = Temporary; Purohit, TM = Temporary; Mahabrahman, Mbhrmn = Mahabiahman
(Table 2 contd.)
129
(Table 2 contd.)
130

Purohits, Mahabrahmans and 18 19 20 21 22 23 24

Paunis Dusadh Bari Dom Nau Kohar Mahabrah Sonar Total

Purohit, Lohar Mbhrmn 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 19 (4.1%)

Purohit, Mahabrahman D,L,N 0 0 0 0 2 (22.2%) 1 (33.3%) 0 28 (6%)
Purohit, Mahabrahman 3 (42.9%) 0 1 (100%) 2 (25%) 0 1 (33.3%) 2 (100%) 142 (30.4%)
Purohit, Mahabrahman, D,N 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 13 (2.8%)
Purohit, Dhobi, Mbhrmn 1 (14.3%) 0 0 0 0 0 0 33 (7.1%)
Purohit, Lohar, Nau, Mbhrmn 0 0 0 0 0 1 (33.3%) 0 24 (5.1%)
Purohit, Nau, Mbhrmn 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 18 (3.9%)
Nau, Dhobi, Koeri, Purohit 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 1 (0.2%)
Dhobi, Lohar, Koeri, Purohit 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 1 (0.2%)
Purohit, Dhobi, Lohar, Mbhrmn 0 0 0 2 (25%) 0 0 0 4 (0.9%)
Nau, Korei, Purohit 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 6 (1.3%)
Nau, Dhobi, Lohar, Koeri, Puroh 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 37 (7.9%)
Nau, Lohar, Koeri, Purohit 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 2 (0.4%)
Purohit, Mahabrahman, L,M,N 1 (14.3%) 0 0 0 2 (22.2%) 0 0 21 (4.5%)
Purohit, Mbhrmn, N,M,L,B 1 (14.3%) 0 0 1 (12.5%) 0 0 0 13 (2.8%)
Purohit, Mahabrabman, M,N 0 0 0 1 (12.5%) 1 (11.1%) 0 0 24 (5.1%)
Gaurang Ranjan Sahay
Purohit, Mbhrmn, M,B,N. 1 (14.3%) 0 0 0 0 0 0 3 (0.6%)
Purohit, Mbhrmn, B,M,L 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 1 (0.2%)
Purohit, Mbhrmn, D,N,M,L,B 0 0 0 0 3 (33.3%) 0 0 15 (3.2%)
Purohit, Mallah, Mbhrmn 0 0 0 0 1 (11.1%) 0 0 8 (1.7%)
Purohit, Mbhrmn, D,M,L,N 0 1 (50%) 0 1 (12.5%) 0 0 0 14 (3%)
Purohit, Mbhrmn, L,M 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 3 (0.6%)
Purohit, Mbhrmn, M,B,D,N 0 0 0 0 0 0 2 (0.4%)
A STUDY OF SELECTED VILLAGES

Purohit, Mbhrmn, M,L,D 0 1 (12.5%) 0 1 (12.5%) 0 0 0 6 (1.3%)

Purohit, Mbhrmn, N,D,B 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 1 (0.2%)
Purohit, Mbhrmn, D,M 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 1 (0.2%)
Purohit, Mbhrmn, M,D,N 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 1 (0.2%)
Temporary Purohit, M,N 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 8 (1.7%)
Temporary Purohit, TM,N,L 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 6 (1.3%)
Temporary Purohit, TM 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 5 (1.1%)
Lohar, Koeri, Purohit 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 4 (0.9%)

7 2 1 8 9 3 2 464 (100%)
L = Lohar; D = Dhobi; N = Nau; M = Mallah; B = Ban; KP = Koeri Purohit; TP = Temporary Purohit; TM = Temporary Mahabrahman; Mbhrmn = Mahabiahman
131
 132

Table 3
Class and the Services of Purohits, Paunis and Mahabrahman

Landless and
Purohit, Mahabrahmans and Near Landless Lower Middle Upper Middle
Paunis People Small Peasants Peasants Peasants Big Peasants Total
Purohit, Lohar, Mahabrahman 4 3 5 4 3 19
1.6% 4.6% 6.9% 11.4% 7.7% 4.1%
Purohit, Mahabrahman, D,L,N 9 7 4 3 5 28
3.5% 10.8% 5.6% 8.6% 12.8% 6%
Purohit, Mahabrahman 113 13 12 3 1 142
44.1% 20% 16.7% 8.6% 2.6% 30.4%
Purohit, Mahabrahman D,N 6 3 3 0 1 13
2.3% 4.6% 4.2% 2.6% 2.8%
Purohit, Dhobi, Mahabrahman 25 3 2 1 2 32
9.8% 4.6% 2.8% 2.9% 5.1% 7.1%
Purohit, Lohar, Nau, Mahabrahman 5 1 4 9 5 24
2% 1.5% 5.6% 25.7% 12.8% 5.1%
Purohit, Nan, Mahabrahman 11 1 3 1 2 18
Gaurang Ranjan Sahay

4.3% 1.5% 4.2% 2.9% 5.1% 3.9%

Nau, Dhobi, Koeri Purohit 1 0 0 0 0 1
0.4% 0.2%
Dhobi, Lohar, Koeri, Purohit 0 0 0 0 1 1
2.6% 0.2%
Purohit, Dhobi, Lohar, Mahabrahman 3 0 1 0 0 4
1.2% 1.4% 0.9%
Nau, Koeri, Purohit 2 1 2 0 1 6
A STUDY OF SELECTED VILLAGES

0.8% 1.6% 2.8% 2.6% 1.3%

Nau, Dhobi, Lohar Koeri, Purohit 9 10 11 3 4 37
3.5% 15.4% 15.3% 8.6% 10.3% 7.9%
Nau, Lohar, Koeri, Purohit 0 0 2 0 0 2
2.8% 0.4%
Purohit, Mahabrahman, L,M,N 10 4 4 1 2 21
3.9% 6.2% 5.6% 2.9% 5.1% 4.5%
Purohit, Mahabrahman N,M,L,B 1 4 6 2 0 13
0.4% 6.2% 8.3% 5.7% 2.8%
Purohit, Mahabrahman, M,N 18 1 5 0 0 24

7% 1.5% 6.9% 5.1%

133

(Table 3 contd.)
(Table 3 contd.)
134

Landless and
Purohit, Mahabrahmans and Near Landless Lower Middle Upper Middle
Paunis People Small Peasants Peasants Peasants Big Peasants Total
Purohit, Mahabrahman, M,B,N 3 0 0 0 0 3
1.2% 0.6%
Purohit, Mahabrahman, B,M,L 0 1 0 0 0 1
1.5% 0.2%
Purohit, Mahabrahman, D,N,M,L,B 1 3 2 3 6 15
0.4% 4.6% 2.8% 8.6% 15.4% 3.2%
Purohit, Mallah Mahabrahman 8 0 0 0 0 8
3.1% 1.7%
Purohit, Mahabrahman, D,M,L,N 5 2 3 3 1 14
2% 3.1% 4.2% 8.6% 2.6% 3%
Purohit, Mahabrahman, L,M 1 1 0 0 1 3
0.4% 1.5% 2.6% 0.6%
Purohit, Mahabrahman, M,B,D,N 0 0 0 1 1 2
2.9% 2.6% 0.4%
Purohit, Mahabrahman, M,L,D 6 0 0 0 0 6
Gaurang Ranjan Sahay

2.3% 1.3%
Purohit, Mahabrahman, N,D,B 0 0 0 0 1 1
2.6% 0.2%
Purohit, Mahabrahman, D,M 1 0 0 0 0 1
0.4% 0.2%
Purohit, Mahabrahman, M,D,N 1 0 0 0 0 1
0.4% 0.2%
Temporary Purohit TM,N 6 1 1 0 0 8
A STUDY OF SELECTED VILLAGES

2.3% 1.5% 1.4% 1.7%

Temporary Purohit TM,N,L 0 3 1 1 1 6
4.6% 1.4% 2.9% 2.6% 1.3%
Temporary Purohit TM 3 1 0 0 1 5
1.2% 1.5% 2.6% 1.1%
Lohar, Koeri, Purohit 2 1 1 0 0 4
0.8% 1.5% 1.4% 0.9%

Total 254 64 72 35 39 464

100%
L = Lohar; D = Dhobi; N = Nau; M = Mallah; B = Bari; KP = Koeri Purohit; TP = Temporary Purohit; TM = Temporary Mahabrahman
135
136 Gaurang Ranjan Sahay

of the Nau, 91 of the Maliah, and 35 of the Ban. Another notable point
is that 51 jajmans use he services of a Koeri purohit (see tables 2 and 3).
The rest of the jajman families get purohit services from Brahmins.
There are 19 jajman families in the sample villages which do not have
any permanent relationship with a purohit or Mahabrahman family.
Whenever they need the services of a purohit and Mahabrahman they
ask any purohit and Mahabrahman to provide such services. We also
find that 48 families out of the 51 who ask a Koeri purohit to perform
rituals belong to the Koeri caste itself. Two of the families belonging to
the Yadav caste also ask a Koeri purohit to perform rituals. Only one
Nonia family avails of the services of a Koeri purohit. The rest of
the families belonging to other castes ask Brahmin purohits to perform
the required rituals. There are a large number of families in the
sample villages (tables 2 and 3) which do not ask for the services of any
of the paunis. The number of such families is 142, that is, 30.4 per cent
of the total jajman families. Families which consider their traditional
caste occupations less prestigious and economically less beneficial have
abandoned these at the earliest opportunity. That is why, within a cer-
tain caste, families which are economically better off are not perform-
ing their caste occupation if it is non-prestigious. For example, there
are four Nau families, two in Unwas and two in Basantpur, who have
stopped providing their caste services to the jajmans. In all, 171 pauni
and purohit families have stopped performing their caste occupation.
The above elucidation of the jajmani system in the sample villages pro-
vides some important insights, the most important being that caste-
based occupations no longer exist in the villages. This is substantiated
by the fact that a large majority of families belonging to the category of
pauni do not perform their caste occupations. Recently, one family
belonging to the Koeri caste has started performing the work of a puro-
hit and has also been accepted as such by many. Nobody in the sample
villages has been excommunicated for following a non-traditional
occupation. In conclusion, one can observe that the caste system as
also the jajmani system in contemporary rural Bihar have undergone
notable changes specially as regards the linkage between caste and
occupation.
A STUDY OF SELECTED VILLAGES 137

Note
I am grateful to Professor Dipankar Gupta, my Ph.D supervisor, for his patient guidance. He
taught me how to place various facts and ideas in a proper perspective. I thank Dr. Patricia
Uberoi, Professor M. N. Panini, Dr. Avijit Pathak and Dr. Nadarajah for their constant
encouragement, valuable suggestions and keen interest in the progress of my work.

References
Dumont, Louis. 1970. Homo Hierarchicus: The Caste System and its Implications. London:
Weidenfeld and Nicholson.
Ghurye, G. S. 1969. Caste and Race in India. Bombay: Popular Prakashan.
Kolenda, P. 1981. Caste, Cult and Hierarchy: Essays on the Cultures of India. Meerut: Folklore
Institute.
Srinivas, M. N. 1982. India: Social Structure. Delhi: Hindustan Publishing Corporation.
Wiser, W. H. 1936. The Hindu Jajmani System: A Socio-Economic System Interrelating
Members of a Hindu Village Community in Services. Lucknow: Lucknow Publishing
House.
9
Power Elite in Rural India:
Some Questions and
Clarifications
K.L. Sharma

T
he purpose of this paper is twofold: namely, to examine, (1) the
nature of sources and determinants of power of rural elite, and
(2) the mobility of elites. The first point deals with the social
background of elites, and the second refers to the changes in the struc-
ture of elites. An effort has been made to analyse power elite and domin-
ance mobility in the light of these two points.
The discussion relating to the sources and determinants of power of
rural elite could be located in three contexts: (1) caste or group domin-
ance (Srinivas, 1959: 1–16; Kothari, 1970: 18); (2) dominance of indi-
viduals (Dube, 1968: 58–81); and (3) “levels of dominance” and
“dominance statuses” (Gardner, 1968: 82–97). Srinivas refers to numer-
ical strength, economic position (land ownership) and political power as
the decisive factors of caste dominance. Kothari delineates caste (group)
dominance in terms of an “entrenched caste” which does not enjoy
dominance on the basis of its numerical strength and dominance in the
form of an “ascendent caste”, the caste which was not satisfied to work in
the traditional framework of interdependence complementarity in social
POWER ELITE IN RURAL INDIA: SOME QUESTIONS AND CLARIFICATIONS 139

and economic spheres. Srinivas refers to “locally and regionally dominant

caste groups”. Others refer to “caste lobbies” in state politics. Dube views
caste dominance as an unreal proposition in terms of its group character
and distribution of power and dominance. According to him it is the
individuals (families) who are dominant and not the castes. Considering
these two views the most pertinent questions to be asked and answered
are as follows:

(i) How is dominance legitimised (acceptance of dominance cf new members)?

(ii) What are the basic resources which facilitate dominance of members in
village community?
(iii) Are the areas of group and individual dominance separate and distinct?
(iv) Is there any contradiction between individual and group dominance or are
they complimentary to each other?
(v) Can the two types of dominance prevail simultaneously in the same social
setting?

Gardner’s view regarding dominance is relevant in the analysis of

dominance mobility. According to Gardner there is a tendency to
achieve group (Kshtriya) dominance status by the holders of “patron
status” (dominant individuals). Gardner explicitly states that the
dominant individuals would tend to communalise their dispersed
dominance. It would also imply that dominance mobility from group
to individual is conspicuously absent. However, my study shows that
group dominance has enormously eroded in the recent years (Sharma,
1973: 59–77). New “dominant groups” have emerged recently
(though they come from divergent backgrounds) and are of an
amorphous nature. In fact, there is no elite group having same caste
membership, economic position and other uniform social and cul-
tural attributes. Thus the elite group is not a ‘group’ in terms of these
characteristics, it is an amorphous set of persons who enjoy domi-
nance at different levels of village social organisation. The two perti-
nent questions in regard to dominance mobility then, can be
formulated as follows:

(i) What is the direction of dominance mobility? (ii) How do differ-

ent factors differently affect the nature and direction of dominance
mobility?
140 K.L. Sharma

II

Srinivas (1959: 1–16; 1966: 10–16) for the first time conceptualised
mobility (Sanskritization) and dominance (dominant caste) as group
phenomena. According to Srinivas caste dominance has the elements of
numerical strength, economic and political power, ritual status and
Western education and modern occupations. A caste enjoying all or most
of these elements has a decisive dominance. Dube (1968: 58–81) has
examined the elements of caste dominance in a study of four villages in
Madhya Pradesh. According to him a caste is dominant when power is
diffused in the group and is expressed in the interest of the whole group
or at least a sizeable part of it. Pronounced inequalities of wealth, prestige
and power are found between the members of a so-called dominant caste.
The dominant individuals of such a caste exploit non-dominant mem-
bers of their own caste as well as members of “non-dominant castes”.
Oommen (1970(a): 74–76) has raised some pertinent questions
about the validity of the concept of dominant caste. According to
Oommen alternate situations of dominance have not been visualised by
Srinivas such as: “a numerically weak caste owning most of the land and
wealth in a village; or a numerically strong caste which is economically
deprived and ritually depressed; or a ritually superior caste which is
numerically weak; and so on . . . . It seems fairly obvious that in such
situations a number of castes will share the community power”
(Ibid.,  75). Oommen also refers to two other points: (i) the context of
dominance; and (ii) the aspects of power, namely, the resources available
to individuals and groups for the exercise of power and the act of power
exercising. According to him, there is “multiple power structure” in a
multi-caste village or region having different layers and levels of leader-
ship. Oommen refers to two other useful concepts in another essay
(1970(b): 226–239) in regard to community power structure, namely
“power pool” and “power dispersion”. Thus, we find that:

(a) There is caste (group) dominance, hence corporate mobility or

Sanskritization (Srinivas, 1959; 1966).
(b) There are dominant individuals and not dominant caste or castes in the
village community (Dube, 1968).
(c) “Multiple power structure” exists in a multi-caste village or region and
there  is “power pool” and “power dispersion” in village communities
(Oommen, 1970(a); 1970(b)).
POWER ELITE IN RURAL INDIA: SOME QUESTIONS AND CLARIFICATIONS 141

The above formulations are singularistic in their nature and hence

are incomplete. There are certain areas and aspects of social life in which
a group asserts its power. There are other areas in which only families
and individuals matter, and in still other domains near-monopoly of
power or dispersion of power is found. Both castes and individuals are
found dominant, but the areas and aspects of dominance of the two
differ to a large extent. The rural power elite do not comprise a homo-
geneous social segment because they do not have the characteristics of a
group such as unity, commonality of interests, equality of status and
economic position. An “elite group” is an aggregation of differentiated
dominant individuals. To understand the process through which the
elite formation crystallizes it is necessary to discuss the nature of trad-
itional elite and dominance in the village community.

III

The traditional elites in village India were different from that of today
in relation to their size, composition and recruitment etc. The “twice-
born” constituted three broad categories of elites. Brahmins, Kshtriyas
and Vaishyas formed religious and cultural, administrative and power,
and business and economic elites respectively. But they did not have
intra-group unity and homogeneity nor all the three categories of elites
enjoyed equal status and significance in the eyes of the people. These
“twice-born” groups belonged to a system of hierarchy, therefore, their
interrelations were determined by norms of ranking which placed them
in high and low positions in different sectors such as administrative,
economic, and ritual. However, inspite of differentiation of functions of
the groups the Brahmins enjoyed decisive superiority over Kshtriyas and
the latter over the Vaishyas.
Wealth, sanskritic education and accessibility to the rulers were some
of the bases of intra-elite ranking. The study of Vedas (e.g. education)
determined even nomenclature such as Dwidevi, Trivedi and Chaturvedi
etc. (Ingalls, 1959: 3–9). There were Brahmins who did not study Vedas
and engaged themselves in cultivation and menial works. The broad
distinction of Daivik and Laukik Brahmins testifies this intra-elite hier-
archy. Thus, elites were never a unified group in terms of exercise and
distribution of power among the members belonging to a particular
category of elite. Leach’s observation (1954) that “structure of ideas” is
142 K.L. Sharma

different from that of “structure of facts” rightly applies even to the

traditional Indian village community, and more so it is found today due
to change from cumulative to dispersed inequalities between groups and
individuals. There were Brahmins who broke traditional cultural and
social sanctions and involved themselves into “anti-Brahmin move-
ments”. Some of these “deviants” strived for positions of power and
privilege through such “innovative activities”.
“The idea of martial Rajput” (Hitchcock, 1959: 10–17) explains
the nature of the traditional power elites. It is his (Rajput’s) duty to
maintain law and order in the society and expect in return deference and
obedience from the community members (including the members of his
own clan). An elaborate hierarchy prevailed among the traditional ruling
and power elites. The nature and size of land ownership and rank of the
‘estate’ determined the position of the ruling elite in the hierarchy. For
example, the princes of the twenty-two princely states in Rajasthan were
thought of as “supermen” of their respective estates. Below in the hiera-
rchy were Rao Rajas, Raos, Talukedars, Jagirdars and Zamindars. Within
each category of this landed aristocracy heterogeneity of rank existed as
all the princes were not of equal status and so also the Jagirdars and
Zamindars (Tod 1950; Sharma 1974).
The economic elites (e.g. Vaishyas or popularly known as Banias)
must have a first hand knowledge of economic realities and complexities
(Lamb 1959: 10–17). But they too were not a unified elite. Among the
economic dominants there was a hierarchy of “Seths” (money-lenders).
At the top of the economic dominants was the “Jagat-Seth” (the biggest
money-lender). Below this were “Nagar-Seth” (the city money-lenders)
and the “Gram-Seth” (the village money-lenders) and so on. Within
each category inequality of rank prevailed because of differences of
wealth, generous attitudes and relations with the rulers and the masses.
The hierarchy of cultural, power and economic elites was congruent
with caste stratification. This was precisely because of its ascriptive base.
The size of the traditional elite was small as it was restricted by ascrip-
tion of birth (Oommen 1970(b)). However, the traditional elites were
specialists or professionalists in their respective fields, e.g., cultural,
political and economic. This was determined by the structural require-
ments, and professionalisation became a part of the elite culture itself. It
was received by the elite through the processes of specialisation and
informal training. Today there is congruence in some aspects of elite’s
POWER ELITE IN RURAL INDIA: SOME QUESTIONS AND CLARIFICATIONS 143

culture, styles of living and exercise of power, whereas in some other

aspects certain amount of incongruence prevails. For instance, there is a
greater possibility of political elite wielding economic power and that of
less possibility of economic dominants exerting political dominance.
The cultural elites may have more economic privileges than having
access to positions of political power. However, professional elites con-
tinue to be a dividing line between different types of elites though the
nature of professionalization today is different from that of the trad-
itional one. The elites were never a unified group, and today also they
persist in the same character to a large extent. Therefore, it is futile to
talk of polarity between tradition and modernity. “Modernisation is a
high order integrative process” (Singh 1975: 660) and in the wake of
modern forces of change tradition has been able to maintain its identity
though in a varied form in Indian society.

IV

Sociological studies and analyses of elites and dominance are a few only.
Bottomore (1965: 180–188), Beteille (1967: 223–243), Desai (1965:
150–156), Morris-Jones (1964), Srinivas (1966) and Misra (1964) have
made analyses of elites at the national level whereas Lewis (1958:
113–156), Sirsikar (1970), Somjee (1971), Carras (1972), Carter (1975)
and Narain (1976) have made studies of rural elites. Most studies of the
national elites are impressionistic, while the analyses of rural elites are
based on empirical investigations.
Beteille refers to political elites, that is, the people in concrete polit-
ical structures such as cabinets, parties and legislatures. The emphasis on
the system of education and recruitment to the Indian Administrative
Service is found in Morris-Jones’ analysis of government and politics in
India. The “new middle classes” according to Misra are the products of
secondary and higher education in India rather than development of
industry. Shils (1961) has found continuity between the traditional
intellectual elite and the modern elite. Desai also likes Morris-Jones,
Misra and Shils find the new elite a “product of modernisation, though
mainly of Western education and culture, who depended on their fathers
and grand-fathers (who were traditionally powerful) for mobilising
people in the national movement.
144 K.L. Sharma

These observations about the national elites do not sound valid. In

addition to education and Western impact a number of sociocultural
and historical factors and forces have been responsible for the emergence
of a new elite structure. The new political structures and political values,
at least theoretically, derecognised the traditional social networks and
values. The new power elite might have been at the initial stage a
non-congruent type of elite, that they did not encompass power and
influence in arenas other than political. But once the political elites had
its roots entrenched they started spreading their net wide. They tried to
accumulate wealth and get into such positions which further enhanced
their economic status. They were also influenced by the economic dom-
inants of the country to a large extent. In the process of new elite forma-
tion, slowly the discreteness of the elite diminished and a congruent
type of elite emerged.
This applies to the rural elite in India as well. The congruence as a
basic feature of rural elite is not so much a result of the process of elite
formation. The modern rural elites are a product of post-Independence
developments such as adult franchise, Panchayati Raj, the abolition of
Zamindari and Jagirdari systems, education, and means of transport and
communication. These changes were quite sudden for the village people,
and therefore, this facilitated the continunity of the traditional upper
caste and class elite in formal positions of power and authority in the
new political organisations and institutions. The numerical preponder-
ance of some caste groups in some villages inspite of their depressed
economic position and lower caste rank disturbed the hegemony of the
upper caste and class people. However, in most cases these groups could
not become politically effective as they lacked other resources such as
networks and linkages with outside leaders and money to spend on
social occassions. Consequently, the incongruence which characterised
the resource-base of the traditional elite continues in the case of modern
elites too, the change in their resources, notwithstanding.
There are two ways to get in positions of power and authority in
the village community (Oommen 1969: 515–521). One is through
one’s qualities and manipulative tactics and the other is through ascrip-
tion (landholding, property, high caste position and lineage etc.). For
example, the ex-Jagirdars and Zamindars entered into Panchayati Raj
institutions to extract benefits with a view to retain their economic
superiority and styles of living which they had hitherto. However, some
POWER ELITE IN RURAL INDIA: SOME QUESTIONS AND CLARIFICATIONS 145

families from among the landed aristocracy could not face the challenge
of the abolition and were forced to come down in the class hierarchy
(Sharma 1973: 59–77). Such a change I have defined as “downward
mobility”. Downward economic mobility is an unplanned consequence
of planned social and political changes. It is a structural and historical
reality observable in diverse forms and in different contexts. Such a
mobility should be related to structure, ideology and behaviour of the
people and its consequences should also be taken into consideration. At
least two consequences are obvious: (1) the group dominance and soli-
darity are at stake, and (2) this follows from the first, that corporate
mobility particularly in political and economic spheres as a group
endeavour does not sound as a viable proposition. I will take up these
two points at a later stage of discussion in this paper.
The new institutions have provided the arenas for the power elite to
manipulate benefits in their own interests, of their kinsmen, relatives
and friends. It is exactly because of the scope for this type of manoeuv-
rability and weakness of the legislation the elite even overcome some of
the legal impediments. The ex-Jagirdars formed fake agricultural
cooperative societies to retain thousands of acres of land after the aboli-
tion of the Jagirdari and Zamindari systems, they divided legally their
land-holdings among their family members and kinsmen to escape land
ceiling law (Sharma 1974). Even servants, friends, acquaintances and
some hired persons were made members of either such societies or they
were given landholdings. However, in actuality, the land belonged to the
ex-Jagirdars and Zamindars. A section of this landed aristocracy occu-
pied formal positions of power in Panchayati Raj institutions such as
Gram Panchayat, Panchayat Samiti and Zila Parishad. The incumbents
in the positions of power extended loans, grants-in-aid, subsidised
equipments, fertiliser and other materials to their kinsmen, relatives,
friends and supporters. In a number of cases loans were given to dig
wells for irrigation, and most of those who received these loans spent it
on social occasions, particularly, the marriages of their daughters and
sisters. These loans have not been recovered. None of these people
belonged to the ‘needy’ or depressed sections of the village community.
Innumerable instances of this kind could be found in a single district or
even in a development block.
Secondly, the power elites may not be found in formal positions of
power, still they influence the process of decision-making. They do not
146 K.L. Sharma

exercise power themselves but they control others who exercise power.
Oommen’s distinction between “power reservoirs” and “power exercisers”
is useful in this context (1970: 226–239). The power reservoirs are more
powerful than the power exercisers in several situations. More often than
not the power reservoirs control resources of community, accumulate
money and wealth and by obliging their friends, relatives and kinsmen
build a strong support structure in the village community. The power
exercisers are generally constrained to oblige them by offering loans,
benefits and resources to ensure their continuity in the offices they hold.
Some of these non-formal power elites extract benefits independent of
the incumbents in the formal positions of power and authority. In case
the formal power elites and real power wielders have an understanding
in terms of ruling the community, factional cleavages do not seem visible
and overt.
The Havik Brahmins in a Mysore village (Edward and Louise
Harper 1960: 453–70) constituted both formal and informal leaders.
They were an example of unified elites. Bailey (1965: 9–13) makes
observations about “elite councils” and “arena councils”. The former are
a ruling oligarchy. Both come in conflict with the public. “Arena coun-
cil” is a standing committee of the House of Commons and a committee
of the heads of the Departments is an “elite council” according to Bailey.
“Elite council” is recruited from a minority whereas the “arena council”
is formed out of diversified segments of a society. The analysis of these
councils and committees by Bailey ignores the role of power reservoirs
in decision-making. Power is considered as an aspect of these formal
committees and councils. In fact, most studies have highlighted that the
village leadership is splintered and caste and faction oriented and hence
the absence of village-wide leadership (Lewis 1959). Clearly an empha-
sis on the distinction between group and individual levels of dominance
is lacking in most studies of power structure. One finds over-emphasis
on the analysis of group dominance and corporate mobility and a lack
of understanding of the role of individual dominants because individ-
ual or family has hardly been accepted as units of operation independent
of the caste group to which they belong in the village community. Such
a preconceived notion of group dominance over the individual has led
away the researcher from reality that exists at the grass roots. Whenever
the patriarch of joint family became autocratic and ignored the rights of
his younger brothers, sons and other members of the family, his
POWER ELITE IN RURAL INDIA: SOME QUESTIONS AND CLARIFICATIONS 147

over-individualism was curtailed by new sanctions reinforcing

corporateness. The threat to the head of the family by the sons and other
dependents was averted by strengthening his hands giving him certain
rights regarding property etc. Thus, corporateness was never absolute in
character. It was complimentary to individualism. Some of the recent
changes have resulted into the decline of power of both individual fam-
ilies and particular groups. It is a very complicated phenomenon. If
some families have been adversely affected by recent changes, it does not
mean that the power position of the group to which these families
belong would also dwindle necessarily. Similarly if there is a general
decline in the power of a group, some families or individuals still would
be able to retain power and continue to dominate in the community.
I do not mean that decline of power of a group does not affect its con-
stituent units and vice-versa but the fact remains that power is not
something that resides absolutely in a collectivity or a group though
people have often a notion that power has corporateness. It is something
which can never be equally shared even by the so-called equals, the
equals also have inequality. Now I would examine the patterns of dom-
inance with reference to the recent changes particularly resulting from
the abolition of the Zamindari and Jagirdari systems of land tenure.

Dominance mobility refers to changes in the dominance structure of the

community over a period of time either due to organisational changes or
motivational factors pertaining to certain individuals. From Miller’s data
(1969: 325–340) on social mobility four patterns of mobility could be
delineated, namely: (a) High downward and high upward mobility (+ +);
(b) High downward and low upward (+ −); (c) Low downward and high
upward mobility (− +); and (d) Low downward and low upward mobility
(− −). These four combinations of patterns of mobility indicate, broadly
speaking, four ideal types of societies and status systems. The traditional
power structure of the village community in India was a ‘patrimonial’ rev-
enue-cum-administrative system, and hence feudalistic in nature. Caste
council and the council of the village elders strengthened the position of
the feudal patriarch. In effect, Zamindars and Jagirdars functioned as gov-
ernments in themselves (Sharma 1974). However, the Jagirdars enjoyed
greater autonomy than their younger brethren (Zamindars). My aim is to
148 K.L. Sharma

see as to how group dominance has eroded today, though it was never
absolute in nature in the past. Spatial mobility (Panikar 1955) was not
uncommon among certain groups and communities even in medieval
India. Similarly, as Burton Stein (1968: 78–84) observes mobility at the
level of individual and family was possible in medieval India.
Upward mobility of the suppressed groups has been very often
understood as the sole indicator of social fluidity, but downward mobil-
ity is more indicative of social dynamics, in effect. Some of the changes
have blocked continuity of sons of the privileged strata in their trad-
itional positions of dominance. But we should not ignore the fact that
changes in the society’s organisational principles were not meant to
bring down only a few families in the status and class hierarchy. They
have not so far equally affected adversely all the units of these privileged
groups nor have they equally benefited them or facilitated the process of
upward mobility for the downtrodden or not-so-well-off. Thus, to think
of groups sliding down or climbing up in the structure of dominance is
a myth and not a reality. However, the possibility of making an analysis
of the units moving upward or downward in terms of their aggregate
characteristics is always there. But this aggregation of units must not be
confused with concrete groups as they are found in society. There could
be a “generalised decline” in case all the privileges and power extended
to a group or a number of families is withdrawn abruptly. Similarly
there could be “generalised climb” in case the deprived ones are granted
all the privileges and powers previously enjoyed by the dominant groups
and families. Such a situation of change has not been so far a character-
istic feature of Indian society. Desai (1948) observes that the class of
Indian princes of pre-British period also survived due to political rea-
sons. The decorum of royality (feudal glamour) was maintained, hence
to that extent old economy and some kind of serfdom survived in the
new system. But the princes did not remain ‘medieval’, they also invested
in commerce and industry. Even after the abolition of the system of
Zamindari and Jagirdari the landed interests continue to dominate in a
qualitative sense by diversifying their activities, entering into new polit-
ical arenas and aligning with the dominant political groups and parties.
One has to analyse both the directions of dominance mobility,
namely, people of moderate or lower standing getting into positions of
power (bour-geoisification), and people of high standing not being able
to meet the challenge endangering their continuity in the present pos-
itions (Proletarianisation; Sharma 1969: 217–222). My study of six
POWER ELITE IN RURAL INDIA: SOME QUESTIONS AND CLARIFICATIONS 149

villages in Rajasthan (Sharma 1974) shows that the Jagirdars (big

landlords) came down in the status scale as they adhered to the mecha-
nisms of traditional styles of life in the new situations which derecognised
their feudal patrimony. Small Zamindars and Bhomias (grantees of
Jagirdars) suffered most because of their negligent and parasitic attitude
which they nourished during the hay days of the Jagirdars in Rajasthan.
Consequently, their good land went out of their control due to the abo-
lition of landlordism as they never cultivated themselves, and in fact,
never considered land as property. They served their masters and catered
to their requirements. In some of the villages many of them had to work
as manual and agricultural labourers. These families have really been
pauperised as their economic condition is not better than a number of
families of ex-untouchables. This is an instance of downward domin-
ance mobility of certain privileged families in the traditional system.
This differential downward dominance mobility is basically due to the
hierarchy that existed before these organisational changes and also due
to the attitudes some of the Zamindars developed in regard to their
styles of living and behaviour with others.
Group (caste) life represents mainly religious and cultural activities,
and economic, political, educational and other such activities are deter-
mined more by the interests of specific families and individuals than the
group to which they belong. I do not rule out the role of groups even in
structuring some of these activities, out-group (caste) unity and activ-
ities have been generally characterised by discarding “polluted” occupa-
tions, violation of rules of marriage, birth of illegitimate child, elopement
etc. Today groups striving for certain political and economic ends are
drawn from different caste groups. Most studies of factions and political
alliances have revealed that two or more factions existed in the same
caste and the leaders of these factions drew support from other castes.
Thus, a dominant individual is one who enjoys decisive dominance
within or without caste or both within and outside caste simultaneously
due to his acquired skills and qualities. Thus, status of a dominant indi-
vidual is secular, relative rather than absolute, and based on his own
progress and wellbeing (including his family) rather than that of the
group of which he is a member. But group dominance is also not a fixed
reality. Several castes have not recognised superiority of some other
castes, and conflicting claims have been made by different castes for
some high caste ranks (Gardner 1968: 62–97). These moves are basically
socio-cultural, implying efforts to improve caste position.
150 K.L. Sharma

Since Independence a few individuals (as we have observed earlier)

from among the ex-dominant groups continue to be dominant because
they have had an advanced sense of awakening, alertness, quick respon-
siveness to change, manoeuverability and acceptability to new situations
of dominance, though some sections of these groups have been reduced
to non-dominant position. Conversely, the former non-dominant
groups families have acquired dominant status in the village community
(Sharma 1973: 59–77). Some of the well-off families from among the
former tenants have acquired positions of power and influence. The
confirmation of Khatedari (ownership) right on land due to the aboli-
tion of Zamindari and Jagirdari systems facilitated improvement in their
economic position and also inspired them to mobilise their caste mem-
bers (who are generally numerically preponderant in the village commu-
nity) at the time of elections to cast votes in their favour. In fact, their
enhanced economic position and numerical preponderance made them
politically awakened and aspirants for positions of power and prestige.
Bailey (1957: 197) observed in his study of Orissa village that increased
wealth made people politically more effective and also enhanced their
ritual standing. Some families of the ex-tenants belonging to peasant
castes have become politically influential since Independence. But this
does not mean that all these families have moved up in the power hier-
archy. Quite a large number of families from these groups continue to
remain where they were before the abolition. And those who have gone
up, have not moved up equally, and therefore, do not enjoy same influ-
ence and prestige. Thus, at both ends of the hierarchy land reforms did
not have universally the same equalising effects on the people. In fact,
different land tenure systems had varying consequences in terms of
transfer of land rights. For example, a Jagirdar being an exclusive, abso-
lute owner of his large territory was unable to retain a substantial por-
tion of his land holding. This had clearly different consequences on the
people: (1) in the Jagirdari areas the landholdings got dispersed on a
large scale, though the Jagirdar as an individual still remained the big-
gest owner but only as a Khatedar. However, the Zamindars, Bhomias
and other dependents upon the Jagirdar found it difficult to cope with
the new situation. Not only their influence in the community affairs
declined abruptly, the process of their economic ruination also started
quickly and many of them were compelled to take up lower jobs as agri-
cultural and manual labour. Such a situation did not arise in the
Zamindari villages because the Zamindars took up Khatedari right and
POWER ELITE IN RURAL INDIA: SOME QUESTIONS AND CLARIFICATIONS 151

moved to self-cultivation as the size of their landholdings was quite

small. Consequently, Zamindar’s ex-tenants were not substantially bene-
fitted, their economic position did not improve and politically too they
continued to be subservient to their ex-masters; and (2) these processes
of change did not qualitatively alter the traditional structure. This situ-
ation prevails after the abolition of landlordism in rural Rajasthan in
early 1950’s. The Zamindars continue today in the garb of Khatedar
cultivators and the big ex-tenants of the Jagirdari areas who enjoyed
certain previleges even before the abolition, have acquired the status of
Khatedar self-cultivators owning bigger landholdings than the ex-
Zaminders of Zamindari villages. Thus, whatever changes we notice
apparently as a result of these land reforms have been neutralised either
by retaining landholding or by gaming the status of big peasants in the
Jagirdari villages.
The question is: Who are power elites today in the village commu-
nity? The power elites are not necessarily the top economic dominants,
nor are the representatives of the economically depressed groups. They are
the people who have viable economic standing in the community and
have an adequate understanding of and interest in the village polity. Such
people are also not necessarily highly educated because most of the edu-
cated people might not like to stay in the villages. Generally, power elites
are those people who have political resources and understanding and also
contacts with the political leaders and workers, administrators and other
functionaries outside the community to whom they extend cooperation
and support and in return expect the same from them. The power elites
might get certain economic advantages over and above the common men
but they may not be the richest in the community. However, the wealth-
iest man may use the power elite to enhance his interests without interfer-
ing in its activities. Economic dominants may get into positions of power
but they would be constrained to keep their ‘economic’ and ‘political’
arenas separate at least apparently. Most of the top economic dominants
would like to keep away from formal positions of power. The economic
dominants who would not have/develop extra-economic links within and
outside the community might not survive as power elites. Thus, power
elites are either of the following in a given village community:

(1) Those people who wield political power but do not necessarily enjoy corres-
ponding economic positions. Several factors including education, prestige
or reputation of the family/parents and other qualities such as social ser-
vice,  character and contacts etc. would determine their power position.
152 K.L. Sharma

These elites would have a regular source of income including the salaries of
some members of the family working in cities or elsewhere or in the village
itself. Such a pattern of dominance is found in a village which has gone
through a certain process of differentiation and social change.
(2) The villages which have retained their archaic character would be domin-
ated politically by top economic dominants. Though the economic domi-
nants may keep the two spheres separate, yet most of their political activities
could be inspired by their economic interests, and also their economic
activities might strengthen their political base in the community. Processes
of differentiation, political awakening, education and contacts etc. would
weaken the pattern of such dominance.

Until the power elite does not hamper the interests of economic
dominants and the latter give economic concessions to the former,
smooth functioning of the system could be found. The beginning of
clash of interests between the two results into (i) the political elite trying
to denigrate the economic dominant by harassing, entangling them into
litigations and designating them as suckers of the blood of the people;
and (ii) the economic dominants withdrawing economic support
extended to the power elite and trying to overcome them by spending
money on their supporters who matter a lot or on the people outside the
system to get their ties snapped from them. These are hypothetical state-
ments which could be validated only by gathering data.

Conclusion
The idea of “dominant caste” or group dominance is based on certain
assumptions and these are not found valid, hence group dominance tends
to be a myth rather than a reality. The new power wielders are not the
same as they were in the past, however, qualitative difference between the old
and the new power elites has not been much. The basic difference between
the two lies in the fact that ‘group’ rank membership as a determinant of
elite position has withered away. Today elites are an aggregation and not an
active functioning primordial group as the members lack group homoge-
neity, equality of status and rank and equal distribution of power and pres-
tige. The elites were never unified, the men of power had always
asymmetrical relations. Therefore, the idea of corporate mobility does not
seem quite sound as the facts contradict this proposition.
The idea of dominance mobility makes it possible to separate the
power elite from other types of elite. The concept of downward mobility
POWER ELITE IN RURAL INDIA: SOME QUESTIONS AND CLARIFICATIONS 153

facilitates a better understanding of mobility of the politically dominant

individuals and families. The top power elite is not necessarily the top
economic dominant and vice versa. Power elite is superior to economic
dominants in all respects except wealth or money power. A one-to-one
congruence between power elite and economic dominants is not a
common feature in the village community. However, power elites are
more resourceful in terms of networks, contacts, and education than the
economic dominants. This does not mean that the power elite is drawn
from the commoners, in fact, they are the people who are more resource-
ful and generally well-connected than the majority of the people.

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10
Social Stratification and
Institutional Change in a
Gujarat Village
K.C. Panchanadikar and J. Panchanadikar

T
he process of institutional change in the rural community
setting in India (in close relation with the changing urban
setting) was initiated under the Community Development
Programme. This paper proposes to discuss the changing stratification
system in village Mahi (a pseudonym), a large sized village, in the cen-
tral sub-region in Gujarat. The induction of a large number of differ-
ent types of new institutions has brought about significant changes in
the stratificational relations and avenues of social mobility. The field
work in Mahi was conducted: (i) from August 1961 to August 1962,
and (ii) from March 1967 to June 1967. A part of the field data is used
for this paper.
There are two types of situational variables involved in analyzing
social stratification and mobility in rural India. Firstly, there are fac-
tors that are relatively stable, viz; (i) The regional ethno-linguistic set-
ting, (ii) the sub-regional ecology, and (iii) the caste composition of
community settlements especially at the rural level. Secondly, there are
three other variables that are recently introduced in the village to
initiate change, viz., (i) Governmental measures: Financial aid and
technological know-how disseminated through the agency of
Community Development Blocks and the cooperative bank to enlarge
156 K.C. Panchanadikar and J. Panchanadikar

productive activity; measures to promote education at various levels,

health and sanitary conditions, family planning and the Panchayati
Raj. (ii) Voluntary Associational Enterprise: Cooperatives of various
types; innovative enterprise in agriculture, horticulture, cattle and
sheep breeding; poultry farming, bee-keeping, pisciculture, sericulture
and dairying; familial and group enterprise in agro-industry, trans-
port, warehousing and agri-commerce catering to the far flung and
enlarging urban market in India; Welfare associations serving paro-
chial interests of caste, religion or language, (iii) Government aided
Voluntary Agencies: Educational and research units, hospitals, librar-
ies and reading rooms, community service centres for children, youth
and women.
The interaction between these two types of variables, namely, the
stable and the new is being discussed in the paper to understand the
ramifications of social stratification and mobility. Both the aspects of
social stratification, that is, continuity and change could be diagnosed
by analysing the relationship between these two sets of variables.

Gujarat could be broadly demarcated into four sub-regions across the

rivers, Tapti, Vatrak and Sabarmati. These could be distinguished in
terms of soil, climate, crops, ecology and rural caste composition. The
western sub-region specializes in groundnut; the northern in tobacco,
cumin seeds, dairying, cattle and sheep breeding; the central in tobacco,
cotten, vegetables and dairying; the southern in cotton, timber,
sugarcane and fruit horticulture. The central and the northern sub-
regions have struck oil since the early sixties. However, the industry is
managed by the central government. The main landowning castes in the
four sub-regions are as follows: South: Anavil, Sunni Vora, Coda, Matia,
and Koli; Central: Leuwa and Baraiya; North: Kaidwa, Anjana and
Thakarda; and West: Leuwa and Kaidwa. The tenant and labour castes
in the four sub-regions are as follows: Dubla and Dhed in the South,
Dhed and Chamar in the Central, Dhed and Veghri in the North, and
Dhed, Khant and Koli in the West.
The Central Sub-region comprises the fertile tract of Charotar,
Vakal and Kanam between the rivers Vatrak, Mahi, Dhadhar and
Narmada. Staple cotton in the Narmada basin and tobacco in the Mahi
SOCIAL STRATIFICATION AND INSTITUTIONAL CHANGE IN A GUJARAT VILLAGE 157

basin, and diary industry all over the region are the main resources of
the people’s livelihood. The milk producers’ cooperative complex at
Anand is also a major institutional step taken in the region.
Leuwa and Baraiya are the main landowning peasant castes in the
central sub-region. The untouchable Dheds and Chamars work as
labourers in most villages. Large villages generally have a mixed settle-
ment of Leuwas and Baraiyas. Most of the medium and large villages
have artisans and other functionary castes. However, these groups are
not so important in the rural economy. Chamars have turned into agri-
cultural labourers due to several structural and institutional factors that
affected their traditional callings.
Mahi village population with a 4168 in 1961 is situated at a motor-
able distance of 12 kilometers from Anand town, the administrative
headquarters of the Anand Taiuka. It is a railway junction of the western
railway linking Bombay and Ahmedabad. Several buses ply between
Anand and Mahi. An approach road of two furlongs connects Mahi to
the main highway.
The village square is a busy place surrounded by many offices and
institutions, namely, the village panchayat, the Central Excise, the post
office, three cooperatives, the Patidar Trust Guest House, the village
hospital-cum-dispensary, the Rama temple and the village clock tower
with a reading room built on top of it. The village has three Khalis or
tobacoo warehouses. They purchase tobacco from the villages around,
process and store it. Khalis provide seasonal employment especially to
the Dhed women.
Mahi village has 47 neighbourhoods grouped in five electoral
wards. Baraiyas, Kachhias and the untouchables have their exclusive
clustered neighbourhoods, whereas Leuwas have in their localities, the
artisan and the servicing caste families and the Brahmins. The Leuwa
neighbourhoods mostly have brick and stone houses, quite a few being
multistoried. Baraiya lanes have many thatched huts. The untouchable
neighbourhood has evidently kucha houses. Many Leuwa houses and a
few others have household electric fittings. Drinking water for the
entire village is available at a standpost built near the pond, with a
section for the “untouchables” separated by a wall. Water is pumped
from a well and supplied twice a day during specific hours. Some taps
for washing clothes were provided at the approach steps down the
adjacent pond.
158 K.C. Panchanadikar and J. Panchanadikar

II

Leuwas are known as Patidars in Charotar, because in many villages,

the entire land was owned by Leuwa clans on collective revenue tenure
known as pati or patti. Leuwa villages in and outside of Charotar with-
out pati tenure are regarded as communities of Kanbi or ordinary
peasants. Patidar villages in Charotar are grouped into endogamous
unions called Gols. There is inter-Gol hypergamy. Similarly all
Charotar Patidars practice hypergamy with kanbis and extort high
dowries. Gol hierarchy has been pragmatic. Affluent villages have been
admitted to new membership and the impoverished ones have been
dropped. Mahi village having ten clans descending from one Narsidas
belongs to the Gol of twenty-two villages. Kanbis are governed by
customary kinship practices of the peasantry, namely, bride compensa-
tion, divorce, remarriage and succession for natural children. It is
observed that Patidars too, when impoverished, take to customary
practices.
As brought out in Table 1, Leuwas constitute the largest single caste
(44.06%) in Mahi followed by Baraiya-Patanwadia (27.43%), Dhed
(6.34%), and Kachhia (4.43%). There are 17 servicing and artisan
castes, including Brahmins (1.26%), serving the patrons (jajaman) in
the community as parijans (clients).
Land in rural India is a scarce resource unequally distributed among
different castes and interestingly between households constituting a
caste. Class stratification within even the most landowning caste like the
Leuwas of Mahi as revealed in Tables 2 and 3, would testify that the
concept of “dominant caste” given much currency by anthropologists is
nothing but a myth. In Mahi only a small number of households of
Leuwas own most of the land and the majority of Leuwas are either
totally landless or are very poor owners of very little land as would be
seen below. Landownership in large and medium-sized villages vests
with more than one leading caste, and each of these is sharply stratified
into class divisions. As such, there is no single dominant caste in such
villages. This has been corroborated in our studies of three large villages
(Panchanadikar and Panchanadikar 1970), one each in the other three
sub-regions, in continuation with the Mahi study. Villagers in all these
communities have tended to form competing factions along class cleav-
ages rather than maintain caste unity.
Table 1
Caste-wise Distribution of Adult (1966) and Student (1967) Population in Mahi Village

Student Population
Caste Adult Population % XI Std. High School Total College Total
1 2 3 4 5 6
Agriculturist
1. Leuwa (farmer) 869 44.06 33 289 59
2. Baraiya-Patanwadia (Koli tiller) 541 27.43 1 24 –
3. Dhed (farm-hand, untouchable) 125 6.34 2 18 1
4. Garoda (Dhed-Shaman) 13 0.66 – 2 –
5. Vaghri (ex-tribal) 33 1.67 – – –
6. Kacbhia (Gardener) 85 4.43 2 17 7

1666 84.59 38 350 67

Non-Agriculturist: (Land-owning)
7. Chamar (Tanner) 52 2.64 1 12 1
8. Valand (Barber) 40 2.02 – 7 –
9. Suthar (Carpenter) 31 1.57 1 3
(Table 1 contd.)
SOCIAL STRATIFICATION AND INSTITUTIONAL CHANGE IN A GUJARAT VILLAGE 159
 160

(Table 1 contd.)

Student Population
Caste Adult Population % XI Std. High School Total College Total
1 2 3 4 5 6

10. Brahmin (Priest) 25 1.26 – 3 3

11. Bhoi (Bearer) 19 0.96 – – –
12. Bhangi (Sweeper) 14 0.71 – 3 –
13. Kumbhar (Potter) 12 0.61 6 1
14. Gosai (Mendicant-Hindu) 6 0.30 – 2 –
15. Khambati Vora (Trader-Muslim) 51 2.58 1 13 –

250 12.65 3 49 5
K.C. Panchanadikar and J. Panchanadikar
Non-Agriculturist: (Landless)
16. Soni (Goldsmith) 11 0.55 1 1 1
17. Fakir (mendicant-Muslim) 11 0.55 – – –
18. Bhil (ex-tribal) 8 0.40 – 1 –
19. Darji (tailor) 5 0.25 1 2 –
20. Vania (trader-Hindu) 5 0.25 – 1 2
21. Mochi (Shoemaker) 4 0.20 1 1 –
22. Luhar (Blacksmith) 3 0.15 – – –
23. Ravalia (cowherd) 3 0.15 – – –
24. Od (dredger) 3 0.15 – – –
25. Dhobi (washerman) 2 0.10 – – –
26. Mali (florist) 1 0.05 – – –

56 2.80 3 6 3

Grand Total 1972 100.04 44 405 75

SOCIAL STRATIFICATION AND INSTITUTIONAL CHANGE IN A GUJARAT VILLAGE 161
162 K.C. Panchanadikar and J. Panchanadikar

Table 2
Land Ownership and Caste

Total Adult Total Number Landless Land Owning

Caste Population of Households Households Households
Agriculture Castes 1666 597 339 258
Non-agricultural Castes 250 80 64 16

Total 1916 677 403 274

Table 3
Caste-wise Distribution of Landholding

Caste Poor Marginal Comfortable Well-off Total

Leuwa 174 ( 49.6%) 113 (32.2%) 58 (16.5%) 6 (1.7%) 351
Baraiya 55 (87.3%) 8 (12.7%) – – 63
Dhed 9 (90.0%) 1 (10.0%) – – 10
Garoda 1 (100.0%) – – – 1
Vaghari 2 (100.0%) – – – 2
Non-agricultural 12 (66.7%) 6 (33.3%) – – 18
castes,
owning land
Total 253 (56.8%) 128 (28.8%) 58 (13.0%) 6 (1.4%) 445
(100.00)
Scale in acres
(1) Poor = 0.1 – 3
(2) Marginal = 3.1 – 7
(3) Comfortable = 7.1 – 15
(4) Well-off = 15.1 – 25

Landowners in Mahi have been grouped under four categories,

namely, owning 0.1 to 3 acres as poor, 3.1 to 7 acres as marginal, 7.1 to
15 acres as comfortable and 15.1 plus acres as well-off. These categories
are based on the value of land during 1961–1967. Land price ranges
from Rs 2500 to 3500 per acre depending on quality and proximity to
the village. With facility for irrigation, the price would be quoted up to
Rs 5000 per acre. These prices were based on a calculation of about
30–40% return on land valuation, and by the incidence of recurring
SOCIAL STRATIFICATION AND INSTITUTIONAL CHANGE IN A GUJARAT VILLAGE 163

and capital expenditure over earnings by village standards. Wage rate for
agricultural labour remained highly competitive and exploitative. The
wages were between Rs. 1.50 to 2 for men and Rs. 1 to 1.25 for women
for an eight to ten hours workday. Work was available generally for
20 days a month. This wage rate had stood steady between 1960–1967,
despite incidence of rising inflation.
Leuwas of Mahi (44.06% of population) own 89.8% of the total
land. The next large caste of Baraiya-Patanwadia (27.4% population)
owns a meagre 101 acres i.e., 6.4% of the land. All the remaining four
agriculturist castes, namely, Dhed, Garoda, Vaghri and Kachhia
(13.10% population) own a paltry 17–21 acres. Kachhias do not own a
bit of land in Mahi at present.
Nine non-agriculturist castes (12.65% population) have come to
own 42.25 acres of land which they mostly farm out for cultivation by
tenants on a share-cropping basis. Only the Chamars cultivate their land
themselves. Interestingly, Brahmins own 21.08 acres, i.e. about half of
42.25 acres. Other castes such as Gosai, Khambati Vora and Bhoi house-
holds have acquired their land from peasants when they were in
difficulty.
However, the above delineation in terms of caste-wise ownership of
land is somewhat deceptive. It completely camouflages the unsuspected
situation of sharp class divisions among landowners of each caste, as also
the clear destitution of a sizable number of landless households even
among the so-called landed castes like the Leuwas, not to mention other
castes that are less fortunately placed in the village community.
It may be noticed from Table 3, that amongst the landowning
Leuwas, only 1.7% are well-off, 16.5% are comfortable, and 32.2% are
marginal who can barely manage to make two ends meet. Marginal cat-
egory among Baraiya landowners comprises 12.7%. Among the remain-
ing landowning castes, the households that fall in the marginal category
are 7.7%. This leaves 49.6% of Leuwa landowners, 87.3% Baraiya land-
owners, and 92.3% of all the other caste landowners in the poor cat-
egory. These households naturally have to take to tenancy and/or labour
as means of their livelihood.
However, the more revealing picture of utter poverty of rural people
can be had from figures concerning totally landless households even
among Leuwas. The fact of landlessness reveals that the so-called class
homogeneity of leading landowning castes in rural India is just another
delusion, useful to mobilize the unsuspecting belief among caste members
164 K.C. Panchanadikar and J. Panchanadikar

of being uniformly well-off and dominant. It is both erroneous and naive.

Landless households among the so-called landowning castes of Mahi are
as follows: 40.4% Leuwa, 68.3% Baraiya-Patanwadia, 81.8% Garoda and
83.3% Vaghri. This exposes the sharp class divisions even within the lead-
ing landed caste of Leuwas. Further, among the landowning caste of
non-agriculturists 80% are landless. The remaining landless castes of
non-agriculturists with no material resources whatsoever to fall back on,
except day-to-day labour when available for about 20 days a month during
the nine seasonal working months, are no better than sub-marginal desti-
tutes. This then is the appalling picture of living conditions in a fertile
sub-region of the so-called affluent and advanced state of Gujarat. It may
be noted here that for the artisan and serving castes, work in the village
economy is distributed more or less permanently between different clients
and as such it creates a relatively non-competitive situation. No parijan
can ever hope to get well-off within the village economy. Moreover, pari-
jan households by and large never take to agricultural labour, even while
their work is little more remunerative. In this respect a parijan differs from
an agriculturist who never hesitates to be a labourer when it becomes nec-
essary. Thus the parijan urban migrants have tended to seek lower white
collar and the manual jobs fetching more wages. When some of them who
make good and return, and manage to buy some land in the village, they
always get it cultivated by share-cropping tenants. A parijan’s stake in the
village economy is always marginal.

III

The situation of poverty in Mahi has given rise to two trends, namely,
urban migration and education of children. As already noted many vil-
lagers have migrated inland as well as abroad in search of better pro-
spects. Only a few migrants have been able to make good and have
invested locally in land, houses and tobacco khalis. They have also made
sizable welfare grants for schools, hospital and waterworks. However,
these instances of success are few. Many others have left the village for
white collar jobs. The other more prevalent form of migration is for the
seasonal work in cotton ginning, road and building construction, as well
as for harvesting in other sub-regions. When such work is available in
the neighbouring towns and villages, workers commute daily and con-
tinue to stay in the village. Some also take up work in factories in the
SOCIAL STRATIFICATION AND INSTITUTIONAL CHANGE IN A GUJARAT VILLAGE 165

nearby towns. Students who attend colleges generally seek openings in

nearby or distant towns and become urbanites for good. It is in this
context that the effort in educating the younger generation needs to be
looked into.
Data on students in Table 1 reveals how different castes have shown
differential awareness and response to educational facilities as a means to
improve economic opportunities for their next generation. Mahi has
two primary schools directly run by the State department of education.
Besides, a voluntary association—Mitra Mandal—mainly supported by
the Leuwas runs a high school and a Montessori unit with state-aid and
individual donations. Establishment of the Vallabh Vidyanagar
University complex and other affiliated colleges at Anand have brought
higher education within bicycling and commuting distance from Mahi.
Some students commute to Nadiad and some reside in Baroda for cer-
tain specialized studies like medicine, engineering, architecture, com-
merce and teaching.
Despite the scholarships, freeships and other facilities offered by the
State, the backward classes are hardly anywhere near the Leuwas in pur-
suit of education. Out of a total of 405 high school students, the propor-
tion of 289 Leuwas (177 boys, 112 girls), to 24 Baraiyas (all boys only)
has little comparison to their respective population percentages, namely,
44.06% and 27.43% respectively. In contrast, Dhed, Kachhia, Valand,
Kumbhar, Chamar and Khambati Vora seem to be positively inclined to
send boys and girls (except the latter two castes) for high school studies.
However, 112 Leuwa girls in high school is a record figure. Baraiyas do
not seem to believe in girls’ education. The figures for the final class XI
in the high school are more striking with 33 Leuwas (14 boys, 19 girls)
out of 43 students (22 boys, 21 girls), vis-a-vis a single student each for
Baraiya, Chamar, Suthar and Vora, and 2 each for Dhed and Kachhia.
This points to the fact that non-Leuwas are making an entry to high
school education and hence have very few who are at the finishing stage
ready to ¦ enter college or to take up white collar jobs.
The college scene is much more disparate. Out of 75 college attend-
ing students, 59 (49 boys and 10 girls) are Leuwa. The only other castes
worth mentioning in this regard are Kachhia with 7 boys and Brahmins
with 2 boys and one girl in the college. Leuwa students alone vis-a-vis
other groups, have spread out into a number of branches of college edu-
cation, such as, arts, science, commerce, agriculture, medicine, engineering,
architecture and education. Others have mainly concentrated in the arts
166 K.C. Panchanadikar and J. Panchanadikar

courses only. A number of non-Leuwa students drop out both from

high school and college to take up lower white collar jobs. Their families
do not have the financial resources to support them till graduation.
Thus the economic disparities get reflected in educational openings and
achievement and in consequence in the professional advancement of
these rural castes. Thus education in actual operation advances those
rural castes that are already economically advanced.
There are three cooperative business association in Mahi: (i) Milk
Producers’ Cooperative: It was established in 1950 for collecting and
supplying milk to the dairy complex of Kaira District Milk Producers’
Union, Anand, to which it is affiliated, (ii) The Sahakari Vikas Mandal:
It was established in 1947 alternately known as the Multipurpose
Cooperative, presently supplies pumped water for irrigation purposes
through a network of pipelines. Earlier it was used to ply passenger buses
also which had to be closed down when the Gujarat State nationalized
bus transport, (iii) The Seva Sahakari Mandali: It was started in 1962 to
trade in vegetable crops, especially, cauliflower, cabbage and egg-plant at
distant urban centres. The Cooperative had twice closed down due to
initial splits. It is not a registered body, and it is functioning informally.
It may be noted in this context that there are large individual enter-
prises in Mahi, dealing in collection and sale of milk and vegetables and
also supply of water for lift irrigation. In fact some of the big dealers do
not join cooperatives at all as was observed at certain other places also.
Cooperatives are mainly unions of small scale producers under leader-
ship of a medium level enterprising producer. Interestingly, even some
of the leading members of the cooperatives, such as, the Multipurpose
Cooperative, deal in irrigation water with impunity, against the rules of
cooperative society: Water for irrigation being a scarce and valued com-
modity, and the few wells in the village being owned by a few families, a
new form of exploitative credit has come to stay in Mahi and elsewhere
in the other three sub-regions. Water is supplied as an enforced credit,
with an agreement for crop sharing up to 50%. The needy medium and
small farmers have little choice in the matter. So far the State govern-
ment has not taken notice of this mechanism of exploitation.
Similarly there are large private vegetable dealers who purchase
standing crops by making advance payment to the small farmers who
have no further responsibility and who are also employed on steady
wages to work on their own farms till the harvest is ready for sale. In
some cases the entrepreneurs have started a putting-out system by
SOCIAL STRATIFICATION AND INSTITUTIONAL CHANGE IN A GUJARAT VILLAGE 167

supplying seed and fertilizer on credit. This held good to some extent
even in case of tobacco crop, especially on a large scale in the northern
sub-region. Even in this case government has kept aloof from this unreg-
istered forward trading in the form of credit or money lending.
The Milk Producers’ Cooperative is a pioneering and very success-
ful venture. In Anand itself it has an able competitor in the Poison Dairy
Private Ltd. Besides milk collection twice a day, the Cooperative offers
specially veterinary and insemination services for cattle, supplies fodder,
cotton seeds and fertilizer on cheap prices, and advances loans for pur-
chase and breeding of quality cattle.
Notwithstanding occasional irregularities and exposures, and fac-
tional tensions for control, especially at annual elections of office-bearers,
all the three cooperatives are viable and managed efficiently with high
dividend returns to members, the best performance being that of the Milk
Producers’ Cooperative. In 1961–62 it earned the highest profits to the
tune of Rs. 41,304 and disbursed Rs. 19,533 as dividends. In 1965–66 it
had capital assets worth Rs. 230,792 and a reserve fund of Rs. 84,644.
During the year, its sale of milk amounted to Rs. 266,964. Sale of fertilizer
of Rs. 98,680, cotton seeds of Rs. 28,699, amulgrain of Rs. 44,850, clar-
ified butter of Rs. 12,424, and drinking water on contract to the Panchayat
worth Rs. 9,179, in addition to sale of milk, were also transacted.
Thus, the agriculturists of Mahi village are getting socialized in the
effective and efficient management of cooperative business enterprises.
A detailed picture of the threefold cooperative activity in Mahi could be
had from Table 4. Table 5 delineates the undulating political scene in
Mahi, before and after the introduction of the Panchayati Raj in 1963.
Table 4 reveals the dominant position of Leuwas in all the three coop-
eratives with 77% shareholders, 84.9% shares and 91.2% face value of
shares. Among non-Leuwas, Baraiyas and Khambati Voras matter to some
extent in two cooperatives and Chamars in one. The other castes have
been brought together to give a multicaste appearance, especially some
with a single shareholder and share, as in case of Garoda, Vaghri, Bhangi
and Gosai. The castes such as Soni, Darji, Vania and Dhobi who have no
stake in agricultural enterprise have also been symbolically involved in the
affairs of the cooperatives. In the Cooperative for lift irrigation, the share
value is Rs. 25 each, and the Leuwa control is overwhelming with 92.6%
shareholders, and 97.3% shares and share amount. This Cooperative has
a solitary Baraiya shareholder other than the Leuwas. These differentials of
involvement by different castes, reflect on the pattern of distribution of
 168

Table 4
Membership and Economic Assets of the Three Cooperatives in Mahi 1996–67

Milk Producers’ Seva Sahakari Sahakari Vikas Mandal

Cooperative (Multipurpose) (Land Development) Total for Three Cooperatives
Mandali Share
Share Shares Held Share Shares Held Share Shares Held Share Amount in
Caste Holders (Rs. 5 each) Holders (Rs. 5 each) Holders (Rs. 5 each) Holders Shares Held Rs.
Leuwa 399 564 298 675 125 514 822 1753 19,045

Baraiya 125 132 22 29 1 1 148 162 830

Dhed 9 11 1 1 – – 10 12 60
Garoda 1 1 – – – – 1 1 5
Vaghri 1 1 – – – – 1 1 5
Kachhia 3 3 1 1 2 4 6 8 120
Chamar 15 16 – – – – 15 16 80
K.C. Panchanadikar and J. Panchanadikar

Valand 6 8 2 3 – – 8 11 55
Suthar 3 3 2 25 – – 5 28 140
Brahmin 5 7 2 7 1 1 8 15 95
Bhoi 5 5 3 4 – – 8 9 45
Bhangi 1 1 – – – – 1 1 5
Kumbhar 2 3 1 1 – – 3 4 20
Gosai – – 1 1 – – 1 1 5
Khambati 7 8 10 16 2 3 19 27 195
Vora
Rest (five) 4 5 3 5 4 5 11 15 175
Total 586 768 346 768 135 528 1067 2064 20,880
Leuwa 399 564 298 675 125 514 822 1753 19,045
% (68.1) (73.4) (86.1) (87.9) (92.6) (97.3) (77) (84.9) (91.2)
Non-Leuwa 187 204 48 93 10 14 245 311 1,835
% (31.9) (26.6) (13.9) (12.1) (7.4) (2.7) (23) (15.1) (8.8)
SOCIAL STRATIFICATION AND INSTITUTIONAL CHANGE IN A GUJARAT VILLAGE 169
Table 5
170

Caste-wise Distribution of Seats Filled in the Seven Panchayats in Mahi, 1941–1965

Seats Filled in Seven Panchayats Head Roles

I II+ III IV V+ VI+ VII
May Oct. Dec. Mar. Mar. Feb. Feb.
Caste 1941 1944 1947 1952 1956 1961 1965 Total S DS Total
Leuwa Men 6 8 7 6 12 8 7 54 6 3 9
Leuwa Women 1 1 1 1 1 2 1 8 1 1
Baraiya-Patanwadia 2 2 2 3 4 3 3 19 2 2 4
Dhed (Christi) 1 1 – 1 1 1 1 6 – 1 1
Chamar – – – 1 1 – 1 3 – – –
Kachhia 1 – 1 – 1 – 1 4 1 – 1
Others – – – 1 – 1 2 – – – –
Total 11 12 11 13 20 14 15 96 9 7 16
Total Leuwa 7 9 8 7 13 10 8 62 6 4 10
Total non-Leuwa 4 3 3 6 7 4 7 34 3 3 6
+
Note: Includes By-elections.
S–Sarpanch/Chairman.
DS–Deputy Sarpanch.
K.C. Panchanadikar and J. Panchanadikar
SOCIAL STRATIFICATION AND INSTITUTIONAL CHANGE IN A GUJARAT VILLAGE 171

resources in the three cooperatives. In each of the cooperatives there is an

executive council with a management committee consisting of chairman,
secretary, honorary secretary, local auditor and accountant. The composi-
tion of the executive councils and the management committees of the 3
cooperatives, over the years upto 1966 reveals dominance of the Leuwas.
It is as follows: Milk Producers’ Cooperative (1953–66), Executive
Council members 123, and management committee members 37; The
Seva Sahakari Cooperative for vegetable (1962–66), 41 and 14 respect-
ively; and Sahakari Vikas Cooperative for lift irrigation (1960–66), 70
and 28 respectively. Only once in the Milk Producers’ Cooperative, there
were 2 Baraiyas on the executive committee. Thus, the Leuwa control of
the three cooperatives has been almost total. This is due to the fact that
Leuwas have had a fairly long experience of successful business enterprise
and benefit of education.

Conclusion

However, it is necessary to note that the overwhelming majority of the

Leuwa members and the large number of elites competing for the few,
hence scarce authority positions have created a situation of rivalry and
factions among Leuwas. Thus Baraiya members who are in some strength
in two cooperatives, especially, in the Milk Producers’ Cooperative with
125 members out of 586, are in a position to tilt the balance. The annual
election of the Milk Producers’ Cooperative is quite an event in the vil-
lage, as it means house to house canvassing and lobbying. Leuwa women
who too are members, add a good deal of colour to the support-building
activity for their kinsmen who are contestants. This election is only next
in terms of involvement and fierce contests as are fought in the pancha-
yat elections, for control of political authority in the village.
Mahi had a village panchayat right since 1941, based on limited, fran-
chise. After Independence in 1947, universal franchise was ushered in.
This has fundamentally changed the pattern of political participation in
the village. In 1958, the Community Development Programme was intro-
duced in the Anand Taluka of which Mahi village is a constituent. The
non-Leuwas of Mahi, have now come to realize the importance of their
electoral majority (55.94%) giving rise to a combination of Baraiya, Dhed
and Kachhia leadership. The reserved seats, two each for women and the
scheduled castes (ex-untouchables) have been an additional element in the
172 K.C. Panchanadikar and J. Panchanadikar

manipulative politics between different factions amongst the Leuwa elites.

As revealved in Table 5, roles of Sarpanch and deputy sarpanch have come
to be shared with these economically backward groups. A few have gained
some spoils. Non-Leuwas have had to be accommodated to memberships
of various committees of the sitting panchayats.
Faction leaders among Leuwas have repeatedly sought to solicit votes
in the non-Leuwa neighbourhoods, and to bargain with their elected
leaders for alliances in the panchayat council. However, the unending
rivalries have resulted in bickerings and registrations leading to three
bye-elections respectively in 1944, 1956 and 1961. Political power had
shifted to unscrupulous elements who could manipulate combinations
and capture power. They made good economically at the cost of three
welfare schemes which were sanctioned for the village under the
Community Development Programme, namely, the Water Works
Scheme to supply drinking water, the Public Health Centre Scheme, and
the scheme for an all weather approach road linking the village with the
main highway. The entire village was scandalized and upset over this mis-
appropriation and in 1955 elected a dependable panchayat council of
economically successful farmers, to manage the village affairs. However,
the narrowly defeated unscrupulous leadership is only temporarily lying
low, awaiting the next opportunity to manipulate voting at the next polls.
Lastly, it is necessary to note that the political instability has hardly
affected the distribution of developmental credit to farmers under the
Community Development Programme. The loans and grants have been
for purposes of agricultural development, such as, purchase of machines,
pump sets, quality seeds and fertilizers etc., and improvement of land by
levelling, bunding, planting trees and sinking wells. Since creditworthi-
ness is linked with mortgages, the entire benefit of 20 loans worth
Rs.  67,750 has gone to 12 leading Leuwa families and/or their kin.
Interestingly, one of the loanees for Rs. 23,000, was an owner of Tobacco
Khali, who had ear-Her donated Rs. 1,41,000 to various voluntary
welfare activities in the village. This is how the rural politicization under
the Panchayat Raj has had to adjust its developmental planning and
policies to the existing rural class stratification.

Reference
Panchanadikar, K. C. 1970. Determinants of Social Structure and Social Change in and
J. Panchanadikar India. Bombay: Popular Prakashan.
SECTION III
VILLAGE PROFILES
11
Chokhala—An Intervillage
Organization of a Caste in
Rajasthan
Brij Raj Chauhan

M
embers of a caste owe allegiance to their caste as well as to the
village in which they live. Beyond the village, the loyalties of
members extend largely to their own caste. In terms of the
hierarchical relations among castes it is quite appropriate to view a vil-
lage as “a vertical unity of many castes” and to treat a caste as “a horizon-
tal unity, its alliances going beyond the village”.1 Kane thinks that the
existence of caste panchayats is not a necessary element in the definition
of a caste.2 He adds “It may be said at once that this last (the caste coun-
cil) is a feature that is not found among most of the brahmana and
ksatriya castes even in modern times and is not dealt with by
Dharmasastra works.” It is necessary to examine the manner in which
such caste bodies function in modern times. It is also usefid to under-
stand the factors that have led to the non-existence of such a body
among the Rajput in certain specific situations. The field data for the
present enquiry relate to village Ranawaton-ki-Sadri in Chittorgarh dis-
trict of the state of Rajasthan. The horizontal ties of a few selected castes
of the village in its surrounding region have been studied. Such ties are
best expressed in the local word CHOKHALA. A CHOKHALA may
be defined as the unit of a caste (sub-caste) spread over a number of
contiguous villages binding the members of the caste (sub-caste) to
176 Brij Raj Chauhan

certain codes and regulations considered to be falling within the

traditional jurisdiction of the caste (sub-caste) network in that area and
subjecting the members to some effective controls through collective
action. In the village under study there are 23 castes distributed over
24 endogamous sub-castes. The data are thus relevant for studying castes
rather than their further divisions. The total population of the village is
640. It has been a feudal village for the most part of its existence. The
numerically major caste groups of the village are the Gadri-shepherd
(19.77), the Rajput (19.2%) and the Bhil (17.3f ). The medium-sized
castes are the Jat (9%) and the Chamar (7%).
Three questions may be raised with regard to the Chokhala:

1. What are the characteristics of a Chokhala?

2. How does the Chokhala function hi relation to the caste?
3. How are the functions allotted to the Chokhala performed in the caste
which does not have any such organisation in the region?

The Chokhala is an organisation of a caste spread over a group of

villages. Its unit is two-fold. It is a multi-village single caste organization.
Each caste (other than the Rajput) has a Chokhala of its own in the
region. The number of villages included within the boundary of the
Chokhala differs from caste to caste. Thus the Chokhala of Gadri has
12 villages within its fold and of Jats 10. Most of them are common; but
in three cases the absence of a caste in a village has meant its exclusion
for the caste Chokhala. In cases where some of the functional castes are
smaller in number in each village of the region, a wider area is covered.
The Chokhalas of Kumhar, Bhangi, Sadhu and Nai happen to be larger.
Where these names represent an “occupational cluster of castes”3, each
unit within the cluster has its own Chokhala. The endogamous division
is the unit for such organization. In the region under study, even urban
castes have their own organizations and for obvious reasons their bound-
aries are limited to those centres.
For all practical purposes, the relevant caste of the village tends to
define its own boundaries of the Chokhala by taking the village as the
centre and drawing an imaginary radius of some recognizable length
(5 miles in case of the Jat and Gadri) including such villages that have
their own caste fellows residing in them. (The centre and the circle
are  illustrative terms and not used in the geometric sense) Thus each
caste has a different Chokhala, each village in the Chokhala region has a
CHOKHALA—AN INTERVILLAGE ORGANIZATION OF A CASTE IN RAJASTHAN 177

different Chokhala; the boundaries of Chokhala for one village tend to

include a sector of the area covered by those of the others. What is a
fringe village from the point of view of village A, is central for B and it
treats village A at fringe, and extends its area to a point at a similar
distance in the opposite direction. Suet links at least double the radius
of the activity-fields of the Chokhala in the sense that the central village
actually participates in those activities at the fringe village where villages
of the other fringe are present but with whom the central village is not
otherwise effectively linked. Such links can be expended to cover rela-
tions of the secondary, tertiary, and so on to the Nth degree, until they
retain meaningful categories. Thus a number of Chokhalas overlap one
another and cover a wider area over which they collectively seek to
ensure the observance of the caste codes. The other variety of Chokhala
has been reported from Bhilwara and Chittor districts where a few vil-
lages maintain rigid boundaries of the constituent units and do not raise
any problem of shifting centres and peripheral villages.
Certain activities tend to confederate Chokhalas into wider units.
Temple building by a particular caste requires the mobilisation of greater
resources and persons living in various Chokhala groups are expected to
contribute to this larger undertaking. The Sadhu desirous of having a
temple at Matrikundiyia had organised such a programme in which the
villagers of Sadri were also required to contribute their share. In raising
such contributions on behalf of the caste, the village was chosen as the
unit. A sum of money was allotted to the village on the basis of rough
calculations according to an agreed formula of Rs. 10 per family. The
estimates came to Rs. 40, and the village was expected to contribute the
same. On a check-up, it was found by the village Sadhus that they had
not four but five households; the matter was kept within the knowledge
of the villagers only, and the internal adjustments were made by reduc-
ing the contribution per household to Rs. 8. The fifth household was
rather new and its’ official recognition for this purpose was conveniently
guarded and successfully planned to be overlooked by the outsiders.
Two other cases were observed: in Newania village Brahmins of the Vyas
group were raising contributions and in village Palana, the Chamar had
shown such trends. Both these villages are in Udaipur district, and pro-
vide illustrative material for the surrounding area.
The Chokhala has a traditional council of elders consisting of repre-
sentatives from all the villages in the demarcated area. Where different
178 Brij Raj Chauhan

sub-divisions of a caste in a village happen to be significant, each

sub-division is represented. Essentially the Chokhala is a caste organiza-
tion. Its units are reckoned in terms of villages which become smaller
units for the purpose. The Sadhu and the Jat have only one representa-
tive in their Chokhalas, the Gadri have three. In case of the latter exog-
amous sub-divisions have been given recognition. In the conduct of
actual proceedings of the council, there is no fixed leader or president.
Deliberations are collective and rules of procedure are not written any-
where. The proceedings suggest that anyone who is able to command
the confidence of the persons present’and make his opinions effective
has a chance of getting his leadership accepted. More than half of the
members act just as spectators, nodding their heads or murmuring some
protests that are not carried over to the entire audience. On different
issues, sessions last for three or four days and are held at different places.
Theoretically, it is stated that the place for the Chokhala meet ought
to be in a neutral village where none of the parties to a dispute normally
resides. Since however, the panchayat has to meet at somebody’s playing
the hosts, this rule is overlooked in a number of cases. In the disputes that
have been reported in some details later, the cases were decided on the
spot of the dispute. Different sessions can be held at different places.
Where the caste elders meet for a dinner at one place, older disputes can
be raised there. Every caste dinner provides the normal occasion for the
meeting of the caste court, and all ‘pending’ cases can be raised there.
The caste courts also called panchayats in the area, are very keen on
maintaining their prestige and dignity. They are sensitive about respect
to their authority and on practically every occasion, take note of the
situation in which the two disputants ought to be made agreeable to
accept caste decisions. Of course dissensions occur, protests are voiced,
but caste courts are still held; there is no appellate authority, and before
the decision is enforced, the affected person seeks to invoke a few more
sessions to get the verdict in his favour. In actual practice, the thing is
decided in three or four sittings, at different places; and the points and
parties to the dispute and the propriety and impropriety of their actions
become common knowledge for all. This publicity has two aspects:
(a) the facts are known to many people and (b) repeated sittings make a
fluid situation crystallise before a decision is announced making it pos-
sible for the widest possible discussion of the matter not only within the
caste but among the wiser persons of various other castes living in these
CHOKHALA—AN INTERVILLAGE ORGANIZATION OF A CASTE IN RAJASTHAN 179

villages. When the actual sittings are held, elders of the village where the
meeting is held, are also invited to the court more or less as co-opted
members. Even though the dispute relates to a few members of a caste
in two or three villages, such proceedings spread the news of that dispute
to a number of castes in a number of neighbouring villages. This practice
of inviting outsiders makes the deliberations more authentic and digni-
fied also. Srinivas4 has suggested the phrase ‘Caste Council’ to distin-
guish them from village panchayats.
In every village, a few persons of the higher castes have attained a
sort of advisory status on what have begun to be considered slightly
technical matters. In Ranawaton-ki-Sadri, a Rajput, a Jat, and a Gadri
are normally invited for such purposes. In the dispute among the
Kumbhars as well as among that of the Luhars, these village elders had
been invited. In the neighbouring village to the east, though the matter
related to the Chamar only, the Jat panch was invited and even requested
to supervise some of the arrangements; and in yet another case in which
a Gadri of the village was involved, and the panchayat held in the other
village, the local Jat leader was invited to participate in the deliberations
and had to he pacified on a number of occasions whenever he threatened
to quit on an overheard remark that the matter be decided on an intra-
caste basis among the Gadris themselves.

Functions of a Chokhala Panchayat

A caste spread over a few contiguous villages acts positively in promot-
ing certain facilities, and in a popular sense, negatively, in exercising
some controls over members in regard to certain caste codes. In the
latter category fourteen offences dealt with in the caste panchayats have
been listed by Ghurye.5 Two of them relate to breach of commensality,
six connected with marriage and sexual relations, three to the economic
sphere while the remaining three fall in the miscellaneous category.
Among the positive functions of these organizations, Karve6 mentions
that it is the caste which “owns or creates public utilities like temples,
Dharmashalas, assembly halls etc.”
In the region surrounding the village under study caste panchayats
have recognised and proclaimed rightful heirs to the deceased, regulated
feasts to ensure equity in the nature of food and the number of guests,
and in cases of divorce and secondary marriage sought the return of bride
180 Brij Raj Chauhan

wealth to the party concerned. Some cases that illustrate the working of
the Chokhala Panchayat are now presented.
CASE I: A Jat married for the second time at an age past 45 years.
His new wife under 30 years came with her children born of her first
marriage and began to lead an expensive life. She was suspected of
having extra-marital alliances within the village. Some persons in three
different caste groups were understood to have been involved in the
affairs. Panchayat was held, the suspected members were made to stand
in the mid-day sun barefoot for a couple of hours. Some money by way
of fine is said to have been recovered. The woman decided of her own to
go to a new house along with a new lover, who, younger in age, effect-
ively controlled her even by using some physical force, The Jat was old
and had little value left for himself in the matrimonial market, he was
happy and convinced that he would not marry again for the third time.
He felt relieved on having got rid of a rather expensive partner and never
worried for the compensation money. Regarding the defaulters in the
sex relations with the female, this case involved parties of different castes
and the matter was referred to a combined council of caste fellows
and  village elders, who awarded even physical punishment to the
defaulters.
CASE II: The Luhar did not belong to the village, but after his
marriage with a Luhar female of the village came over here to carry on
his professional trade. He was a good craftsman and attracted more cus-
tomers. He increased his interests in land and carpentry and added to
his wealth. His wife and her sister have two divorces to their credit, and
the wife had her third partner in this Luhar. They have no issue. The
other sister also continued to reside with the couple, and began manag-
ing the property of the Luhar. Some money was given on loans and
deeds remained with the sister. As fortunes changed, the Luhar was
deprived of his share, the two sisters moved to a different house, and
began managing their own affairs. Panchayat of the caste was called for
to decide the issue of distribution of assets (the loan deeds). That was
done. Then the two sisters began to live with the Luhar. On two more
occasions they repeated their behaviour of living with him when for-
tunes went awry and of separating whenever* wealth improved mainly
through the artisan’s hard work. These women are a problem for the
Luhar and for the panchayat too. Panchayat decisions are taken by male
elders and can be enforced on the males, or females through their
CHOKHALA—AN INTERVILLAGE ORGANIZATION OF A CASTE IN RAJASTHAN 181

guardians. In the present case when the guardian himself was one of the
parties to the dispute, the enforcement could be only partial. Thus each
time the panchayat meets, it tries to enforce its decisions and gets a
temporary success. This is a case of nearly incorrigibles. Females them-
selves are beyond the age of remarriage, and the Luhar feels that he is in
the village by virtue of his affinal relation. From the point of view of
studying the social, system at work, the case brings to light the situation
in which the disputants belong to a single village and a single caste; and
yet their matters are referred to the joint body of caste and village elders.
CASE III: A kumbhar male nearly past the prime of youth could
not keep his wife satisfied. The younger wife made good her escape one
night to get a more youthful partner. Within a week her whereabouts
were traced, and the matter reported to the police. After detaining the
parties for a few days, the police advised them to go to their traditional
councils for redress. It was suggested that the matter could be decided
there cheaply, quickly and without unnecessary litigation. The advice
was followed. It was decided that the case be referred to the Caste
Council. A well-wisher whispered “Here is a simple fellow; would he not
be overcome by the more clever ones?” Pat came the answer with a con-
fidence all its own: “On that account, you need not worry the least. The
caste will see that the other man either parts with the female or the bride
wealth which the whole of the region knows to be as high as Rs. 1,300”.
The case implied impotency on the part of the husband. One of the
defendants raised a question “Should a child be born, say within six to
seven months? . . .” “In that case the child would belong to the former
husband”. Further query with a village elder of a higher caste brought
forth this explanation: “If there is a container of grains and some grains
are put in it, after sometime the container cannot rise up and claim the
grains as its own.” In the particular case however, it was clear to all that
the contingency would not arise. The caste panchayat saw that compen-
sation money was returned, and this once again established the utility of
the organization in sustaining the structure of the caste. An attitude of
withdrawal on the part of the police for this purpose at least makes it
non-functional for the caste organization. One more panchayat was
held to distribute the share of the compensation money among the
members of the kin group who had earlier contributed from their pock-
ets some money for getting the bride for the kinsman. At this sitting a
peculiar question of law’ was raised: When the boy had been married,
182 Brij Raj Chauhan

various members of the family helped the young man to enable him to
pay the bride wealth. After this case of ‘divorce’, bride wealth was
returned. The point at issue was “Did members of the family who had
contributed to the bride wealth, regain their share after the same was
returned due to breach of marriage?” The caste verdict was that such a
right was revived, and as such these ‘assets’ were redistributed among the
original contributors. This is how a right once lost gained itself on the
happening of certain events.
CASE IV: Among the Gadri, the custom of bride wealth is preva-
lent. To avoid actual payment of money, on certain occasions, marriages
by exchange are arranged. Each party agrees to forgo its bride wealth and
takes a bride instead from the other. In one such case in a neighbouring
village A, this type of marriage was broken by one of the parties. The
other party retaliated by not allowing the female to join her husband.
Then followed some disputes regarding ornaments that the brides had
taken from the husbands. As a rule these ornaments are required to be
returned. One of the females was to be re-married to a widower from
Sadri. The female would not agree to return the ornaments and her
brother would not agree to return some money that was due on him. At
this juncture the relatives of the first husband came and intervened in the
marriage proceedings. A panchayat was held for the whole of the night
and it desired the female and her brother to return the disputed articles.
At this session the village elders were also present. A prominent member
of the Gadri caste from the neighbouring village had not attended. He
was sent for. He happened to be the maternal uncle of the brother and
the sister. He came, again the Gadris assembled, and in five minutes the
case was settled. The ‘plaintiff ’ stated the case; the Gadri leader asked
M: “This man says you owe him Rs. 60?” M. said nothing but kept his
head down. The leader continued “Hand over those Rs. 60 to this man”.
After a few minutes this money was brought, counted by one of the
panchas and with held by him. Then the leader said “Hand back those
ornaments too.” This was rather reluctantly agreed to by the female.
As the news of the settlement reached the village elders, they showed
their anger in not being consulted in the matter. They were invited to
come there. They were satisfied that most of their terms had been
respected by the judgment, and they began justifying their own verdict
given last evening. As the money was handed back one more exchange
was noticed.
CHOKHALA—AN INTERVILLAGE ORGANIZATION OF A CASTE IN RAJASTHAN 183

At the time of marriage, each party makes certain promises to the

other. These promises are that the bride’s wealth would be taken by
their brothers concerned in case of remarriage, that the two parties
would neither demand bride price from one another nor claim any
share in it in a subsequent breach of marriage. Among other conditions
are that the two persons would be considerate to one another etc. In the
present case the party that had to receive Rs. GO held the document
with it. As soon as it received the amount due, it was required to return
the ‘bond’. The party returned it; but at this juncture, the village leader
stood up, took charge of the ‘deed’ and said that he would remain the
custodian of it. On this account, there were no objections, and the
leader satisfied his own sense of vanity by taking hold of the precious
document.
This document is nowadays written on a judicial stamp paper in
legal style. Yet this cannot be produced in a court of law. In the present
case the deed had been executed on a stamp paper of the value of
Rs.  2.50. This introduction of a judicial appearing document in the
code of ‘civil procedure’ of the ‘caste courts’ is a recent addition, and
shows how new things can be used to fortify even older powers.
The cases cited so far show how the caste councils function when
disputes arise; the second aspect of these councils is to be viewed in the
manner in which they regulate and deal with certain codes connected
with the arrangement of feasts.
Traditionally among the Jat there was a custom of inviting the caste
elders to advise on the amount of raw materials and the number of
persons to whom invitations should be sent. The host then handed over
the supplies, the elders looked to the preparations and took over the
responsibility of seeing that the supplies did not fall short of the require-
ments. Within a generation this custom of the host remaining the pas-
sive capitalist has undergone a shift and the arrangements for the dinner
as well as the decision on the number of guests has become the respon-
sibility of the host, who, however in case of need, takes the advice of the
caste elders of his own village and the kin gathered on the occasion. In
the preparation of the meals, besides the assistance provided by the caste
fellows the role of the professional confectioner from a neighbouring
village, and of the Nai is on the increase. The day following the dinner,
the heir is recognised, turban tied over the head, and mourning period
brought to an end.
184 Brij Raj Chauhan

The Bhil reveal certain characteristics peculiar to their own group.

For a rather long time they have successfully countered the tendency of
a higher class behaviour in affairs. Stories are current in the neighbour-
hood, of how a well-to-do member gave a dinner by using better quality
of grains (wheat instead or barley) and ghee (instead of oil), how the
gathering took the ‘higher’ variety of food and then declared the man
outcaste. He was told that in his better state of affairs he had damaged
the group solidarity and had made it difficult for the rest of the people
to reciprocate such a type of dinner; and therefore he could be readmitted
only by providing the entire gathering with the dinner once again, this
time in the traditional manner. That was done. However, during the last
ten years two cases from the neighbourhood have been mentioned
wherein an enforcement of such a type has not been insisted upon.
A  second tendency among the Bhil is to sit down en-masse for the
dinner and to serve food on individual relates simultaneously. Nobody
starts taking food until all have received their share; should however the
distributed cakes fall short of supplies, it is permissible to take over cake
each from the already served plate and to re-distribute the meals so that
all receive their due share. Then the party begins taking food. The Bhil
are proud of this tradition and they further claim that none of the guests
would ever complain about the insufficiency of meals in any village.
After one of the marriages in the village, the Bhil panchayat had received
Rs. 25 as its dues, they decided to collect a rupee per household and
collectively buy a Tarcha’ an iron pot used in mass scale food prepar-
ations. In the earlier setting the amount of money could have been used
for drinking or enjoying a non-vegetarian feast.
Mutual help in kind for meeting the civil supplies are common
among the Jat and the Gadri. They supply ghee and grains to their caste
fellows on occasions, of larger needs, remember the help rendered by
others and reciprocate on similar occasions so that the chain is tried to
be continued. An increasing use of the market is now seen in getting
grains converted into flour, obtaining sugar instead of Gur, and procur-
ing vegetable oil which has begun to be used as the medium of cooking
instead of Ghee. Among the Jat and the Gadri guests range from 100 to
150 in very ordinary cases, 150 to 200 in ordinary cases, 1,000 to 1,500
in normal cases, and over 2,000 in respectable cases, and gatherings
reached 4,000 in prestige dinners. This number is arrived at as per table
given overleaf.
CHOKHALA—AN INTERVILLAGE ORGANIZATION OF A CASTE IN RAJASTHAN 185

‘Chokhala’ Organization—Absence and

Alternatives in the Region

The absence of the caste-courts for the higher caste of Rajputs and the
alternative modes of social control prevalent among them enable one to
get a better picture of the situation as additional information makes the
nature and functions of the Chokhala more intelligible. The special fea-
tures prevalent among this caste may be stated under six heads:

1. The state of Mewar had a Rajput king and all the feudal chiefs owed allegiance
to him, the smaller landlords owed similar allegiance to their feudal chief. At
all levels the members of the Rajput caste held important positions. Even at the
lower levels a number of Rajput families could trace their actual kinship ties
with the landlord of the village or chief of the feudatory. Such consanguinal ties
and an awareness with regard to the same marked the caste from the others.
2. Feudalism promoted a feeling of governing over an area, and the attitude
simmered down to smaller landlords who developed a way of life in which
they could become arbiters for others over the area, thereby feeling it not
very natural to refer their own disputes to someone else.
3. The rule of primogeniture promoted a tendency among younger members
of the lineage to establish themselves in new villages so long as the feudatory
could afford such villages, and even fresh villages were thereby allowed to

Table
Composition of Guests in Caste Dinners

Type of Dinner Types of Persons Invited

Very Ordinary Caste members 5 persons per village Affinal Kin
of the Village from the Chokhala
Ordinary —do— 1 member per household —do—
in the Chokhala
Normal —do— All members of the caste —do—
in the Chokhala
Respectable —do— All members of the caste —do—
in the Chokhala and 1
member per household in
the village from all other
castes
Prestige Giving —do— —do— Affinal kin and
kin of Affinal kin
186 Brij Raj Chauhan

develop at new sites. Over a number of contiguous villages thus the lineage
members knew one another and as they were kin within prohibited degrees
of marriage, even affinal kin had to be sought from greater distances. This
factor made the utility of caste council over smaller areas limited.
4. Though obedience was a cherished virtue, self-honour was always acting as
an under current; in olden days it was not uncoramon for the dissatisfied
youth to leave for new areas and even by force carve out a feudatory of their
own in some unmarked area of the region. Under these conditions—
historical and emotional—a climate for an adjudicating body could not be
developed with success.
5. The caste does not permit widow remarriage and one of the most important
functions of the caste council is settling claims regarding compensation money
and related matters. Thus no such function is required to be performed.
6. The members of the caste for long associated with ruling over others and in
offering managerial guidance to others were quite self-reliant in matters of
deciding about the number of guests or the amount of grains required; and
when expert advice on such matters was thought necessary a professional
rather than a caste elder from other villages was consulted.

Above all, an alternative machinery at the hands of the feudal chief,

and later upto the king was available should a necessity arise. Under con-
ditions where an alternative machinery of social control existed and where
some of the problems dealt with by caste councils never arose, feudalism
and the rule of primogeniture promoted authoritarian and self-reliant
attitudes that were hardly amicable for the growth or continuance of the
horizontal caste organization over a few contiguous villages.
Among the Rajput some differences have been noticed in the region.
They do not have a caste organization to settle their disputes, but in some
areas of the Bhilwara district (round about Deoria) they have a recognised
boundary of village; for purposes of inviting caste fellows for common din-
ners. The use of the word Chokhala is prevalent among them, and its signif-
icance is more for ceremonial rather than judicial or semi-judicial purposes.

Notes
1. M. N. Srinivas, India’s Villages, 1955, v. 24.
2. P. V-Kane, History of Dharmasastra, Vol. II, pt. I, 1941, pp. 23–24.
3. I. Karve, “What is Caste” in Economic Weekly, 1959.
4. “The Dominant Caste in Rampura” in American Anthropologist 1959 (Feb.), p. 6.
5. Caste and Class in India, 1957, pp. 3–4.
6. “What Is Caste?” in Economic Weekly, 1958, p. 403.
12
Modernization and Changing
Fertility Behaviour: A Study
in a Rajasthan Village1
Tulsi Patel

I
ndia is the first country in the world to have introduced in 1952
the Family Planning Programme (FPP) based on an anti-natal pop-
ulation policy. Yet, despite a fairly long experience in the imple-
mentation of FPP, the key to population control remains an enigma to
researchers, policy-makers and administrators. There are now a fairly
large number of studies on family planning; Rao (1974) has listed as
many as 550 studies on family planning in India. Research covers var-
ious dimensions of FPP such as fertility, knowledge, attitude and prac-
tice, use of contraceptives, family planning policy, and organisation
and administration of FPP in addition to purely demographic
studies.
Some of the major studies on family planning in India suggest
ignorance and lack of knowledge and understanding on the part of cou-
ples as factors responsible for the failure of FPP. This genre of studies
draws largely from the theory of demographic transition propounded by
Thompson (1929) and Notestein (1945). The theory claims that ration-
ality and with it decrease in fertility comes only with industrialization
and urbanization and that traditional agrarian societies are essentially
superstitious. This approach, however, emphasizes only the broad,
objective structural features of society.
188 Tulsi Patel

Based on the assumption that gap between knowledge and practice

is a hurdle in fertility decline, the famous Khanna study (Wyon and
Gordon 1971) focussed on the fertility behaviour in a small community
in Punjab after making modern contraceptives readily available to the
people. Of course, it had little appreciable effect on fertility reduction.
Later, Mamdani (1972) exploded the KAP (knowledge, attitude and
practice) approach by showing that the people of Khanna had
accepted contraceptives only to please those distributing them. He also
pointed out that economic and other structural conditions are intri-
cately related to peoples’s fertility. Das Gupta (1978) in her Rampur
study reiterates effectively the various interlinkages between objective
structural conditions and modernisation which influence fertility
decline over a period of time. Nag (1981) vividly describes of how mod-
ernisation has both fertility-increasing and fertility-decreasing effects,
depending on the social context. He also points out the major drawback
of family planning evaluation studies which generally measure fertility
decline in terms of crude birth rates only.
To explore the problem further recent studies (Caldwell 1982;
Demeny 1981; Nag et al 1978; Rao 1974; Shah and Ramaswamy 1981),
advocate a holistic perspective based on the method of intensive field
studies. This paper adopts such an approach in studying the interface
between the FPP and the people. Furthermore, it analyses the issue of the
relation between the FPP and the people from the angle of family dynam-
ics especially from the women’s point of view. It looks at the woman as a
part of the husband-wife unit, a member of the family and the society.
An attempt is made here to understand the changing fertility
behaviour of the people in a village called Mogra in the Jodhpur district
of Rajasthan. The study concerns 713 ‘ever married women’ in the vil-
lage and their husbands. The term ‘ever married woman’ refers to a
woman who has been married once, but may not necessarily be pres-
ently married (i.e., at the time of fieldwork). Thus, ever married women
include the presently married and all previously married but widowed,
divorced and separated women. Most of the numerical data in the paper
pertains to 64 persons consisting of 45 women and 19 men who got
themselves sterilised.
The major questions raised in this paper in regard to the people’s
responses to the FPP are: How did the FPP find its way in the village?
What do people think about FPP? Do they evaluate its philosophy and
techniques and then accept or reject the total package, or do they
MODERNIZATION AND CHANGING FERTILITY BEHAVIOUR 189

judiciously select certain components of it? Does the FPP reinforce the
prevailing fertility practices, or does it interfere with them? How is FPP
seen in relation to the indigenous practices of fertility control? How do
indigenous practices coexist with the FPP in the village? What is the
process of acceptance of the FPP in the context of the prevailing norms,
values and cosmology of fertility and its control?
The people of Mogra became familiar with the FPP for the first
time when the national emergency was imposed in 1975. During the
emergency period (1975–77) family planning entered the forefront of
Indian politics. The family planning campaign was intensified to such
an extent that reports of coercive methods being used to sterilise adults
spread like wild fire throughout the country. During this period,
11  million people (many of them unmarried, many beyond the repro-
ductive age and many with less than two children) were sterilised as
compared to 1.3 million in the preceding year.2
The ineffective dissemination of FPP practices prior to 1975 in rural
areas is borne out by the FPP evaluation studies and KAP surveys.
Although the people of Mogra had heard about the birth control pro-
gramme and techniques propagated by the government prior to 1975–77,
they had only a vague idea of the FPP practices. FPP in rural India started
making a big impact with the emphasis on the sterilisation programmes
through the ‘camp approach’ in the early 1970s, especially in Kerala and
Gujarat.
The FPP embodies a set of assumptions ubiquitous in most family
planning packages in the developing countries. Three of them need
special mention. First, there is a general Neo-Malthusian view that
increasing population is a constant drain on the limited resources of the
nation and that fertility control is a necessary step without which eco-
nomic development would be retarded. The second assumption, also
borrowed from western experience, is that fertility behaviour is based
on autonomous decisions taken by married couples. The third assump-
tion is that couples do not plan their families because they are ignorant
of contraceptives and of the value of spacing births to protect the health
of the mother and child. According to this approach an effective fertil-
ity control strategy would be possible only if couples are enlightened
about family planning practices and are adequately motivated.
People in Mogra subscribe to a complex set of practices and beliefs
about fertility, spacing of births, mother’s and child’s health, and opti-
mum family size. But the FPP package reflects little knowledge of
190 Tulsi Patel

people’s reproductive beliefs and practices and is actually at variance

with them. The people’s response to the introduction of FPP has been
neither sheer passivity nor ignorance but one of active assessment and
comparison with their traditional beliefs and practices. There exists a
complex institutional arrangement to take overall care of the mother’s
and child’s physical and emotional health.3 The prevailing beliefs, rituals
and folk medicines play a vital role in this regard. There are practices as
well to take care of the parturient mother’s health as well as that of the
new born.

Family Planning in Mogra

To most people in Mogra, the FPP is synonymous with termination of

fertility, i.e., sterilisation. Such a perception is typical of the trend prevalent
in most developing societies, particularly in the Asian region (U.N. 1981).
Even when some persons have some knowledge about certain contracep-
tives, they seldom use them regularly. Both contraceptives and sterilisation
are seen by the people as governmental means to curtail or stop childbirth
(locally called, bachha band karna; literally, stopping the children). In a
situation where the use of a certain contraceptive leads to inconvenience or
embarrassment, it is discarded. And the inconvenience and/or embarrass-
ment is not entirely without justification, as the following cases reveal:

Kamla, aged 35, mother of six children explained her experience of the use of
condoms, ‘They (condoms) are a menace. It is always difficult to keep them
from the reach of children. No corner or niche in the home remains hidden
from them. They are always on the look out for something to eat or play with.
A condom in their hands is always a balloon for them. What an embarrassing
sight it is that the condom is being blown about and people are laughing at it
meaningfully?’ Mangli Sargara, mother of three children, disclosed her experi-
ence of the condom: ‘Disposing it off is always a problem. Scarcely is there a
moment to bury it without being seen.’
Paani, a young Patel mother with four children, narrated her problem with
the condom: ‘One can’t carry it all the time. What if one needs it in the field?’
Sugan described Mohini’s agonising experience with IUD thus: ‘She turned
pale in three months. She ultimately got it removed, or she would have died
leaving behind her children to ruin.’

Alpu who had once experimented with contraceptive pills said: ‘I would
always forget its-schedule. For me it never worked.’ The nature of
MODERNIZATION AND CHANGING FERTILITY BEHAVIOUR 191

housing in Mogra is unlike urban apartments or bungalows. The notion

of a room in Mogra is different, it ranges from a proper enclosed struc-
ture with a ceiling, a floor and a door, to a straw shed with walls on three
or sometimes only two sides. Each house has at least one proper room to
store valuables, clothes, etc., locally called ori. Although houses in Mogra
are spacious, construction is sparse. Many houses do not have separate
kitchen. An average house has about three rooms (including sheds). In
addition, there are cattle sheds. All members of the household have an
almost equal claim and access to rooms in the house. The store room
(on) is accessible to all members, if unlocked. As it is usually locked,
unlocking it makes children curious about the reasons for opening it. It
is not easy to pick up the contraceptives from the shelves when there are
children in the house. A sense of individual privacy is discouraged. It is
rare for a single person to have a room exclusively to herself. No couple
in Mogra has a separate bedroom for all day and night. The newly mar-
ried couple gets exclusive use of a room only in the night. After about
two years of marriage, the couple begin to use some shed or the other
away from the courtyard where most of the household members sleep.
A near lack of privacy during day time and the sleeping arrangements at
night are hardly conducive for the regular use of contraceptives. The
problem is more acute in larger and complex households, where the early
years of one’s marriage are spent. Later, one’s own children share the
rooms and other space, allowing little privacy to a couple.
The experience of using a modern contraceptive is seldom bereft
of some inconvenience or problem. Couples try contraception with a
desire to stop fertility but when they use them they have to face a series
of pains and discomforts, and the risk of failure. Hence they disap-
prove of modern contraceptives and prefer an alternative devoid of
problems and perils. They believe that there exists a more simple and
convenient contraceptive method in the form of an injection, which is
not available to them partly due to its exorbitant cost and due to the
ignorance of most doctors and medical personnel about its very exis-
tence. Three women who were past their child bearing age claimed to
have availed of it. One of them even related her experience with it.
Jamni confided:

I along with two of my friends had taken a contraceptive injection as all of us

had enough children. The injection was effective as none of us had any child
after that. And in five years time we had ail reached menopause. But unfortu-
nately the chemist who administered the injection is dead. He would have
192 Tulsi Patel

been so helpful if he were alive today. He could have rescued several women
desiring to get that injection.

Other women also believed strongly about the existence of an

injectable contraceptive. For instance:

Haski Suthar, mother of five children, always had a complaint against me for
not having arranged for her the most sought after injection that prevents
conception for five years. She said: ‘All these (available contraceptives) are
useless. We can’t handle them. But an injection would be so good. It would
only pain a little when pricked. And then one need not bother about any-
thing (i.e., typical problems associated with the use of prevailing
contraceptives).’

Several such comments were made by many other women desiring

such an injection, although the local doctors seldom confirmed their
views. The popular belief regarding the existence of a contraceptive
injection seems to be an instance of wish fulfilment.
Sterilisation is another method tried in Mogra. It was introduced
during the emergency of 1975–77 by school teachers, doctors, nurses
and other officials occasionally visiting the village. Official propa-
ganda and urban contacts also exposed people to this new idea. A few
of these officials persuaded people to sterilise themselves. They
exerted pressure ou people in order to meet the target of sterilisations
allotted to them. In Mogra, all sterilisations except one were per-
formed on men during the emergency period. They were taken to
sterilisation camps in a neighbouring village. People strongly disap-
proved of sterilisation and were critical of it. Sterilisation to them was
a matter of shame and thus unwelcome. Tubectomy was believed to
interfere with women’s physical capacity to work hard in back-break-
ing agricultural tasks and in carrying heavy head-loads. There are
apprehensions of post-operative complications incapacitating people
and virtually ending a couple’s sexual life. These fears were reinforced
by the sterilisation experiences of people during the early days of the
emergency which shaped the collective memory of the people.
Further, the current experiences of those who develop complications
after sterilisation spread like wild fire through word of mouth, recur
in gossip, and shape the images and opinions of the people in the
village.4
MODERNIZATION AND CHANGING FERTILITY BEHAVIOUR 193

Meeri, mother of two sons and a daughter, the first and the only woman in
Mogra, to be sterilised during the emergency suffered from numerous compli-
cations soon after the operation. She had continuous body ache and severe
backache. To top it all, elders of the household scorned and criticised her
because she could not work as hard as her sisters-in-law (husband’s brothers’
wives). Instead of getting sympathy, she was rebuked and scolded for being a
work shirker. The whole experience became so agonising that she set up a
separate household and took the help of her growing children in doing the
household tasks. Meeri’s experience became strong deterrent for other women
contemplating sterilisation. Saori, a Harijan woman had a son a few years
after her husband was sterilised during the emergency. Although the operation
had failed technically, the couple became the butt of ridicule in the village.
Even several years after the incident a reference to her made people exchange
meaningful glances or pass some derisive comments. Only subsequently when
laparoscopy on two women failed did people accept the possibility of a steril-
isation failure.

Such discouraging encounters have considerably tilted the mean-

ings assigned to sterilisation. These meanings dissuade others from
accepting it even when social norms favour the end of reproduction. As
the modern means of fertility control are not in common use, post-
surgical complications are not given adequate attention. The women
cannot also seek concessions in household chores or other work on this
ground.
But things have not remained the same. By 1982–83 a new trend
emerged among women to voluntarily opt for sterilisation. Laparoscopy
camps in Mogra and its vicinity became active during the early eighties.
Female sterilisations outnumbered male ones.

Sangari, a widow in her early fifties, confided that female sterilisation is safer
these days: ‘The problems of security are mounting up, and it is not safe for a
solitary woman to go to the fields. Man’s morals are fast deteriorating. In such
a condition it is safer for a woman to get sterilised so that if an accident (rape)
happens she is safe. If her husband were vasectomised she would be ruined.’

Laparoscopy is gaining popularity among a small section of

women who are discovering that it is convenient as well as less demand-
ing.5 ‘It involves only a prick’, is the usual comment. The fears associ-
ated with a surgical operation (particularly tubectomy and vasectomy)
are substantially reduced. Laparoscopy does not also require abstaining
from heavy work and sexual life for long. It does not upset the daily
round of activities to get laparoscopy done. A casual slip out of the
194 Tulsi Patel

house akin to a brief gossip session or a short siesta is all that is required.
Women have to abstain from home only for an hour or two. It is pos-
sible for them to walk back home within half an hour of the laparos-
copy ‘prick’. None of the women in Mogra experienced any difficulty
in resuming or supervising some work after they returned home. All
this is in sharp contrast to tubectomy which requires considerable
planning, including leaving the home for several days.

Acceptance of Sterilisation: Modern

Techniques in a Traditional Context

The prevailing fertility behaviour in Mogra is far from being unre-

strained and unregulated. Fertility follows a certain trajectory, a certain
span of reproductive carrier marked by a socially prescribed beginning
and an end. It is controlled through the prevailing institutions, norms
and associated statuses and roles. It may appear that acceptance of ster-
ilisation by a couple points to radical changes in the couple’s attitudes to
their family size. But an inquiry into fertility behaviour of 64 sterilised
persons reveals that they have all followed the basic norm of fertility.
Their notions of the optimum number of children in the family have
altered only a little. There exists a contradiction between the planners’
expectation with the technique of sterilisation and the people’s ideas of
it. This contradiction may be explained through an analysis of the fertil-
ity behaviour of persons who accepted sterilisation.
The 64 persons who accepted sterilisation constitute nearly 9% of
the 713 ever married women in Mogra. Their sex distribution
(45  women and 19 men) follows the larger Indian pattern, namely,
more women than men have undergone sterilisation (Mahadevan and
Sumangala 1987: 130, report this for India in general and for Andhra
Pradesh and Kerala in particular). Of 45 sterilised women, 17 accepted
tubectomy and 28 laparoscopy.
Of the 64 sterilised persons, 60 were sterilised before they reached
the age of 40, and only 4 after it. Most of them belonged to the 26 to
40 age range. Within this age range a majority were between 26 to 35
years. These figures show that the need for sterilisation after 40 is not
felt so acutely. The main reason is that indigenous methods (primarily
abstinence) are adopted to end one’s fertility career after this age. This is
also the stage when the older women’s fecundity is coming to an end.
MODERNIZATION AND CHANGING FERTILITY BEHAVIOUR 195

Men engaged in the relatively modern occupations of business and

government service form a greater proportion of those who got them-
selves sterilised than those engaged in animal husbandry, agriculture,
artisanship, and wage labour. Also, the proportion of men who opted
for sterilisation in comparison to women was higher in the business and
service classes than among those engaged in manual labour. This is
because sterilisation is considered to be debilitating and causing diffi-
culties in performing hard physical labour. Men engaged in business or
service perform less strenous tasks than their wives who undertake agri-
cultural tasks. Of the 19 vasectomies, 7 were performed during the
emergency period under severe pressure and threat. Most of the remain-
ing have been accepted by men who either live in urban areas and/or are
employed in urban centres. The influence of urban ethos has some role
to play in their case.
Place of sterilisation is important to show the extent of motivation,
courage and social approval for the act. Those more determined to ster-
ilise are less fearful of surgery, have greater approval of their act by other
members of the household, and usually get themselves sterilised in hos-
pitals in the nearby city. Of the 64 cases, 20 got themselves sterilised in
hospitals and several of them had close urban links. The remaining
44 were sterilised in various camps organised in the village or in its vicin-
ity. Eight of them were sterilised by coercion during the emergency.
The feeling of security is stronger in a sterilisation camp by virtue
of its proximity to one’s home. People fear surgery in a hospital and tend
to avoid it. In some of the cases of laparoscopy, women have dared to
take the step without a clear consensus or approval of the members
of  their household. In Mogra and its vicinity laparoscopy has gained
approval as more convenient than tubectomy.
Decisions to get sterilised are based on the survival of children,
especially sons. All the sterilised persons have as many children as the
non-sterilised. Their average number of births, child mortality and child
survival are not very different from those of others. The average fertility
of the sterilised is 5.68 children per couple, while the average child
mortality is one child per couple. The sterilised couple have on an aver-
age a total of six children out of whom five, including three sons, sur-
vive. Table 1 below provides data on the distribution of sterilised parents
(father or mother as the case may be) according to their fertility, child
mortality and child survival experiences at the time they got themselves
 196

Table 1
Distribution of Fathers/Mothers by Children Born, Dead and Surviving at the Time of Sterilisation

Number of Fathers/Mothers with:

Children Born Children Died Children Surviving

No. of Children S D S/D S D S/D S D S/D

0 0 3 0 49 40 36 0 3 0
1 5 16 0 8 14 8 6 21 0
2 23 15 2 3 7 11 25 21 3
3 11 9 11 3 2 3 16 10 12
4 12 12 10 1 0 4 12 3 14
5+ 13 9 41 0 1 2 5 6 35
Note: S = Sons, D = Daughters, S/D = Sons and Daughters.
Tulsi Patel
MODERNIZATION AND CHANGING FERTILITY BEHAVIOUR 197

sterilised. From Table 1 it is evident that only-six parents decided to get

themselves sterilised with one surviving son. Most of them are those
who in their attempts to procreate more sons ended up with daughters.
Twenty five parents took the decision to sterilise themselves after ensur-
ing the survival of two sons. 33 parents took the sterilisation decision
after assuring themselves of the survival of at least three sons.
From Table 1 it can also be seen that there are no sterilised parents
not having at least one son whereas three of them sterilised themselves
without even a single daughter. This is an indicator of son preference in
Mogra. Thirty four parents got themselves sterilised before the birth of
three daughters. It is also important to note that 41 parents decided to
terminate childbirths after procreating five or more children. This
shows that sterilisation decision of the parents comes at a fairly late stage
in a couple’s fertility career.
A majority (36) of the parents who got themselves sterilized did not
suffer the agony of child loss. Here again the number of parents not
suffering the loss of a son is greater than the number of parents not suf-
fering the loss of a daughter. Only 15 sterilised parents had experienced
a son’s death while as many as 24 had experienced a daughter’s death.
The sex break-up worked out from Table 1 shows that out of 364 chil-
dren born to the 64 parents, 178 boys and 137 girls were surviving. The
survival rate for male children is 85 per cent and for female children it is
72 per cent showing again a bias in favour of sons. Thirty eight of the
parents had more surviving sons than surviving daughters while 10 had
more surviving daughters than surviving sons. One parent decided to
get sterilised with 9 children surviving, 6 with 7–8 children surviving
and 42 with 4–6 children surviving.
There has been a marked decrease in child mortality in recent times,
especially during the past decade. Persons belonging to different ages
have different experiences of child mortality. The younger parents (upto
30 years) have lost fewer children than the older ones. Mothers above
the age of 30 have lost 22 to 25 per cent of the children born to them,
those in the age group 26–30 have lost 11 per cent of the children born,
and those below 25 have not suffered any loss. Yet, even the younger
couples had nearly four children each before one of the spouses got ster-
ilised. The fear of child mortality after sterilisation rarely encourages
couples to get themselves sterilised as soon as they have two or three
children, including one or two sons. There is only one couple with two
198 Tulsi Patel

sons, three couples with two sons and one daughter each, and two
couples with one son and two daughters each who put a stop to their
reproductive career. None of these six couples lost any child.
A comparison of the average number of births and child deaths per
person provided in Table 2 shows that people get themselves sterilised
only after assuring the survival of the socially expected number of chil-
dren. Persons with no child mortality are the only ones to have sterilised
themselves at a very early age. Those who suffered higher mortality of
children have got sterilised at a later age. Child mortality dissuades
couples from accepting sterilisation. Couples as well as their relatives
wish to see that at least a few children survive. To ensure about five chil-
dren, including at least two sons, it is thought rational to have one or
two extra children This logic is used even by those parents who have
suffered no loss. Termination of reproductivity is thus pushed somewhat
further and the time range of active fertility stretched. Table 2 shows
how birth control through sterilisation is concomitant with fertility and
child mortality. Older mothers have higher average fertility as well as
child mortality, in comparison to the younger mothers.
The distribution of fertility and mortality details by mother’s age is
an important indication that a person does not decide to get sterilised
exclusively on the basis of his or her own fertility experiences. Couples
do not view their fertility experiences in isolation from those of others
around them before taking a decision to stop procreation. Of the 64 per-
sons who terminated their fertility career, the senior mothers aged
36 years and above have had higher fertility as well as higher child mor-
tality in contrast to the experience of mothers belonging to the age
group 21 to 35. The -collective experience of mortality is an important
factor in shaping a couple’s fertility behaviour. Even if couples escape the
trauma of child mortality, they continue to be influenced by the wider
experience of child mortality in the community. By corollary, it is rare to
find a person sterilising himself or herself after one son and one daugh-
ter, or two sons and one daughter. He or she waits for a few years to
assure child survival before stopping procreation.
With the recent decline in child mortality in the community, how-
ever, the younger couples have had relatively less exposure to child mor-
tality. The y have lesser fear of losing their children than their seniors.
Hence they feel little need to produce more children to be able to make
up for an eventual child loss, unlike the older parents. Yet, even the
Table 2
Distribution of Average Fertility, Child Mortality and Child Survival per Couple by Mother’s Age

Child Molarity
Mother’s Age
(in years) Fertility Before Sterilisation After Sterilisation Total Child Survival
21–25 3.6 – 0.07 0.07 3.5
26–30 5.0 0.7 – 0.7 4.3
31–35 6.2 1.3 0.2 1.5 4.7
36–40 8.0 1.3 0.5 1.8 6.2
MODERNIZATION AND CHANGING FERTILITY BEHAVIOUR

41–45 8.0 1.8 0.2 2.0 6.0

40+ 7.0 3.0 3.0 4.0
199
200 Tulsi Patel

younger parents have a fairly high fertility and child survival rate
although it is less compared to women in the 36–45 years age range.
Here couples try to strike a balance between the structural conditions of
declining mortality and the norms in favour of high fertility.
Since pregnant mothers-in-law are subject to much social ridicule,
women prefer to stop their fertility career when they become mothers-
in-law. Of the sterilised women, 16 are aged 36 and above—an age when
most women are likely to become mothers-in-law. Of the 16 women,
as  many as 14 had become mothers-in-law before sterilisation. One
mother-in-law got herself sterilised even though she was below 35.
Several other women aged between 31 and 35 also got themselves steril-
ised as they were to become mothers-in-law in the next couple of years.
These women could afford sterilisation because they had the advantage
of having grown up daughters or daughters-in-law living with them to
take care of household chores while recuperating after the surgery.
Thus sterilisation has been accommodated within the traditional
value frame for the older as well as the younger couples. It stops further
births after one’s grown-up children enter their reproductive life.
Sterilisation also enables couples to avoid the birth of an extra child after
attaining, the socially prescribed level of optimum fertility and child
survival. The social norms regarding optimum fertility cut both ways. In
some cases, when a couple reproduce more than the social optimum,
they come in for adverse comment:

Bijoji, an old man with a small patch of land was perturbed with his only
daughter’s eight children with two years’ interval between them. He confided
in me, ‘There is no point having so many children without a stop. Three or
four are enough. There are several means to put a stop these days. See how the
whole house is uttered.’

The influence of FPP in Mogra may be compared with Kara and

Sinha’s (1987) report of the impact of FPP in India in general and in
Orissa in particular. They point out that FPP has made little dent, as the
number of living children in all cases of tubectomy and vasectomy
exceeded three. The Khanna villagers (Mamdani 1972; Wyon and
Gordon 1971) accepted contraceptives only when they dovetailed with
their social norms. Contraception did not alter the community norms
as to when to have children, how many to have, and when to stop having
them. Only women who were over 30 years and close to the termination
MODERNIZATION AND CHANGING FERTILITY BEHAVIOUR 201

of child bearing used contraceptive tablets. Instead of cutting down the

birth rate, the tablet enabled people to live upto traditional norms with
more modern techniques. Similarly, Dandekar (1959) observes that atti-
tudes towards family planning become more favourable among couples
with three to five children in the six rural communities she studied in
India. The FPP could only narrow the gap between the socially expected
and the actual family size. It reinforces traditional ideas of family size
and fertility by shortening the active fertility duration.
Our material suggests that the people who adopted sterilisation
have in no way digressed from the social norms of the optimum family
size. The family planning package is accepted only to the extent that it
is instrumental in supporting the socially expected fertility behaviour.
Although the technique of sterilisation to control fertility is unconven-
tional and its adoption a sort of deviation, it hardly upsets the meanings
and practices associated with the traditional reproductive career. The
meanings and messages with which the planners pack the FPP are dis-
carded when the people unpack it.
This finding holds true even in the case of the 68 educated and
naukri (salaried job) holding fathers in Mogra. They adopt some modern
birth control techniques but do so only after achieving the socially
expected minimum family size of at least two sons and one daughter.

Kana Patel is a college drop-out and a clerk in a government department. He

has three children spaced over four years interval. His eldest child, a daughter
is now married. His wife got herself sterilised a year before the daughter’s
muklawo.6
Anil Charan, with a Ph.D. degree, has nearly five years’ gap between his
two sons.
Binja Patel, a school teacher in his late twenties, has stopped procreation: he
has two sons and a daughter.
Gokal Bhambi, a school teacher has stopped having children after three sons
and a daughter.

However, in the case of several other educated and salaried couples, their
fertility behaviour conforms to the traditional norms of optimal family
size. Shera Patel sent his wife for tubectomy after she gave birth to six
children of whom three sons and two daughters are surviving with good
health. To be sure, his decision was influenced by the urban ethos expos-
ing him to the fear of social ridicule, making him feel awkward in social
202 Tulsi Patel

gatherings where his counterparts had fewer children. Even his illiterate
counterparts in the village do not consider it proper to continue to have
more children after these many.

Ajay, a Charan clerk and father of three children, Hetu, a Charan peon and
father of six daughters, and Kewal, a Patel factory worker with two children,
notwithstanding education and urban jobs, have each two years spacing
between their children, which is in conformity to the village norms. The only
Charan girl, Ansu holds an M.Sc. degree and is married to a lawyer in another
town. She has five daughters in her ten years of married life. She would not
stop having children till she has a son.

Irrespective of the level of education or urban jobs, the social

expectations and values regarding the sex composition and the number
of surviving children continue to dominate couples’ decisions on child
bearing. The fertility career of even these couples is not independent of
social norms and compulsions from kin, neighbourhood and
community.

On Deciding to get Sterilised

Though the FPP has not successfully changed the prevalent fertility
norms, it has succeeded in making people tolerate sterilisation. Though
sterilisation continues to evoke disparaging remarks, ranging from
opprobrium to ridicule, it has now come to occupy a place within the
permissible range of deviance.
Women consider many factors before they opt for sterilisation. We
have already discussed the desire of mothers with grown children to
terminate their fertility career. Also, a couple’s fertility is terminated
only when they have become eligible for it. This does not mean that
such eligibility automatically leads to a decision to get sterilised.
Sterilisation is not accepted as though it were a normative precept or an
undisputed maxim; quite the contrary. Both men and women may often
waver before making up their mind about sterilisation. Women are of
course free to ventilate their sufferings, but they do not enjoy the free-
dom that men enjoy in deciding to get sterilised.
Even if a woman is keen to get herself sterilised, she has to take into
consideration the reactions of her husband and other close relatives,
especially those in her conjugal household. At the same time she has
MODERNIZATION AND CHANGING FERTILITY BEHAVIOUR 203

her own fears about surgery and its adverse after effects. There are
apprehensions of pain in the limbs, backache and other ailments
including loss of stamina. There are fears about vasectomy as well. It is
said that ‘Male operation is like castrating a calf. A sterilised male
cannot be a bull’.
Almost all the sterilised persons shared their fears about sterilisa-
tion with their close friends and relatives. In informal discussions, ster-
ilisation is discussed threadbare with a mixture of humour and
seriousness. The pros and cons are weighed. While some fears are dis-
pelled, others are reinforced. However, even a favourable disposition
resulting from prolonged discussions does not always lead to actual
sterilisation. The discussions now shift to the spouses. The spouse with
higher motivation to get sterilised takes the initiative. The themes
related to sterilisation are repeated. From the pool of collective memory,
the couple recall and discuss other couples’ varied experiences. They
recall the cases of those who had sterilised themselves and had no
post-surgical problems. Instances of persons with many children and
very little land and/of those who sterilised soon after having the socially
minimum number of children are recalled. Spouses frequently waver in
their decisions. It is rare for husbands to give unqualified permission to
their wives to get themselves sterilised, especially if they are living in a
joint household. In the latter case, parents have greater authority over
the couple’s decisions. However, there are also instances where parents’
authority is overruled. While the majority of women seek the elders’
permission before getting themselves sterilised, most men do not wait
for it.
For a woman living with her parents-in-law their permission, par-
ticularly of the mother-in-law’s, is crucial. As a household manager, the
mother-in-law’s opinion and judgement matters considerably. As know-
ledge of post-surgery complications is widespread mothers-in-law are
apprehensive of their daughter-in-law’s sterilisation. They feel concerned
primarily about the adverse impact of sterilisation on the daughter-in-
law’s health and consequently on the household chores. The common
first reaction of most mothers-in-law is angry disapproval because they
see daughter-in-law’s sterilisation as leading to the ruination of the
household.
These initial reactions are usually followed by considered responses.
They are of three types. First, the mother-in-law restrains herself to
204 Tulsi Patel

merely explaining the undesirable consequences leaving the entire

decision to the couple. This response indicates helplessness and
apprehension that her words may be dishonoured.
A second typical reaction is to express strong disapproval and warn
the daughter-in-law that she will not be relieved of household chores for
recuperation and treatment if post-operative complications develop.
They regard that the decision to get sterilised is a sign of ignorance,
immaturity and irresponsibility. They point out that only persons not
aware of the adverse consequences of sterilisation on health and stamina
make such decisions.

Bhoori categorically pointed out to her two daughters-in-law who had made
up their minds to get sterilised: ‘You will have to suffer for your deeds. Do not
expect that you will be relieved from household work after the operation. You
are doing this while knowing full well how it disables a woman for any hard
work. You will have to bear the consequences if the household suffers’.

In the face of opposition from the mother-in-law, the husband

wavers between the stands taken by his mother and his wife and often
chooses to remain silent.

Vena, father of two sons and two daughters, initially agreed to his wife’s deci-
sion to get herself sterilised but revoked it when his mother disapproved. He
had almost agreed with his wife after she had convinced him but chose to
remain silent when his mother spoke against the decision.

Both the husband and his mother worry about the women’s well
being after sterilisation and its impact on the household. Of course, if
they are party to the decision, they would be obliged to allow conces-
sions and take over the added burden.
There is an additional dimension that prevents the mother-in-law
from granting direct permission for sterilisation. This relates to her man-
agerial shrewdness which tells her that even if there are no post-surgical
complications the daughter-in-law may feign weakness and ask for
exemptions from household chores. Therefore, even if the mother-
in-law is convinced about the merits of sterilisation, she seldom readily
allows her daughter-in-law to get sterilised. In such a situation, the
daughter-in-law’s desire to get sterilised is viewed as an expression of
defiance.
MODERNIZATION AND CHANGING FERTILITY BEHAVIOUR 205

A third type of mother-in-law reaction is outright dismissal of the

very idea of sterilisation as abhorrent. Such reactions come from mothers-
in-law who have suffered the experience of child mortality of either their
own children or of their siblings.

Vaddi, aged 60, experienced the agony of mortality from her childhood. As a
child, she lost a few siblings and as a mother she lost all her four children.
Such a trail of misfortunes continued even in the case of her near relatives,
particularly her husband’s brother’s family (all except one boy and one girl
died). In this background of personal tragedies, Vaddi turned hysterical when-
ever sterilisation was discussed before her. Vaddi’s adopted son’s wife, a mother
of four daughters and two sons, recalled vividly, ‘I wished to get sterilised
after  I had four children. Upon hearing my desire for sterilisation Maaji
(mother-in-law) got so wild that I dare not mention it again. She called insult-
ing names to those who were sterilised. To her they were blind and crazy. How
can I tell her that even I want to do so?’

There are, however, a few instances when mothers-in-law have

actually supported their daughters-in-law in their decision to get steril-
ised. They have done so in conformity to local fertility norms which
subject a woman to much ridicule when she gets pregnant at a time
when her own daughter is likely to become a mother. Some of the moth-
ers-in-law are also comfortably placed in regard to domestic work and
do not have to depend on the daughter-in-law exclusively for doing the
household chores.

Devi, an elderly mother-in-law, was a rare instance. She accompanied her

daughter-in-law all the way to the city for sterilisation. After arranging Devi’s
eldest granddaughter’s muklawo, she desired that her daughter-in-law end her
reproductive career. She also supported her daughter and two other relatives
in their decisions to get sterilised. Maadi, a 62 year old woman favoured her
daughter-in-law’s sterilisation. She decided about it when her eldest daughter-
in-law gave birth to three children and the second one five.

Devi and Maadi have relatives in Jodhpur city and have easy access
to medical facilities. They are living close to the doctor and the nurse
residing in the village.
A woman living in a simple household faces a different set of prob-
lems. % the time she sets up her own household she is quite a senior
mother with three or four children and is about 30 years old. She often
starts thinking of getting herself sterilised around this time. A woman
206 Tulsi Patel

has several responsibilities, numerous roles including management of

the household. Sterilisation is not an easy decision when a woman is
preoccupied with the household. But once she decides to get herself
sterilised, she somehow Manages to get her husband’s support. Phooli,
aged 35, initially discussed her desire to get sterilised with a friend who
had prior experience of sterilisation. She then discussed the matter with
her husband who agreed without much hesitation. Eventually, she
got  herself sterilised through laparoscopy in a family planning camp
organised at Mogra. She timed it a few months before she was to send
her daughter away to her conjugal household for muklawo.
There are some husbands who are eager to stop procreation early.
Kera,a 36 year old Patel and a father of a son and a daughter is inter-
ested in having another son. But he is clear that if he does not get a son
in another two years, he will stop procreation. Such husbands, however,
are exceptions in Mogra. He is also a neighbour of the village doctor.
Disapproval by the husband or the mother-in-law do not deter some
determined women. Sugan, a Charan mother of three sons, is in her
late twenties. Her husband kept giving her false assurances of arranging
for it whenever she expressed her desire to get sterilised. Disgusted with
his attitude and fearing the prospect of another conception she got
herself sterilised during one of her occasional stays in her mother’s house,
much to the displeasure of her husband and her mother-in-law.
Bhanwari, a middle aged Harijan mother of four sons and a daughter,
felt exhausted by continuous child bearing and rearing along with her
regular wage work. Her husband, who showed no sympathy, always
disapproved of her desire to get sterilised. One day she just decided to
go to the village camp for laparoscopy. On her return, she found her
husband fuming with anger. He ordered her to leave his house and even
hinted at divorcing her. It was only through the intervention of neigh-
bours and friends that she could save herself from her husband’s wrath.
The women who acted in open defiance of husband’s and parents-
in-law’s wishes were sure of their position and strength in the house-
hold. It derived partly from several healthy surviving sons. This
provided an ample assurance to them that they cannot be dispensed
with easily. Sugan offered a vivid narrative of how she finally convinced
her husband in spite of his strong reactions against her act: ‘If we had
the fourth son, how little land would each son get? And if we had any
daughter, how could we afford to marry her? The dowry expenses are
MODERNIZATION AND CHANGING FERTILITY BEHAVIOUR 207

rising day by day. Your opium addiction is no less expensive.’ Sugan

recalled that it took time before such an explanation finally pacified her
husband. She maintained that although her husband’s and mother-in-
law’s reactions were hostile and painful (in the sense that she was not
allowed to take proper rest after her operation), it did not last long. She
summed up her gain, ‘Whatever it may be, I am not reproducing like a
goat’. The foregoing description of the various phases in the personal
trajectory of a woman’s decision-making about sterilisation depicts the
social resistance encountered by her during the process. The tension
between the woman’s decision to get sterilised and the social resistance,
especially resistance within the family reveal significant principles of
family organisation within which fertility behaviour occurs. The pro-
cess also highlights how the status of women shifts from a position of
subordination to one of assertion as they get older and become senior
mothers with surviving sons (Patel 1982, 1987).
It is significant that all the sterilised women sought permission
from the husband and elders of the household before they decided to
get sterilised (see Caldwell et al 1984 for this practice in South India).
The few who defied their husbands and elders did so after carefully
assessing their fertility performance and their status in the household.
Sterilisation is accepted as an effective means of stopping fertility career,
after traditionally considered optimal reproductive level is reached.
Sterilisation has not violated traditional norms but has reinforced them.

Sterilisation in Mogra Cosmology

In Mogra sterilisation is accepted as a necessary evil, if at all, to enable

couples from exceeding the optimal norm of family size. It is now
important to explore how attitudes against sterilisation are incorporated
in people’s cosmologies so that the strength of people’s resistance to it
can be properly gauged.
Sterilisation often evokes hostility and ridicule from people for a
variety of reasons. Some regard the husband of the woman who opts for
sterilisation as henpecked.

Harji ridiculed Bhera for allowing his wife to get herself sterilised: ‘Can’t you
even control your wife, or are you henpecked?’ was the question he had to
confront often.
208 Tulsi Patel

Even younger women portray caricatures of women who undergo

sterilisation.

Veeri Darjee, a mother of four children, mimicked Ansi’s awkward gait soon
after her tubectomy in the city hospital. She also mimicked the gait through a
play of her two fingers. She commented, ‘It is so embarrassing to walk like
that through the streets before so many elders. I would rather not get sterilised
than walk awkwardly.’

A large number of people do not appreciate the new ‘craze’ for ster-
ilisation and disparage the technique.

Kesar, an old Charan woman with five sons and one daughter, did not approve
of sterilisation. She wanted her sons to have more than two sons each. Her
desire got reinforced as one of her sons could not produce a child despite more
than a decade of marriage, and her only daughter lost her husband within two
months of her marriage.

A large family is also a matter of prestige for many old women and
shapes attitudes against sterilisation.

Bhoori, an old woman and mother of three sons and a daughter, had her own
justifications for discrediting sterilisation. ‘I don’t know what these younger
women are up to. We never got ourselves mutilated like this. Mutilation for
what? They can’t sit back in a luxurious ‘swing’ (Qiindo) with a foot resting on
its edge and relax in a queenly way. Their life is no better than ours. What they
derive out of such a step, only they know.’ However, all her three daughters-
in-law got sterilised. They had two sons each. Two of them had two daughters
as well whereas the third had one daughter. Even her daughter underwent
tubectomy after having three healthy sons. She fails to understand why her
daughters-in-law and daughter should get sterilised. Some elderly women
reject sterilisation for their daughters-in-law not only because of the fear of
child mortality but also because they see it as an evil or sin.
Vaddi had this to say about sterilisation during an interview: ‘All those who are
getting themselves sterilised are simply stupid. They do not understand any
thing about life. They are going against God’s will and life’s wisdom. If the
government claims to be powerful enough to stop more children through those
white attired doctors, then why can’t it provide children to those who are ster-
ile and barren? It is only when they do so, can I believe in their superiority and
power. Otherwise anyone can cut a ‘cord’ (nad) and commit the crime. Only
the provider has the right to stop, those who can’t provide have no such right.
And what about bringing back to life those who die? What if your children die
after your operation? Of what avail is the operation in such an eventuality? Of
the three sons I had, two died in childhood and the last one died when he was
MODERNIZATION AND CHANGING FERTILITY BEHAVIOUR 209

old enough for muklawo. He was my only hope. The doctors couldn’t save
him. I was left with no one in the world. Man is helpless before death. Then,
where is the wisdom in getting sterilised? It is nothing but madness.’
Chidi, an old Harijan woman, strongly disapproved of the emerging trend
towards fertility control. She was provoked when she overheard her daughter-
in-law, a mother of four sons, being interviewed on the issue. She said, ‘No one
should get sterilised. There is a lot of sin spread all over the world. What can a
woman do if all her children were to die after sterilisation? In Tanavara (a
neighbouring village) a Sargari (woman of Sargara caste) underwent tubec-
tomy last year. She thought the three sons she had were enough for her. But as
unfortunate as she is, two of her sons died of fever within two days of each
other, and another died a month later. All the three healthy boys simply
slipped out of her hands in less than a year of sterilising. She couldn’t help at
all. She would only weep and wail. All this has driven her to mental illness and
she talks incoherently. Her life is ruined. I will not permit my daughter-in-law
to do such a thing. We will all share what we have. We will eat half instead of
one (Poori Khata adi Khaon) and be satisfied rather than ruin ourselves by
trying all kinds of nonsense. It is a sin to sterilise and the sinner is punished
sooner or later. Sterilisation leads to suffering.’ Jhammu, a young woman in
her twenties, was apprehensive about her future incarnation because of her
sterilisation. ‘So many people have told me that sterilisation amounts to tor-
turing all those beings who were destined to be born to a woman. She will have
to bear all the remaining children in her next incarnation. There is no respite
from this. One has to finish one’s task before attaining gati (salvation).’
Thus, the attitudes against sterilisation are deeply embedded in people’s cos-
mology in Mogra. Added to this is the fear about post-operative complications
arising from sterilisation. Yet, despite such attitudes and fears, there are indica-
tions that some women are gradually accepting the desirability of having fewer
children. There are also indications that some of the women are shedding their
inhibitions about sterilisation as they become aware of laparoscopy.

Conclusion

It could be concluded from this study that if the FPP has not attained its
targets, it is because the policy makers have not been sensitive to the peo-
ple’s perceptions and social pressures that work on them. Given the lack
of privacy and the structure of the household, the only effective birth
control technique seems to be sterilisation. The use of this technique is
disapproved often quite strongly. The disapproval stems mainly from
mothers-in-law and husbands. Mothers-in-law, with a few exceptions,
view the daughter-in-law’s expression of a desire to get sterilised as an act
of defiance. They feel that the daughters-in-law can use the excuse of
complications after sterilisation to escape the drudgery of house work.
210 Tulsi Patel

Apart from considerations of power, mothers-in-law disapprove of ster-

ilisation also because of their experiences and fears of child mortality.
The disapproval of sterilisation is also deeply embedded in
notions of the husband’s authority, deference to elders and of the
woman’s position in society. Sterilisation is often regarded as sinful
because it goes against God’s wishes and of the notions of rebirth
and karma.
Yet, in spite of such general disapproval, undergoing sterilisation
is regarded as a deviant act which falls within the socially tolerable
range. This is the case when couples resort to sterilisation after they
have procreated four or five children regarded as the optimal number
in Mogra, or after they attain the status of seniority with their children
becoming reproductive. The empowerment of young daughters-in-law
resulting primarily from their motherhood along with the progression
of the household (see Shah 1973), lend to possibilities of acceptance of
sterilisation. Hence, sterilisation is used as a technique which enables
people to conform to traditional norms regarding fertility.
Underneath the social conservation in Mogra signs of a few stirrings
can, however, be noticed. Even in Mogra today there are now a few
people including mothers-in-law who are favourably disposed towards
sterilisation. True many of them have urban links and are better edu-
cated but they are deviating, if at all, from the social norms only in a
marginal way. Thus the better educated, salaried couples adopt birth
control techniques earlier than the others although even those couples
adopt them only after having the socially approved minimum fertility
level. There are also signs that the fall in child mortality in recent years
is making younger couples more favorably disposed towards a smaller
family. These changes, however, are yet to gain momentum.

Notes
1. The paper is extracted from the author’s unpublished Ph.D thesis, submitted to the
Department of Sociology, University of Delhi, Delhi in 1990. The author is grateful to
Professor A.M. Shah, for his guidance and comments on the paper. She also thanks
professor B.N. Nanda and Dr. Mohammad Talib of the Department of Sociology,
Jamia Millia Islamia, for their comments on the paper.
2. See Bose (1988: 50–55) for a detailed account.
3. People’s notion of health is indicated commonly through two words, fat (mato) and
thin (thakodo), meaning good and poor health respectively. A bodily disorder
MODERNIZATION AND CHANGING FERTILITY BEHAVIOUR 211

impeding normal course of life is categorised as illness. If an ailment does not hamper
one’s daily routine, the person is rarely considered as being seriously ill.
4. See Cabdwell et al. (1984: 201) for a similar account of FPP in Karnataka.
5. Laproscopy is considered to be an operation conducted with beejli and doorveen, lit-
erally, electricity and binoculars.
6. Muklawo marks the entry of a bride into her conjugal home for consummation of
marriage and cohabitation, usually around the age of 15. Muklawo is not a wedding
ceremony marked by festivity, socially acknowledging the future husband-wife unit.
Wedding and marriage (Muklawo) may coincide if the bride at the time of wedding is
around 15 years of age. If the bride is below 12 or 13 years of age; her muklawo takes
place later around the time she attains puberty.

References
Bose, A. 1988. From Population to People Vol. I. Delhi: B R Publishing.
Caldwell, J.C. 1982. Theory of Fertility Decline. London: Academic Press.
Caldwell, J.C. Reddy, P.H. and P. Caldwell. 1984. ‘Determinants of Fertility Decline in
Rural South India’, in T. Dyson and N. Crook (eds.), India’s Demography. New Delhi:
South Asian.
Dandekar, K. 1959. Demographic Survey of Six Rural Communities. Bombay: Asia Publishing
House.
Das Gupta, M. 1978. ‘Production Relations and Population: Rampur’, Journal of Development
Studies, 14 (4): 177–185.
Demeny, P. 1981. ‘Research on the Determinants of Fertility. A Note on Priorities’,
Population and Development Review, 7 (2): 311–324.
Kara, P.K. and B.N. Sinha. 1987. ‘Family Welfare Programme and its Evaluation:
Implications and Recommendations’, in R N Pati (ed.), Population, Family and Culture.
New Delhi: USAID.
Mahadevan, K. and M. Sumangala. 1987. Social Development, Cultural Change and Fertility
Decline. New Delhi: Sage Publications.
Mamdani, M. 1972. The Myth of Population Control. London: Monthly Review Press.
Nag, M. 1981. ‘Modernization and its Impact on Fertility. The Indian Scene’, India
International Centre Quarterly, 8 (3 & 4): 235–247.
Nag, M., Peet, R.C. and B.N.F. White. 1978. ‘An Anthropological Approach to the Study of the
Economic Value of Children in Java and Nepal’, Current Anthropology, 19: 293–306.
Notestein, F.W. 1945. ‘Population: The Long View’, in T W Shultz (ed.), Food for the World.
Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
Patel, Tulsi. 1982. ‘Domestic Group, Status of Women and Fertility’, Social Action, 32 (4):
363–379.
———. 1987. ‘Women’s Work and Their Status: Dialectics of Subordination and
Assertion’, Social Action, 32 (4): 363–379.
Rao, K.G. 1974. Studies in family Planning India. New Delhi: Abhinav.
Shah, A.M. 1973. Household Dimension of Family in India. New Delhi: Orient Longman.
Shah, A.M. and E.A. Ramaswamy. 1981. ‘Human Fertility and Culture: Some Sociological
Observations’, India International Centre Quarterly, 8 (3 & 4): 227–233.
Thompson, W. 1929. ‘Population’, American Journal of Sociology, 34: 959–975.
212 Tulsi Patel

United Nations. 1981. ‘Variations in the Incidence of Knowledge and Use of Contraception:
A Comparative Analysis of World Fertility Survey Results of Twenty Developing
Countries’, New York.
Wyon, J.B. and J.E.Gordon. 1971. The Khanna Study. Cambridge. Massachusetts: Harvard
University Press.
13
Ideology, Power and
Resistance in a South
Indian Village
N. Sudhakar Rao

S
everal studies are now available on local, unconventional forms of
resistance or everyday protests which are not necessarily aimed at
overthrowing the existing order (Abu-Lughod 1990; Comoroff
1985; Nash 1979; Oommen 1990; Scott 1985, 1986, 1990; Taussig
1980). These studies raise serious doubts about the theory of ‘false con-
sciousness’, and of the relevance of the distinction between symbolic
and instrumental forms of resistance in understanding power relations.
The nature of power and its mode of operation are now regarded as
more complex than it was thought earlier. While noting the attraction
of studying resistance, Abu-Lughod following Foucault’s dictum e there
is power there is resistance’ 1978: 95–96), exhorts us to ‘use resistance as
a diagnostic of power’ (1990: 41).
In this perspective a study of resistance, in India from the lowest
strata upwards, should unfold the consciousness of the Untouchables
who call themselves Dalits (oppressed), other subordinate castes (service
castes or lower castes) and the nature of power. Mass movements and
public protests of the Dalits, their ideologies, styles of protest and
achievements have so far occupied the centre in the study, of resistance.
There is copious and valuable material that addresses dissent, change,
oppression and deprivation of the Dalits. But these refer mostly to open,
214 N. Sudhakar Rao

violent, sometimes non-violent, well conceived and organized forms of

protest which occur only occasionally. Actually, everyday protests of the
Dalits and lower castes in the villages occur more frequently and address
the above mentioned vital issues besides highlighting the power relations
between the Dalits and the dominating groups, but these have barely
drawn any attention. In this regard, it may be apt to note O’Hanlon’s
remarks (1988: 222–3) on Guha’s Subaltern Studies series (1982, 1983,
1985) that one should look not for the virile form of a deliberate and
violent onslaught, but for the unconventional forms that are not usually
associated with politics. Also, as Oommen (1990: 400) observes, ‘every-
day protests are rarely analysed or if analysed not viewed as protests’.
It is true that Dalit protests in the country have not yet been trans-
lated to wider caste-based mobilizations. The reasons advanced are ‘cul-
tural consensus’ (Moffatt 1979), patron-client relations, lack of caste
consciousness, and economic and political weakness. The weakest explan-
ation for the failure of Dalit protests is the cultural consensus thesis.
Further, in a village situation, the hegemonies of caste ideology as moral
obligations and interdependency even in the absence of patron-client
relationships are considered significant obstacles to mass movements.
Most of the Dalit or Backward Class protests and movements are
intricately dovetailed’ with the ideologies of Mahatma Phule or of
Dr Ambedkar. In the villages, where a vast majority of the Dalits live,
the ideologies of the national or regional celebrities are hardly known.
Though remaining ignorant of such ideologies, Dalits engage in every-
day protests promoted and shaped by caste ideologies. There is not one
caste ideology as Dumont (1980) or Moffatt (1979) will have us believe,
but several (Deliege 1992; Kapadia 1991; Khare 1984; Lorenzen 1988).
The Dalits are highly influenced by the local ideologies that serve their
interests. As we go along, we shall note what these ideologies are and
assess their impact on Dalits and lower castes in a south Indian village. I
will examine different forms of resistance as conditioned by the social
structure within the village and the region. While doing so I attempt to
understand caste ideologies and dominant symbolic constructs such as
that of family that have muffled Dalits’ resistance. I shall also examine
the discursive application of power by the dominators which not only
provokes the spirit of resistance, but also dissipates or suppresses it.
I conducted field work for my doctoral dissertation in 1990–91 in
the village called Thalupuru in the Nellore district of Andhra Pradesh.
IDEOLOGY, POWER AND RESISTANCE IN A SOUTH INDIAN VILLAGE 215

There are 23 castes including Muslims and Christians in the village

which has a total population of 2211 The Kammas traditionally agricul-
turists are dominant in the political, economic and religious spheres.
Other upper castes in the village are: Brahmin, Reddy and Komati. The
Balija, Gowda, Golla, Vadde, Dudekula, Chakali and Mangali are the low
castes1 whereas Madiga, Mala and Vettimala are the Untouchable
castes—the Dalits. The three Dalit castes together comprise about one-
third of the village population, but are poor. Most of the population
depends on mica mining, though agriculture is an important occupa-
tion. The lower castes and Dalits suffer from ‘multiple oppression’ and
‘cumulative domination’ in the village. I have grouped them as subordin-
ates because the upper castes (dominators) dominate over them.
As this paper is about forms of resistance and implied strategies of
power in the village, I shall first discuss the nature of power and its mani-
festation in de facto royal and magisterial authority and in the idiom of
domestic legitimacy. It is followed by an exploration of the ideological
basis of resistance among the Dalits and lower castes. Then I give a
description and analysis of forms of resistance. Finally, an attempt is
made to extrapolate from the forms of resistance the strategies of power
adopted in the village.

Power in the Caste System

Dumont (1980: 153) defines power as the legitimate force within a

given territory; political and economic power rests with the king who is
subordinate to the Brahmin. The king exercises secular power whereas
the Brahmin holds religious authority. In this conception, political and
economic power is transmitted at the village level to the village headman
who is a representative of the king. The power of the headman percolates
to the members of his caste who enjoy some of his prerogatives. Besides
this, the Brahmin’s ‘purity’ descends upon the village headman, mem-
bers of his caste as well as upon the members of other castes with whom
he interacts and serves. But ‘impurity’ engulfs all Untouchables. The
low castes are ‘pure’ with reference to the Untouchables but they stand
out as ‘impure’ vis-a-vis the upper castes.
The village headman used to be the supreme hereditary authority
in the village until this position was abolished in the state in 1984. This
Position was held by a Kamma family which claimed a genealogical
216 N. Sudhakar Rao

link with the Gandikota2 rulers, representatives Vijayanagara rules

during the 17th century. The ‘legitimate force’ mentioned above is
endowed in this Kamma family in particular and the Kamma caste in
general.
It was customary for every household in the village to contribute
one man day of free labour3 on the headman’s farm. This demonstrates
the headman’s dominance and the subordination of all the villagers.4
Defiance of this rule was a serious crime inviting physical retribution.
No complaint could be lodged with the police or dispute referred to the
court without the headman’s consent. The headman and some upper
caste leaders examined or tried the disputes that were brought to their
notice. An appeal against such judgements to any other authority was
treated as disloyalty and invited severe punishment. In disputes between
a Kamma or any upper caste person and a low caste man or Dalit, the
decision invariably went in favour of the former. No low caste person
could refuse to comply with arbitrary demands made by a Kamma for a
chicken or a goat at a price unilaterally fixed by the latter. A low caste
woman had no recourse but to surrender if a Kamma eyed her and
wanted to be gratified by her. No low caste or Dalit man could smoke a
cigar or beedi while passing through the village. He was not supposed to
allow the pancha, a garment wrapped around the waist, to hang below
the knees, and his women could not wear blouses. He could not wear
sandals when walking through the village street but had to carry them in
hand, only to wear them after crossing the village. The low castes and
Dalits had to remain standing in the presence of upper caste men whom
they had to address using honorific terms. When an adult Kamma hap-
pened to pass by, whether inside the village or in the field, they were
expected to stand up.
The headman used to be the first person to be contacted by officials
visiting the village. Itinerant groups of traditional entertainers such as
story tellers, magicians and gymnasts wanting to perform in the village
required the headman’s permission. Every wedding party in the village
was required to honour him with a symbolic gift of betel leaves and nuts
called pydimudupu before commencing the wedding rituals. Madigas
were not supposed to contract any marriage without his consent. The
low castes and Dalits suffered such oppression for centuries probably
because of the village ideology which stressed interdependence and har-
mony which is discussed in the next section.
IDEOLOGY, POWER AND RESISTANCE IN A SOUTH INDIAN VILLAGE 217

Fictive Kinship and Power

The notion of the ‘village republic’ in which the headman represents the
raja (king) and functions as his political agent, administrator and magis-
trate, is familiar to South Asian specialists. Along with this is the cultural
construction of the village as a ‘family’, in which members of all castes
live in harmony. An analysis of this construction reveals the power that
operates through the structure of the caste system.
Fictive kinship integrates all the villagers except the Brahmins.
Villagers who are not consanguineally related or affines address each
other as mama (mother’s brother or father’s sister’s husband). The term
also refers to the wife’s father as cross-cousin marriage prevails in the
area. Its reciprocal term is alludu (sister’s son in the case of a male speaker,
brother’s son or daughter’s husband in the case of a female speaker) in
their daily interaction. These terms are applied depending on the caste
status and age of the persons concerned. Usually a low caste person and
sometimes even a Dalit male or female, addresses an upper caste person
(male) or a member of the caste having roughly the same status as mama.
The addressee reciprocates with alludu or oi or ore. The term oi or ore or
me (in case of females) are not actually kinship terms but singular terms
used by a senior to express affection and familiarity with a junior.
Sometimes terms like peda or chinna nayana (father’s brother), atha
(mother’s brother’s wife or father’s sister or wife’s mother or husband’s
mother), anna (brother), vadina (brother’s wife), bava (sister’s husband),
thatha (father’s or mother’s father) and avva (father’s or mother’s mother)
are used. These kinship terms express familiarity and a sense of belong-
ingness between members of different castes.
One wonders why this terminology is used. The villagers describe
their communal living as that of a ‘family’. Informants belonging to
the  untouchable Madiga caste characterize their relationship with the
Kamma landlords as a parent-child relationship. The Kammas depend
on the Madigas for tilling their lands and for domestic services whereas
the Madigas depend on the Kammas for foodgrains and employment.
When a household faces an adverse situation or a calamity, others
come forward to help or show sympathy to the affected household irre-
spective of caste affiliation. Should any dispute arise regarding the super-
iority of one’s village vis-a-vis another, village solidarity comes to the fore
One is expected to extend moral support to one’s village and work for its
218 N. Sudhakar Rao

betterment. The rich upper castes are ideally required to look after and
help the poor low castes. The latter are expected to sincerely serve
and support the former in all matters. Thus, interdependency, solidarity
and unity are expressed in the idiom of kinship and family.
The villagers who represent the village or act as its spokespersons
are called grama peddalu (village elders) who generally belong to the
upper castes. Age is used in determining the status of an elder. Though
status is culturally defined, individuals view themselves as autonomous
beings making their own decisions and acting accordingly. Kinship
terms and kin sentiments are effectively used to downplay and even
undermine the aspect of hierarchy.
Further probing into other dimensions of the fictive family such as
the exercise of authority and control and maintenance of discipline unfolds
different aspects of communal living in the village. In the traditional
system, the village headman was not only the political and religious head,
but also a protector, provider and the patriarch. He belonged to the caste
which generally owned most of the lands and in the present village it owns
55 per cent of the land and four mica mines. The headman had to take
care of the needs of the rest of the villagers by providing work and other
services. As the father, he was the right person to mediate with strangers.
The domination of the village headman over the low castes and
Dalits was similar to that of a parental authority. He administered just-
ice and regulated behaviour to conform to the norms of the village just
as a father does in the family. Apart from several others, the norms
largely included maintenance of privileges sanctioned to the upper
castes and autonomy of each caste in regard to its particular customs and
practices. Maintenance of solidarity and unity of the village and loyalty
to the headman and the village elders was also emphasized in this patri-
archal culture.
At times Dalits and members of low castes did deviate or overlook
traditional rules and regulations. These were sometimes considered
grave offences threatening the traditional system based on the author-
ity of the village headman in particular and of the upper castes in
general. Acts of defiance which were not serious were, however, treated
as ‘mistakes made by children’ and ignored. In inter-caste disputes if
some biased judgements alienated the subordinates, members of the
upper castes would even coax and cajole the aggrieved persons into
compliance.
IDEOLOGY, POWER AND RESISTANCE IN A SOUTH INDIAN VILLAGE 219

Traditionally, washermen (chakalis) and barbers (mangalis) were

paid annually in grain for their services which was referred to as mera.
They also received gifts during the performance of various life cycle rit-
uals in their patron’s family. Chakali women would get a new sari and
food on birthdays and during puberty rituals in upper caste households.
For weddings, gifts would be either a gold ring or new clothes for the
entire family. Food was provided during post-funeral rituals and annual
ancestral worship. Similarly, during tonsure ceremonies, the barber
received clothes or cash. During weddings, it was mandatory for the
barber to play the traditional pipe for which he received two sets of
clothes or gold ornaments besides monetary remuneration. The washer-
men and barbers had been receiving these gifts from all castes except the
Untouchables. These gifts flowed from the superiors to the inferiors and
among the equals and created sentimental bonds and moral obligations.
‘Be loyal to the house where you tasted the salt’ or ‘Do not count the
beams of the house where you have eaten food’, were popular sayings
enjoining loyalty to the house from which one partook of food. Such
sentiments often suppressed the motivation to revolt and resist. In other
words, gifts cushioned the effects of domination.
Upper caste men who had the reputation of being good obliged
their clients with loans, food and liquor on religious and social occa-
sions. Customary gifts or doles during religious festivals and on life cycle
rituals at birth, puberty and wedding were given generously. Defiance of
norms was regarded as stupidity or wickedness of individuals who were
duly warned. ‘Good’ clients were those who remained submissive and
meek despite the arrogant behavior of their patrons. Patrons who did not
give gifts and harassed their clients for small matters acquired a bad
reputation. Those who did not tolerate even minor infringement of
norms and exercised their authority wilfully were considered ‘bad’
patrons.
Unlike in the surrounding villages, the traditional leadership in the
village was in the hands of peddakapu and acharakapu. The peddakapu
was the secular village headman mediating the village with the external
world whereas the acharakapu was the ritual head confining himself to
religious affairs and to the arrangement of services between Kammas
and Madigas known as kamathalu.
In the kamathalu system, certain Madiga families were attached to
a Kamma family for a period of six years for agricultural service. The
220 N. Sudhakar Rao

Madiga families were entitled to food and grains till the harvest time of
the given year. The system had to be abandoned around 1972. Erratic
rainfall, high wage rates in the mica mines and the widespread feeling
that the Madigas were no longer ‘sincere’ and were becoming arrogant
contributed to the demise of this institution.
When the position of the village headman was abolished in 1984, a
son of the former village headman had been the Grama Sarpanch
(the elected head of the village panchayat). He had held this office from
1964 to 1982 and in 1984 was elected to the position of the Mandal
President5 which he occupied till 1991. He has been the de facto leader
of the village although he has now no official position. He informally
adjudicates disputes brought to him off and on.
From the above description, it is evident that moral, obligatory and
affective sentiments neutralize the effects of domination in the village.
Although the Dalits are acutely conscious of their exploitation and oppres-
sion, they curb their instincts to rebel because of sentimental attachment
to the dominators and because of the value placed on village solidarity.
Despite such ideologies and sentiments, however, the village also nurtures
egalitarian ideologies which occasionally inspire the Dalits to rebel.

Egalitarianism in Caste

Ironically, we can also notice the existence of values in Hinduism that

defy the hierarchical caste system and inspire and encourage the Dalits
and low castes to argue for egalitarianism.6 Thalupuru villagers are
immensely influenced by local Sri Potuluri Veerabrahmam and Sri
Venkaiahswamy.
Sri Veerabrahmam is one of the most popular saints in the Telugu
region. He attained jeevasamadhi (i. e., buried alive) in his mutt
(seminary) which is at a distance of 120 kms from Thalupuru. He was
born in the vishwabrahmana (smith) caste and lived in the later part of
17th century.7 Sri Veerabrahmam held that a Brahmin was one who
acquired wisdom by mastering Vedic knowledge and not the one born
in a Brahmin family. He denied the origin of varnas from different parts
of Brahma’s (the creator) body.8 He interpreted Brahma’s head, shoul-
ders, thighs and feet metaphorically as referring to hierarchy of wisdom,
and argued that the sages in the Vedic period were born to animals,
chandala (Untouchable) women and even inanimate objects, and that
IDEOLOGY, POWER AND RESISTANCE IN A SOUTH INDIAN VILLAGE 221

caste had never existed (Javangula n.d.: 346–47). Sri Veerabrahmam

accepted as his disciples a man whose family had converted to Islam,
and-an Untouchable—a daring act those days. It is only apt to mention
here that whenever the issue of caste hierarchy was raised by me, the
Dalit respondents used to immediately recall Sri Veerabrahmam’s
preachings on caste equality.
Sri Venkaiahswamy, who wandered in the region around Thalupuru,
passed away in 1982. He was another popular saint among the villagers.
He belonged to the Kamma caste and was reputed for his virtues, ideal
devotion and clairvoyance. He helped those who sought his advice and
accepted food from all castes. He allowed people to worship him while
he was still alive. A shrine has come up in a nearby village to worship
him. No discrimination is practiced in this shrine. Universal love was his
main message. He vowed not to turn away from anyone who truly loved
him and exhorted people to shun anger, jealousy and hatred. He wanted
people to be helpful to others and to give up immoral practices.
One of Sri Venkaiahswamy’s disciples is a middle-aged Untouchable
living on the eastern side of Thalupuru. He acts as the Saint’s medium
as well as of the goddess Kanakadurga and is a living example of spiritual
equality and universal love. People of all castes from far and near come
to Thalupuru to seek his help in exorcising evil spirits and in solving
their personal problems, such as finding lost cattle (Pesala n.d.).
A Kamma donated 10 acres to him to build an ashramam (hermitage).
In maintaining the ashramam he is helped by a Brahmin woman.
These local saints and seers stand as testimonies to spiritual and
human equality. Several villagers now question the Brahmanical theol-
ogy and the varna hierarchy. A Dalit in the village offers an alternative
to the Brahmin theology. According to him man is made of pancha
bhutas (five elements)—air, earth, water, light and sky (ether). God, the
supreme being, also embodies the same substances, but possesses greater
powers. God can disintegrate himself into these elements, and can
reconstitute Himself at will. Further, He transforms and refracts Himself
into different forms. And since the constitution of man and God is the
same, man himself is God. He splits the Telugu term for god, bhagavan-
thudu, into bhaga, which means the womb, and vanthudu which means
the one who comes out of it. Hence God and man are the same, God
being called man. Since all caste people, male or female, come into the
world by the union of male and female substances, and through the
222 N. Sudhakar Rao

womb, there is no difference at all between the castes. He quips, ‘If

Brahmins are superior to anyone else, why are they not born from the
mouth?’ In support of caste equality he gave me a book written under
the aegis of Alwar saints which narrates a story of Lord Krishna dis-
pelling Arjuna’s prejudice against an Untouchable man (Neeli 1980).
Undoubtedly, these egalitarian values legitimize the Untouchables’
resistance to upper caste domination.
Today, the traditional restrictions imposed on the low castes have
disappeared. The Dalits now wear proper clothes and put on sandals
even while passing through the main village. Smoking while walking in
the main street is now common. They do not rise when an upper caste
man passes by, although they may do so out of courtesy when he
approaches them. They do not fear retribution for being discourteous
towards the upper castes and refuse outright unreasonable demands
made on them by the Kammas. They are willing to even resort to the use
of violence to protect their women from being raped or molested by the
upper castes. They are no longer submissive and openly express their
defiance of the upper castes if they feel that some injustice has been
done to them.
The upper castes have now been forced to accept the changed circum-
stances. Several Kammas and the Brahmins who had earlier grown rich on
farming and mica mining have now lost their wealth. The Dalits have
found new employment opportunities in charcoal making, collection and
sale of scrap mica and white stone cutting. With the financial support of
the government many have become economically independent; running
food stores, rearing sheep and buffaloes, and cultivating land through well
irrigation. Poor Kammas do not look any different from a moderately rich
Dalit—now they even borrow money from the rich Dalits.
The authority of the Kammas has been reduced because they
could not effectively impose the hierarchical norms on immigrant
Dalits working in the mica mines and in government offices. The prac-
tice of untouchability, imposition of punitive fines on the Dalits, and
the social boycott of Dalits for petty crimes are now punishable under
law. Further, the prospect of the Dalits lodging complaints with the
police which entails several visits to the police station and the conse-
quent loss of social status and the expenses involved in prolonged liti-
gation impel the Kammas to exercise restraint. The Kammas now also
depend on the Dalits for electoral support and are reluctant to incur
their displeasure.
IDEOLOGY, POWER AND RESISTANCE IN A SOUTH INDIAN VILLAGE 223

In the new situation it is the turn of the Dalits to be arrogant. They

can be found shouting or abusing upper caste persons anonymously as
they walk in the streets. Occasionally, upper caste elders are confronted on
the street by Dalits demanding explanation for the misbehaviour of some
of their fellow castemen. The Dalits deliberately break all the traditional
norms which discriminate against them and oppress them. They have now
unilaterally decided to start work in the fields late in the morning (8 a.m.)
and wind up for the day early in the afternoon (2 p.m.) unlike in the past
when they used to work from 6 a.m. to 6 p.m.9
Although the Dalits have now become assertive they still remain
poor and politically weak. They still cannot effectively retaliate when
the upper castes commit atrocities on them. They have no leader to
protect them in the village. Under the circumstances their everyday
protests take the form of foot dragging, especially in the mica mines,
absenteeism and stealing as in Kerala (Oommen 1990). Besides these,
there are various other forms of resistance as indicated by O’Hanlon
below:

Every dichotomy between domination and resistance, as we currently con-

ceive it, bears all the marks of dominant discourse, in its insistence that resist-
ance itself should necessarily take the virile form of a deliberate and violent
onslaught. Rejecting this, we should look for resistance of a different kind:
dispersed in fields we do not conventionally associate with the political; resid-
ing sometimes in the evasion of norms or the failure to respect ruling stand-
ards of conscience and responsibility; sometimes in the furious efforts to
resolve in ideal or metaphysical terms the contradictions of the subaltern’s
existence, without addressing their source; sometimes in what looks only like
cultural difference. From this perspective, even of the political, with their
demand for recognition of the values and meanings which they incessantly
manufacture, can be construed as a form of resistance (1988: 222–223).

I shall describe some of these forms of resistance as noted and observed

in Thalupuru.

Forms of Resistance

Resistance often expresses itself in acts of subversion, assertion of rights,

damaging one’s own property and defiance of traditional norms by
appropriating certain status symbols, singing, withdrawal from associat-
ing with the upper castes, retaliation and participation in elections.
224 N. Sudhakar Rao

Subversion: Overt defiance is combined with covert resistance. Covert

resistance may involve active but disguised subversion or passive non-
co-operation. While direct confrontation with the oppressors is often
avoided, attempts are made to raise the collective consciousness of the
Dalits and low castes. The weakness of the subordinates such as lack of
spirit of cooperation, educational backwardness and lack of will power
are highlighted and the need to act collectively to thwart domination is
stressed in such conscientizing efforts.
A matriculate Dalit (Gowda caste) employed in the state govern-
ment’s health department is a political leader in disguise quietly organiz-
ing resistance to the Kamma domination. From his early days he disliked
the oppression and brutality to which the lower castes were subjected by
the Kammas. He was involved in student politics and has the reputation
of having defeated his Kamma rivals in student’s union elections. He has
gained popularity in the area by offering free medical service to the
people. His job, which is to educate the masses in family planning, gives
him easy access to the people. He secretly canvasses against the
Kammas during elections for the Panchayat, Mandal and State Assembly
seats and encourages the low castes and Dalits to fight Kamma tyranny.
His association with the government’s Adult Education Programme
gives him a cover to conscientize the Dalits. His activities are supported
by his relative who is a full-fledged politician in a nearby village. The
latter managed to frustrate the Kammas who were pressing for his trans-
fer elsewhere It is noteworthy that there are now many others like him
among the Dalits who work silently to resist their oppressors.

Non-Co-operation: Today, the service castes in the village assert their

rights through deliberate non-cooperation. They resent the upper castes
dictating terms to them and express their resentment by choosing to
work at their own pace. In the past Chakalis (washermen) used to collect
neerukayi pancha (men’s lower garment that got wet during the morning
bath) from their patrons’ homes everyday, wash them at the ghat and
bring it back to their patrons the same evening. Other soiled clothes
used to be collected twice a week to be washed and returned in the eve-
ning on the same day. Now the practice of collecting wet clothes has
disappeared and soiled clothes are collected not more than once a week.
They bring back washed clothes only after several reminders. If the
patron is abusive or if he fails to pay the agreed amount of annual wage,
they bluntly ask him/her to find another washerman.
IDEOLOGY, POWER AND RESISTANCE IN A SOUTH INDIAN VILLAGE 225

Mangalis (barbers) in the village refuse to visit Kammas in their

homes to cut their hair unless they are requested politely at least a couple
of times. If a patron does not pay immediately for shaving or cutting
hair or if he is stingy in giving grains at the harvest, they find numerous
excuses not to visit his home. A Mangali who was recently asked to play
dolu (drum) at a funeral, refused by pretending that his dolu was broken.
A few years ago he could not have so easily evaded the obligation.
Members of service castes feel that they have been exploited for ages and
nobody is interested in their welfare. They also feel that everybody rides
roughshod over them by issuing commands and orders. Now they do
not tolerate such behaviour. Since their manyam10 lands were ‘appropri-
ated’ often through fraudulent means by the Kammas they no longer
feel obliged to render free service for the village rituals.

Damaging Property: Resistance often involves damaging the property of

dominators as is the case with some of the peasants and tribes in India
(Arnold 1982; Guha 1982; Hardiman 1982) or the peasants of Malaysia
(Scott 1985). In Thalupuru the Dalits and low castes prefer to cause
damage to their own property as a form of resistance. A Mangali accepted
a contract to play music at the wedding of a Velama (an upper caste)
family in a nearby village. He went with two other Mangalis to play
music on the appointed day. The Velamas have retained several wedding
rituals which entail taking out processions several times between the
bride and the groom’s camps and include several rituals. For each of
these processions and rituals they needed music. The Mangalis, who
were performing at a Velama wedding for the first time, were taken by
surprise at the incessant demands made on their services. They had a
hard time trying to put up with such demands because carrying the
dolu—which weighs about fifteen to twenty pounds—and playing the
drum with both hands is extremely strenuous. Hence one of them lost
patience and deliberately punctured the dolu by striking very hard. This
gave them a good excuse to stop playing music and yet receive payment
as per the contract.

Covert Revenge: In the face of resistance from the Dalits the upper castes
have been feeling helpless. They cannot use force to make their former
subordinates ‘behave’ and show respect because of the police and the law
enforcing agencies. Their only defense is to maintain a semblance of
prestige by using sarcasm and by making fun of the Dalits when they try
226 N. Sudhakar Rao

to imitate the upper castes. Such ridicule has not, however, prevented
the Dalits from appropriating upper caste status symbols. They do so
deliberately to remind the upper castes of their arrogant ways in the past
and take delight in their helplessness to put down such open defiance.
When I asked some Untouchable youths, how they felt about the
upper castes mocking at them one of them burst out saying:

The assholes of upper castes will be burning out of jealousy. My sons! Bastards!
Let them burn and let them die. Who cares? We will buy (clothes) and put
them on. We know they are not happy; let them feel unhappy and kill them-
selves with their unhappiness.’

Such pungent expletives and offensive remarks directed at the upper

castes also reveal a deliberate desire to avenge the indignities they suf-
fered in the past. It is only on such occassions that the intensity of their
anger comes out. There is no hint of it however when one observes the
Dalits engaged in their everyday tasks.
Another form of resistance is to show outward deference, politeness
and loyalty so as to gain some space to express dislike and hatred towards
the dominators. Scott (1990) convincingly shows how the subordinates
defy the norms while exhibiting external deference to the dominators.
Here I shall give two specific forms of resistance containing such ‘hidden
transcripts’.

Wearing the Sacred Thread: Of all the appropriations, the claim over the
sacred thread by the low castes and Untouchables is a radical and popu-
lar form of resistance (Kumar 1985: 127–154; Majumdar 1958: 76–78;
O’Hanlon 1985: 40–44). In Thalupuru, there is an Untouchable man
who wears the sacred thread.11 According to him, the sacred thread is a
mere symbol of Vedic knowledge, and there are no caste restrictions
against wearing it. He asserts that no one, including the Brahmins, is
born with a sacred thread and that one is invested with it upon attaining
spiritual and physical maturity. According to him, the Brahmins and
other upper castes have selfishly appropriated the symbol and prohibited
other castes from wearing it. He quips, ‘jagamerigina brahmaudiki
jyendyamela’ which translates to: ‘Why does the Brahmin who knows all
about the world need to wear a sacred thread?’ He implies that the
Brahmin needs to wear the sacred thread only because he seeks a higher
status and material benefits that go with it and to cover his lack of
IDEOLOGY, POWER AND RESISTANCE IN A SOUTH INDIAN VILLAGE 227

knowledge of the Vedas. He further argues that he has the right to wear
the sacred thread because he has acquired Vedic knowledge and is in no
way inferior to a Brahmin. The upper castes mock at him behind his
back, but this does not faze him. Other Untouchables, however, are not
impressed. They say that it does not matter whether one wears the sacred
thread or not because it cannot feed one.

Chindu Dance: The performance consists of a rhythmic stamping of

legs, movement of hands and display of ferocity, superiority and aggres-
sion. It takes place during the wedding processions of upper castes.
Chindu is performed to the beat of drums called thappetlu or palakalu.
During this performance, the Madiga dancer raises each leg and force-
fully stamps it to the ground. The dance12 allows him to legitimately
raise his leg against the members of upper castes who are watching it.
For the Madiga the gesture symbolizes crushing of the upper castes
under his foot; this meaning is hidden from the latter who in any case
are usually in a jovial mood on such occasions to take affront. Similar
forms of resistance can be noted in some of the other village rituals as
well where resistance becomes more transparent though it is coloured
with appropriate religious sentiments.

Ritual Abuses: Malas and Madigas take up very important but menial
roles in the village ritual called jathara in which traces of resistance can be
noted. The story about the goddess narrated on this occasion by a Mala
priest called Asadi contains issues of male domination, woman’s resis-
tance, struggle for power, and asserts the superiority of woman and the
subjugation of man (Rao 1993: 203–207). The Asadi sings to the god-
dess hurling abuses at the upper castes to please her. It is believed that the
goddess wants to humiliate the proud upper castes for their ingratitude
and greed. The Asadi says that he does not abuse anyone in particular for
fear of retribution after the ritual but his deep-seated antagonism towards
the upper castes becomes transparent in the course of the ritual.
Later the Asadi expressed his resentment towards the upper castes thus:

‘What does a landlord do in the field? Nothing. He hires labourers (us), two
or three and gets his work done. But he takes all the produce or benefit but
gives us very little. It is the same even in jathara. We labour and people give
donations/gifts to the goddess but the landlords keep hundies (cash box) with
them, collect everything and give us only a few rupees.’
228 N. Sudhakar Rao

He implied that the, jathara organizers did not give him his share. In the
olden days, the Asadi and his fellow performers used to get a one-fifth
share in everything such as sacrificial animals, food and donations
besides a bundle of betel leaves, 250 grams of betel nuts, a blanket and
unlimited quantities of toddy. But now he is paid only 50 rupees in
cash. He thinks that the upper caste organizers of jathara are greedy. He
holds that his grandparents were cheated by an upper caste family which
usurped their gold ornaments and land.
In these forms of resistance, tradition provides space for the
Untouchables to enter into a kind of ‘liminal phase’ which allows code
switching. Personal and/or community-centered codes are superimposed
on the conventional ones. It is not possible to avoid the performance of
either the dance or the ritual abuse. The upper castes must allow the
ritual lest they invite the wrath of the goddess. Wedding processions
become dull and uninteresting if the chindu is not performed. Therefore,
the traditional continues as does the Untouchables’ space for resistance.

Songs and Stories: Lutz and Abu-Lughod (1990: 11–14) argue that emo-
tional discourses do not refer to some internal state but are in and about
social life. Here, I wish to stress another point although the social aspect
cannot be ignored in the discourse on resistance. The experience of exclu-
sion and oppression inspire the Dalits to produce highly imaginative and
expressive song traditions. I here present a song to reflect their antagonism
towards the Brahmins and their resistance to the Brahmin ideology.
Narration of stories and song recitals are performed both in public
and private spaces. In the public space free expression is restricted whereas
in the privacy of one’s home or neighbourhood there is greater freedom.
Rendition in the public space is more formal, and themes chosen are those
which appeal to the public at large, whereas in the private space it is infor-
mal and is concerned with personal matters that can be shared with confi-
dants, associates and allies. In the public space the culturally specific
activity of the subordinate creates ‘sentimental bonds quite independent of
the “real” feelings of the person involved’ (Appadurai 1990: 110). In the
private, however, the inner or real feelings are freely expressed. The protag-
onist of the following song is a young Madiga woman.13 Though it is in the
form of a dialogue between a Madiga girl and a Brahmin youth, it is ren-
dered by one person only. It narrates the story of a young Brahmin falling
in love with a beautiful Madiga girl. He degrades himself by eating carrion.
This is followed by the sexual act that further degrades the Brahmin:
IDEOLOGY, POWER AND RESISTANCE IN A SOUTH INDIAN VILLAGE 229

Singer: When a handsome Brahmin praying at the tank

When praying—oh my brother!
A cunning Madiga damsel came that side
Cunning damsel came—oh my brother!
The Madiga damsel liked the Brahmin
Liked the man—oh my brother!
Madiga: If you want, why don’t you come—my brother!
Why don’t you come my lord—oh my brother?
Brahmin: I don’t know your village, I don’t know you!
I don’t know you—oh my brother!
Madiga: Compound wall all around and lime plastering
Lime plastering—oh my brother!
Near lime plastering, village boundary!
The village boundary—oh my brother!
Near village boundary, the path of Suranna!
Suranna path, oh my brother!
Brahmin: I will come and I will come beautiful angel
The beautiful angel—oh my brother!
Madiga: In the compound of Reddy, a calf died
The calf died—oh my brother!
Cut slowly with small knives
Cut slowly—oh my brother!
Brahmin: How do I cut? I am a young Brahmin
Young Brahmin—oh my brother!
Madiga: Putyourjajam14 on the peg
On the peg—oh my brother!
Cut slowly with small knives
Cut widely with big knives
Cut slowly with small knives
Cut widely with big knives
Cut widely—oh my brother!
Singer: Cooked delicious food with chillies and salt
Cooked delicious food—oh my brother!
Madiga: You feed me first and last morsel
You feed me sir—oh my brother!
Brahmin: How do I feed, my beautiful angel?
Beautiful angel—oh my brother!
230 N. Sudhakar Rao

A strong role reversal and repudiation of roles at the two polar ends of
the society—the Brahmin and the Madiga Untouchable—is portrayed
in this song. Here the Brahmin, the epitome of purity, eats the most
polluting carrion. His passion for the Untouchable woman is so over-
powering that he sets aside his purity and caste superiority, removes his
sacred thread, brings a dead calf, butchers it and eats it with his Madiga
love. This song suggests the hypocrisy of the Brahmins who claim to be
superior to the others. It is a statement seeking to exact retribution
from the Brahmins for imputing intrinsic impurity on the Madiga
caste. Apart from individualistic forms of resistance, there is collective
resistance as well. In the following, I shall describe some forms of such
resistance expressed in acts of withdrawal, retaliation and in electoral
mobilization. Formal resistance is a direct and visible response to
appropriation and coercion which does not necessarily defy social
norms.

Withdrawal: Withdrawal is a common form of passive resistance.15 It

includes non-communication, absenteeism and the like. The Malas of
Thalupuru village have withdrawn from interaction with the Kammas. It
was easy for Malas to do so because unlike the Madigas they were not
dependent on the Kammas for their living. The only traditional duty that
connected them to the village was to weave coarse cotton saris with red and
black stripes which were used for ritual purposes by all castes in the village.
As mill cloth came into vogue, demand for woven hand cloth declined in
the course of time. The Malas were also not particularly interested in weav-
ing because they worked in the mica mines and on their own lands. Many
of them have taken advantage of the new educational opportunities and
are working in government offices and private establishments. While the
Malas have completely withdrawn from the village, the Kamma politicians
now seek favours from the Malas for support during the elections.

Retaliation: Political and economic independence has fostered in the

Malas the spirit of retaliation for any injustice done to them. If Kammas
or other upper caste persons physically assault them, they are prepared to
retaliate in kind. There were two such incidents of retaliation. In one, a
Mala beat a Kamma who abused him and demanded free labour for the
headman. At that time the Mala was supposed to attend to some work
at the mine belonging to another Kamma landlord. Taking advantage of
the fact that he was working with another Kamma landlord, the Mala
IDEOLOGY, POWER AND RESISTANCE IN A SOUTH INDIAN VILLAGE 231

beat up the Kamma. No action was taken against him because it was the
Kamma’s fault, and the Mala had a genuine ground for defiance.
In another incident, a Mala who was carrying home some beef
wrapped in a cloth was called out by a Kamma who was at that time
engaged in ploughing. But the Mala did not pay heed to the call and
went on his way. He justified his behaviour by stating that it would have
been inappropriate to meet the Kamma with beef in hand.16 The Kamma
nursed a grudge against the Mala for disobeying him. Therefore once
when he saw him passing by the Kamma locality, he crept from behind
and struck him on the head with a stick and ran away before the Mala
could retaliate. The Mala went back home and informed some caste
elders who immediately approached the village headman and demanded
an explanation for the unprovoked attack. The headman and other
elders called the defendant who alleged that the Mala had first abused
him. At this the Mala lost his temper and abused the defendant in front
of all the Kamma leaders and screamed that he would beat him up
whenever he got a chance. The Kammas preferred to keep quiet and
swallow the insult because they did not want to attract penalty under
the Protection of Civil Rights Act of 1955.

Elections: During the Panchayat elections in the village, caste antago-

nisms get sharpened. Since the first Panchayat elections in 1950,
Kammas had been holding the office of the Sarpanch. Until 1984, how-
ever, the elections were nominal for there was no voting; the village
headman and other Kammas decided among themselves who would be
the President and Members of the Panchayat. In 1984, the Kammas
were divided into two groups, one supporting the Congress (I) and the
other the Telugu Desam Party (TDP) thereby forcing elections. Since
then, however, no elections have been held. The Dalits have withdrawn
from the elections because they realize that they are not economically
powerful enough to challenge the Kammas. The same holds true for the
elections to the Agricultural Co-operative Society which was established
in 1950. This did not, however, imply that the Dalits were apathetic to
elections. They were prominent in the elections of the local high school
where money had no role to play. I noticed that caste politics crept into
the school in a big way. Although the adults remained aloof, they took
cognizance of the outcome.
The school teachers hold elections every year for the position of
School Pupils’ Leader (SPL). The Kamma students were eager to
232 N. Sudhakar Rao

capture this office every year although they did not always succeed.
When the strength of Dalit students increased in 1982 due to the estab-
lishment of a government hostel for them, the Dalits did not allow the
Kammas to get elected at all. Then the Kammas threatened the
non-Kammas, especially the Dalits with dire consequences if they par-
ticipated in the elections. As a result, since 1989, the SPL position in the
school has been captured by Kammas.

Strategies of Power

From the pattern of resistance delineated above it is now possible to

draw inferences on the nature of power relationships. While the Dalits
and low castes resist in order to circumscribe the power of the domin-
ators, the latter seek to keep the Dalits suppressed. They also work
secretly to reduce the strength of the Dalits. Towards this end, they take
recourse to false representation of the Dalits. Thus, a Kamma, an ex-
Sarpanch, argued that the government’s policy of granting land to the
Dalits for their economic development was bad because they were lazy
and did not know how to cultivate. Instead, he wanted the lands to be
given to the Kammas who, according to him, were good cultivators.
Although Kamas owned lands, all agricultural operations were in fact
carried out by the Dalits. Had they possessed adequate resources, they
certainly would have done well in agriculture. Similarly, upper caste
people discourage the low castes and Dalits from sending their children
to school on the ground that they are not intelligent enough to pass the
high school. Such false representations misguide the Dalits and even
government officials who are sympathetic to the subordinates.
The dominators not only possess political, economic and religious
power but also exercise it in such a way that the dependence of the sub-
ordinates is perpetuated. For instance, during the pre-British period, the
low castes and Dalits were not allowed to acquire land. They had to
depend on the upper castes for their survival. Times have changed, but
even now the political and economic power still remains with the upper
castes. The dominators consider it their prerogative to decide whether to
help or not, and concede or refuse the requests made by the subordin-
ates. Since power can be exercised effectively on the dependents, the
dominators try to prevent their clients from becoming independent.
In the case of Mangalis narrated above, the upper caste family agreed
to pay a certain amount for the musical service no doubt, but the
IDEOLOGY, POWER AND RESISTANCE IN A SOUTH INDIAN VILLAGE 233

duration for which the service was required was not specified. The upper
caste family sought the music services of the Mangalis beyond the cus-
tomary period for which they were required to play. Similarly, the domi-
nators pay low wages to the labourers because they know they are helpless
and are in dire economic need. They often make them work for extended
hours. Paying wages for a certain amount of work is legitimate but how
much to pay and how long the work should be done is to be decided by
bargaining between the employers and the employees. Political and eco-
nomic power gives the dominators an advantage in such bargaining. The
resistance of subordinates is a direct reaction to such exploitation.
Stealing, foot-dragging and evasion of work are the obverse of the
manipulative strategy adopted by the dominators to extract surplus.
The dominators also adopt the strategy of creating visible differences
to invoke deference. They convey superior status by wearing elegant clothes,
by using religious symbols and by preventing the subordinates from using
them through coercive and persuasive methods. Symbolic gestures and
expressive traditions illuminate the strategies of ‘public’ and ‘hidden’ tran-
scripts. The ‘public transcripts’ of the dominators state fair treatment but
are in fact exploitative and discriminatory. In ‘public transcripts’, the subor-
dinates show deference to the dominators, but their ‘hidden transcripts’
reveal resistance. Both dominators and subordinates adopt strategies which
avoid open confrontation and revolt (Scott 1990: 14–15).
Village ritual provides a space where a Dalit can publicly abuse
upper castes. Similarly, religious values and sentiments provide a means
to justify the actions of dominators. They cannot allow the Dalits to
live in the main village because they are engaged in polluting activities.
The dominators interpret and apply the principle of the separation of
the pure from the impure to their advantage.
The modern state is attempting to change the village power struc-
ture through democratic elections. But the dominators ensure that
empowerment remains an illusion to the subordinates by a combination
of threats and manipulations on which the subordinates’ reaction is
withdrawal from interaction and/or retaliation.
Power operates both in coercive and non-coercive forms. Coercive
power is transparent and visible. Traditional norms had been coercively
imposed upon the subordinates. This form of power has been well
recognized by Indian sociologists. For instance, Srinivas (1959: 15)
writes that use of physical force, boycott and muscle power are some of
the criteria defining a dominant caste. Dube (1968: 80) states that caste
234 N. Sudhakar Rao

dominance is expressed through abuses, beating, gross underpayment,

sexual exploitation and the like. Similarly, Oommen (1970) states that
that domination also works discursively; it works not only through
paternalistic behaviour but also through the display of ‘public tran-
scripts’. The strategies of false representation work persuasively through
the logic of common sense. Most of the time the resisters give in to the
demands of the dominators without physical coercion because of their
economic dependency. Hardly can one find coercion in the rituals in
which subordinates participate by taking on menial positions. They do
this because they share some religious sentiments with the upper castes
and because they derive some material benefits.

Conclusion

From the above analysis of resistance among the Dalits, the theory of
consensus put forth by Dumont (1980), Moffatt (1975: 1979) and sup-
ported by McGilvary (1983) does not square with facts. As several others
have already pointed out, dissent exists among the Dalits. Their ideol-
ogy contradicts hierarchy. The Dalits are conscious of their deprivation,
exploitation and powerlessness. They espouse the Hindu egalitarian
ideology that supports their cause and apply it to justify their attempts
for securing equality. However, in their practical life they do not com-
pletely eschew hierarchy; in other words they have not developed an
independent egalitarian system for themselves.17 They conform, to a
certain degree, to the overarching gradation of castes even though they
articulate the notion of equality of castes with a twist.
I believe that the main reason for the absence of egalitarian structure
among the Dalits is the hegemonic influence of hierarchy. It is critical for
the dominating groups to maintain hierarchy by legitimizing religious
values in order to retain their political and economic interests. To this
end, they apply discursive power such that the Dalits accept the differen-
tiation of status because it also gives some of them a high status. A vehe-
ment refusal of the assigned status or a challenge by a lower caste would
even endanger its survival. Whosoever is assigned lower status accept the
status of those placed above because of his dependence for food.
The resisters, although they hate hierarchy, domination and the
practice of untouchability, do not want to annihilate the caste system.
The Dalits like to maintain endogamy so that their values and interests
will remain unimpaired. They say, ‘Each caste is great in its own way. So
IDEOLOGY, POWER AND RESISTANCE IN A SOUTH INDIAN VILLAGE 235

why marry in another caste’ According to them, caste has to do with the
occupation and every occupation provides livelihood to the individuals
who pursue it. They quote the proverb ‘koti vidyalu kuti korake’, which
means that ten million occupations, literally knowledge systems, are
devised for the sake of earning one’s bread. It does not matter what
occupation one pursues. As all caste occupations are practiced essentially
for food, they should not be used as status indicators.
Styles of domination vary, as much as the forms of resistance Power
is always discursive in its functioning. It has been applied through coer-
cion as well as through persuasion, rewards, temporary status elevation
in the performance of certain village rituals, and by conceding certain
demands made by the subordinates. Domination can neither annihilate
resistance altogether, nor can it tolerate it.
Further, forms of resistance inform us that the Dalits’ dissent of
caste ideology is quite old Reform movements have added from time to
time the Dalits’ discontent with the existing system. We may conclu-
sively say that everyday protests had been occurring even before the orga-
nization of reform movements and their conversion to different faiths.
As the feudal system is gradually giving way to the democratic system,
coercive relations are disappearing. Non-coercive methods, such as per-
suasion, are being used to gain the Dalits’ cooperation At the same time,
hidden and passive forms of resistance are becoming open and public. It
may be seen here that symbolic forms of resistance are the harbingers of
instrumental protests. Instrumental protests have taken the form of both
violent and non-violent mobilization of groups and communities.

Notes
I am grateful to Professor Anthony Carter, my Ph D supervisor, at the Department of
Anthropology, University of Rochester, USA, for his help and guidance in conducting this
research study and in finalizing the Ph D thesis for submission. I thank Dr Shiva Prasad,
Lecturer, Department of Anthropology, University of Hyderabad, for his valuable sugges-
tions and comments on an earlier version of this paper. Thanks are also due to the students
and the faculty at the Department of Anthropology, University of Bergen, Bergen Norway,
for their discussion and helpful suggestions Professor Leif Manger, Director, Center for
Development Studies, University of Bergen, Bergen, provided me excellent facilities for
completing of this paper. My field work was supported by a junior fellowship grant from
the American Institute of Indian Studies, Chicago, USA.
1. These essentially belong to ‘Backward Class’ category of the government.
2. Gandikota is 200 kms towards north-west of this village. Under attack by Muslim
rulers the Nayaka rulers of Gandikota fled to different places; one of these families
happened to settle in Thalupuru.
236 N. Sudhakar Rao

3. The employees in the government establishments and the mica mines who belonged
to other villages and towns were exempted.
4. This corresponds to the practice of the Venkatagiri Raja among his subjects. Every village
was required to send a pair of bullocks, a cart and a plough before the agricultural season
started for ploughing Raja’s lands. Venkatagiri town is only 50 kms from the village.
5. The Mandal was a taluk level elected body of the Panchayati Raj institutions intro-
duced in Andhra Pradesh in 1984. Each district was divided into Mandals which
outnumbered the taluks in a district. The grama sarpanch was the elected head of the
new village panchayat.
6. Mahatma Gandhi viewed caste system not in hierarchical order but in terms of inter-
dependence and equality. Beteille (1987) argues that the Hindu society, which is the
epitome of hierarchy, gives due recognition to equality and the American society
while denying hierarchy in practice functions on the basis of hierarchy. Lorenzen
(1988) argues that Kabir Panth in north India preached abolition of status differences
that plagued Hindu society, which he terms as non-caste Hinduism. Similarly we find
preachings of Bhakt Thukaram and other saints in Maharashtra on human equality.
Alwar and Nayanar saints in south India preached spiritual equality and conferred
sainthood even on Untouchables. The bhakti, ‘devotional and love’ in Hindu tradition
had discredited hierarchy and held human equality in high esteem. Untouchable
saints like Ravidas in Punjab and Ghasidas in Madhya Pradesh raised their voices for
an egalitarian social order. The Sankhya philosophy and Buddhist theology, which
posits divine manifestation in human body regardless of caste, are popular among the
Untouchables of Lucknow (Khare 1984). Karin Kapadia (1991) finds divergent dis-
courses on the caste ideology and menstrual pollution among the upper castes and
Untouchable women in rural Tamil Nadu.
7. Stephen Fuchs (1965) calls him a rebellious prophet.
8. In the region around Thalupuru the origin myth of caste is popularly associated with
the Brahma rather than with Purusha.
9. This is mainly due to the impact of the mica mines where the work schedule in two
shifts is from 7 a.m. to 2 p.m. and from 2 p.m. to 9 p.m.
10. Rent free lands given to them for the services they rendered to the village. These lands
were assigned to them for their services at village rituals. As long as they enjoyed the
usufruct of these lands, they were in an obligation to render free service.
11. Guha (1983: 30) and Oommen (1990: 400) have rightly pointed out that individuals
and small groups appropriate symbols of upper castes in a spirit of protest.
12. The Malas do not allow the Madigas to perform the dance at their weddings because
they are aware of its hidden messages in the dance. The antagonism between the Malas
and the Madigas and the contexts in which they occur Dalit castes come in the way of
collective mobilization of all. I propose to attend to this issue later in a separate paper.
13. Trawick (1988, 1990, 1991) elegantly demonstrates how Untouchable women some-
times produce a unique expressive tradition because of their position and status in
society: as women in the gender category and as Untouchables in the social category.
Hence Untouchable women undergo double oppression. Similarly in the gender con-
text, Ramanujam (1991) finds a system countering the dominant themes in the sto-
ries of women.
14. The sacred thread.
15. Mosse (1994: 83–86) notes the withdrawal of Pallars in a village in Tamil Nadu.
16. According to the dominant Hindu ideology beef eating pollutes man: Untouchables
are inherently polluting because they eat beef (see Moffatt 1979). The uppercastes do
IDEOLOGY, POWER AND RESISTANCE IN A SOUTH INDIAN VILLAGE 237

not eat beef. For example, hierarchy obtains among untouchable castes in Tamil
Nadu (Moffatt 1979; Mosse 1994).
17. The hierarchy is not based exclusively on the religious values of purity and impurity
(see Rao 1990).

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14
Voices from the Earth:
Work and Food Production
in a Punjabi Village
Radhika Chopra

T
his paper explores the premise that work, the relations of
production, and the products of labour are located within the
defining contexts of culture. I will attempt to analyze how the
principles and divisions that underlie culture also structure agrarian
work and the products of agricultural activity—the crops. The conten-
tion is that processes of production are part of the way people think
about themselves and represent the work they do in terms of cultural
categories and normative codes.
The ethnographic material is drawn from fieldwork undertaken in
a Punjabi village in the Doaba area (the land between the rivers Beas and
Sutlej) of Jullunder district, in 1982–83.1
Numerous anthropological studies have noted the normative codes
which surround eating and cooking in north India (Douglas 1966;
Khare 1976; Vatuk 1978). These studies have posited the view that food
is not a neutral object within Indian culture, and the different processes
of consumption are encompassed within an elaborate set of rules which
govern the relations of consumption. The proliferation of rules and
codes arise because food is thought to convey pollution or purity, and
can transform a person from a state of purity to impurity if served by the
‘wrong’ person or eaten in the ‘wrong’ company (Douglas 1966: 33–34).
240 Radhika Chopra

Obviously, the leavings (Jutha) of a superior being can improve the

ritual status of the consumer (ibid.: 9, 34). Food, therefore, is thought
to have more than nutritive qualities, because it ‘makes up’ both the
physical and moral fiber of an individual (Belliappa and Kaushik 1978).
This interpretation of food holds true for understanding the culture
of consumption in Punjab as well. It raises an extremely important
question: if, in a culture, like rural Punjab, the preparation and con-
sumption of food are circumscribed by rules and normative codes, such
that the relations of consumption provide a means to interpret and
understand social relations, then clearly we need to pose a further ques-
tion: mainly, whether relations of production which precede consump-
tion can be located within rules and normative codes which constitute
cultural formations. It is my contention that production and consump-
tion of a culturally significant object such as food cannot be isolated and
separated into watertight compartments. Thus, for example in the same
way as the person who cooks and serves the food must be deemed mor-
ally appropriate by the axioms of culture, the person who grows food is
equally constrained by culturally and socially specified rules and
practices.
The rules and principles that inform agricultural production and
link cultivation with ideological representation are the focus of this
paper. The primary argument is that the different arrangements of cul-
tivation rest on the manner in which the crops, the products of agricul-
ture, are themselves classified. Thus the questions ‘who sows’ or ‘who
reaps’ arise from within classificatory schemes that codify crops into
categories.

The Classification of Crops

The overarching cultural division of inside: outside also permeated the

domain of production, such that crops were ‘oriented’ either toward the
‘inside’, the home, or primarily oriented toward the market, or the ‘out-
side’. There was a basic opposition between the ‘crops of the home’
(Douglas 1973; Hofer 1983) and the ‘crops of the market’, the cash
crops. For example, in this village, crops like chilli and cotton were clas-
sified as ‘crops of the home’, whereas potato, a major cash crop in the
village economy, was oriented almost entirely toward the market and the
outside.2
WORK AND FOOD PRODUCTION IN A PUNJABI VILLAGE 241

In addition to these two sets of crops there was a third set, that
straddled both domains, of inside: outside, home and market. These
were the cereal crops, the fasal, which were basic to Punjabi diet,3 and
were a major source of earning for landowners and labourers alike. The
crops of wheat, maize and rice were classified as fasal/ann for they were
the basis of the bread that was thought to sustain the community.

Food Crops

The primacy of cereals went beyond the agricultural domain. The

calendrical cycle of 12 months of the ritual Bikrami calendar was
divided into two halves, Hari and Sauni, a division which rested on the
cropping of the major fasal crops. Har di fasal, or the food crops of
Hari, were wheat and barley, while Saun di fasal were rice and maize.
The new year in the ritual calendar and in the agrarian calendar began
on the same day—Baisakhi (mid-April)—a joint inaugural that sug-
gested a simultaneitv between the ritual and the agricultural. In his
analysis of the agrarian calendar of Rampura, Srinivas similarly maps
the conjunction between agricultural processes and social and religious
activities (Srinivas 1976: 103).
Among all the cereals, however, wheat was accorded primacy in diet
and ritual.4 Symbolically, wheat played a crucial role; it was offered at
the village gurdwara at the beginning of every new month and on other
ritual occasions when incorporations into the collectivity were stressed.
Granulated wheat flour (suji) formed the base of the prasad or sacred
food served to congregations at holy shrines and gurdwaras. Sharing the
prasad of wheat in commensality signified the idea that people who par-
took of food made sacred by the offering were all members of a com-
mensal community who were transformed into a single congregational
body (sangat) after consuming the prasad.
The ritual context of wheat was most crucially highlighted in the
way roti (bread) and eating were spoken of. The general term for eating
was roti chakkna, meaning to partake and be gratified; but as a phrase
it  was most frequently associated with bread made from wheat. The
phrase found its significance from the Sikh initiation rite, when individ-
uals were incorporated into the congregational body after imbibing the
nectar (amrit) in the ritual of amrit chakkna. In the context of daily
consumption, the term chakkna used in conjunction with roti imbued
242 Radhika Chopra

the bread with the quality of being able to transform individuals into
members of the commensal group, just as tasting the amrit symbolically
transformed individuals and initiated them into the Khalsa, the body
corporate of the Sikh community.
The special significance of wheat reverberated in other contexts as
well. Wheat was stored in the household granary, and prosperity was
judged by the level of wheat in the household store. When this level fell low
people thought it time to economise, to be cautious, and preserve the qual-
ity of the existing present as far into the future as possible. The grain was
comprehended not only in terms of its physical qualities of weight, form or
colour, but also in terms of the quality of the future and the potential of
prosperity inherent in it. Bourdieu, in his study of an Algerian peasant
community, makes very similar observations of the significance of staple
grains and the quality of future prosperity they evoke (Bourdieu 1963).
The importance given to wheat in ritual and everyday contexts per-
meated agriculture so that it was the cultivation of wheat that was
thought to be among the most crucial moments and among the most
significant activities of the agricultural year.
The ceremonial and agricultural calendars were simultaneously inau-
gurated on the auspicious day of Baisakhi. This simultaneity was marked
by the harvesting of a few stalks of wheat by the head of each landhold-
ing, in the rite of danti laganna, literally, to touch with the sickle.
The newly harvested stalks of wheat were then placed on brass trays
and offered at the village gurdwara by the women of each landholding
household thresholds of their kitchens, household byres and the granary
in the rite of ann navva karna, making the grain new.
The ceremonial inaugural of the wheat harvest and the new cycle of
cultivation enclosed within the rites of danti laganna and ann navva
karnamay be interpreted as a symbolic frame that outlined the proper
way of conducting the harvest. Thus, while the men went to the fields,
the ‘outside’, to harvest the wheat, once the wheat left the field, the
women took over, offering the wheat at the gurdwara, transforming it
from fasal to ann5 before incorporating it within the home. The men
managed the fasal, the crop in the field, selling it in the grain markets,
the ‘outside’. However as ann or foodgrain it came under the manage-
ment of the women, who signified its entrance into their domain by
hanging the ears near the entrance door, the kitchen, the granary and
the byre, spaces which were under their management and control.
WORK AND FOOD PRODUCTION IN A PUNJABI VILLAGE 243

A series of divisions were established through the rites of inaugural.

The wheat, the product of production, was transformed from fasal
(crop) to ann (food, the product of consumption). The distinction of
the domains of field and hearth were constituted by the location of the
‘product’; simultaneously, the appropriate category of person to handle
the ‘product’ of production and consumption were also outlined men
handling fasal in the field and women managing ann in the home.
Yet it would seem an anomaly that the harvest rather than the
sowing of wheat be celebrated as an inaugural. It would seem logical to
expect sowing to be classified as a beginning and harvests to be treated
as final endings. The terminology for harvests—wadhi—also leads us to
expect the harvest to be an end, for the term also signifies slaughter or
death. Wadhai, the act of reaping, means to sever a body in two, to bite
it in half. In the act of reaping wheat, the harvesters clutched a fistful of
stalks at one end and, in one quick stroke with the dand (sickle; dant:
teeth), severed the stalks from the roots which remained embedded in
the ground, separating the plant in two parts.6
The wadhi, ritually begun with the act of danti laganna implying death
with the sickle, and a final end, was nevertheless concluded with the rite of
ann navva karna or the rite of renewal. To understand the harvest both as
an end and a renewal it is important to reconstruct the semantic arena
of another rite enacted upon the fully ripened wheat, the rite of mang.
Mang was an act of labour exchange and of collective labour. The
mangan (labour collective) gathered on ritual occasions which were
thought of as structurally homologous with each other. Thus, mangans
collected to celebrate betrothals, marriages, or while building homes
and celebrating harvests. All these occasions were events marked by
notions of augmentation and future increase of the group, as a reaffirm-
ation of collective life.
But apart from signifying collective labour, mangan also refers to
the act of begging. Thus, for example, manganis were women who came
begging at the door in attitudes of supplication, throwing themselves
upon the generosity of the givers and subordinating themselves as recipi-
ents of that generosity. Through the elaborate codes of mangana, the act
of begging, givers and receivers were posed in hierarchies of superior and
inferior.
In the village the harvest rite of mang was celebrated on the fields of
one of the most respected members of the village community. The
244 Radhika Chopra

members of the mangan, the collectivity, started harvesting early in the

morning and worked through the day, cutting the wheat and tying the
sheaves. In the evening, a goat which had been slaughtered at the start
of the mang, was cooked and shared in a feast.
To understand the harvest as slaughter (wadhi) and to reconcile it
with the collective gathering of supplicants, we need to outline the ideas
inherent in the harvest rite of mong. The act of harvesting was thought
to ‘tamper’ with nature, when the plant which the earth (the womb of
nature; Mother Nature; Mother Earth)7 had brought to maturity and
which was part of the earth was, through the act of reaping, forcibly
separated from it. The harvest was a period of human intervention
which broke the natural order of things to impose a counter order, the
order of men. The union of plant and earth was separated through the
actions of men. It is possible to view agriculture as the most ‘cultural’ of
acts for it imposes an order by man upon the ‘natural’. In Punjab, when a
landholder did not cultivate his land with care it was said that he had
allowed his land to run wild (jangli) and become barren (banjhar).
The harvest was an act of violent severance which forcibly separated
what nature had joined, but despite the violence it was an act that was
necessary for future survival. Just like the child, cut by its cord from its
mother, was seen to augment the lineage and ensure the continuity of the
kinship group, the new grain, forcibly separated from the earth, renewed
and supported the agricultural community. The whole group benefited
from the violence wrought at the harvest and it had to collectively shoul-
der the burden of the violence that the harvest entailed (Girad 1977).
The mangan celebrated its sense of solidarity in a communal feast when
the meat of the sacrificed animal was shared, affirming group member-
ship through commensality (Fortes and Bourdillion 1980).
The violence inherent in the act of reaping was suppressed and
euphemistically transformed in language and thought into a rite which
‘begged’ the earth for a gift and received its fruit—the food. The harvest
ritual brought together the tension between two contradictory ideas—
of the collectivity as violators of the earth, and the collectivity as suppli-
cants to the earth. The significance of the ritual lay not only in
juxtaposing contradictions but also in the transformation of the vio-
lence of intervention into a representation of the act as a supplication of
men to earth. Just as the beggar woman, the mangani, begged for pro-
tection and bounty, the rite of mang was viewed as a plea for protection
WORK AND FOOD PRODUCTION IN A PUNJABI VILLAGE 245

and supplication to the earth, which bestowed the gift of food on the
mangan, the collectivity that gathered to propitiate the earth. The har-
vest, as intervention, was a means through which the collectivity tried to
renew itself; yet in begging the earth for sustenance, men seemingly
supplicated themselves as recipients of nature’s bounty, to offset the fear
of shortage, famine, or death. The relationship between man and nature
was represented in terms of a relationship of giving and receiving, of
obligation and exchange. The violence wrought upon the earth was nec-
essary for the groups own continuance; yet the whole relationship was
represented in terms of gift exchanges (Mauss 1966), with the mang
viewed as another cycle of renewal of the relationship between man and
nature.
Neither was the harvest, the wadhi, the slaughter committed upon
the crop viewed as a final end; instead, rituals continually stressed
themes of renewal and continuity. One sheaf from every harvested field
was left unthreshed. This sheaf, or bhari (sheaf; also meaning pregnant
or the one with many children) was tied with rope made by children, the
symbols of multiplicity and plenitude.8 It was the seeds from this sheaf
which were thrown into the first furrow at the next year’s ploughing,
signifying the emergence of new cycles from old or the recreation of new
beginnings. Thus, within the end, the wadhi, lay the possibility of a new
cycle of generation.
The generative capacity of the harvest was once again symbolically
acknowledged when the stalks from the unthreshed bhari were hung in
all the areas of the home—the kitchen, the granary, the byre—spaces
imbued with a sense of growth, repeating the rite of navva enacted at
Baisakhi. The gathering in and storing of the harvest was endowed with
a sense of satisfaction and well-being. The grain in store, the outcome of
the harvest, was a symbol of prosperity when the present was replete
and the future assured. It was the stored grain that would be shared as
roti through the year by the commensal unit, the household, which
formed the basis for the renewal of the group.
At the end of the harvest, or as each field was cleared, payments of
grain were made to the labourers employed at the harvest. The pay-
ments in ann were indicative of the continuing relationship with these
labourers in the present and the future. The quality of the future inher-
ent in the grain signified the enduring quality of- relationships between
families of landholders and labourers.
246 Radhika Chopra

The harvest of the other fasal, rice and maize, while ritually abbreviated,
was nevertheless similarly imbued with a generative capacity, surrounded by
notions of augmentation. As a collective category of ann it was marked by
the notions of prosperity and increase in ways that were comparable,
though not identical, with the rituals of the wheat harvest.
In the same way as the act of harvesting struck chords within the
wider contexts of culture, other processes of cultivation also implicated,
and were coded by, these contexts. The agricultural activities of plough-
ing and sowing were not seen as divorced from other spheres of cultural
practice, and need to be understood through ethnographic elaboration.
While at one level the processes of harvesting and of ploughing and
sowing fasal were separated as physical acts as well as in terms of labour
arrangements, at another level they were analogous. Both harvesting and
ploughing shared the quality of intervention by man in natural processes;
hence the times of harvest and times of ploughing were thought of as
periods of interruptions and interventions in the processes of nature.
With the act of harvesting men ‘broke up’ what nature had joined—
the plant and the earth. In the acts of ploughing and sowing men ‘intro-
duced’ matter from one domain into the other, joining things which
belonged to separate spheres. The grain, which as ann had been incor-
porated into the domestic domain at an earlier moment of time, was
now sown as seed in the earth, the field and the ‘outside’.
Ploughing wheat began right after the festival of Diwali (approxi-
mately mid-November), when the earth was said to awaken after a ritu-
ally inauspicious period of shraad, a time associated with ancestors and
death. The preparation of the field and the subsequent sowing was
undertaken by men; upturning the first furrow was always enacted by
married men, usually the head of each landholding household.
Ploughing was started facing east, the direction of the rising sun. To
make the furrows, the bullock and plough were driven round the field
in circumambulations called phereh. The tractor, increasingly used in
the village, also began facing east though it marked out straight, not
circular, furrows (cheer). While the tractor ploughed and sowed the
seeds simultaneously, the bullock-plough was followed by another man
(never a woman) who cast the seeds into the furrows.
After the field was ploughed and sown, the earth was levelled with
a heavy plank (karah), upon which a man stood drawn by the bullock or
tractor in the act of levelling called suhaganah.
WORK AND FOOD PRODUCTION IN A PUNJABI VILLAGE 247

An exegesis of the acts of work involved in ploughing and sowing

once again convey the conceptual interlocking of spheres of culture and
cultivation.
Upturning of the first furrow was undertaken by married men; the
Punjabi term for cultivator is khasam, which is also the term for hus-
band, and it would perhaps be more accurate to translate the term
khasam, when used in the context of agriculture, as husbandsman. It was
the husbandsman who parted the earth (cheer, furrow; as well as the verb
for making furrows or partings), with the ploughshare (phala), paying
particular attention to the first field, the lari, also a term for a bride.
Phalayee was the term used for the copulation of cows and buffaloes9
and it is related to the word phalan, the organs of generation which
propagate phal or fruit.
Just as the bullock-plough or tractor were driven by the husbands-
man, the seed was also sown by men. The term for seed, bi was also the
word for spermatozoa and it was quite clearly the task of the husbands-
man. The ploughing of at least the first field, the lari, and the sowing of
the bi by the husbandsman acquired their meaning when juxtaposed
with the prohibitions upon those prevented from performing these
tasks—women and bachelors.
Language and the work of production connected the act of plough-
ing with union in marriage such that implicit analogies to reproduction
underlay both. Just as the bride and groom were seated facing east
during the marriage rite, so also was ploughing begun facing the direc-
tion of the rising sun. The circumambulations of the bullock-plough,
phereh, echoed the actions of circumambulating the sacred fire or the
sacred text in the Sikh marriage rite. The term for the lines marked by
the ploughshare, cheer, was simultaneous with the term for the middle
parting of a woman’s hair which, after marriage, was filled with vermil-
lion powder, signifying her married, ‘fecundated’ status.
It was the khasam, the husbandsman, who parted (cheer) the earth
to sow the bi in his twin roles as progenitor and ploughman. It was the
khasam, the progenitor in the home and the field, who ensured the
future of the group by his fertilizing actions with the bi and the phala,
the ploughshare and the organ of generation. The act of ploughing was
thought to activate nature’s own fertility for, left to herself, nature
was thought to lie fallow and become barren (banjhar). In the same way
as a cultivator who neglected his fields was said to have allowed them to
248 Radhika Chopra

‘revert’ to nature, to become wild (jangli) and unproductive for the

community, a father who neglected to marry off his daughter was chas-
tized for ruining her and the family by allowing her to become ‘twisted’
and ‘unbalanced’.
The levelling of the field, suhaganah, with the heavy wooden plank
(karah; also to ‘bind’ or fetter) was linked to the word suhagan, meaning a
married and fortunate woman, a woman bound or circumscribed by a
man and therefore ‘complete’, being conjoined with him. Both earth and
woman were seen to be incorporated into a domesticated state by the
activities of the khasam. Similarly, the exclusion of the bachelor from
ploughing the first field, the lari, derived its logic from ideas of appropriate
reproductive relations which were only seemingly part of a separate sphere.
As outlined earlier, harvesting and ploughing were also conjoined as
‘periods of intervention’ when men invaded the sphere of nature and
natural processes. The time of the harvest and the time of ploughing
were periods of intense activity, which were thought of as the height of
human intrusion in processes of nature. There were other times and
other periods, however, which were marked by a lull or inactivity. The
periods of the gestation and germination of seeds were represented as
‘periods of waiting’ by man, who at this time and in his turn was forced
to wait upon nature’s will. Harvesting and ploughing were jointly
opposed as times and acts of intervention to these periods classified as
‘moments of waiting’.
The period of the seeds’ gestation was thought of as an interval, a
pause in activity. The seeds which were thought to bear potential of life
and growth were now buried away in the dark earth, away from man’s
sight and control. The seed and the future lay in the control of earth and
nature and it was for them to yield or withhold the phal or fruit.
The period of the seeds’ gestation was therefore a time when men
submitted to nature, a submission underlined by their absence from the
fields, the site of unseen toil which resembled cooking in the rounded,
earthern pot (handi), or work accomplished in the female womb, not
‘open’ to view. It was a time when women went out into the fields
(at other times associated with men and the ‘outside’), to hoe and weed
as though to assist the earth in her labour. Srinivas, without seeing the
significance of the connections, notes the gendering of particular kinds
of agricultural work ‘... Weeding was generally done by women’ (Srinivas
1976: 126).
WORK AND FOOD PRODUCTION IN A PUNJABI VILLAGE 249

The future lay in the earth and it was thought appropriate to leave
nature to her work. Underlying the process of gestation was the idea that
this was labour beyond the control of man, beyond his gaze and mastery.
Though the collectivity was sustained through the direct intervention of
men at junctures like the harvest, in an effort to ‘guide’ nature, there
were times when nature was thought to be beyond supervision for ges-
tation and germination took place within the womb of nature, unavail-
able to men.
In both sets of time—of ‘intervention’ and ‘waiting’—a relation-
ship could be discerned between man and nature, mediated through
agriculture. Agriculture could be said to stand between nature and cul-
ture for it was simultaneously composed of natural, physical processes
and man-made, technical practices. This simultaneity created a world-
view or disposition (Bourdieu 1977) representing nature as an equal
partner in the process of production, not as an inanimate object to be
worked upon by man. Instead, nature was imbued with its own power,
which could be harnessed and ‘guided’ at certain junctures, but equally,
there were times when men could only wait upon nature’s will.
So far we have concentrated upon the activities associated with the
cultivation of cereals. Despite their importance, however, cereals were
not the only outcome of agricultural activities: cash crops and ‘crops of
the home’ were equally part of the agrarian calendar, and it is to these
that we now turn.

‘The Crops of the Market’: Cash Crops

In the district of Jullundur, and within the village economy, potato was
an important cash crop. Though an extremely risky crop in terms of its
susceptibility to fungii and pests, the returns on the crop were high.
However, in sharp contrast to the ritual and ceremony that surrounded
the cultivation of cereals was the absence of such ritualization of the
cash crops.
The oppositions of inside: outside, home: field; female: male were
notable by their absence in the cultivation of cash crops like potato. The
ploughing for potato began during the ritually inauspicious period of
shraad, the time of the ancestors. Ploughing and sowing potato in this
inauspicious phase posed no contradictions because this crop was not
incorporated into the domestic domain through any set of rites, but
250 Radhika Chopra

rather, was oriented entirely to the market or the ‘outside’, and hence
free from ‘appropriate: inappropriate’ codifications that marked the
cropping of fasal/ann.
Neither was the gestation and germination of the potato crop
marked by any feelings of danger or ‘waiting’ translated by men’s absence
from the field. On the contrary, this was a period of intensive activity,
for the ploughing and sowing of wheat was undertaken during this time.
Nor was the potato allowed to mature fully before it was harvested.
Though potato reached maturity after 90 days (or 120 days in some
varieties), very often it was harvested 60 days after sowing because the
market prices early in the season were extremely high.
Unlike the cereal crops which were first brought into the home
before being taken to the market for auction, potatoes were taken
straight from the field to the market. In fact, the market entered the
field in the form of the arthis or commission agents, who came to the
individual cultivator’s field to examine the quality of the potatoes and
make fine adjustments between supply and demand before quoting a
price. Each party waited anxiously upon the other’s word, and every
utterance was judged in terms of ‘loss’ or ‘gain’.
The male-female division of labour, so central to the production
of cereals, was irrelevant to potato cultivation. Women, who provided
the cheapest form of wage labour in the village economy, were
involved in almost all the production processes from sorting and
sowing to harvesting. The enduring bonds which characterized rela-
tions between landholders and labourers during the cultivation of
cereals, expressed and represented in the payments made in grain/ann,
were transformed for potato cropping. Relations were represented as
discontinues, symbolized by the cash wages paid at the end of each
working day, creating an ‘option’ for future severance or continuance
at complete variance with the sense of permanence and stability sug-
gested by the payments in kind for the production of cereals. The
daily wage evoked a transactional immediacy between employer and
labourer, terminated once the payment was proffered, echoing the
buying and selling of commodities in the market. The term dihari was
the term for ‘day’ and for daily cash wages; it introduced the idea that
relations could be ended because neither side had partaken of the
substance of the other, nor been incorporated into an enduring body,
by way of ann or food.
WORK AND FOOD PRODUCTION IN A PUNJABI VILLAGE 251

The attitudes that contrasted the work processes of different crops

permeated daily lives. It was with the greatest sense of ease that ‘loans’ of
flour or cooked vegetables for daily meals were made between neigh-
bours who were not necessarily kin. Passers-by at the door were always
invited in to eat and even the poorest homes offered food with words of
welcome. By contrast, cash transactions involved heightened anxiety and
often requests for money were met with expressions of irritation. Money
was kept hidden in the innermost pocket of undergarments and people
went to great lengths to avoid spending a single rupee. If the Punjabi
farmer’s fluency in handling large sums of money is a delight for econo-
mists, the reluctance of the farmers’ wives or mothers’ to spend is equally
legendary; frequently women would argue and bargain for bus tickets.

Crops of the Home

The dramatic contrast in attitude towards ‘food’ crops and cash crops
permeated the labour arrangements. The distinctions arose precisely
because the products, the outcome of work, were themselves conceptu-
alized in singular ways. In addition to these crops, there was a third set
which was ‘oriented’ almost exclusively toward the home, an orientation
represented through a series of arrangements which distinguished these
crops from those which were also geared toward the ‘outside’.
The primary characteristic of these crops (of chilli and cotton in
this village) was that they were handled and managed by women. It was
not as though these crops were not encashed at all; but they were not
sold by the men in the mandi, the urban market ‘outside’. Instead, they
were sold within the village by the women, either to each other, or at the
village shops. The money earned by the women was used for daily
expenditures, for buying matches, candles, salt or turmeric or other
daily necessities, or giving small amounts of spending money to
school-going children. While the major household expenses were met
by earnings from fasal, and the decisions regarding them made by men
who also managed the production of fasal crops, decisions pertaining to
small daily expenditures and the wherewithal for obtaining them were
in the hands of women of the household.
It was the mistress of the landholding household who managed the
harvest of cotton and chilli,10 engaging women labourers to conduct this
work. The women who picked the cotton or chilli were those attached to
252 Radhika Chopra

the landholding household in various capacities; there was the midwife

(dai), the barber’s wife (naiyan), or the women who cleaned the byres in
the home.
Cotton and chilli (though harvested at separate times) were similar
in terms of the arrangements made to pick them. Both were picked in
two or three lots as they ripened. As each woman labourer returned
from the field she made a heap of the amount she had picked; this heap
was then divided into smaller ones, depending on the share agreed upon
(every tenth heap, for example). Unlike fasal, which was put into meas-
ured quintal sacks, or potato weighed on huge scales, there were no
formal weights or measures for the ‘crops of the home’; just the accuracy
of the eye, borne of long practice over time.

Conclusion

Through the course of this paper I have tried to elucidate the rituals of
agriculture and the beliefs embedded in them. Such ethnographic elabora-
tion helps illuminate the logic that deems what is appropriate work for dif-
ferent people. It is this logic that excludes women from ploughing fasal but
makes their presence imperative during the period of a cereal crop’s gesta-
tion. It is necessary to elaborate such schemes of representation for then one
can analyze why labour agreements are structured in particular ways.
Within such a context activity is transformed from mere effort directed
toward a fixed and calculated end and instead represented as ‘duty’; work
becomes a way of expressing solidarity and a means of establishing rela-
tionships. The ‘logic’ of this is gleaned from the portrayal of nature and the
products, the outcome, of nature. Nature is not viewed as a passive object
or ‘thing’, raw material to be worked upon by man, for nature is seen to
exercise an independence unlike that between man and machine.
Work is a way of establishing relationships, whether with nature or
with people, and labour the medium through which these relations are
expressed. Just as there are prescribed ways of approaching people, there
are ‘proper’ ways of approaching nature; indeed, it is an act of respect to
do things the correct way. The same men who, as representatives of the
group, are in the forefront of public negotiation are also those who turn
the first furrow, meeting the land ‘face-to-face’ as they would encounter
respected equals. The mang described earlier, for example, could not
WORK AND FOOD PRODUCTION IN A PUNJABI VILLAGE 253

have been celebrated on just any field; instead, it was enacted on the
fields of one of the community’s most respected and valued members.
Acts of labour and the relations of production are invested with mean-
ings which contextualize work within categories of culture. People not only
engage in work as technical activity, they are also engaged in reproducing
ideas about ways of initiating and conducting relations. It is only when we
explore the basis of these meanings that we begin to perceive and construct
the acts of labour as ideas, to be learned, understood and passed on.

Notes
1. The village was dominated by landholders of the Jat caste, who were also followers of
Sikhism. The agricultural labourers were primarily from the numerically predomi-
nant. Balmiki community and of the caste of sweepers, with a small percentage
belonging to the caste of leather workers. A few households of service caste specialists
also formed part of the village population.
2. Unlike the western districts of Punjab, in the Doaba region cotton was not a cash
crop, for the soil was not suitable and the water table too high.
3. Within Punjabi culture, the production of aan (food, also meaning cereal or food
crops), was an important focus of agricultural activity, and ann-pani (food and water)
were continually stressed as the keystone of survival.
4. The question of why wheat has this prominence or centrality can be posed, however,
the arbitrary nature of cultural choices has been well explored in anthropological
literature. Structural linguists have examined the question of why one object is
‘chosen’ over others in cultural representations and have pointed the way for anthro-
pologists like Levi-Strauss (1963, 1976) or Barthes (1967) to extend their method to
an analysis of myth, kinship, or food and dress systems. What is more to the point, is
to locate the understanding of this centrality, or how this prominence is represented
and reflected, m a semantic field of ritual, diet and production relations, both in
relation to other cereal crops as well as the other categories of crops—of ‘home’ and
‘market’. Therefore, rather than ask the question ‘why’ wheat is primary, it would be
more significant to ask ‘how’ this primacy is constituted and represented.
5. The role of women as ‘bridges’ enabling transformations has been outlined in various
contexts. See, for example, Das (1982).
6. A goat, slaughtered for sacrifice, was held firmly by the head with one hand and the
knife brought swiftly down to sever the neck from the body with a single stroke
(jhatka). For an elaboration of the harvest as symbolic sacrifice, see Chopra (1989).
7. Srinivas also draws attention to the perceptions and representations of the earth as
mother. ‘Land was identified with mother earth Villagers were fond of saying that if
an agriculturist worked hard mother earth rarely failed to respond’ (Srinivas 1976
117).
8. At marriages a little boy was often put into the bride’s lap to signify the hope of future
abundance and increase. After the marriage, coins were flung in all directions for
children to surge around the married pair, again stressing the theme of multiplicity.
254 Radhika Chopra

Children were often referred to as the phal or fruit of the loins, as the crop was the
fruit of the earth.
9. Livestock, land and women make up the generative wealth of a landholding house-
hold, and all three together are thought of as property that needs careful husbanding.
10. The sowing of these crops was still done by men, however, the amount of land to be
sown was a decision jointly discussed between the women and men of each cultivat-
ing household, unlike the formal exclusion of women from the decision making pro-
cesses of fasal or cash crops.

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———. 1971. ‘Deciphering a Meal’, in C. Geertz (ed), Myth, Symbol and Culture, New York
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———. 1973. Rules and Meanings, Harmondsworth Penguin.
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Hofer, T. 1983. ‘Cognitive Aspects of Peasant Livelihood in Hungary’, in J Mencher (ed),
Social Anthropology of the Peasantry, Bombay Somaiya Publications.
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Levi-Strauss, C. 1963. Structural Anthropology, Harmondsworth Penguin Books.
Levi-Strauss, C. 1976. The Elementary Structures of Kinship, London. Social Science Paperbacks.
Mauss, M. 1966. The Gift, London RKP.
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being in South Asia, Delhi (mimeo).
SECTION IV
RELIGION AND RITUALS
15
Public Shrines and Private
Interests: The Symbolism
of the Village Temple1
Ursula Sharma

T
he foothills of the Himalayas are sometimes described as a
bastion of Hinduism, an area immune from the penetration of
foreign religions and abounding in sanctuaries and places of pil-
grimage. In some respects this is certainly true. From Ghanyari2, the
village in District Kangra where I conducted fieldwork in 1966 and
1967, villagers would undertake pilgrimages to holy places in the foot-
hills with great enthusiasm when they had the time and money to do so.
Yet paradoxically, the shrines that stood in Ghanyari itself seemed
to be used very seldom, and apart from one or two which were of very
recent construction they had an appearance of neglect, almost derelic-
tion. Most of the ritual activity which took place in the village was con-
ducted in the home. What does a temple stand for if no one came to
worship there?
It is certainly not the case the shrines are decayed because the cults
they celebrate are in decline: the most decrepit-looking shrine in
Ghanyari is dedicated to the Siddh Bharatri whose cult is flourishing.
New shrines continue to be built; indeed, one was established during
my stay in Ghanyari.
The village shrines found in District Kangra are not elaborate struc-
tures. They usually consist of a small platform or cairn of stones,
258 Ursula Sharma

sometimes surmounted by a cell-like structure which contains the image

or symbol of the deity (although in many cases there is no icon). But
even the construction of one of these modest shrines requires time,
labour and expense, and presumably means something apart from what-
ever value it may have as a status symbol (there are in any case more
rewarding ways of investing cash and effort for those whose chief aim is
honour and prestige). For convenience I have tabulated the relevant
information about the shrines of Ghanyari, especially about their con-
struction, type and dedication.
Group rituals performed from time to time, at weddings or festivals
for instance, provide the more dramatic evidence of Hindu practice, but
in Ghanyari the fabric of Hinduism consists of numerous inconspicuous
acts of individual piety conducted privately in the home. These usually
consist of an offering to the deity concerned, either in thanksgiving for
some blessing bestowed, or in the hope of removing some difficulty
which the displeasure of the deity is thought to have caused. The offer-
ing may be made for the benefit of the worshipper himself or on behalf
of some member of his household. Offerings are made before an image
of the deity; these consist of water, flowers, incense and finally food
specially prepared (usually sweets of some kind). The remainder of the
food so dedicated is distributed later among the worshipper’s family and
neighbours as prasad, literally ‘grace’, i.e. the food which conveys the
grace and blessings of the deity who has been worshipped. The term
‘image’ need not suggest an elaborate carving or icon; any suitable
emblem or representation of the deity may be used which the worship-
per possesses or can obtain, and I have seen villagers dedicate offerings
before the coloured prints of Hindu deities which adorn commercial
calendars. (If no icon is available the worshipper simply makes a mental
dedication of the food). In an ordinary household worship of this kind
might take place up to half a dozen times a year, depending on the cir-
cumstances and inclination of its members. In most household some
kind of thanksgiving ritual is conducted at each of the two major annual
harvests, and some especially fortunate events may be celebrated more
elaborately by holding a katha, a scripture recital conducted by a
Brahman priest. I hardly ever witnessed this kind of individual worship
at any of the shrines in Ghanyari, although a few villagers stated that
they would take a portion of the food offered to the deity and present it
at the shrine after the completion of the ritual at home.
PUBLIC SHRINES AND PRIVATE INTERESTS 259

Village Shrines in Ghanyari

Shrine Identification of Deity Type of Shrine Caste of Family

PIR Unnamed Muslim saint
whose cult centre is at Pir
Nagah, about 6 miles from
Ghanyari.
SINDHU Baba Sindhu is a deity local Platform, no image
to Kangra foothills. He
specializes in incendiarism.
BABA DERA Deified ancestor of
dominant Brahman lineage
in Ghanyari.
KRISHNA All-India deity.
SIDDH There are many ‘Siddhs’ Platform with
worshipped in the foothills. images
This shrine is dedicated to
Raja Bharatri who retired to
live as a sannyasi in a
village about 2 miles from
Ghanyari. He eventually
entered Samadhi there.
THAKUR Variously identified with
Vishnu and Shiva
Thakur is regarded as
controlling rainfall.
KHWAJAH Khwajah is a deity identifed
by some with various
Muslim personages and
saints, but almost
universally associated with
water.
JVALAMUKHI All-India deity localized at
Jvalamukhi, a place of
pilgrimage about twenty
miles from Ghanyari.
Associated with
Shrine
Cairn, no image –
Lobar. The shrine
was built in 1967.
Platform sur- Brahman. This
mounted by large shrine was rebuilt
cell, containing about 10 years ago
several images on the site of an
older shrine.
Platform and cell Brahman. Built
with images about 15 years ago.
Brahman.
Platform and cell, Brahman, but the
no image shrine is said to
have been built by
a Lohar originally.
Platform and Brahman.
rudimentary cell,
no image
Cairn, with Brahman.
bas-relief image in
niche on one side
260 Ursula Sharma

At the most prosaic and elementary level it is probably quite simple

to explain the ‘puzzle’ of why the village shrines are so little used. It is as
easy, indeed easier, to worship before some kind of representation of the
deity at home as it is to go out into the fields to worship at a temple.
Having performed ablutions to achieve the necessary state of ritual
purity one risks losing that purity by walking through the village lanes
to reach the shrines, perhaps being jostled on the way by people who are
in a state of pollution for some reason or another. On the other hand a
visit to a village shrine does not bring the merit that a pilgrimage to a
major cult centre might obtain, nor for that matter does it have the
entertainment value of such an excursion. Thus the village shrine falls
between two stools, as it were, and at this level of explanation its appar-
ent lack of use is not problematic.
Danielou has argued that there is a sense in which the actual place
of worship is a matter of indifference to the Hindu. He conceives of the
divine as immanent in all things and manifest in many and so the uni-
verse is his temple. He goes on to suggest that Hinduism could survive
well enough if there were no such temples or shrines! “They are not, as
in some religions, the meeting places of the faithful but are the homes of
deities, places where a particular aspect of Divinity is honoured . . . but
if there were none of these sanctuaries Hindu life and its rituals would
in no way be affected. In fact, certain classes of Hindu are not supposed
to enter some parts of the temples . . . but this in no way implies that
they do not perform rituals or that they have a religious life less intense”
(Danielou 1964: 376). Certainly Hinduism is primarily a domestic reli-
gion, not a congregational one. The temple is in no way comparable to
the church, the mosque or the gurudvara and although there are numer-
ous sects which have established congregational modes of worship, these
cannot be said to form the dominant mode of religious organization, in
the rural areas at least.
However, Hindus in Ghanyari directed my attention to the shrines
in their village as though they certainly were items of central interest in
any study of village religion. In conversation they were clearly distin-
guished from domestic shrines (the other main category of sacred places
in the village) as belonging to the village itself, not just one household.
Village shrines are described as though they were collective property. This
is in no way peculiar to Ghanyari for anthropologists themselves seem to
have adopted their informants’ usage, and have written of ‘village’ shrines
and ‘village’ deities without contesting the public nature of the shrines.
PUBLIC SHRINES AND PRIVATE INTERESTS 261

If, as villagers implied, the shrines were genuinely regarded as some

general resources available to all, it is the more remarkable that they
were not more intensively used and especially that collective rituals at the
shrines were so few. To describe a thing as ‘public’ implies that it can
be used by a more or less unspecified and undifferentiated collectivity of
people (undifferentiated in relation to the resources in question). But the
nature of Indian village society is highly differentiated, the most obvious
criterion (though by no means the only one) being that of caste. There
are very few situations in which these sources of differentiation can be
submerged and made irrelevant, and consequently the public nature of
any resource is usually very hard to establish in practice. The anthropo-
logical literature abounds in examples but one pertinent instance from
Ghanyari is the village school. As elsewhere in India, the village school is
public and free, financed from public funds, and open to members of all
castes. Yet comparatively few untouchable children attend the school.
This can partly be explained with reference to economic factors (the
greater need for the labour of the children in poorer families) but there is
also, it seems, an unwillingness to engage with members of the clean
castes in situations where the untouchable’s inferiority will be impressed
upon him in numerous subtle ways, even though in theory the venue be
public and explicit discrimination illegal.
In what respects, then, can the shrines of Ghanyari be said to be
public or to belong to the village as whole?
Considering the history of the shrines, in so far as this is known,
they appear to be a good deal less public than the general theory would
make out. Every shrine in Ghanyari except the shrine of the Pir is
associated with a particular household or group of households, although
the strength of the association may vary. In most cases the members
of the household concerned are considered to be the lineal descendants
of the man who originally built the shrine. The shrine to Devi is associ-
ated with a group of four agnatically related Brahman households. The
shrine of Thakur is in the custody of the family of Kanshi Ram, another
Brahman whose household deity is Thakur. In fact six of the eight
shrines in Ghanyari are associated with Brahman families, although this
is not particularly surprising given the numerical preponderance and
economic dominance of the Brahmans in this village.
The custodianship of a shrine need not mean much more than this
rather vague hereditary association of a particular shrine with a particu-
lar family, since the custodian does not receive offerings and none of the
262 Ursula Sharma

shrines in Ghanyari has any land or other property attached to it which

he might be expected to administer. At most he is expected to take a
general interest in the maintenance of the shrine and attend to its upkeep
from time to time. In practice few of the families in question have ever
done this much, hence the decrepit appearance of some of some of the
shrines. A notable exception is the interest which Salig Ram’s family has
taken in the Upkeep of the shrine dedicated to Baba Dera. The shrine
was completely rebuilt and furnished with handsome new images by
Salig Ram’s father. This is the only shrine at which anything like a daily
cult is performed, since on most mornings Salig Ram or one of his
younger brothers conducts a brief ritual there. Once a year, on the festi-
val of Krishna Janam Ashtami, Salig Ram convenes all the Parashar
Brahmans in Ghanyari to worship Baba Dera collectively and he pro-
vides the sacrificial food.
Baba Dera is in fact an ancestor of the group of Parashar Brahmans
who are the chief landowners in Ghanyari. Baba Dera was notable for
having quarrelled with the Raja of Kotlehr. He committed suicide at the
Raja’s door and to appease his ghost the Raja granted the village of
Ghanyari (or rather the land which the Brahmans now hold there) to
Baba Dera’s bother, Nikka, who founded the settlement. Being the for-
bear of the Ghanyari Brahmans, Baba Dera is not worshipped by mem-
bers of any other group. There was no ban on members of other castes
worshipping him if they wanted to, I was told. But why should they
want to? Baba Dera is not their ancestor and hence is unlikely to exert
his powers to affect their lives either for good or ill. On the other hand
an ancestor is quite capable of causing trouble to his own descendants if
they do not attend to his cult, and the collective worship at Janam
Ashtami is considered to contribute to the collective welfare of the
Brahmans by ensuring Baba Dera’s favour towards them.
The cult of Baba Dera is therefore more a kin to a household cult
than to a genuinely ‘public’ cult. Many households in the village possess
the image of an ancestor (male or female) who at some time in the past
has demanded ritual appeasement by visiting his descendants with sick-
ness or disaster. In some cases this image is installed in a regular shrine,
in others it is simply kept locked in a trunk or cupboard and taken out
when needed. Though Baba Dera’s shrine is more elaborate (indeed one
of the most elaborate in the village) and is situated in the fields (not in
anyone’s home or courtyard) his cult has not completely lost this ‘domes-
tic’ character. As the lineage founded by Nikka proliferated and divided,
PUBLIC SHRINES AND PRIVATE INTERESTS 263

its members did not forget the cult of Baba Dera, who was, after all, an
ancestor of more than ordinary importance, being responsible for the
foundation of the village, and they continue to come together once a
year for the purposes of the cult. Where traditions exist about the foun-
dation of a shrine it nearly always seems to be the case that the shrine is
built by an individual in response to special revelation vouchsafed by the
deity to him, in the form of some miracle or calamity. For instance, the
Thakur shrine is said to have been founded generations ago by a Lohar
(blacksmith) of the village. This man used to weigh down the jute he
was soaking in a local stream with a large stone he discovered in the
fields. But unknown to him this stone was the dwelling place of Thakur
who began to trouble him with bad dreams, causing him to fall out of
his bed at night. Eventually Thakur revealed to him in a dream the
nature of his offence and to atone for what he had done and appease the
god the Lohar moved the stone back to its original position and later
erected a shrine beside it. The circumstances of the construction of the
shrine to Baba Sindhu were very similar. Until about 1965 the deity
Baba Sindhu had frequently possessed an old Rajput woman in a nearby
village. She used to hold seances and villagers would question the deity
when he visited her, for instance, about the welfare of an absent member
of the family, the whereabouts of a missing object, the cause of a bout of
sickness, etc. This old woman died a short time before I came to
Ghanyari. But Baba Sindhu had begun to possess Haru, a Lohar who
lived in Ghanyari, and he told Haru in dream that from now on he
would transfer his residence to Ghanyari and would haunt a certain
place beneath a pipal tree, near to the Lohar’s quarters. During the
summer of 1966 there were several outbreaks of fire in this part of the
village, and this finally convinced Haru that he must take action, incen-
diarism being a speciality of this particular deity. In February he began
to construct a new shrine to Baba Sindhu under the pipal tree, working
on it in his spare time.3
A shrine thus marks an extension of individual religiosity into the
realm of public religion. The individual who builds a shrine does so in
the course of a personal relationship with a deity; he may experience the
hostility of that deity or he may experience his bounty and favour. But
in some ways he becomes convinced that the deity is soliciting a special
sign of cfevotion. Of course in some cases a prosperous peasant may
build a shrine to impress his neighbours without such supernatural intimation,
and I can think of several shrines built recently in the neighbourhood of
264 Ursula Sharma

Ghanyari which might fall into this category. But the point is that in
either case, the shrine is built because the builder thinks that he needs to
build it; it is not built in response to some public need for a shrine to a
particular deity. Personal religious experience is incorporated into the
collective religious culture of the village through the construction of the
shrine.
The strength of the association between the shrine and the family
that ‘owns’ it may vary greatly. In Ghanyari the association of the shrine
of Siddh Bharatri with the family of Ram Chand is hardly more than
nominal. On the other hand the association of the family of Salig Ram
(and indeed of all the Brahmans of the village) with the shrine of Baba
Dera is both strong and exclusive. The cult of Baba Dera is more than a
domestic cult since he is installed in a shrine which is accessible to
anyone who wishes to worship there. Yet in a sense his cult is not quite
as ‘public’ as those which the other village shrines celebrate. (Berreman
describes a cult in Sirkanda which is comparable in that it has only par-
tially emerged as a ‘public’ cult from the domestic phase (Berreman
1963: 373).
It would be impossible to do justice to the great variety of types of
village shrine which are described in the anthropological literature, but
what this literature clearly teaches us is that the extent to which village
shrines are truly public is very frequently modified by an element of
appropriation. The unit with which a shrine is associated need not
necessarily be a household or kin group. For instance, Ishwaran notes
that in Shivapur there are twelve village temples and a mosque. Most of
these are associated with a particular caste or sect. Yet each shrine is
administered by a committee which is not necessarily or even usually
composed exclusively of members of the group which uses the shrine.
The Lingyat temple committee includes a Jain and a Maratha, the arti-
sans’ temple committee includes three Lingayats and a Muslim. The
mosque committee includes Lingayats, Kuruba and a Maratha, a situa-
tion which would have delighted Mahatma Gandhi and which also
demonstrates a nice balance between the proprietary and the public
aspects of the temple (Ishwaran 1968: 88). In Potlod, described by
Mathur, there are seven shrines, but only one of these is dedicated to
‘village’ deities. The other six are the deities of specific castes in the vil-
lage. Apart from these shrines there are ‘temples’, edifices dedicated to
‘all-India’ deities with regular priests, but these are open to members of
the clean castes only (Mathur 1964: 31). Louis Dumont has approached
PUBLIC SHRINES AND PRIVATE INTERESTS 265

the sociology of village cults more systematically than most

anthropologists and he classifies the shrines used by the Kallar according
to the nature of the group that finances festivals and celebrations at the
shrine. The chief distinction he discovers is that between village shrines
where a fixed sum is donated by each household in the settlement and
lineage shrines where contributions are made exclusively by members of
a particular lineage whether or not they are actually resident in the vil-
lage at the time (Dumont 1957: 319). The Kallar themselves distinguish
clearly between those shrines which are public and those which belong
to a particular group.
The nature and strength of the association between the shrine and
the proprietary group, the types of rights and responsibilities it holds
may vary so greatly as to defy further generalization. On the other hand
there is an almost universal ban on the use of certain village shrines by
members of unclean castes. But again, the strength of this ban varies
greatly from place to place. In many South Indian villages untouchables
were not even allowed to enter the temple of the deity who was the
guardian deity of the village itself (e.g. Gough 1970: 135) and in
Shivapur, an untouchable would not enter the temple because he ‘knows’
that the likely result would be drought or some other catastrophe, as
well as the wrath of other members of the village, touchables and
untouchables alike (Ishwaran 1968: 180). In the Pahari area the ban
would seem to be weak and less formal. In Sirkanda Berreman only
reports a definite ban on untouchables in the case of one shrine, the
temple of Raghunath, although perhaps it is significant that this was the
most substantial temple in the village, recognised by villagers as the ‘vil-
lage’ temple, built and controlled by members of the dominant Rajput
caste. In Ghanyari, members of the clean castes claim that there is no
ban on Chamars (the only untouchable caste who live in the village)
using the shrines of the village, provided that they observe the same
ritual practices as everyone else, i.e. they remove their shoes when stand-
ing on or in the shrine and refrain from touching the shrine when in a
state of temporary ritual pollution occasioned by e.g. menstruation,
having visited the fields to defecate etc. On the other hand, they pointed
out, it was unlikely that Chamars would want to use the village shrines
as ‘they have shrines of their own’. In fact the only ‘Chamar’ shrines in
the district were a few temples dedicated to Channo, a fierce and
destructive deity worshipped exclusively by Chamars. I could discover
no evidence that Chamars ever used the shrines in Ghanyari, nor were
266 Ursula Sharma

they invited to the few collective rituals which were occasionally held at
the shrines. Whatever the members of the clean castes might say, the
Chamars themselves seem to regard themselves as excluded from using
the shrines. I remember talking to a group of Chamar stone masons who
had been hired by a wealthy Rajput to construct a new shrine in village
near to Ghanyari. One of the Chamars remarked that it was paradoxical
that the high castes did not mind employing Chamars to build temples
for them; but once the temples were finished they would not let the
Chamars enter them or use them4. (In fact, the images which are
installed in shrines in this locality are usually the work of a Chamar
sculptor or stone mason, and one Chamar of Ghanyari was well known
until his death a few years ago for his skill in depicting the traditional
deities).
A shrine may be used exclusively by members of a particular caste
(or castes) or it may be used exclusively by members of a particular
household or descent group. But the principle of exclusion is not neces-
sarily the same. In the former case it is often a matter of purity, in the
latter case a matter of property. In practice the two principles may oper-
ate together; for instance Gough describes the private temples built by
Nambudiri Brahmans in south India. Access to these temples was denied
to Nayars, who where considered to be sudras, presumably on both
accounts (Gough 1970: 135). Nevertheless the two principles are theor-
etically distinct and when we discover that a village temple is not in fact
truly ‘public’ we must ask which principle of exclusion operates in that
particular case.
The shrines of Ghanyari present themselves primarily as extensions
of private and domestic cults into the domain of the ‘public’ and this is
appropriately symbolized in their siting. The hilly landscape around
Ghanyari is full of impressive natural features, strange rock formations,
dramatic ravines, springs which suddenly gush from the ground, and
one might expect that villagers would choose such places to build sanc-
tuaries for their gods. Many famous temple and places of pilgrimage
known to the people of Ghanyari are associated with such extraordinary
natural features (for instance, Jvalamukhi with its jet of natural gas issu-
ing from the earth, Naina Devi on its prominent conical hill). Others
are noted for their inaccessibility (for instance, the shrine of Baba Balak
Nath at Shah Talai which is perched near top of a steep crag at the
mouth of the cave where Balak Nath used to meditate, or the shrine of
Baba Ludru at Jagipanga which was deliberately moved to a desolate
PUBLIC SHRINES AND PRIVATE INTERESTS 267

spot in the jungle by its priest when its original site became too crowded
with shops and souvenir merchants). Quite the reverse is true of the
village shrines. They are within the boundaries of the fields, within the
area of the land which men have most clearly appropriated and trans-
formed. Even the Khwajah shrine is not situated at the source of the
spring which is regarded as the manifestation of Khwajah’s power, and
which is deep in the jungle, but lower down where fields and jungle
meet. Most of the shrines in Ghanyari, as in other villages in the area,
are built beside footpaths which the farmers tread every day on their way
to the fields. Usually the land that they stand on belongs to the category
known as shamilat i.e. common land. This category includes certain
areas of uncultivable ground adjoining or near to the actual settlement
(which can be appropriated for building purposes) and the ‘jungle’,
large area of forest land beyond the fields which any member of the
village may use for grazing his cattle, cutting firewood or fodder. There
is a good practical reason, of course, why shrines should be sited on this
land; no canny farmer will build a shrine in the middle of a field where
he might sow a crop when there are other places available, however
pious he may be. But the shamilat is the one resource (other than the air
which men breathe) which can be said to be truly and unequivocally
public, available to any member of the village, the collective property of
all its members. Seen from the point of view of members of other vil-
lages, of course, the shamilat is the private property of Ghanyari, though
as it happens the area of forest attached to Ghanyari is so extensive that
‘poaching’ by members of other villages may well go unresented, indeed
undetected. But within the village all members have equal rights in it by
virtue of their residence there (with the possible qualification that
Chamars would not be expected to build their houses on land adjacent
to the quarters of the clean castes). A shrine that has its origin as a cele-
bration of some individual act of personal piety stands on land which is
genuinely public, a sign which is visible and comprehensible to all who
pass by. Nor is it situated in the numinous recesses of the forest or hills,
but by the prosaic and social thoroughfares of the village itself.
The establishment of a new village shrine has a further public sig-
nificance, in this case a cultural meaning. Any shrine that is more than
just a domestic icon takes its place as one of a network of shrines dedi-
cated to the same deity. The extent of this network will vary according
to the ‘spread’ of the cult, and sometimes the network takes the appear-
ance of a hierarchy of shrines, with some major temple or cult centre as
268 Ursula Sharma

both summit and centre. Of the shrines in Ghanyari three (those of the
Siddh, Jvalamukhi Devi, and the Pir) can be regarded as outposts of
places of pilgrimages known and sometimes visited by the villagers.
Only the shrine to Baba Dera represents a cult which is peculiar to
Ghanyari itself.
I spoke of shrines dedicated to the ‘same deity’ but of course the
identity of any Hindu deity as a discrete and individual being is always
hard to establish—indeed it has been argued that in Hindu society the
very concept of individuality is relative and situational. Thus, seen in one
context the shrine in Ghanyari celebrates Jvalamukhi Devi; but
Jvalamukhi is merely one manifestation of female divine principle, also
individualized as Durga, Kali, Parvati, etc. The permanent village shrine
with its conventional iconography helps to capture and localize some-
thing that is in fact elusive. Even then it is frequently the case that the
principle of locality may in fact serve to further fragment the ‘personal-
ity’ of the deity. Thus Dumont shows (1957: 402) that the deity Aiyanar
is in fact a category of Aiyanars distinguished according to local
association—Aiyanar of Pinnur, Pambur Aiyanar, etc. (This is perhaps
comparable to the way in which the personality of the Virgin Mary has
become fragmented in Catholic Christendom, so that Our Lady of
Walsingham and Our Lady of Lourdes are both the same and yet
different).
According to Dumont it is enshrinement as a member of a temple
pantheon that establishes a supernatural being as a deity at all.
Carnivorous demons cease to be demons as soon as they are introduced
to the ‘company of the gods’ by being incorporated into Kallar temple
pantheons, though they do not cease to be carnivorous. Through his
complementary association with the ‘pure’ vegetarian gods of the pan-
theon the demon is transformed into a god, but because the relationship
is complementary he does not abandon his ferocious characteristics nor
his carnivorous habits. The evidence available in Ghanyari suggests that
it may be the act of enshrinement itself (rather than enshrinement as a
member of a temple pantheon) which is important in this transforma-
tion. Shrines in Ghanyari do not usually house pantheons, only a single
deity. In the few local temples where more than one deity is represented
there is no distinction made between the carnivorous and the vegetarian
deities (virtually all belong to the latter category anyway). What charac-
terizes the unenshrined supernatural beings which the villagers
PUBLIC SHRINES AND PRIVATE INTERESTS 269

fear—ghosts and unnamed demons—is their lack of local attachment;

they are mobile, they roam from place to place and thus cannot be con-
trolled. They are without exception dangerous and hostile to men. It is
their nature to be so, they cannot be otherwise. Many deities are seen as
being dangerous, indeed most deities can cause trouble of one kind and
another. But a deity can be controlled, for by making suitable offerings
the worshipper can hope to turn away his anger and persuade him to
bestow favours. Through images and shrines a deity becomes accessible
in a way that a footloose demon is not. Significantly those deities who
are regarded as most dangerous and difficult to control are those who are
also regarded as most mobile. Channo, the ferocious ‘Chamar’ deity, is
described as wandering about the countryside with his train, causing
destruction where he passes. Baba Sindhu is also given to wandering
about and several villagers of Ghanyari claim to have met him in various
guises on lonely paths and roads. He too is represented as essentially
capricious, an irascible deity whose hostility is easily aroused. When a
shrine is built to such a deity this is an invitation to that deity to aban-
don the lonely and desolate places which are the characteristic haunts of
demons and ghosts, and to install himself near to people’s homes, thus
becoming more manageable. The building of a new shrine therefore
may have cultural and religious consequences over and beyond whatever
may be in the mind of the builder at the time.
Once established, a shrine becomes available for certain type of col-
lective ritual which may be held at village shrines from time to time, and
although these are numerous they are instructive in elucidating the
public nature of the shrine. The most common type of celebration in
which village shrines are visited is the vadhai which is held when a new
bride arrives in the village (all new brides must come from other villages,
given the general rule of village exogamy). The morning after her arrival
the members of the bridegroom’s household form a procession and
escort the couple, their scarves tied together as they were at the wedding
itself, and the band playing cheerfully, on a kind of ritual tour of some
of the village shrines. At each shrine which is visited the bride and groom
must bow before the deity and circumambulate the image. Offerings of
food are made and sometimes other ritual acts are perforated in honour
of the deity enshrined there, e.g. new flags may be erected, incense sticks
may be lit before the image. Before returning to the house the party
halts at a pipal tree just outside the village where a brief ritual is
270 Ursula Sharma

performed, this time under the direction of the family priest. The bride
is then divested of coconuts and other decorations which she has worn
hanging from her wrists since the commencement of the wedding cere-
monies. The woman who unties them becomes her dharm bahin, her
‘sister in religion’. This fictitious kin relationship is of more than merely
symbolic importance. The bride is normally a complete stranger to the
village and the dharm bahin is usually a young married woman who has
some prior connection with the bride. She may be a relative of the bride
or a native of the same village, and her role is to help the new bride
settle into her new village. Before the company disperses the members
of the groom’s family distribute prasad to everybody present, and those
who have come to see the vadhai make this an opportunity to give the
bride the ceremonial gifts of a rupee and a coconut which is always given
to any new member of a family on first meeting (a child who has been
born into it, or a woman who has been married into it).
There are two features of this ritual which are of particular interest
here. Firstly, the procession does not necessarily visit every shrine in the
village. It was difficult to discover what rationale governed the choice,
but it seemed that where a household had a particular association with
a deity, then that deity’s shrine would definitely be included; otherwise
only the shrines nearest to that family’s house would be visited. Secondly,
the ritual is more or less public, in that anyone is welcome to attend.
The barber, who traditionally acts as messenger on ritual occasions, is
sent to give a definite invitation to relatives and caste follows of the
bridegroom’s family, but in the vadhai ceremonies which I saw, mem-
bers of other castes (with the exception of the Chamars) came and joined
in as soon as they heard the band. They both received prasad and made
gifts to the bride at the end.
The vadhai is interpreted by villagers as an opportunity to demon-
strate to the bride groom’s caste brotherhood that the wedding has been
properly completed. As the wedding ritual itself is conducted at the
bride’s home, not everyone in the groom’s village will have actually wit-
nessed it. The vadhai is in no way a duplication of this ritual—the mar-
riage is already complete from the legal point of view. It is rather a way
of communicating its completion to the members of the groom’s village
and involving them in it, providing them with a public opportunity to
offer their congratulations (vadhai means ‘congratulation’). Secondly it
is interpreted as an opportunity to ‘show the bride the gods of the
PUBLIC SHRINES AND PRIVATE INTERESTS 271

village’. She has, as it were, a formal introduction to those gods which

are thought to take a special interest in the affairs of the people of
Ghanyari, or rather to a representative selection of these deities. When
people in Ghanyari speak of the ‘gods of this village’ they are not refer-
ring to a set of deities who are thought to have the specific function of
guarding the village as a whole, as we find in some Hindu villages. In
fact the term does not seem to refer to a fixed pantheon at all, since the
lists which villagers provided varied considerably according to their
degree of information and their interest in ritual affairs. The phrase
merely seems to indicate the totality of deities which are known to be
worshipped as personal or household deities in Ghanyari, as opposed to
the numerous saints and deities who are known by repute to the villag-
ers, but which are not actually worshipped by any of them at the
moment. The phrase implies a cultural and ritual community which the
village in fact displays only very imperfectly.
In being shown the ‘gods of the village’ the bride is also being shown
the village itself, by being deliberately involved through this ritual in a
community wider than the family unit into which she has married. The
family initiates the ritual but it is expected and desired that others will
join in. And under the pipal tree the bride makes her first relationship
with a member of the village outside her husband’s household.
The other rituals held at village shrines show similar characteristic to
the vadhai, i.e. they are initiated by members of a particular household
but subsequently involve a wider community of people. The worship of
Khwajah at the festival of Rakri follows this pattern. On the evening of
Rakri the chela convenes the other Brahman men who accompany him
to the shrine of the Khwajah. A chela is simply a villager who is the dev-
otee of a particular deity who possesses him regularly during the period
of intense ritual activity between Rakri and the feast of Gugga Naumi.
(Not every village has a chela, and a chela need not necessarily be a devo-
tee of Khwajah; there are chelas dedicated to many different deities in the
locality. But the tendency towards this special type of possession is gener-
ally ‘hereditary’ in a particular family). After all the men have circumam-
bulated the shrine an offering is made there, and when they return they
distribute what remains as prasad to all the households of the clean castes
of the village. During the following week the chela will visit every house-
hold accompanied by Chamar musicians and their music will frequently
induce him to become possessed by his tutelary deity. The ritual on the
272 Ursula Sharma

night of Rakri is in part a solemn overture to this period of ritual activity,

a ceremony to activate the deity who will possess the chela. But it is also,
I was told, important as a matter of public welfare that it be performed,
since Khwajah is the guardian of the spring by which his shrine is situ-
ated. Being the patron deity of all water sources, the Khwajah might be
provoked to withdraw his protection from the village if not worshipped
from time to time, causing the spring to run dry. In fact this spring is
only used as a regular source of drinking water by the Chamars (who are
not invited to the ritual). Members of other castes use the village wells
which the Chamars are prohibited from using. But the distinction of the
Khwajah’s spring is that it runs ‘twelve months in every year’. It has never
yet been known to run dry, unlike the other water sources in the village,
and thus provides a suitable symbol for the ever available supply of drink-
ing water without which Ghanyari would not be habitable.
The only other ritual which I witnessed at a village shrine also cele-
brated a theme of common welfare. During the winter of 1966–7 the
usual winter thunderstorms had failed to come by January and it seemed
that the grain would shrivel in the ears before it ripened. Several young
kinsmen of Kanshi Ram, the Brahman whose house-, hold was associ-
ated with the shrine of Thakur, went round the village collecting sub-
scriptions to hold a jag, a feast in honour of Thakur, the lord of the
rains. As far as I know, every household was approached save those of
the Chamars. Kanshi and his family made themselves responsible for
buying the food for the feast and assembling all the culinary and ritual
equipment which would be required, although many of his Brahman
neighbours assisted in cooking and serving the food. On the appointed
day members of all castes except the Chamars were summoned to join
in the procession to the shrine of Thakur, where new flags were erected
in honour of the deity and offerings of sweets and water were made.
After this ritual everyone adjourned to the shady places beside the road
where the feast had been prepared and the food was served. The Chamars
were invited to come and claim their shares and portions were sent to
the houses of anyone who had not been able to attend the ritual since it
was evidently regarded as most important that every single member of
the village should be included in the feast. In fact the rain did not fall as
soon as had been hoped for, and I heard several Brahmans wonder aloud
whether Thakur might not be angry because one or two Chamars
had been turned away rather brusquely when they arrived after all the
food had been finished.
PUBLIC SHRINES AND PRIVATE INTERESTS 273

The jag, like the activities at Janam Ashtami and Rakri, involves the
welfare of a community wider than that of the family who initiates and
organizes the ritual, although only in the case of the jag is the collectivity
concerned quite explicitly and unambiguously supposed to be the whole
village. This was the only occasion on which I ever saw the entire village
mobilized for any purpose whatsoever, and even then it must be remem-
bered that not every villager took part in the actual ritual. But in many
Indian villages the concern for communal welfare is given very explicit
symbolic expression through annual village festivals or occasional rites
to village gods. When there is a particular deity who is recognized as
guardian of the village as a whole this deity is frequently one of the god-
desses associated with the pustular diseases. This association is highly
appropriate since an epidemic of smallpox is a disaster which is bound
to affect all members of the village alike regardless of family or caste or
economic status. In the neighbourhood of Ghanyari the danger of such
epidemics seems for long to have been less severe and collective concern
is more readily expressed in respect of rainfall. The rainfall in this area is
high, but there are no means of storing water and in such a rugged dis-
trict here is no form of irrigation which would be within the means of
the ordinary farmer. Impenetrable strata of rock lie relatively close to the
surface of the ground and so it is not possible to sink such deep wells as
in the plains; consequently even a spell of moderate drought can cause
acute inconvenience to the whole village. On the other hand while every-
one in Ghanyari wants the rain to nourish the crops growing in the
fields, members of the village stand in various relationships to those
crops and fields (as landowners, tenant farmers, labourers, etc.).
Everyone wants the Khwajah stream to flow and the wells to be full, but
members of different castes have different rights in these various water
sources. (Apart from the ban on Chamars using the wells, certain castes
such as the Chimba and the Muslim Teli may only use them if no
member of a higher caste is actually dipping his or her vessel into the
water at the time). It is surprising that these differences in rights and
status are not more clearly articulated in such collective ritual as takes
place at the village shrines, in Ghanyari, especially when one considers
how distinctly they are symbolized in village rites elsewhere. In village
festivals in many parts of South India for instance (to take the most
extreme example) the rites are collective only in the broad sense that
they include everybody. The actual part which any individual will play
in the festival will depend on his status in the village, especially his caste
274 Ursula Sharma

status. Often the lowest castes remain outside the temple while the clean
castes conduct important rituals inside, that is, inside the temple walls.
The actual shrine may only be accessible to the Brahman (Gough 1970:
135; Srinivas 1952:196). But while the high castes conduct their rites
the low castes do not merely wait passively, but perform rites which
complement those of the high castes and which are an important part of
the entire ceremony. In Palakarra, for instance, the Harijans made sacri-
fices to godlings who were conceived as servants of Bhagavati (the village
deity) and these sacrifices were regarded as indispensible part of the
whole proceedings (Gough 1970: 138). The activities of the untouch-
ables are peripheral only in the literal sense of being conducted outside
the temple which is the focus of the festival, not in the sense of being
unimportant.
In Ghanyari, as we have seen, we do not find this complementary
differentiation of functions. Indeed the untouchables take hardly any
part at all in such collective rituals as are held in the village. The clean
castes do not seek their involvement at all (except as recipients of food
at the jag) so there is no question of their even being assigned an inferior
role in the rites. At first it seems strange that village rites should be much
more inclusive in those areas of India where village unity is most con-
spicuously modified by hierarchical differentiation. In the Himalayan
foothills the only striking ritual division is that between the untouchable
castes and the rest. In Ghanyari the restrictions on interdining, etc.
among all castes other than the Chamar are comparatively few. But this
relative lack of hierarchy is not compensated by any greater sense of
village solidarity for villages in this area are generally less compact and
nucleated than villages in many other parts of India. Certainly the con-
trasts with the nearby Punjab, with its large dense settlements, often
walled and fortified, is particularly striking. The higher one penetrates
into the foothills, the more dispersed the pattern of settlement tends to
be. Ghanyari is actually somewhat unusual in having a population of
433. Most other settlements in the neighbourhood are smaller and less
compact. But if the residential and geographical unity of the village is
less obvious, this does not mean that it cannot be identified as a political
and administrative unit. Nor does it mean that the social unity of the
village is not an important value. In Ghanyari I heard villagers complain
regretfully on many occasions about the lack of unity which actually
obtained. On the occasion of the jag several Brahmans expressed the idea
that Thakur might have caused the drought through displeasure at this
PUBLIC SHRINES AND PRIVATE INTERESTS 275

disunity. Here it was not caste divisions that were being referred to so
much as competitive rivalry and factionalism among members of the
Brahman caste. Similar sentiments were voiced again and again on the
eve of the local panchayat election; if only villagers could agree as to
candidates they would back, their collective vote would see that at least
one member from Ghanyari was returned, preferably more than one, as
befitted a village which was the largest in the administrative area which
the panchayat controlled. The Brahmans in particular were so divided
among themselves that it was inevitable that the candidate backed by
certain important families would be opposed by others. Brahmans were
supposed to set an example to the other castes, the villagers claimed, but
how could the Brahmans of Ghanyari shoulder this responsibility when
they were so disunited among themselves?
If we take Palakarra (described by Gough) and Ghanyari as repre-
sentatives of polar extremes, we find that in both villages the symbolic
identity of the village through rituals relating to collective welfare can be
achieved only with difficulty. In the case of Palakkara the main problem
is the question of hierarchy; the low caste Izhavas previously played an
important role in the village festival, but it was an ‘exterior’ role which
clearly symbolized their inferior relationship to the other castes. Since
1948 the Izhavas have rejected this role just because it represented
explicitly an inferiority which they now feel in a position to contest, and
they have recently attempted to assert their parity of status with other
castes in respect of the village temple. In Ghanyari there could be no
such dispute since the Chamars were simply not involved in the collec-
tive ritual which the other castes organized. The main obstacle to the
expression of village unity here has been the amorphous nature of the
village unit itself and the competitive divisions between the members of
its dominant caste.
Writing of English society, David Martin has suggested that the
church spire and Christian identification serve as symbols of unity in a
society which is highly differentiated in interests and culture. Few in
England are committed to the church as an institution, but “religion pro-
vides the obfuscating but necessary rhetoric of unity”. (Martin 1967: 107).
The decrepit and little used shrine, like the empty church, stands
for a unity which the villagers would like to exist, but which in fact does
not exist—with the important difference, of course, that the cultural
and religious associations of the shrine are still very vigourous. The
‘public’ nature of the village shrine expresses the ideal identity of the
276 Ursula Sharma

village, but it is ‘ideal’ not so much in the Durkheimian sense, but in the
colloquial sense of something which may be aspired to but will never in
reality be attained.
The village shrine lies between two polar types of Hindu shrine. At
the most universal level there are the great temples of Hinduism, the
major cult centres where the worshippers constitute the approximation
to an undifferentiated public (especially now that Temple Entry Acts
have made them accessible, in theory at least, to untouchables also).
Sectarian centres aside, these are the shrines which have most success-
fully escaped particularistic identification with a specific social group.
They have transcended the principle of appropriation.5 At the other end
of the continuum we have domestic and other types of private shrine,
which are the private property of an individual or family group. The
variety of village shrines in India is so great as to virtually defy general-
ization, and especially they vary in the degree to which they are genu-
inely ‘public’. But the relationship between the village shrine and major
temples on the one hand and private shrines on the other is not compa-
rable to, say, the relationship between parish churches in England to
cathedrals and private chapels. The parish church with its congregation
is a basic unit or religious organization. The village shrine in India, even
if it is really ‘public’ corresponds to no social collectivity which can easily
be mobilized for ritual purposes. It is precisely at the village level that the
difficulty of creating a ‘public’ out of an aggregation of ‘particular’
groups is the most obvious. Possibly it is because of this lack of an
explicit and undifferentiated relationship between a local shrine and its
public that Hindu immigrants to Britain have been relatively slow in
establishing their own places of worship. Sikhs and Muslims from the
Indian sub-continent very quickly created their own mosques and
gurudvaras in British towns, even buying up disused churches for the
purpose. The only Hindu places of worship which existed in Britain
until fairly recently (to the best of my knowledge at least) were the sec-
tarian centres of groups like the Ramakrishna Mission, or the
Radhaswamis. Non-sectarian Hindus have no precedent for establishing
a shrine as a congregational act, even though awareness of themselves as
a political and cultural minority in many British cities has created a
demand for places of worship which are more than domestic.
Returning to Ghanyari, it is now not so difficult to see why shrines
should be built, yet seldom used. Symbolically they refer to a public
domain, a level of identification beyond the narrow household group
PUBLIC SHRINES AND PRIVATE INTERESTS 277

which is felt by villagers to be most important, even if it cannot always

be operative. As symbols the village shrines are far from superfluous,
even though what they symbolize may exist only tenuously, an ambigu-
ous unity which is full of contradictions.

Notes
1. This research was the basis of my doctoral thesis and was financed by a Horniman
Scholarship.
2. At the time of my fieldwork Ghanyari was in District Kangra (Punjab) but both State
and District boundaries have been altered since.
3. Similar traditions are found relating to the foundation of shrines in many Hindu
villages (see Berreman 1963: 373, 375, 381).
4. On the other hand there does not seem to have been any substantial class of aristo-
cratic patrons in this locality who might finance the building of really large temples,
or who might endow them with property as in some other parts of India (Srinivas
1952: 185).
5. Parish churches in Christian countries are not always free from this element of
appropriation—for instance special areas may be reserved for the tombs of certain
families, or certain pews or benches for their living members. But these rights usually
refer to floor space rather than to the building as a whole. The parish church is clearly
distinguished from the private chapel which belongs in its entirety to a particular
individual or family.

Bibliography
Berreman, G. 1963. Hindus of the Himalayas. Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of
California Press.
Danielou, A. 1964. Hindu Polytheism. London: Routledge and Kegan Paul.
Dumont, L. 1957. Une Sous-Caste de L’Inde du Sud. Paris: Mouton.
Gough, K. 1970. “Palakarra: Social and Religious Change in Central Kerala”, in Change and
Continuity in India’s Villages. Edited by K. Ishwaran, New York Columbia University
Press.
Ishwaran, K. 1968. Shivapur. A South Indian Village. London: Routledge and Kegan Paul.
Martin, D. n.d. A Sociology of English Religion. London: Heinemann.
Mathur, K. 1964. Caste and Ritual in a Malwa Village. Bombay: Asia Publishing House.
Srinivas, M. N. 1952. Religion and Society among the Coorgs. Oxford: Clarendon Press.
16
A Study of Customs in
Rural Mysore
K.N. Venkatarayappa

T
he study of rural society offers an interesting subject for
sociologists. The rural family, administration, caste system, reli-
gion, recreation, economic structure represent typical rural
characteristics and throw a flood of light on the ancient history of social
institutions. Such a study exemplifies the complexity of cultural pat-
terns. A  systematic study of rural problems will further help for the
formulation of various social policies and thereby render valuable help
for the reorganization of village communities.
India’s rural life is undergoing a tremendous change. Technology,
improvement of literacy, political awakening, the rural upliftment
schemes such as national extension service and community develop-
ment projects have effected rural community and brought about change.
In family, in marriage, in modes of living, in religion, in ritualistic and
caste practices, and in sanitation one can discover that the rural India is
on the march.
The study of rural society is as rich in material as that of urban
society. All the major social institutions found in urban society are also
found in rural society. The problems of poverty, crime, disorganization
of the family, sex vice, are also found in rural society. The problems we
meet with in rural atmosphere, of course, have different characteristics.
A STUDY OF CUSTOMS IN RURAL MYSORE 279

There is no intention of presenting all aspects of rural society on

this occasion. I have confined my attention to the study of some cus-
toms in Mallur, in Sidlaghatta Taluk in Mysore State. This limitation is
made not because only customs occupy a major part of the social life of
rural society, nor because Mallur is the only typical village in Kannada
speaking area but because of the unique characteristcs of these customs
in the life of village community.
Mallur is situated in the centre of a table land, at a distance of
38 miles from Bangalore the capital of Mysore State. There are regular
bus services plying between Bangalore and Sidlaghatta touching Mallur.
This metal road touches Vijayapura, Devanahalli and Yelahanka each
with a population of 10,000 and more, known for commercial activ-
ities. Sidlaghatta a small town and the ‘taluk’ (unit of villages) headquar-
ter, known for potatoes and silk industry is at a distance of four miles
towards the south-east of Mallur. Towards the north-west at a distance
of nine miles is Chickaballapur, a small provincial town for potatoes and
onions.
The earth around the village is mostly red except towards the east-
ern boundary which is black. Mallur enjoys good soil fit for cultivation
of ‘Ragi,’ ‘Maize,’ ‘Avare,’ and ‘Hurulli.’ Mulberry cultivation is abun-
dantly carried on. In the gardens potatoes, onions, bananas, betel leaves
are also raised.
Rearing of silk worms is an important occupation. Nearly 3/4ths of
the households rear silk worms. The cocoons are sold which bring con-
siderable amount of income.
All around the village big trees stand magnificently adding beauty
to the village. Banyan tree, Pipal tree, Neem tree, Tamarind tree, Honge
trees grow here and there. The sparrows, parrots, crows, eagles,
goravanka, and kokila birds rest on trees peacefully. The tank towards
the north-west of the village affords ample opportunities for fishing,
swimming and irrigation works. There are patches of green belts here
and there around the village, which have helped the farmers to maintain
the buffaloes, bullocks, goats and sheep. Poultry is also a subsidiary
occupation.
Climate in Mallur knows no extremes, and is moderate. In summer
the days and nights are rather hot but tolerable. In winter and rain-falling
days it is very pleasant. The land looks green with green crops and trees
every where. Located in such natural surroundings, Mallur possessing
280 K.N. Venkatarayappa

fine characteristics of the rural communities, offers an interesting field

for sociological investigation.

II
Mallur is a Hindu Village. About twenty five years ago two families of
the Muslims moved towards Vadigenahalli and from that time onwards
no Muslim family has lived continuously for months. Occasionally a
few Muslims visit Mallur for business and sometimes they camp for a
few days and move towards other villages. Mostly they visit the village to
carry on business, in cocoons, and very rarely as tinkers. Though the
neighbouring towns Sidlaghatta and Vadigenahalli are inhabited by
Muslims, Mallur has not attracted any Muslim settlers. Very recently
four Muslims are living working as coolies and their permanent settle-
ment is doubtful.
Having an area of 1/8 square mile, Mallur has been inhabited by
1502 people. Kannada, Telugu, Tamil and Urdu are the languages
spoken. Tamil is the mother-tongue of “Tigalas”. Though Telugu and
Kannada are spoken by all people, Telugu is the mother-tongue of
Madigas, Bedas, Agasas, Mondars, Hajamas and Vajas, while Kannada is
the mother tongue of Brahmins, Vokkaligas, Kurubas, and Ganigas.
The four muslims talk Urdu.
As is common with Hindus all over India, the people of Mallur
worship the major gods of Hinduism. Brahma, Vishnu and Siva, the
concept of Trinity of Hinduism, has great appeal for the inhabitants.
They principally worship Siva and Vishnu, his incarnations Rama and
Krishna. They believe in the Karma theory of life, transmigration of soul
and rebirth. The future status of life depends upon the present, and the
present status, it is believed is decided by the past Karma. The blind,
the lame, the dumb, the mutilated, the barren, the insane, the poor and
the caste to which one belongs are conceived by the residents of Mallur
mostly decided by one’s own past Karma. “Right actions”, “Truth”,
“Moral and just behaviour” decide the social status of the community as
well as the individuals. To be in accordance with various customs, it is
believed, would qualify the people to be rewarded in heaven. Those who
violate them will be penalized in hell.
At the main entrance in the eastern direction of the village there are
the temples of Anjaneya, Iswara and Basavanna. Brahmin is the priest in
A STUDY OF CUSTOMS IN RURAL MYSORE 281

Iswara temple. Jangama1 from the neighbouring village is the authorised

priest in Basavanna temple and there is no authorised priest for Anjaneya.
Sometimes and “Achary”2 from the neighbouring village and some other
times a gentleman from the Kuruba caste officiate as priests. Till 1945
the Madigas and Holeyas were not permitted to enter the temples.
Although provision is made now for their entry, it appears that they
have not taken advantage of it.
Apart from the above temples, there are shrines dedicated to village
gods and goddesses. Just near the Anjaneya temple there are ‘Irlu Gudis’
(shrines of family deities) which are worshipped by Vokkaligas. “Irlu
Garu”3 are the family deities of the Vokkaligas. About ten years ago there
was Doddamma temple which is no more at present on the eastern side
of the road that connects Mallur with Melur in the north-east and
Vadigenahalli in the south. Since repairs were not carried out in time,
the temple of Doddamma is ruined and vanished. Towards the eastern
side of ‘Nadu beedi’4 (central spot of the village) there is the temple of
Maramma, the goddess who protects villagers from various diseases. Just
about fifty yards away towards the eastern side of Maramma temple
there is Sree Rama Bhajana Mandira, where photos of various gods are
worshipped. On Saturdays religious-minded inhabitants gather here in
the evening for prayer. They go round the village in the main streets
chanting prayers. Muneswara temples at Vadigenahalli and Valeerahalli
which are within a distance of three miles attract many inhabitants for
worship. The people take a great interest in the religious festivities and
fasts such as Shree Rama Navami, Sivarathri, Sankranthi, Sravana
Sanivara and Mahanavami. On these occasions Gangamma deity from
Melur is generally taken in procession in the main streets, and people
offer flowers and coconuts. Occasionally the inhabitants of Mallur go
on a pilgrimage to Tirupathi. Venkataramana-swamy of Tirupathi is also
the ‘Kuladevathe’ (Family deity) of many families.
It is believed by the inhabitant that contagious diseases like Plague,
Cholera, are due to the wrath of evil gods. They take in procession dei-
ties in the streets and offer coconuts, turmeric, flowers and fruits. The
deities are worshipped for a period ranging from five to fifteen days and
on an appointed date the final worship takes place. This is called Jatra.
Relatives are invited. People dress neatly. Houses are white washed.
“Thambittu”5 is prepared, moulded into different sizes. Lights would
burn in wicks soaked in oil and placed in receptacles of ‘Thambittu’.
282 K.N. Venkatarayappa

Then they would be put in baskets or vessels and decorated with flowers.
The village musicians begin beating the drums. All the village women
carry them with great joy towards the deities. The village priest performs
the “Pooja”6 (worship) waves the lights before the deities and returns
them to women to carry them back. After their return they enjoy a feast.
It is believed that diseases of men and cattle are due to the wrath of
spirits. “Naradi Jadya,” “Sappe Roga”, fever, small pox and diarrhoea are
associated with them. In order to appease these spirits various methods
are employed. The “Manthragara,” the village doctor with his magical
power, spells manthras and wards off the evil spirits that cause danger to
the children. Whenever the child is ill the “Manthragara” is sent for. On
his arrival he would be greeted by elders. After examining the patient he
prescribes invariably a “Pooja”. The necessary requirements of a “Pooja”
include neem leaves, lime fruits, coconut, betel leaves, betel-nut, tur-
meric, vermilion, flowers, baked rice and curds or butter milk. The
“Manthragara” heaps up boiled rice on a plantain leaf sometimes in a
conical shape, and some other time in a round shape with a receptacle
in the centre. He pours in butter milk or curds into it and decorates it
with turmeric, vermilion and flowers. Then he breaks the coconut utter-
ing his magical spells. After a few hours it is expected that the child
would recover from illness. When the child is seriously ill a hen, or a
cock, or a goat, or sheep would be sacrificed in the process of the “Pooja”.
The flesh would be eaten by the “village Doctor” and his party.
In cases where the child suffers from light fever, it is brought out
into the verandah and two or more women gather, light up a candle,
take a broken bangle, heat it red hot, sprinkle water at the face of
the child and burn a small portion of the skin on the back or the neck
of the child with the heated bangle. Then they take the child to the tree,
touch it with the broomsticks and pour water on the earth. After this
they return back into the house. The child it is believed would be
relieved of fever.
“Tanuvu mudde”7 is another practice commonly observed by the
entire village. Practice of this, it is believed, would preserve the general
health and well-being of the village community. For this purpose the
village elders gather and appoint a day. The village “Thoti” (servant of
inferior service) announces this, beating the drum throughout the vil-
lage. On this day the houses would be cleaned and kept neat. No cattle
would leave the village until the whole process of this “Sastra” was over.
A STUDY OF CUSTOMS IN RURAL MYSORE 283

The village dhobi officiates as the priest. The house wife prepares
“Thanuvu mudde” out of the boiled rice and worships it in the
house. The village “Thoti” announces with this dram beating to bring
the “Thanuvu mudde” to the central place of the village where the final
worship takes place. Accordingly all the village women move towards
the central place of worship with “Thanuvu mudde.” The priest wor-
ships the “Thanuvu mudde” and puts all of them into a basket specially
prepared for this occasion. He carries it on his head and behind him
follow the elders and the cattle. On reaching the main entrance of the
village the “Jangama” sprinkles water on “Thanuvu Mudde” and also on
cattle. The villagers carry-water in various vessels and pour water on the
inscriptions that are standing at the main entrance of the village. Then
the priest marches accompanied by a band of village musicians and
drummers as far as the boundary of the village in the eastern side and
puts “Thanuvu mudde” in the water. After final worship they return
home. This pooja would be performed at three successive week ends.
On the final day of ‘pooja’ a sheep or goat is sacrificed and the flesh is
shared by the priest and his colleagues.
The ryots have a great faith in rains and agricultural operations. On
“Varsha Todaku8 day” all the villagers gather at the verandah of Patel’s
house. The purohit worships New Year calendar and also the corn con-
tributed by the ryots. He explains to them the prospects of rains and
crops of the whole year, and fixes up an auspicious day to begin the
agricultural operation which would fail on the first day of rain fall soon
after Ugadi. The person who may lead the first plough, the colour of the
bullock to be yoked to it, the direction of the ploughing would also
be fixed up by him. Accordingly on the appointed day, the plough and
the bullocks would be sprinkled over with “Theertha”9. The appointed
person begins to plough and all the elders of the village follow him with
ploughs. The ploughs pass through all the fields. After the completion
of this ceremony all the villagers begin ploughing their lands. This is
called ‘Honnegilu.’ Unless this is done no villager proceeds to plough
the land.
During the month of September villagers perform “Hasta Male
Vongalu”. Small branches of Ankola plant are collected in large quanti-
ties and stuck in the fields. With the ashes, Anjaneya figures are drawn
at the fields, and also at the entrance of the village. On “Aswatha Katte”10
numbers of heaps of ash are kept ready to be taken away and thrown on
284 K.N. Venkatarayappa

crops. After 2 P.M., on the appointed day all the village leaders join at
the entrance of the village and jointly cry “Kelalalalo kiki-kiki-kiki,”
repeatedly. About fixe or six goats or sheeps are slaughtered and the
blood is mixed with Margose leaves. Then this mixture is thrown over
the crops uttering “Poligo, Poligo”. The flesh would be shared by all the
villagers. By this sacrificial ceremony it is believed that there would be
sufficient rain fall.
Before sowing the seeds in the fields “Kooridge pooja” is performed.
The agricultural implements are cleaned and decorated with turmeric
and vermilion; coconut is broken and the water of the coconut sprin-
kled over the implements. The rice mixed with jaggery is distributed. At
night the members of the family enjoy a feast. This rite is believed to
guarantee rich crops.
To avert the insect pests some ceremonies are performed.
‘Seedidevaru’ is one of them. When crops are standing sweets are pre-
pared at home and Ankola branches are collected and a small hut is
constructed in the field. Five stones are erected symbolising deities in it
and worshipped with vermilion, turmeric and flowers. Sweets, and
cooked rice with curds on two plantain leaves are offered to these deities.
Then a fowl is killed and its blood has to be mixed with the rice on one
of the leaves. Leaves of Ankola are also added. This mixture is scattered
over the field uttering ‘Poligo, Poligo’. The head of the fowl is buried in
front of this hut. The remains of the fowl will be carried home to be
cooked and eaten.
Before the crops are reaped ‘Kudugolu Devaru’ is worshipped. A
handful of crop is cut and placed in the field before five small stones that
are erected. Sickles are placed in front of these stones. Coconut is broken
and worshipped in the usual way. Before the crop is removed from the
field the bullock cart is worshipped in the usual way and the crops trans-
ported and stocked into a heap. Thrashing of the crop begins just around
February and March. When the crops are thrashed and the grains
heaped, a ‘pilari’, that is a cone made out of cow-dung is installed with
an ear of corn stuck into it at the top. This is worshipped and incense
burnt and the coconut broken. Then the grain is poured through a
bamboo winnow by a man standing on a stool about five feet high so as
to let the chaff be carried away by the wind. The heavy grain is deposited
in a heap below. This is called “Rasabiduvudu”. All persons engaged in
this function remain silent until this process is over, symbolising that the
A STUDY OF CUSTOMS IN RURAL MYSORE 285

ryots wished to do this in silence without drawing the attention of the

robbers. It is also believed that if they do their job silently the evil spirits
would be warded off. Before measuring the grain some Quantity of corn
is set apart to be given in charity to a Brahmin. This is called “Devara
Kolaga”.

III

Various ceremonies take place among different castes. Of all the

ceremonies, birth ceremonies of Vokkaligas have a special significance
because of their punctuality. A brief description of them is given in the
following paragraphs. As soon as the child is born the mother is kept in
a separate house and an elderly woman attends her. After nine days she
takes a bath before she touches anything in the house. The water used
for bath is mixed with different kinds of leaves. The villagers and rela-
tives are invited and entertained at a dinner. The child is presented with
various gifts.
The birth of the first child takes place generally in the house of the
mother. Within one year ‘Tottilu Devaru’ is performed. The child on
the appointed day is bathed and dressed neatly. Relatives from the child’s
father’s village bring jaggery, betel leaves, betel-nuts and ghee. After
dinner the cradle is worshipped and child is presented with a golden
jewel. Then the young mother returns to her husband’s place. Before the
child is admitted into the house, “Pooja” (worship) is performed in the
temple and holy water sprinkled on the child and the mother to ward off
the evil spirits. Then “Arathi” is waved before the child and finally the
child is admitted into the house.
There is another very important ceremony called “Makkala
Devaru,” which would generally be performed once in every decade.
This is to be observed as a matter of right before the lobes of the child’s
ears are pierced for holding ear rings. For this ceremony all the families
related as agnates join together and select an auspicious day in consul-
tation with the Purohit (priest). Since this ceremony involves consider-
able expense all the families joined together collect a common fund and
elect an ‘Yajaman’ (Headman) under whose guidance the ceremony
should take place. If any family has neglected to perform “Hosadevaru”11,
such family will not be allowed to join the “Makkaladevaru” ceremony.
It is also said that if any girl attains puberty before ceremony of
286 K.N. Venkatarayappa

“Makkala devaru”, she should be left in a forest. But this is not observed
at present.
The worship of the family deity is the main intention of this cere-
mony. To escape the persecution of a local tyrant the ancestors of this
caste flew from Kanchi and carried “Bandidevaru” along with them.
The other name for Bandidevaru is ‘Baire Deva’ which is the name of
Shiva. In olden days during this family festival fingers of married women
used to be cut and offered to the family deity. Now this custom is
discontinued.
On an appointed date mostly during the month of May all families
related as agnates join in a particular place. After taking bath, clothes are
worshipped on Friday symbolising that they are offered to ancestral spir-
its. Goats and sheep are sacrificed and the flesh used to be shared by all
the families that participated in the function.
The priest for this ceremony is from the “Asadi” caste. He draws
various figures of gods at the place of worship, and in the central place
fresh corn is heaped in a conical shape. The priest wears colourful clothes
and erects “Vanake”12 and lights up a candle on it. In front of this he
sings (in Telugu language) songs, and dances. The songs refer to
the qualities of the family deity. In the course of these songs he narrates
the history of the worshippers of Baire Deva. All the villagers participate
in this ceremony and enjoy the worship.
On a subsequent day the worship of the deities of Patalamma,
Maramma and Gangamma takes place. Small huts of fig leaves are con-
structed and the stones representing each deity would be installed in
them. Mothers of children whose ears are to be bored, fast during the
day and march towards these huts for worship carrying on their heads
plates of thambittu with lights burning on them. These lights would
burn on wicks soaked in ghee placed in receptacles of rice flour sweet-
ened with jaggery. The priest waves these plates of ‘thambittu’ before the
idols and returns them back to the women to carry them back.
The chief ceremony in connection with Bandidevadu falls on a
Sunday. In the morning the relatives begin pouring in bringing gifts of
clothes. A bullock would be decorated and after worship it would be
taken in procession towards “Aswathakatte” where the relatives would
be waiting with their gifts. The gifts would be removed on the bullock
towards the house where worship takes place with village musicians
singing. As soon as the bullock reaches the place of worship the
A STUDY OF CUSTOMS IN RURAL MYSORE 287

daughters-in-law of the families worship the bullock and remove the

gifts. Then the relatives would enjoy a dinner.
After 3 P.M. on this ceremonious day among “Lagumi Devaru
Vokkalu” an important ceremony takes place. All persons who are mar-
ried would be dressed in new clothes. Men wear dhotis and turbans and
women wear saris presented to them by their parents in the morning. All
of them wear garlands and assemble in the place of worship. After wor-
ship the “Yajaman” hands over to the married men fresh stones where
there are carvings of cobras. Women are given baskets along with a
‘Karaga’, (clay pot) rice and flowers. Men carry the stones on the shoul-
ders and women carry the baskets on their heads. All of them stand in a
line, each wife standing behind her husband. Then they march in proces-
sion on clothes spread by the village dhobis accompanied by the band of
village musicians and the drummers. During the procession the partici-
pants receive gifts from relatives. On arrival at the village dam the stones
and the baskets would be worshipped. The stones would be erected
firmly. Then each woman goes to the wooden block driven into the
ground, places on it her two fingers to which some flower or a betel leaf
is tied and the smith chops off the flower or the betel leaf as the case may
be. In olden days the smith used to chop off the last joints of the fingers
and the severed bits used to be thrown into an ant-hill and the ends used
to be dipped in oil to stop the bleeding. Now this custom is discontinued
and they are satisfied with cutting off the flower or the leaf round the
fingers. Then they return home and enjoy a feast with guests, relatives
and friends.
Among “Karaga Devaru Vokkalu” this ceremony is performed with
some modification. At the north eastern corner, outside the village,
sheds of green leaves are set up. All the married men and women would
be presented with earthen pots (called Karaga) and they march towards
these sheds in procession carrying ‘Karagas’. At the main gate of the
village there would be a number of carts washed and decorated with
white and red stripes of coloured cloth tied to bullocks. The bullocks
run a race with these carts in front of this procession until they reach the
sheds. On reaching the sheds those who carry the ‘Karaga’ offer worship.
Afterwards the finger cutting ceremony is performed in the same manner
as that of the “Lagumi Devaru Vokkalu.”
The offering of fingers to Baire Deva is traced to a Puranic source.
By a severe Tapas Bramhasura a demon had obtained the power of
288 K.N. Venkatarayappa

reducing everything he touched to ashes. The demon wanted to test

his power on Shiva the giver himself. He attacked Shiva, and Shiva
ran for life. God Shiva somehow unnoticingly hid himself in the fruit
of a creeper. The demon lost sight of the God and in his enthusiasm
asked a Morasu man who was ploughing the land in which direction
the God went. The farmer wanted to evade the wrath of both the
mighty powers, and said that he did not see. While saying so he acci-
dentally pointed out his finger towards the creeper that had sheltered
Shiva, At this time Vishnu in the form of Mohini appeared before the
demon. The demon being enamoured by the beauty of Mohini forgot
Shiva and followed Mohini. The demon was lured by the lovely
damsel to place his hand on his own head. As soon as the Rakshasa
put his hand on his head he was immediately burnt into a heap of
ashes. Shiva now came out of the creeper and tried to punish the
rustic with the loss of his finger with which he pointed out Shiva to
the demon. But the rustic’s wife who had carried his food begged
Shiva and said that the deprivation of the finger of her husband
would ake him unfit for work. So for one finger of her husband she
offered two of her fingers.
On the following Monday after Bandidevaru all the children are
bathed, dressed neatly and garlanded. They sit under the pandal with
their mothers. Their relatives present the children with sweets and eat-
ables. The maternal uncle makes marks on each ear of the children with
a flower dipped in sandalwood paste for boring. Then all the children
would be taken in procession to “Erlu Gudi” and after worship they
return home.
All these ceremonies involve considerable expense. Those who are
poor and as such cannot stand the expenditure of these ceremonies
make a trip with their children to Site Betta, a hill in Kolar taluk. In the
shrine of Bhairava, worship takes place and the children would be gar-
landed and presented with eatables. Then all those who were present
would enjoy a feast.
This practice is considered more economical and within the reach
of poor men. A worship of this type is considered equivalent to the elab-
orate ceremonies of Bandi Devaru.
Similar ceremonies are performed as regards marriage and death.
They are common to other caste people also but non-Vokkaliga castes
perform them in a less elaborate manner.
A STUDY OF CUSTOMS IN RURAL MYSORE 289

IV

To conclude, Mallur situated in a rich environment has thirteen castes.

They have a great belief in the tradition of the village, and are
religious-minded. In all the customs they do they see a way of life, and
associate any thing that happens in the village with some superior power.
They have a faith in the supernatural powers and hence offer sacrifices.
In all their endeavour they think that superhuman power plays a great
role. At the same time they have recognized that man also should do his
best and work hard to lead a good and prosperous life. As a result of
these beliefs, respect for life, marriage, elders, family ties, and property
is enhanced.
There is a well organized community life. In all the community
feasts all the villagers join together to perform various ceremonies which
are considered good for the whole community. These community feasts
have minimised caste consciousness and clashes among castes, promot-
ing social unity.
In all the ceremonies of the village, feasts inevitably follow involv-
ing considerable expenses and feeding thousands of people. It is stated
by inhabitants of Mallur that most of their earnings are spent over feasts
and ceremonies. So they have developed through their customs and
ceremonies philanthropic ideas and enhanced their faith in God.
But in recent years after Independence a social change is noticed.
Mallur has been covered under National Extension Service Scheme.
Health, educational, and financial assistance from the government is
extended which has minimised the danger of communicable diseases.
Slight improvement in material return is noticed from fields and gardens
and standard of living. In a population of 1502 souls 223 are listed as
literates giving literacy percentage of about 14 per cent. There is a polit-
ical awakening, resulting in the contest of ‘Panchayat’ elections, and as
yet there is no bickering or frustration on this front. The inhabitants are
accustomed to the use of irrigation pumps numbering 80 showing the
economic activities in their gardens. With self-effort villagers have con-
structed roads of their locality which present pleasant aspect. The first
change is the electricity lighted streets of this village. Supply of electricity
has facilitated the use of radios. Seven radios work in this village.
Stagnation of water is removed by constructing fresh gutters. With the
help of a cooperative society necessary goods are easily and cheaply
290 K.N. Venkatarayappa

procured. Disputes are settled with the help of an organised panchayat.

The panchayat buys 3 different Kannada dailies and maintains that they
are freely read and thus knowledge of the outside world to some extent
disseminated. The circulating library containing a good number of
Kannada books on various topics is built up. People of the village are
attending the temples where “Sanimahathme” and “Mahabharata” recit-
als take place. These improvements do not seem to have caused any
change in the social life and particularly the religious beliefs of the
people. Thus it is common phenomenon in the use of a serious illness
that a qualified doctor’s help is supplemented by the help of magical
exerciser or/and on avowal to a deity.

Glossary
1. JANGAMA:—A sub-caste in the Lingayat community whose occupation is mainly
priesthood.
2. (a) ACHARY:—A gentleman from the Goldsmith caste who officiates as priest for a
number of non-brahmin castes.
2. (b) ARATHI:—Light burning on wicks soaked in oil in a small plate placed in the
centre of big plate containing water mixed with vermillion.
3. IRLUGARU:—Family deities, installed and worshipped in small temples at the main
entrance of the village. It is popularly believed that these deities are bachelors and
known for their heroic deeds.
4. NADUBEEDI:—The central place in the village which is used for holding important
assemblies of the village, and recreation.
5. THAMBITTU:—Rice flour boiled into paste and sweetened with jaggery.
6. POOJA:—(a) Offering to a spirit; (b) Worship of the deities.
7. TANA VU MUDDE:—Boiled rice poured into a small heap and into a receptacle
made in the centre, butter-milk will be poured.
8. VARSHATODAKU:—The subsequent day of the Yugadi Feast. It is believed that all
the sins of the year would be warded off on this day.
9. THEERTHA:—Holy water in the temple.
10. ASWATHAKATTE:—A platform on which people sit, and neem trees are planted in
the centre of which three stones are erected with carvings of serpent gods. They are
worshipped regularly.
11. HOSADEVARU:—Women of the Vokkaliga community related as agnates join on a
Sunday fixed by elders during the first or second week after Deepavali festival and
worship new articles of food such as Ragi, Maize and Navane. In the course of this
worship women put lights in a plate, place it on the heads one after another and turn
to east, north, west and south respectively. They sprinkle ghee in all these directions.
In the course of this worship they utter, “Haledu Hogi Hosadu Banthu. Enu Thappu
Madidaru Voppiko, Voppiko Nanna Hose Devare!” signifying that new has replaced
the old, “whatever mistakes we commit, pardon us, O new God”.
12. VANAKE:—A round wooden staff of about six feet height and seven in ches in girth
used for the removal of chaff from seeds and paddy.
17
Ritual Circles in a
Mysore Village
Gurumurthy K. Gowdra

Introduction

T
he students of Indian village and caste have never failed to
mention about certain ritually pure areas in village settlements
which are closed for ritually lower persons and objects. For
example, Ishwaran mentions such locations in Shivapura, a Karnatak
village, and shows how the socio-economic and religious status of the
persons who occupy the central area differs from that of those who
occupy the outskirts (1966: 33–34). According to him, the latter belong
to ritually lower castes and are not allowed to have their temples and
other public places in the heart of the village. Srinivas mentions the
presence of boundary stones in the Mysore villages to demarcate the
areas meant for certain castes in the village settlement (1960: 30). Cohn
noticed the houses of the rich Thakurs and other high castes located at
the centre of the settlement, while those of the others at the peripheries
(1961: 55). All these observations give a clue to the presence of some
kind of gradation in the value attached to the different parts of a rural
settlement.
Many scholars have tried to explain this gradation in terms of the
ritual statuses of castes living in these localities. They have, however,
failed to see a gradation in the ritual status of the settlement area itself.
They have also not perceived the existence of rigid and traditionally
292 Gurumurthy K. Gowdra

demarcated ring-like areas, which I will call here “ritual circles.” The
innermost circle is the temple of the village god, and the progressively
widening circles end at the ritual boundary of the village. The main aim
of this paper1 is to describe the nature of ritual circles in a village
named Kallapura, located in Davangere taluka of Chitradurga district in
Mysore State.
The failure on the part of scholars to observe ritual circles may be
due to two factors: (1) the nature of the problems they were interested
in studying, and (2) the loss today of the significance these areas had in
the past. It is difficult to perceive them unless a total study is made of
the village community, particularly of caste hierarchy, historical back-
ground of the village and its people, and the village festivals.
In this paper I have also made an attempt to throw light on the
socio-economic and ritual differentiation of the people and of the lands
in the village. Till now ritual status was taken as a criterion to arrange
castes in hierarchical order. In addition to ritual status I have taken other
dimensions such as ethnic status, possession of certain type of land, and
roles played in the community festivals.

The Village

Today Kallapura occupies an area of 3,213.14 acres of land. This is tra-

ditionally divided into two parts: Uru and Adive. The Uru or settlement
area is 32.10 acres, and the rest comes under the Adive category which
includes all the agricultural and pastoral lands. The total population of
Kallapura is 2,229 persons living in 298 families.
There are nine castes. The Lingayats are placed at the top. They are
not only ritually high but also more in number, own most of the settle-
ment as well as agricultural lands, and dominate the social, economic
and political life of the community.
Apart from caste divisions, the Kallapura population is loosely
divided into such groups as the original settlers, the later immigrants,
the clan groups, and the groups formed on the basis of having a common
family deity. There are in all forty native and immigrant totemic clan
groups in Kallapura which are locally known as Bedagu or Khola.
A  group of people called Helavaru, whose traditional occupation is to
record the genealogical tree, clan history, and significant occurences in
RITUAL CIRCLES IN A MYSORE VILLAGE 293

the clan, such as birth, death, marriage, adoption, purchase and sale of
valuable property, and migration, provide valuable information about
some of the important clans in Kallapura.

A Brief History of the People and the Settlement

Eight to ten generations ago there was plenty of fallow land and very few
village settlements around Kallapura. Due to fear of robbers, wild ani-
mals, and evil spirits the settlers lived in a cluster of houses. A settlement
of this type had a common open place in front of the houses where they
had their place of worship, while the thrashing grounds and the fields
were in the back of the houses. This gave an appearance of a convergent
picture to the settlement where the thrashing grounds (kana) and ances-
tral fields (manedola) were in long strips right behind the houses and the
individual owners had no problems in reaching their fields.
Although plenty of fallow land was available, only the traditional
agriculturists and the original settlers were allowed to possess it so that
they could become leaders and later the heads of the settlement, called
Gaudas2. They have an important place in the social and ritual organ-
izations of the Aya and the Bara Balute3. Because they were the owners
of the land, they organized the various fertility rituals for the commu-
nity; and even today they have this privilege. The Gudi Gauda, the head
of the ritual activities of the village, belongs to this clan. So the Gaudas
have a right to worship and carry the image of the village God during
the community festivals. The immigrants, who stay in the same settle-
ment and contribute to the festivals, do not have any of these
privileges.
The immigrant relatives, agricultural labourers, and servants
brought by the Gaudas were allowed to construct houses either on the
thrashing grounds or on the fields owned by the respective relatives or
masters. Because they cultivated the land for the Gaudas, they became
known as Raitaru, meaning “cultivators.” Due to the scarcity of suit-
able and permanent assistants to work on farms, the Gaudas used to
engage the Raita youths as Mane Aliyas or “sons-in-law of the house,”
who worked for the girl’s parents even before marriage. On coming of
age a Mane Aliya was given one of the daughters of the family in
marriage, along with a patch of land. He was supposed to stay close
294 Gurumurthy K. Gowdra

to his parents-in-law’s family and continue to assist them even after

marriage. These hard working youth, with the support of the Gaudas
who were their affinal kin and well wishers, later brought their broth-
ers or other kin and cultivated some more fallow land. This depend-
ence on and obligation to the Gaudas not only reduced the status of
the Raitas, but they were also later made to play some roles in the
community which were socially and ritually low. For example, they
were made to play the role of “cultivator” in all the rites of the com-
munity, and to bear the entire expenditure on the rites. They were
also made to play the role of the bride’s party while playing Okli after
the festival of the village God. This role has lower status in this part
of Karnatak.4
Marital relations among the Gaudaru and the Raitaru were rare,
but whenever they were arranged they were hypergamous. It was status
symbol for the Raitaru men to marry girls from Gaudaru families. For
the social and economic security and advantages they got, the Raitaru
paid a very high bride price (tera) or worked as Mane Aliya. On the
other side, the girls from the Raitaru families were taken as first wives
only by the physically disabled Gaudaru, and only as second or third
wives by the average Gaudaru. Because they were immigrants and low in
status the Raitaru could not get an honourable place in the socio-
economic and ritual structure of the village. Their house sites and fields
were also considered low in status and value.
As the village settlement began to grow and the demand for the
different occupational groups increased, the various occupational castes
also came and settled with the earlier immigrants and attached them-
selves to the landowning families. Such attachment resulted in the for-
mation of a socio-economic and ritual unit called Okkalu. It included a
family each from all the occupational groups which were needed in agri-
cultural operations and in leading a normal community life.

Origin of Ritual Circles

When the earlier settlers came and constructed their houses on fallow
land they had fear from two sources: (a) human beings, and (b) evil
beings. To get protection against them, they raised a fence as a physical
as well as ritual barrier around their settlement. Later the area where
their dependants lived was also included in the protected area. The fence
RITUAL CIRCLES IN A MYSORE VILLAGE 295

was shifted from time to time as the settlement went on growing.

However, the earlier and traditional barriers continued to exist and dif-
ferentiate the masters from their dependants. In order to protect this
area a ritual pretext was used and the entry of ritually lower persons and
objects was prohibited. So the dependants, who were considered lower
and different from the natives, were barred from entering the ritually
superior area of the natives.
Today this type of segregation and restrictions are not maintained
in the settlement area because in the course of time the population pres-
sure brought the problems of scarcity of space. During the earlier period,
i.e., when the lands were not surveyed and the village area was not clas-
sified into ‘revenue’ and ‘panchayat’ land, the immigrants went on con-
structing houses on their masters’ and relatives’ fields. The protecting
fence, the ritual boundary of the village, was also pushed further from
time to time. When the survey was made, the government brought
restrictions on the free use of revenue land for housing and other non-
agricultural purposes. This brought some problems. Since the actual
holdings were measured and their boundaries fixed, the individual
owners became conscious of the boundary lines. Even the original set-
tlers, their kin, and the artisan castes began to face the problem of short-
age of space. The persons who followed one occupation or belonged to
one caste were made to shift to a locality of their own, of course within
the protecting fence. This shifting gave birth to caste localities of today.
It did not bring any change in either the nature of working of the
Okkalu or the status of the dependants.
As population increased, the demand for cultivable land also
increased. The land nearer the settlement was owned by the Gaudaru,
while the immigrants cultivated the land next to it and the fallow land.
As a result, the outer edge of the fields cultivated by the original settlers,
which served as the ritual boundary of the village, was also shifted fur-
ther from time to time. But the original ritual boundary remained with
some traditional significance. The fields within the ritual boundary con-
tinued to be considered the traditional cultivable land of the village, and
all the village rituals were performed there. The land cultivated in the
later period was considered less significant.
Now let us see how these historical factors have influenced
the  present-day settlement area and brought about the gradation of
ritual circles.
296 Gurumurthy K. Gowdra

Ritual Circles

The two main divisions of the village area, Uru and Adive, are subdivided
into a total of eight ritual circles. Of the eight, five are in the Uru: (1) temple
compound (gude pouli), (2) inner settlement (hola keeri), (3) outer settle-
ment (hora keeri), (4) thrashing ground (hola kand), and (5) protecting
fence (pahari beeli). The Adive has three ritual circles: (1) ancestral lands
(manedola), (2) fields (hold), and (3) ritual boundary of the village (ura gadi).
Let us see the significance of each of these ritual circles.

Ritual Circles in the Uru

1. Temple compound. The temple of the village God and the land around
it is demarcated from the rest of the village area by four big black stones
(karigally) permanently fixed in the ground. This is the most sacred part
of the village. Persons belonging to ritually low castes, a barber with his
shaving kit, dead animals, and ritually impure objects are not allowed to
enter this area. It is believed that any violation will bring epidemic,
drought, and such other disasters to the village. If this area is polluted
the villagers perform a purificatory rite. They pour 101 or 1001 pots of
water on the four boundary stones, while the village priest chants man-
tras, placing his feet on one of the stones. Because of the sacredness of
the area many religious activities, such as marriage rituals and group
singing of bhajans, are conducted here. The meetings of the traditional
panchayat take place in the temple. The sanctity of the place also pro-
vides immunity to persons who take refuse in the temple (gude beludu)
against maltreatment and threat to life.

2. Inner settlement. This area lies immediately after the temple com-
pound. Although it is not considered to be particularly sacred, its resi-
dents attach a great amount of emotional value to it. In the past the
original settlers, i.e., the ancestors of today’s Gaudaru, built their houses
here. There is a belief even today that the houses of the village headman
and the village priest should be in this area. As a result, most of the fam-
ilies who live here are the descendants of these two traditional village
leaders. There is a restriction on taking yoked bullocks, carts loaded
with manure, corpses of dead men and animals, liquor, and persons
riding on horse back into this area. During community rites, ritually
RITUAL CIRCLES IN A MYSORE VILLAGE 297

lower persons are not allowed to enter the area. When the image of the
village God is taken in procession through the village settlement, it is
taken only through the inner settlement area. Marriage processions
should also pass through this area, and whoever takes a procession here
he must give a feast to the community. This is also one of the three cir-
cles which is visited by the purificatory party during the village purifica-
tory rites.
At the present time, due to population pressure, some of the origin-
ally settled families have moved out to other circles, but their attach-
ment towards the original sites is neither changed, nor are they ready to
dispose them off. They always hope, like Eglar’s Punjabi villagers (1960:
21–22), that one of their descendants will go and live there.

3. Outer settlement. The area lying next to the inner settlement is occu-
pied by the Raitaru, the later immigrant tillers, and other castes and
occupational groups. Today they live on the house sites of their own
(hatti). Compared to the solid and spacious though old houses in the
inner settlement, the houses here are new though small and built with
cheap materials. The residents of this area lack roles in the Aya and the
Bara Balute systems, which is symbolic of their being considered as
second class citizens of the village.
The area which lies to the south of the outer settlement is exclu-
sively left for the Untouchables. Entry of corpses and of upper caste
members and their deities is not permitted into this area lest they are
defiled.

4. Thrashing ground. This area is used for the purpose of collecting har-
vest, fodder, and firewood and for thrashing and winnowing grains. In
the past it was only a non-residential area, but now due to scarcity of
house sites in the inner and the outer settlements many families from
these two settlements have built their houses here.
Usually each thrashing ground is surrounded by a high fence and
clusters of tamarind, neem and other trees, which almost conceal the
settlement from the outside. The grounds owned by the original settlers
are in the first ring, next to the outer settlement, and are wider in area,
while the grounds owned by the immigrants are small and are in the
outer ring, with or without trees. Because thrashing grounds are not
easily available, many immigrants do not own such grounds exclusively
298 Gurumurthy K. Gowdra

for themselves and have therefore to depend upon their friends and
relatives for this purpose.
When a thrashing ground is used for the first time, a rite is per-
formed. The Untouchables and ritually unclean persons are not allowed
to go near it till the worship is over. Similarly, when all the work for the
year is over, and fodder, firewood and other things are each collected
into a final heap (banave), another rite is performed. A ritual material
(charaga) is sprinkled on these materials to immunise them against acci-
dents of fire. The popular belief is that any violation of these customs
will bring frequent thefts and accidents of fire.

5. Protecting fence. The village settlement used to be surrounded by a

continuous, tall fence (pahari beeli), erected by individual owners of the
thrashing grounds on the outer side. It was owned by the villagers indi-
vidually, although it was a result of communal work. It was the duty of
individual owners to keep it tall and strong, so that it would prevent
entry of men and animals. The village headman and the elders, whose
duty it was to protect the life and property of the villagers, appointed a
village watchman to have a watch on the fence and took necessary action
if it was not in good condition.
This fence was the dividing line between the residential and the
non-residential area, between the members and the non-members, and
between the living and the dead members of the community. It was left
open only at the roads which led to the neighbouring villages. In the past
there were gates (agase bagilu) to regulate the movement of men and
materials.5 They were watched round the clock by the village watchman.
They also served as the checkpoints to any outside agency which might
bring ill luck to the village, and to beggars, traders, and strangers. The
latter groups were allowed to enter the village only after a thorough
inquiry and with the permission of the village headman.
Because of its security function against evil spirits the fence was
given a ritual recognition. The ritually pure fence was a barrier to the
evil spirits. The gates meant to regulate the movement of the people also
checked the evil spirits. As soon as the news of any epidemic in the neigh-
bouring villages was received, the villagers performed a preventive rite
(kavukattu) to check the entry of evil spirits. Similarly, when the village
observed a state of ritual purity during communal festivals, the watch-
men at the gates insisted that the people should pass under an arch
which was specially constructed for the occasion and from which certain
RITUAL CIRCLES IN A MYSORE VILLAGE 299

ritual materials were hung. This was done to make the people free from
any contaminations.
It was a duty of all members of the village to be present during the
community festivals. The non-members were not allowed to move in
and out freely because they might steal the fertility or affect the ritual
status of the community. That is why even today when the community
observes a period of ritual purity during the community festivals there
is restriction on the movement of men and materials. The visiting rela-
tives, friends, businessmen, animals, grains, etc. are not allowed to go
out of the fence during the rite, to make sure that they will not take
away fertility with them. Persons were allowed to go out only after they
produced a guarantee by their friends or relatives that they were present
during the rite. Strangers were allowed to go after they deposited a
certain amount of money or ornaments with the village headman to
assure their return. In case they failed to return, the deposited valuables
were used to meet the expenditure required to repeat the entire rite.
Another instance shows how the village acts as a corporate group.
When the village is in a state of ritual purity to celebrate a community rite
it becomes one ritual unit. Any death within the fence will defile the entire
village, and after the funeral a rite is performed to bring the village back to
its original status. The body of a person who dies outside the fence is also
not allowed to be brought inside, and the funeral rites are conducted out-
side the fence. No burials and skinning of dead animals will be allowed
within the fence. These activities clearly show how the community acts as
a corporate unit to maintain ritual purity and to ward off evil spirits.

Ritual Circles in the Adive

Compared to the area lying within the protecting fence, the land lying
between the fence and the ritual boundary is somewhat less important.
Firstly, it is a non-residential area. Secondly, there are possibilities of
presence of evil beings here. Thirdly, it is not ritually well protected.
Except the ritual boundary, no other barrier is there to protect it, while
the settlement is guarded by both the ritual boundary and the protect-
ing fence. Now let us see the significance of the ritual circles in this area.

1. Ancestral fields. The agricultural lands lying immediately after the pro-
tecting fence were the first to be cultivated and, in most of the cases, by
300 Gurumurthy K. Gowdra

the ancestors of the present owners. This factor and their fertility and
nearness to the settlement have brought a very high socio-economic and
ritual value to them. Here one can see the tombs of ancestors and the
burial places of favourite bulls. If a family wants to sell its property it
will be sold to their agnates so that the land will remain among the
agnates only. Because of this value, during the partition of family prop-
erty all the members insist on a share in this land. As a result, it has been
divided and subdivided into smaller holdings.
Familial agricultural rites are performed only on the ancestral land.
From the time of the foundation of the village settlement the original
settlers have performed sacrifices and other rites here. Moreover, the
village purificatory party which is taken around the village during the
community festivals should pass through this area. The ancestral lands
were thus used by the earlier settlers for their ritual purposes, and the
same practice has been continued.

2. Fields. The agricultural lands lying between the ancestral land and the
village boundary are considered ordinary lands with no socioreligious
value. Compared to the ancestral lands they are far off and there are no
direct roads to reach them. As a result the owners have to pass through
fields owned by others and crossing many dikes and brooks. This mikes
the transportation of manure and harvest difficult. A large part of these
lands are owned by the immigrants. A few fields owned by the original
settlers have been given to tenants since they are not very fertile. Because
they have no ritual and social value the owners also have no emotional
attachment to them, and they are bought and sold more often. Since no
rituals are performed here, there is greater frequency of presence of evil
spirits and therefore this is considered hostile land. When an evil spirit
manages to cross the ritual boundary of the village, it will reach this area
first before it gets entry into the next circle. All these factors make the
area lower in ritual significance.

3. Village ritual boundary. This dividing line (ura gadi) is the final outer
limit of the socio-economic and religious activities of the village. It is
marked by minor shrines at several places. It is the critical line dividing
different villages. It demarcates one village from another in socio-
economic and ritual activities. It wards off the evil spirits and objects
bringing epidemics or minimizing the fertility of soil and cattle.6 During
epidemics in the neighbouring villages the village elders arrange for
RITUAL CIRCLES IN A MYSORE VILLAGE 301

preventive sacrifices and other rites at both the protective fence and the
ritual boundary.7 At the latter the ritual material containing the evil spir-
its themselves and the offerings made to them is kept outside the bound-
ary limit, and the offerings are made to the boundary god. The evil
spirits are pushed outside the boundary and cannot now re-enter because
the boundary is now watched by the more satisfied gods. The evil spirits
therefore wander in the space between the two ritual boundaries, waiting
for a chance to enter the village if its boundary is not watched properly
or if it is ritually unclean.
It is important to note here that the ritual boundary is different from
the revenue boundary of the village. The latter is always wider than the
former.8 The space between the two boundaries is known as Rudhra
Bhumi and was used as the burial ground for women, for persons who did
not own land in the ancestral land area, for persons who had met with an
unnatural or violent death, and for persons suffering from leucoderma.
The ritual boundary also acts as a check post for things which are
taken out of the village lest fertility escapes through or with them.
Therefore, before a fertility rite is performed the ritual boundary is
tightened so that no part of fertility may escape out of it. Important
among the fertility rites are the car festival of the village God and the
Kare festivals.9 The entire merit obtained from performing these two
fertility festivals is symbolically concentrated into a certain ritual mater-
ial (charaga) which is later sprinkled within the limits of the ritual
boundary or preserved by the villagers in their homes.
These two festivals bring the village people as a whole into a corpor-
ate group in the following manner. The festival of the village God is
celebrated for five to nine days, nine days after the Ugadi festival. On the
last day the village priest prepares the ritual material, and the God con-
fers fertility power to it so that it becomes sacred and important. From
then onwards it is guarded by the villagers, till it is sprinkled on the vil-
lage land. A person who wants to steal it must do so at this stage.10
The Kare festival is celebrated during a period locally known as Kara
Hunnime, which is in the month of July. The main rite, performed late in
the evening, has two features. Firstly, it informs the villagers about
the high yielding crops of that year. Secondly, it brings fertility to the vil-
lage. For this rite, a rope (kare) made of wild creepers by the village servant
is brought and worshipped. It is tied across the main road to two stone
poles known as Kare Kallu. A person belonging to a traditional cultivator
family worships it and offers cooked rice brought from his home. Later
302 Gurumurthy K. Gowdra

the rope is placed on the neck of his bullocks and made to break. When
the rope is broken it becomes ritual material. So the villagers pounce on
it and snatch a portion of it and take it home.11
In administrative matters, the ritual boundary of the village separates
the village as a corporate group from other villages. For example, any
quarrels, thefts, and other crimes which may take place within the ritual
boundary come under the jurisdiction of the village traditional court
(Ura Panchayat). Even if the parties involved in the matter belong to vil-
lages other than Kallapura it does not bar the village elders from trying it.
As a corporate entity the village enjoys a right over certain materials
which may be found within the boundary. Wood, stone, earth, and such
other materials cannot be taken away by other villagers without paying
some thing to the village, either to the temple or to the community.
Similarly, things belonging to other villages but found within the
boundary of Kallapura also come under the right of the people of
Kallapura. For example, if an animal owned by a person from another
village dies within the ritual boundary, the Madigas of Kallapura have a
right to take the carrion. “Without taking this they will not allow the
owner or his people to take the animal away.12
The happenings outside the boundary will not come under the
jurisdiction of the panchayat. This can be seen from a dispute which
occurred in 1966. Two persons from two different villages quarrelled on
the bank of a rivulet which is the northern ritual boundary of Kallapura.
One of the parties involved in the dispute had relatives in Kallapura. He
initiated through them a meeting of the panchayat to try the case.
During the trial the elders came to know that the quarrel took place
actually outside the ritual boundary of Kallapura. They therefore asked
the two parties to take the matter to the Nadu Panchayat, a council of
seven villages, which had jurisdiction on the area. Like this, in times of
need the village acts as a corporate group although there is also fission
within its ritual boundary.

Conclusion

Today due to changes in the village settlement and in the values of the
people it is difficult to observe the existence of all the ritual circles in all
its aspects. But a study of the caste hierarchy, values attached to different
areas in the settlement, ethnic status of the various residents, and the
customs and traditions still in practice, reveal the original values. The
RITUAL CIRCLES IN A MYSORE VILLAGE 303

two critical dividing lines—the protecting fence and the ritual boundary
of the village—are most important. The former divides the habitated
territory from the uninhabitated and the human territory from the
non-human. In the same way, the ritual boundary divides one village
from the other and shows how the village acts in times of danger as a
corporate group in socio-economic and ritual activities. In this way the
study of ritual circles in a village reveals the differences which exist not
only among the people but also between different areas in a village.

Notes
1. The data used here are drawn from the research material collected in a Mysore village
for a research degree thesis. This is an improved form of a paper presented at the 57th
session of the Indian Science Congress Association, 1970, at Kharagpur. The author
expresses his gratefulness to Dr. M. C. Pradhan and Dr. C. Parvathamma, for their
valuable guidance in writing the paper.
2. Gauda is a Marathi term, meaning “head of the village.”
3. Bara Balute is a Marathi term meaning “twelve occupations.” In this part of Karnatak
these twelve occupational castes have formed a guild-like organization, almost similar
to the jajmani system of North India (see Orenstein 1965: 6).
4. ‘Okli playing’ means playing with colour. The colour is a safron liquid made by
mixing turmeric powder and a bit of lime in water. The Okli indicates not only joy
but also conjugal love between the newly weds. During the festival of the village God,
which is celebrated as a replica of a marriage ceremony between the goddess Banni
Kalamma and the god Veerabhadra, the Raitaru form the bride’s party and the
Gaudaru form that of the groom, and they play Okli like the newly weds. In the past
the role of the bride’s party was played by the Devadasis, and hence the association of
low status with this role. The Okli playing is different from playing with colour
during the Holi festival in North India, where many colours are used and every one
is involved in the act.
5. Srinivas also mentions the presence of gates and their functions in Rampura (1961: 34).
6. Srinivas also mentions these functions of the ritual boundary in Rampura (1960: 25).
7. If the village is attacked by an epidemic it means the gods at the boundary are dis-
satisfied owing to the failure on the part of the villagers to make offerings to them or
owing to violation of some custom. The gods therefore allow the evils to warn the
villagers to make offerings to them. Accordingly, the villagers celebrate a rite and offer
foods to the evil spirits. They then bring these to a common place, and later take them
to the ritual boundary and keep them outside it.
8. The revenue boundaries of neighbouring villages touch one another, while the ritual
boundaries do not. There is always some space between them. The ritual boundary
was fixed according to a customary technique involving a boundary lamp (Gadi
Deepa). This lamp was made of wheat floor and filled with ritually pure ghee contrib-
uted by all the families in the village. After its wick was lit, a ritually pure person was
asked to carry it on his head in the direction of the village whose boundary was to be
fixed. The procession started from the temple of the village God. It was led by
the village God, and followed by the person carrying the lamp, then other Gods of the
304 Gurumurthy K. Gowdra

village, and then the villagers. The spot where the flame extinguished was marked as
the ritual boundary of the village.
9. See Gowdra 1970.
10. Till today no such attempt has been made in Kallapura. The older informants said
that a neighbouring village lost its fertility to Kallapura when a person from Kallapura
could steal it successfully. The village which has lost its fertility is no more prosper-
ous. The informants gave the following three pieces of evidence to support their
opinion. Firstly, the charaga rite, which is common to all villages, is not celebrated by
the village they named. Secondly, there is a piece of land named after this incident,
charagada kola, meaning “the field of the ritual material.” Although the man who stole
fertility was able to escape successfully into the ritual boundary of Kallapura, he col-
lapsed due to exhaustion. Those who chased him took the advantage of this situation
and killed him. The field on which he was killed became known as charagada hola.
Thirdly, because of this insult, even today no body from this village attends the car
festival of Kallapura.
11. It is believed that the stealing of this ritual material amounts to loss of fertility of the
village. The armed villagers therefore watch it carefully. As a custom the village
watchmen send away the outsiders from this place, and any body who attempts to
steal it will be killed on the spot. But so far no such incident has occurred in Kallapura,
although there are reports of such incidents from neighbouring villages. For further
information, see Gowdra 1970.
12. Once an ox from a neighbouring village died of snake bite within the ritual boundary
of Kallapura. The next morning its owner came to Kallapura with his Ayada Madigas
to take away the skin of the dead animal. Meanwhile the Kallapura Madigas came to
know about this and demanded a share in the skin. The village elders, who later met
to settle the matter, clarified that the Madigas of Kallapura have a right only to get
carrion and not skin. Since the carrion was poisoned, the local Madigas refused to
help the visitors in removing the animal to the skinning place. Thereupon the village
elders asked the owner to pay them a certain amount of money in compensation,
which was given. The custom is that the visiting Madigas take the assistance of the
local Madigas in removing the animal to the skinning place and in skinning
the animal. The local Madigas consume the carrion along with the visitors in a meal.
The latter take away the skin.

References
Cohn, Bernard S. 1961 “The Changing Status of a Depressed Caste,” in McKim Marriott
(ed.). Village India. Bombay: Asia Publishing House.
Eglar, Zekiye 1960 A Punjabi Village in Pakistan. New York: Columbia University Press.
Gowdra, Gurumurthy K. 1970 ‘‘Socio-Economic and Religious Significances of Kara
Habba,” Karnatak Bharati, 3 (1): 34–44.
Ishwaran, K. 1966 Tradition and Economy in Village India. Bombay: Allied Publications.
Orenstein, Henry, 1965 Gaon: Conflict and Cohesion in an Indian Village. Princeton:
University Press.
Srinivas, M. N. 1960 “The Social Structure of a Mysore Village,” in M. N. Srinivas (ed.),
India’s Villages. Bombay: Asia Publishing House.
———. 1961 “The Social System of a Mysore Village,” in McKim Marriott (ed.), Village
India. Bombay: Asia Publishing House.
 SECTION V
SOCIAL CHANGE IN RURAL INDIA
18
Study of Social Change in
Independent Rural India:
Critical Issues for Analyses
in the Fourth Decade of
Independence*
H.S. Verma

A
s the Indian freedom movement was being waged under the
amorphous umbrella of the Indian National Congress display-
ing the heterogeneous background and character of the ideolo-
gies of the main actors involved in the drama, it was more or less assumed
that independence was going to be bestowed on the Indians sooner or
later. An elitist diagnosis of the ills, which afflicted the Indian society in
general and its villages in particular, had also emerged indicating the
lines on which reconstruction of the Indian society was to have begun
once the major task of winning the independence was accomplished
(Desai: 1958; Misra: 1975; Ensminger: 1974).
While the entire leadership had pledged for making an organized
attempt to change the face of villages in independent India, some experi-
mentation in rural development and reconstruction work had continued,
spread over a span of many decades, in varied forms, in isolated, localized
pockets.1 Even otherwise, the British, and before them the Moghuls, had
tinkered with the socio-economic-political-cultural ethos of the Indian
308 H.S. Verma

villages rather drastically. Thus, even though the community development

programme, introduced in 1952 as the first large attempt at rural devel-
opment, was expected to bring changes on the rural scene, the villages had
been undergoing changes because of internal impulses and external stimuli
all along. Only their intensity had increased and the direction and sweep
assumed different dimensions in the post-independence period.
Analysis of social change in rural India has been, and continues to
be, a favourite area for the social scientists, Indian and foreign, of differ-
ent disciplinary moorings and even of wider ideological orientations.
That their analyses have enriched the knowledge in different disciplines
is not contested. In the analysis which follows, an attempt has been
made to examine their claim to objectivity, analytical rigour, conceptual
clarity, comprehensiveness of sweep, selection of data, interpretative
neutrality, and prescriptive appropriateness. For, it is now being grudg-
ingly acknowledged that quite a few of such exercises by Western schol-
ars suffered from ethnocentrism, a slanted-methodology, a purposive
selection of data, an interpretative bias in favour of Western values,
institutions and practices, and a conscious, attempt to run down things
Asian and Indian (Goonatillake: 1978; Gupta: 1973). Indians them-
selves are open to criticism because of prevalent public ideology, domi-
nance of the Western tradition and narrow social background of the
social scientists (Saberwal: 1979). The depiction of the empirical reality
has been, thus, less than satisfactory.
Post-independence political leadership certainly lacked enlightened
political vision. The bureaucracy, basically British in character, insulated
the system of governance and displayed both lack of imagination
and  decisional inertia. Consequently, policy planning, programme
designing, system operation, monitoring and evaluation of rural devel-
opment programmes suffered. While politicians and bureaucrats ought
to share the blame, social scientists could not be entirely absolved
because some of them produced misleading and, in some cases, even
false analyses of social change in rural India.
This paper would consider a few issues which are crucial to the analysis
or rural social change in independent India in the fourth decade. Discussion
of the issues would be made through a review of the relevant literature on
the subject.2 It is different from earlier re-views on caste (Beteille, et al.:
1958; Damle: 1961; Surajit Sinha: 1973; Sheth: 1979), community devlop-
ment and panchayati raj (Haldipur: 1974), cooperation (Mahabal, et al.:
CRITICAL ISSUES FOR ANALYSES IN THE FOURTH DECADE OF INDEPENDENCE 309

1975), administration of development programmes in agriculture and

community development (Gaikwad: 1975), agricultural labour (Vyas and
Shivamaggi: 1975), land reforms (Joshi: 1975), Scheduled Castes
(Sachchidananda: 1973), concepts and theories of change (Yogendra Singh:
1973a) and rural studies (Chauhan: 1973) in as much as it does not gener-
ally highlight the findings; on the other hand, it deals with the very motiva-
tions, conceptualizations, mechanics, methodologies, prescriptions and
contributions, issues which make it clear, when juxtaposed to the findings,
whether the conduct of studies had been a reliable, objective and useful
exercise for the academics and the policy planners.

Study of Change: Value Neutrality

Social change is a very complex, multi-faced, and multi-dimensional

phenomenon. The task of social scientists is to understand first its
meaning and content before describing, for the benefit of the academ-
ics, policy planners and administrators, its nature, direction, causes,
quantum, adequacy and consequences. Although it is not unusual to
find studies of social change bereft of any theoretical and conceptual
framework, the fact remains that conceptual clarity is a basic prerequis-
ite for any sound and penetrative analysis. Process of change has gener-
ally been described with a certain ideological slant although most social
scientists do not make their ideological orientation very explicit in their
expositions. It is our contention that various traditions of studies, while
professing a pseudo value-neutrality, have offered a lopsided presenta-
tion of empirical reality. These traditions were rooted either in the West,
or in the Brahminical view-point of the Indian society and have
Weberian and neo-Weberian strain. I hey analysed changes in the Indian
society in terms of Christianity’s irrationality, as occurrence of evolu-
tionary modernity only under the benevolent impact of the West, and
assessed ‘modernization’ on the criteria laid down by the experiences of
already modern Western societies (Arora: 1968; Gupta: 1974); the
Brahminical view-point stressed conformity with and deviance from the
prescriptions and proscriptions—contained in the ancient texts—in
analysing stability and change.
Quite a few of these portrayals are basically inaccurate, and
mis-leading since they ignored culturally relevant changes that were
taking place within the Indian tradition long before the advent of
310 H.S. Verma

external stimuli, and operation of the indigenous process fostering

modernization.
Major theoretical framework for these biased analyses of social
change was provided by Max Weber (1930) where the ideal characteris-
tic was located in the ‘modernized’ West (Protestent ethic and rational-
ity) and its bipolar was found in the ‘traditional’ countries. Weber’s
schema was followed by Durkheim (1933: mechanical solidarity and
organic solidarity), Toennies (1940, 1955: Gemeinschaft and
Gessellschaft), Becker (1957: sacred and secular; Redfield (1955: folk
and urban), Parsons (1951:. pattern variables), Lerner (1964: traditional
and modern), Merton (1961: local and cosmopolitan), Riesman (1961:
‘tradition directed’ and ‘other directed’) and Rostow (1961, 1971: ‘trad-
itional’ and ‘mass consumption societies’).3
What emerges from the accounts of these scholars is a clear
preference for Western values (such as efficiency, diligence, orderli-
ness, punctuality, decisiveness, rationality, participation, protestent
ethic, materialism and individualism, autonomy) and Western insti-
tutions (such as nuclear family, liberal democracy, and civic cul-
ture). Asian and Indian values (such as abstention, spiritualism,
frugality, appreciation of leisure, tolerance and non-violence, and
inherited respect for learning collectivism) and institutions (such as
caste, religion, and joint family) were conveniently portrayed as
symptoms of backwardness and hinderance to entrepreneurship,
development and modernization.
In the enthusiasm to somehow fit the ‘data’ to these hackneyed and
descriptions and stereotypes, a large body of historical evidence from
both the Western (industrial/urban) and Asian/Indian societies and
their sub-cultures was ignored. It would be interesting to note that this
tendency contributed to the emergence of particular conclusions via the
studies pertaining to industrial/urban and agricultural rural sectors.
Documentation of such results pertaining to the industrial/urban sector
could be seen elsewhere (Verma: 1979, a, b): in this paper we focus only
on the Indian agricultural/rural sector.
Because of peculiar tradition of evolution of social sciences in India,
there has been excessive concern with religion, caste, tribe, and family as
system isolates. As a result, the relationship of these isolates with the
issues such as class formation, class composition, intra and inter-class
relations has been generally analyzed less rigorously. Wherever these
CRITICAL ISSUES FOR ANALYSES IN THE FOURTH DECADE OF INDEPENDENCE 311

have been examined at all, the two (or more) sets have been seen as two
or more separate sub-systems and the analysis has tended to focus their
match/mismatch (Bailey: 1957, 1963, 1973; Beteille: 1965, 1968;
D’Souza: 1967, 1969, 1978). Very rarely has the class structure of the
village been taken first and the role of the systemic isolates analyzed in
class formation and struggle (Shivkumar: 1978). Thus, it comes as no
surprise when a Srinivas tends to be generally and excessively preoccu-
pied with phenomenon religious or ritual (1952, 1960, 1962, 1965,
1976) and does not adequately explore other aspects of social change; or
a Milton Singer is hung on the relationship of the “little” and “great”
traditions (1956, 1961, 1966a, 1972, 1975); or a Mandelbaum finds
change in the Indian society but very little change in its structure (1970):
and a Yogendra Singh who makes Western stimuli necessary prerequisite
of any structural changes in the Indian society (1973). There are a large
number of other, smaller, less known treatises which start with value-
biases and predictably reach biased conclusions.

Nature, Quantum and Adequacy of Changes:

Measurement Miasma

Measurement of change is a tough task to which very few re-searchers

have addressed themselves adequately. In fact, there is hardly any agree-
ment about the meaning of as widely used terms as ‘development’ and
‘modernization’.4 There is one group of researchers, mainly among
sociologists and psychologists, who have worked out what they call ‘over-
all-modernity’ scales (Inkles and Smith: 1975; Broehl: 1978) or other
‘parsimonious modernity scales’ (Fliegel, et al.: 1968; Roy, et al.: 1968,
1969). Construction of these indices/scales has been a very controversial
area even on methodological grounds (Fliegel: 1976; McClleland: 1976):
there is even more vehement objection to these scales on the basis of
value-preferences.
These scales generally include a wide array of items from different
areas of human conduct and assign variable scores for acceptance/
non-acceptance of new ideas/innovations/technologies. In this cockeyed
scoring system, acceptance of any new thing (idea, product gadget, tech-
nology, procedure, etc.) becomes without any rhyme or reason an attri-
bute of modernity. It is conveniently forgotten that it is also possible for
the persons concerned to make such an approach which amounts to
312 H.S. Verma

neither total acceptance nor total rejection of new innovations.5 Also

glossed over is the fact that many of the new ideas, whose acceptance has
been considered an attribute of modernity, have been subsequently
proved to be hardly scientific and modern: claims of some of these have
turned out to be highly exaggerated whereas certain others have emerged
as fakes. A certain amount of reliance on one’s own experience with
these new things before their ‘adoption’ is in fact a more modern attri-
bute and yet, this healthy sense of skepticism gets dubbed as cynicism—a
sign of backwardness.
The second group consists of scholars who have given qualitative
labels to different types of changes. Change in rural India has, for example,
been seen as ‘recurrent’ and ‘systemic’ (Mandelbaum: 1970), ‘national
and global-oriented’ (Ishwaran: 1970), ‘linear, evolutionary and cyclical’
(Yogendra Singh: 1973), ‘dynamics’ and ‘change’ (Radcliffe-Brown:
1957), ‘casual fluctuations’ and ‘replaceability’ (R. K. Mukherjee: 1975),
and ‘accumulative’, alterative’ and ‘transformative’ (P. N. Mukherjee:
1977).
As indicated earlier, measurement of change has turned out to
be a highly coloured exercise in which approaches and methodolo-
gies were contrived to give different qualitative and quantitative
profiles of the same phenomenon. Measurement of informal leader-
ship in the villages, for example, following the methodologies of
Rogers (1962) and Dahl (1961) yielded a profile of their back-
ground and characteristics (Sen: 1971): quite a different picture
emerged from the use of a different methodology (Arora: 1970;
Verma: 1971a, 1972b, 1974).6

An important dimension here was the measurement of different components

of change dealing with information—acquisition, attitude and behaviour
reinforcement/modification and the like. However, measurement exercises
involving the information-decision-action schema in the field of agriculture,
health and family planning, for example, have been vitiated by the cultural
bias of the measurement scales. Most of the scales measured Indian social
reality through the Western criteria, their local validation notwithstanding.

In cases where this has been a cross-cultural exercise (Roy, et al.: 1968,
1969; Fliegel, et al.: 1969; Inkeles and Smith: 1974), the treatment of
normative position in the West as the empirical reality and its compari-
son with the Indian situation added one more category of bias and
untruth.7
CRITICAL ISSUES FOR ANALYSES IN THE FOURTH DECADE OF INDEPENDENCE 313

Nature and linearity of change has generally been measured by

identifying processes triggering change. Currently identified major pro-
cesses of change include the following8:

(i) Traditionalization (Sanskritization, Cultural renaissance, etc.)

(ii) Modernization (Westernization, Secularization, etc.)
(iii) Urbanization
(iv) Industrialization
(v) Cultural drift

These processes have been identified on the basis of (a) identity of

change-inducing mechanisms (individual, group, institution); (b) linear-
ity of change (judged on the basis of role-model values); (c) aspect/sector
of change (social relations, modes of production, politics, religion and
culture); and (d) unit(s) affected by such change (individuals, corporate
groups, institutions, culture, social structure). The presence and opera-
tion of these processes are not questioned: what certainly are their exag-
gerated claims to explain causation, and sources, direction and
independence of change inducing stimuli (Ishwaran: 1970; Parvathamma:
1978). There is also a tendency to view the operation of change inducing
stimuli, internal and external, as somehow operating in isolation from
each other. It is true that these stimuli are activised by different sources
but, at the response level, it is the same set of village inhabitants which
reacts to them. To that extent the strategies of planned change constantly
interact with the strategies of spontaneous change., articulated, and
operated on their own by the rural population. In the initiation of
change, or even in its absence, the two strategies affect each other. This
being so, it is fallacious to attribute the observed change in villages to
only one of the two sets as most analyses tend to do. Of course, one
could justifiably identify the degrees of influence exercised by various
factors as the motivating forces.
Almost every study of social change ultimately touches, directly or
indirectly, the issues of quantum and adequacy of change registered gen-
erally and in specific areas. This has been accomplished in two ways:
one, where the quantum of change is described only via the qualitative
labels i.e. high, moderate, low or appreciable, small, negligible etc. Most
anthropological accounts belong to this category.9 On the other hand,
there are others who use quantitative scales to measure change with pre-
cision and accuracy (Sen and Roy: 1966; Sen, et al.: 1967; Fliegel, et al.:
1969; Roy, et al.: 1968, 1969; Kivlin, et al.: 1968).
314 H.S. Verma

The issue of adequacy of social change in rural India is concerned

with the relationship of occurrence of quantum of change with the
expected order of change. We have already noted that there is hardly any
agreement among social scientists about the quantum of change regis-
tered: the expected order of change is even a more controversial area
since the perceptions of different scholars about the need of such change
have varied a great deal depending upon their ideological orientations
and methodological preferences. In general, scholars seem to be highly
dissatisfied with the adequacy of change registered in social, cultural,10
and administrative11 areas. Changes in agriculture and allied fields of
production have been considered significant though only in specific
geographical areas and in specific components.12 The impression, which
one gathers from these accounts, is that although the quantum of change
has not been adequate in many areas it is probably proceeding in the
right direction.13 It is this assumption which is the crux of the problem
for, it is open to question whether the direction of change in rural India
is ‘right’ after all. This becomes all the more obvious when the issue of
direction and adequacy of change is linked to various segments of the
rural society. It requires not much of scholarly acumen to realize that the
exploited segments have not very much benefited from the developmen-
tal programmes during the last thirty-two years. For them direction of
change has been far from right and most certainly not appropriate. It is
also open to doubt whether a larger number of “change’s” have really
changed the basic form and content of relationships at all.

Causation of Change: Real and

Contrived Motivators

Gandhi was a charismatic leader who attempted to build the myth of

Indian villages being republics, self-sustaining in their functioning and
virtually independent of other settlements in their existence. Despite
nostalgia and romanticism, this view was hardly correct historically; in
day-to-day operations it was down-right impractical. It was true, of
course, that many villages were physically isolated; however, there were
in and out flows—human, material and cultural which affected their life
and systems of production very vitally.
Even if there was not much migration from these villages to outside
places, outside agencies—government officials, traders, travelling sadhus,
CRITICAL ISSUES FOR ANALYSES IN THE FOURTH DECADE OF INDEPENDENCE 315

even beggars permeated the village social existence quite often. Changes
in the villages were, therefore, caused by both the external and internal
stimuli.
It is certainly true that the outside penetration in the villages,
milder as it was during pre-Moghul period, increased considerably
thereafter. However, available historical accounts indicate that this
increased penetration brought about changes of various types, dimen-
sions and quantity because of the interaction of the external stimuli
with the internal response pattern (Sharma and Jha: 1974). Weberian/
neo-Weberian groups of scholars have, however, clearly stretched their
arguments a bit too far when they state that basic changes in the micro
and macro structures of Indian society started taking place only after it
came into contact with the West and that most structural changes
during the pre-contact (with West) phase of Indian history used to be of
an oscillatory rather than evolutionary pattern (Yogendra Singh: 1973:
27). There is a clear over-emphasis on the change-inducing capacity of
the external stimuli (especially originating in the West) and a biased
under-estimation of the indigenous nature of Indian response in these
arguments. These analyses, therefore, discover generally adaptation and
imitation (Singer: 1961, 1966, 1966a, 1972; Elder: 1959, 1966; Kapp:
1963; Morris: 1967; Cohen: 1973; Kunkel: 1971; Dumont: 1970;
Rudolph and Rudolph: 1967; Mandelbaum: 1970; Frank: 1969; Gould:
1969 among Western scholars and A. K. Singh: 1967; Pandya: 1970;
Khare: 1971; Tripathi: 1970; Shah and Rao: 1965; Misra: 1962; Dube:
1965; Loomis and Loomis symposium: published in 1969; Rao: 1969;
Saksena: 1971, 1972; Sen:. 1973. Yogendra Singh: 1973 among the
Indians). Assimilation, adoption of new functions by the so-called tra-
ditional institutions and stoppage of a few old ones, and change in the
structure of the society do not generally get adequate coverage.
The tradition of research in diffusion of innovations, in the West and
its subsequent extension in India brought in its trail several assumptions in
operation. Some of these were: the change stimuli should be channelized
in the villages via leadership, external and internal (Coughner: 1965;
Emery and Oser: 1958; Ensminger: 1972; Mayer, et al.: 1959; D. Sinha:
1969; Taylor, et al.: 1965); that mass media would play a revolutionary
role in bringing rural change (Deutsch: 1953; Lazarsfeld, et al.: 1955;
Lerner and Schramm: 1967; Kivlin, et al.: 1968; Pye: 1963; Rogers:
1962: Roy, et al.: 1968, 1969; Schramm: 1955, 1964); that direct mass
316 H.S. Verma

media exposure of the rural leaders, constituting the primary audience,

helped message spread to the secondary audience (Lazarsfeld, et al.: 1955;
Rogers: 1962; Rogers and Shoemaker: 1971); that there was no personal
influence involved in the transmission of the message at the first stage
from media to the leaders (Lazarsfeld, et al.: 1955; Rogers: 1962); that
the knowledge gap of the village population could be bridged with the
help of mass media (Hornik: 1975; Hornik et al.: 1973; Rogers: 1974;
Shingi and Modi: 1976; Shingi: 1979; Techner, et al.: 1970, 1973), and
that the task delivery systems in various fields of administration catering
the rural population would act as change agents (Broechl: 1978; Dey:
1952, 1969; Mayer, et al.: 1959; Sen: 1969; Sen and Roy: 1966; Verma:
1972a, b, 1974, 1976a). These generally originated from the West, espe-
cially the United States directly or U.N. agencies such as the UNESCO,
WHO, FAO, the IBRD and the like dominated by the Western thought
process, values and ideology. Using these assumptions, a succession of
programmes of directed social change were launched in rural India with
large scale ‘assistance’ also flowing in from the same direction. It started
with the generalized programme of rural development, and the commu-
nity development programme. Intensive area (IADP, Command Area,
DPAP), function (Nutrition, Cattle Development) and target-group
based (SFDA, MFAL) programmes followed. Radio first, and television
later were used to prop up the communication of these programmes,
through the development bureaucracy, to the people (Agarwal: 1978;
Agarwal, et al.: 1977; Kivlin and Roy: 1968; Mathur and Neurath:
1959;  Neurath: 1960, 1962; Menefee and Menefee: 1963; Roy,
et al.: 1969; Shingi and Mody: 1975; Thakur, et al.: 1962–63a; Verma:
1968, 1969a, 1970, 1971a, b).
In the operation of these programmes, many of these assumptions
proved wrong, and inappropriate. Almost even’ one discovered that lead-
ership of the villages was helpful for inducing change only to the extent
it was altruistic in its orientation. It emerged that in programme imple-
mentation the concerned administrative machinery had to go beyond
the leader-follower dichotomy (Verma: 1971a, 1972b); that there was
personal influence involved even in the first step of message transfer
Emery and Oeser: 1958; Heredero: 1977; Mathai: 1977; McLuhan:
1967: Mills and Arorson: 1965; Y. V. L. Rao: 1968; Sargent: 1965;
Verma: 1972b); that the mass media, instead of reducing the knowledge
gap of the ignorant sections of the village population, actually increased
CRITICAL ISSUES FOR ANALYSES IN THE FOURTH DECADE OF INDEPENDENCE 317

the same because of their initial lag (ceiling effect) and current inadequate
access and exposure to the media (lIMC-IIC Seminar: 1979; Shingi and
Modi: 1976; Shingi: 1979; Verma: 1969a, 1970, 1971); that there was
very little participation of the people themselves in the programme plan-
ning and implementation (COPP: 1957; Gaikwad: 1969, 1974, 1975,
1977, 1978a; Gaikwad and Verma: 1968; Mathai: 1977); that quite
often the officials incharge of introducing change themselves acted to be
the greatest single obstacle (Mathai: 1977; Srinivas: 1979; Wiser and
Wiser: 1958); that the use of task delivery systems to their maximum
capacity depended upon the organised status of its users (Moulik:
1978, 1979; Rutton: 1979; Hebsur: 1979; Verma: 1971); and that in
the design of the change programmes sub-cultural perspectives and vari-
ations were essential to make them appropriate and effective (Ishwaran:
1970).
Periodical correctives followed in the form of one-shot participa-
tory institutions (Panchayati Raj, Cooperatives, Farmers’ Service
Societies) and newer programmes (growth centres and integrated rural
development, Mandi development, block-level planning) from time to
time. In accepting and introducing many of these programmes, the ini-
tiative quite often came from the Western scholars, agencies, and gov-
ernments. In a few cases there was marked divergence in their real and
stated objectives.14 In this divergence, lies buried the real story of articu-
lation of the needs of the people, vehicles and routes for their realization
and interplay of the capitalist and non-capitalist ideologies. It is only
now that the value premises of some of these programmes are being
increasingly questioned even in India; they have already been flogged in
the West.
During the same period of thirty and odd years, another crop of
experimental rural development programmes has been under testing by
individuals and institutions. Some of these deal with issues such as
exploitation, hegemony, and sub-cultural variations of poverty and the
solutions attempted vary from integrated cooperativization of produc-
tion and marketing of an item (Anand Milk Dairy–model, now being
extended to cover oil seeds and cotton in Gujarat), to organization of
the exploited communities (Raigars of Jawaja: Ravi Mathai: 1977:
Harijans of Sangli: Arun Chavan; tribals of Bihar: Shibu Soren; Bhoomi
Sena of Thane), and organisation of a community around a mode of
production but for all round improvement of quality of rural life
318 H.S. Verma

(Mahatma Gandhi Cooperative Lift Irrigation Society of Dr. Gopal

Reddy in Nalgonda). These experiments have profound policy implica-
tions for rural reconstruction and yet the social scientists in their analy-
ses and the policy planners in their choices of new programme, continue
to ignore them.

Methodology: Scientific Pretensions and

Practised Imperfections

The foregoing discussion has, in ways more than one, reflected on the
methodologies used by the studies of social change. However, the ensu-
ing comments would cover aspects which are generally included under
the rubric of “mechanics” of research:

a) Barring a few studies (Panchanadikar and Panchanadikar: 1970; Sen

and Roy: 1966; Sen, et al.: 1967; Fliegel, et al.: 1968; Hiramani: 1977;
Oomen: 1972; Punit: 1977; Roy, et al.: 1968, 1969; Kivlin, et al.: 1969;
Rao and Verma: 1969; K.L. Sharma: 1974; Sinha: 1969; Verma: 1970,
1971, a, b, 1972, a, b, 1974, a), the geographical coverage and numeri-
cal data-base of most other studies are indeed very meagre. And yet,
social scientists have proceeded to make sweeping generalizations about
the society, cultural traditions, religions, communities, castes etc. It is
not that these scholars are not aware of the complexity, diversity and
variability of the empirical situation in different parts of the nation: for,
they seldom fail to emphasize the same in their own descriptions. This
general disregard for quantitative support, for representative nature of
sample and for statistical validation of the hypotheses, needed for
definitive conclusions, is to be traced to the naive belief that quality and
quantity are two water-tight compartments in research; that in order to
get quality in one’s analysis one has to discard usage of figures and
numericals; that no qualitatively penetrative analysis could be made
using large quantitative base. Whereas it is true that quite a few quanti-
tative studies fail to attain high analytical standards, it has been demon-
strated by many that this can be done (Arora and Lass-well: 1968;
Arora: 1969; Kessinger: 1976; Gaikwad: 1971, 1977; Gaikwad and
Verma:  1968;  Gaikwad, et al.: 1977; Lakshman Rao: 1968; Rao and
Verma: 1969; Verma: 1970, 1971a).
CRITICAL ISSUES FOR ANALYSES IN THE FOURTH DECADE OF INDEPENDENCE 319

b) In view of peculiar development of comity of social sciences in India,

two tendencies have been witnessed: (i) an indigenous, Indian tradition
of interpreting empirical situations has, barring a few stray cases (Gupta:
1974; Saran: 1959, 1962, 1963, 1965, 1966, 1967, 1969a, b, 1971;
Verma: 1970, 1971a, 1972, 1974), failed to develop (ii) imported theor-
etical frameworks (i.e. Weberian, neo-Weberian), ethnocentrism and
Brahminical views have coloured the interpretations of the field data. It
is because of these tendencies that Mandelbaum (1970), despite an
enormous review of village studies, fails to correctly analyse structural
change; that Milton Singer (1973), despite his knowledge of and respect
for Hindu religion, discovers compartmentalization between family and
work organizations; that Dube (1977), despite his ability to present
qualitatively impressive analysis of data, fails to give a factually correct
social re-port of post-independence changes; that Srinivas (1952, 1960,
1962, 1965, 1976), despite his acclaimed capacity of perception and
abstraction, tends to over-emphasize the status emulation process
(in-appropriately called sanskritization) on the part of the lower castes;
and that Yogendra Singh (1973) conveniently glosses over the contribu-
tion of indigenous processes responsible for modernization of the Indian
society. Nor have those, whose credentials in dealing with quantitative
aspects are impecable, done any better on these counts. To give but one
example, non-acceptance of “new” agricultural and other innovations by
the villagers is seen by them as lack of innovativeness, their (villagers’)
sound reasons for not doing so notwithstanding (Fliegel, et al.: 1969;
Roy, et al.: 1968, 1969; Kivlin, et al.: 1969).

c) Absence of time-orientation and a historicism have contributed to

equation of normative position with empirical reality and reconstruction
of historical patterns of change on the basis of temporal evidence in majority
of studies. The anthropological accounts generally proceed how, for
example, a marriage ceremony takes place in a particular community at a
particular place: it is very rare to find them also providing accounts of
how many follow that ceremony and what changes have taken place in it,
when, and why. There is the magnum opus of Mandelbaum (1970) where
he tries to reconstruct historical patterns of change at the societal level by
referring and reviewing temporal village studies of a large number of
scholars from different parts of the country. He even goes to the extent of
including a map wherein the geographical location of the village studies
320 H.S. Verma

is indicated. The map, reduced on scale as it is, gives a misleading

impression of the representative nature of the village studies reviewed.
Several facts are glossed over: such as (a) that the cited village studies did
not provide a representative sample; (b) that they were not part of a single
exercise undertaken with a shared framework; (c) that they were con-
ducted by different scholars at different points of time; and (d) that the
response patterns of their respondents could be different in different con-
texts. In Dube’s compendium (1977), for example, various contributors
have recorded their own impressions about various sectors; Dube himself
had taken the onerous task of offering generalized conclusions. It is very
easy to conclude that X, Y, Z, has been observed and A, B, C, has not,
especially if one is also not required to present any historical evidence.
Yogendra Singh (1973) has re-interpreted and “put in a systemic frame”
the interpretations of others in the Weberian framework. In this frame-
work, anything indigenous has no claims for bringing structural change:
It has been booked in advance for Western stimuli. System in his
analysis—and that of many of his ilk—means only the Weberian/
Parsonian conceptualization of a social system: delineation of systems in
the Marxian and other frameworks have no place in it. The Western
stimuli have, according to him, produced modernization in the Indian
society: it is quite another thing that the historical evidence goes substan-
tially against this viewpoint. In general, it is very rarely that social scien-
tists have combined the talents and methodologies of a historian and a
social scientist (Ishwaran: 1970; Kessinger: 1974; Berreman: 1970;
Newell: 1970; Saberwal: 1976) to provide analysis of change with time-
place and cause-effect-consequences specificity.

d) A crucial issue in any study is the unit and level of analysis. The unit of
analysis could be individual, a group, an institution and a system: and
then the analysis could be at macro, meso or micro levels. Although most
studies of social change in rural India are quite definite about their unit of
analysis, the same is not the case with the concept of levels about which
considerable confusion exists. This confusion is not about what consti-
tutes a macro, meso or micro level: it lies in the manner in which the level
itself is sought to he studied. The depiction of the macro, meso and the
micro is varied. The macro, as reconstructed by Mandelbaum (1970), is
by piecing together of, isolated and different points in history, studies of a
large number of scholars. One might like to ask: do they add up to make
a macro picture? This is one end of the spectrum. Ranged at the other end
are Singer (1972, 1973) and Srinivas (1952, 1962, 1965, 1976) where the
CRITICAL ISSUES FOR ANALYSES IN THE FOURTH DECADE OF INDEPENDENCE 321

macro has been a blown up form of a micro area study. There are others
who are located in the Indological stream and who have created the macro
picture from the scriptures. There is very little doubt that none of these
streams gives the complete and accurate profile of the ‘macro’.
The micro profile has been presented by either considering the
elements first and sketching their inter-relationships thereafter or depict-
ing only the abstract/whole entity of the unit of analysis (i.e. a village).
Only in very few of these the penetrations of external stimuli into them
and their own extensions beyond their geographical boundaries have
been recorded. The significance of the internal and the external forces
has, thus, not been properly indicated. The meso as a level has assumed
significance only after realization dawned that the micro had limited use
for generalization and prescription and the macro was quite often beyond
one’s capacity to study. The meso, essentially based in the sub-cultural
perspective and providing enough elbow room for methodological details
and policy applications, met the requirements. In marked contrast to the
micro studies, the meso ones take a more comprehensive view of the
working of the elements and processes of the system.

e) Before the Indian agencies (RPC, ICSSR, ICAR, ICHR, ICCR, etc.)
started large scale funding of research studies, Indian villages and insti-
tutions were studied more by foreigners with the help of foreign funds.
Their interest had periodic preferences and Indians latched on to these
‘leads’. Till very recently, these periodic interests swamped the research
choices of many Indian institutions and scholars.15 As a result, some
areas were over-researched in a particular manner (i.e. caste, family, dif-
fusion of agricultural innovations): there was inadequate coverage of
certain other issues, phenomena which had crucial significance for the
Indian people, their government and the society.16 Analyses of social
change in rural India for the purposes of policy analysis and planning
have begun only in the late seventies and their conceptualization, execu-
tion, and use very much remain open to conjecture even today.

Contribution of Research: Descriptive Adequacy

and Prescriptive Appropriateness

We finally come to the uses and abuses of the studies of social change. Before
touching their descriptive adequacy and prescriptive appropriateness, some
related and, in our opinion, very consequential questions must be posed.
322 H.S. Verma

These questions are: (i) what is the back-ground (socio-economic-cultural)

of researchers who have conducted studies in rural India? (ii) What specific
areas have they studied and with what numerical vigour? (iii) What were–
and are—the motivations in conducting the studies? Each one of these
could be discussed briefly but separately.

i) It is rather an interesting fact that no quantitative account is available

giving a numerical distribution of studies on social change in rural India
conducted by the British, American, European, Asian, or Indian
researchers: for, if one such record were available, it would lend more
credibility and force to the following: (a) of the total number of studies
on social change in rural India, a majority have been accomplished by
non-Indians17; (b) among the foreigners, the number of those following
only one particular ideology (i.e. capitalist) has been overwhelming;
(c) among the Indians a majority had a very narrow social experience
(Saberwal: 1979) and in particular the poor and the exploited have gen-
erally not been involved (Joshi: 1979).18

ii) Recent reviews of researches (i.e. ICSSR Surveys) clearly reveal that
certain areas have been treated with special interest and attention whereas
some have been comparatively ignored. For instance, even though
inequality and poverty have been major issues to be tackled through the
programmes of planned change in rural India, non-capitalist perspectives
on them have been lacking. It is true that there are some penetrating
analyses of kinship, family, caste and religion. However, whether these
analyses should have been given preferences over the ones dealing with
poverty, exploitation, in-equality, social relations at work-place and the
like is the moot point. As we shall see later, this has been largely respon-
sible for the absence of development-orientation in the analyses of social
change: for, when the process of underdevelopment was not adequately
analysed, how one could provide an insightful perspective on the parallel
and inter-dependent process of development?

iii) There are two much-talked-about motivations for individual and

institution-based researches: (a) to increase theoretical and empirical knowl-
edge and (b) to help the agencies in the planning, administration, appraisal
and correction of planned programmes of change. Actually, however, in
pursuing the two objectives, a third motivation assumes dominance.
CRITICAL ISSUES FOR ANALYSES IN THE FOURTH DECADE OF INDEPENDENCE 323

This has something to do with establishing hegemony and exploita-

tion with the help of expertise and scholarly work. At the back of many
inspired and institution-based research efforts has been the desire to
acquire knowledge which had other uses for the sponsoring countries19
and promotion of a certain technological solution for which the inputs
may have to come from the same direction.20 It was possible to arrive at
certain types of conclusions and recommendations because, as pointed
earlier, certain approaches and methodologies, essentially based on
Western values, were used to analyse Indian empirical realities.
What, then, is the descriptive adequacy of analyses of social change
in rural India? Without going in for a case by case verdict, we attempt
here what could possibly be termed as a generalized assessment. In its
totality, the coverage of these studies on the historical, geographical and
topical dimensions is highly inadequate they are also not impartial quite
often. Even on topics on which the number of studies has been quite
impressive, the analysis does not uncover the mystique of the phenom-
enon because of slanted methodology and approach. Excepting a very
limited number of studies, most others lack, what Srinivas has belatedly
called-development-orientation’. More importantly they reflect elitist
views and have imbibed very little of peoples’ own perception of their
problems (Srinivas: 1979).
To judge prescriptive appropriateness of the conclusions and recom-
mendations of the studies, it is essential to refer to some of the historical
cases. The decision to launch the generalized programme of community
development based on the harmony model was made as a result of,
among other things, recommendations of a number of studies (i.e.
Taylor, et al.: 1967). The programme itself professed to develop the com-
munity but in its approach and implementation, the targets were atom-
ised individuals; village leadership was used to channelize the programme.
By 1959 its inappropriateness had dawned upon everyone. Whereas the
proponents of peoples’ participation brought in the cooperatives and
Panchayati Raj, which later became legitimisers for the vested interest,
supporters of specialized (area, function, target group) programmes had
pushed in programmes such as IADP, HYV, CAD, DPAP, ICDP, etc.
Each of these programmes was preceded by a study (or a number of
studies) which recommended the course of action. It is now conceded
that the IADP, for example, increased disparities and increased the
dependence of the farmers on the non-agricultural sector (especially the
324 H.S. Verma

industrial sector). The mere increase in per unit production did not
bring prosperity to the majority of farmers since per unit cost had also
increased. What is more striking is the fact that whereas the farmer could
not exercise any control over price fixation of his out-put, the prices of
the agricultural inputs coming into agricultural sector from the indus-
trial sector were revisable at the whims and fancies of the manufacturers
and traders. Similarly, a whole new generation of institutions such as the
FSS, rural banks, etc. has emerged under the weight of expert opinion
and yet the ‘change agents’ have not changed the structure and content
of generalized and specific target group-based exploitations and poverty.
Studies recommended that radio, and television (terrestrial/satellite
based) would bring information and knowledge to the ignorant and
needy. However, the knowledge-gap between the rich and the poor has
not been bridged and the media, brought in the name of information
transmission for the poor, have become means of prestige and entertain-
ment of the elite. Ever increasing outlays are being made available for
various sectoral programmes in meeting the recommendations of ‘social
indicators’, and ‘per capita expenditure studies and yet, the horizontal
spread of facilities has not improved quality of life of the rural popula-
tion to any appreciable degree.
A new generation, born after independence, has graduated to adult-
hood phase and watched with amazing helplessness the emergence of
unplanned change as a result of planned programmes. This generation–
and the one that has followed it—does not have the same level of toler-
ance as its predecessor. It has seen emergence of the new breed of ‘bura
sahibs’, leaders, and contractors pocketing the major portions of the
development outlays via various channels of leakages. It is somewhat
more external-oriented and certainly better informed. Despite all its
efforts at social mobility (Saberwal: 1976; K.N. Sharma: 1961), there
are clearly outlined and felt limits on its mobility and success. As frustra-
tion has set in, some among this segment have taken to short-cuts in
obtaining material means to lead the kind of life-styles which they con-
sider absolutely essential for themselves. Tension, violence and crime,
which have been exploited to the hilt by the “modern-day” unscrupulous
leadership, have erupted with surprising velocity, force, and serious con-
sequences. While the politicians have played a leading part in this emer-
gent schema, the researchers cannot avoid blame for their own failure to
provide insightful diagnostic and objectively prescriptive studies of these
phenomena. A new generation of social scientists must make amends.
CRITICAL ISSUES FOR ANALYSES IN THE FOURTH DECADE OF INDEPENDENCE 325

Notes
* This review forms part of a larger though modest study entitled “Socio-Economic Change
in Rural India: An Exploratory Study” supported by the Indian Council of Social
Science Research. Responsibility for the views rests with the author.
1. Among these were: Tagore’s Sriniketan (Dasgupta 1962), Hatch’s Martandam (Hatch:
1949, a), Krishnamachari’s, Baroda (Krishnamachari 1962). Bryne’s Gurgaon (Bryne:
1946, 1950), Gandhi’s Wardha and Sabarmati (Kavoori and Singh: 1967).
2. This review is not a census of all the studies of socio-economic change in rural India.
On the contrary, it is selective and concentrates on the major ones among them.
3. Clearly, this is an illustrative listing and with little effort it should be possible to swell
its numerical strength to impressive levels.
4. Definitions of development, underdevelopment, and modernization as given by
Furtado (1971), Stewart (1977). and Frank (1967, 1969, 1975) are, for instance,
drastically different than the ones outlined by the scholars following Weber. For
incisive comments on the latter, see for example, Arora (1968, 1969, 1976), Desai
(1975) and Gould (1969).
5. Bennet (1969), and Dewalt (1978, 1979) have, for example, provided excellent
empirical studies showing social change to be more than mere acceptance or rejection
of new ideas.
6. This is equally valid for analyses of informal leadership of industrial/urban societies.
Dahl (1971) on the one hand and Domhoff (1978) on the other, for example, depict
different profiles of the civic leadership of New Haven.
7. Beteille (1969) and Berreman (1978), for example, point out the inherent flaws in the
analyses of institutionalized forms of inequality in India and Western societies. While
every one ends up in denouncing Indian caste system (which should be condemned
no doubt) the institutionalized in-equality practiced in Western societies on the basis
of colour and race is conveniently glossed over.
8. Berreman (1970), Ishwaran (1970), P. N. Mukherjee (1977) and Yogendra Singh
(1973) provide an interesting discussion on these.
9. Haldipur (1974) and Mandelbaum (1970) provide a good listing of these studies.
10. See, for example, Dube (1977), Mandelbaum (1970), Singer (1973) and Yogendra
Singh (1973).
11. For useful discussions, one could refer to Gaikwad (1969, 1970, 1973, 1976,
1977, 1978) and Kothari (1971).
12. An interesting assessment was provided by Swaminathan (1978), where he compared
“our” and “their” agriculture. “Our” fanning is based on smaller farms being cultivated
either by the same or larger number of people utilizing renewable resources like
animal dung (manure) and firewood. “Their” farming has larger farms being managed
by fewer and fewer people, the farming system being heavily dependent on non-
renewable resources like petroleum products (oil, gas, napatha) and coal which also
pollute the environment.
13. One may not have any quarrel with the assessment of direction of change such as the
one arrived at by Madan (1973, 1977) wherein he finds villages shrinking (extension
beyond villages, increasing dependency on outside systems, increased penetration of
outside agencies, networks etc.) and growing individualism.
14. To cite but one example, much against the run of the mill objectives of the commu-
nity development programme in India listed by many scholars (Dayal: 1960; Dey:
326 H.S. Verma

1962, 1969; Ensminger: 1972; Jain: 1967; Kavoori and Singh: 1967; Krishnamachari:
1962), the dominant objective in introducing it was to contain spread of communism.
Chester Bowles (1954), who brought along the massive U.S. assistance for this pro-
gramme, admits it much without fuss. It was also precisely for this reason that the
Etawah model was preferred over the Nilokheri one since the latter involved organ-
ization of the production and marketing systems of the beneficiaries, a mechanism
which reduced possibilities of exploitation by the vested interests.
15. For a detailed analysis of the phenomenon and its consequences, see, for instance,
Verma (1967, 1969, 1974a).
16. For example, the withering of the village as a community, loosening of family author-
ity, gradual brutalization of not so brutal wings of bureaucracy, emergence of dual
society, despondency, defiance, violence and crime are some of the vital issues on
which not many researches have been conducted. Peasant struggles are now being
studied and as yet no analysis has been made of the resettlement of the villages for
military purposes among the border nationalities (the Nagas, Mizos, etc.).
17. This would be so in spite of the fact that there was some restriction on the impunity
with which the foreigners, especially those from the elitist institutions, could conduct
research in India after 1974.
18. It would be useful to categorize the Indians into (a) those who are essentially based
in India and (b) those who continue to be Indian for the sake of records and con-
venience. Another revealing question to ask would be: why the Indian students and
scholars in foreign universities somehow end up in studying only Indian research
problems? Why, in other words, the Western societies are not all that open to
researchers from non-Western scholars despite their advertized “openness”?
19. It is now revealed that the studies on virus and bacteria in India had uses in bacterial
warfare.
20. The communication studies dealing with the radio first, television slightly later and
satellite fairly recently aimed, among other things, indirect sales promotion of these
technologies for use in India. In fact, as many a studyon transfer of technology indi-
cates, the imported technology was quite often obsolete, apart from being highly
expensive.

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19
Downward Social Mobility:
Some Observations1
K.L. Sharma

D
ownward social mobility has not yet been analysed adequately
by sociologists. The objective of this paper is to highlight some
of the dimensions and contexts, forms and factors, of down-
ward social mobility in Indian society. Why has downward social
mobility not engaged the attention of social scientists? The belief that
downward mobility is involitional and not desired at the levels of group,
individual and family and, therefore, it does not occur, appears to have
been responsible for its neglect. Such a view is unwarranted and
unfounded. Downward social mobility does occur and is a complex
process involving social and economic, cultural and motivational,
factors.
Furthermore, we need to distinguish between specific downward
status mobility and generalised downward status mobility, for in India a
lag has been observed between upward socio-religious mobility and eco-
nomic or political mobility. Several sanskritizing castes have moved up
in the caste hierarchy by discarding their “polluting” callings without,
however, a corresponding change in their economic and political pos-
ition [Harper 1968:36–65; Sharma 1970a: 1537–43]. Indeed, when the
lower castes imitate the cultural traits of upper castes, their economic
position often declines owing to the abandonment of lucrative eco-
nomic activities. When this lack of fit between a rising social (caste)
position and a declining economic position persists for a period of years,
336 K.L. Sharma

their generalised status may decline below what it was when they started
to emulate the upper castes. Downward economic mobility here is an
un-planned consequence of planned upward social mobility. Efforts to
change the agrarian social structure, such as land reforms, would also
force lower status upon the landlords. This ‘withdrawal of status respect’
(Hagen 1962: 77, 83) has varied motivational and other repercussions
on the privileged sections of the society. Downward social mobility is,
thus, a structural and historical reality observable in diverse forms and
in different contexts.

Social decline may affect a lone individual or a social group as a whole

(Sorokin 1964: 133). Mobility is not a symmetrical phenomenon
(Miller 1969: 325–340). The patterns of mobility do not bear a defini-
tive character. A nation can be high in one measure of mobility and low
in another. The same may be found with an individual and/or a group.
Therefore, sometimes it is difficult to connect the mobility of one kind
with another. A nation may have most downward movement and may
also have most upward mobility at the same time. It may be difficult to
relate the aspects of downward movement with that of upward mobility
at the national level. Similarly, an individual may have upward eco-
nomic movement and downward social movement simultaneously and
vice versa.
As a result of industrialisation (Miller 1969) the agricultural and
manual workers become non-manual and skilled workers, but the sons
of elite fathers are not always entitled to or able to enter their fathers’
social positions. Thus, downward mobility is more indicative of social
fluidity than upward mobility. Whatever combination of upward and
downward mobility may prevail in a society, it is clear that when a soci-
ety drops the sons of the privileged strata out of their original positions
or blocks their entry into these positions, it is more open and mobile
than a society which has only progressive upward mobility but no mech-
anism for downgrading the elites. Thus, there are societies having more
upward mobility without having more fluidity in social structure and
vice versa. On the basis of Miller’s data two essential points emerge: that
downward and upward mobility indicate greater fluidity than upward
DOWNWARD SOCIAL MOBILITY 337

mobility alone and the two can appear in four combinations which are
as follows:

(a) High downward and high upward mobility (+ +);

(b) high downward and low upward mobility (+ −);
(c) low downward and high upward mobility (− +); and
(d) low downward and low upward mobility (− −).

Our purpose in this paper is to locate the processes of downward

social mobility in Indian society rather than to examine the applicabil-
ity of Miller’s model. We submit that downward social mobility
has  not been very much pronounced in India partly because of the
organically closed character of its social system and partly because of
the political structures and conditions that existed in the past. In our
view upward mobility has also been quite slow in India for the same
reasons.
Downward social mobility is generally unplanned, non-deliberate
and involitional (Saberwal 1972: 121). Saberwal distinguishes between:
(a) a change in the society’s organisational principles, and (b) a pos-
itional change for the individuals concerned. For the first case he cites
the abolition of princely privileges and the leather workers’ decline due
to a growing preference for factory-made shoes in the town he studied.
With regard to positional changes Saberwal cites an example of a can-
didate who repeatedly contests and loses expensive elections and con-
sequently his position declines compared to what it had been earlier.
Saberwal’s remarks on downward mobility are, however, casual and
incidental, and his main concern was with upward status mobility. A
satisfactory frame-work for analysing social mobility, we submit, must
allow adequately for motivation or consciousness. Downward mobility
due to organisational change should be related to structure, ideology
and behaviour of the people and its consequences also should be taken
into consideration. Thus, there is a need to investigate social decline in
the context of both organizational or structural change and positional
change. In other words, downward social mobility resulting from social
and economic innovations and transformations on the one hand, and
the failure of the groups and individuals to maintain the status of the
ascending generation on the other hand, has not been seriously
investigated.
338 K.L. Sharma

II

The possibility of social mobility in the 19th century and earlier in the
caste system is now generally accepted. Burton Stein (1968: 78–84) has
noted the case of a group of Sudra Srivaishnavas who achieved upward
mobility through religious roles at the Tiruvergadam Temple at Tirupati
in the fifteenth century. Elsewhere, some castes have been able to
upgrade their caste rank by getting political power and royal degrees. In
course of time these upwardly mobile castes received priestly recogni-
tion and also underwent changes in nomenclature, traditional occupa-
tion and ritual idioms. A number of lower castes in course of time
achieved Kshatriya status by migrating to other places and establishing
dominion over the native people (Panikkar 1955: 8).
While the fact of upward caste mobility has been noted by many
analysts, its consequences for those whose position has remained
unchanged has not been adequately explored. Our point is that upward
mobility, if restricted to some caste groups only, accentuates structural
cleavages and imbalances. Some castes move up, and others remain
where they have been. This differential movement adversely affects
those castes which remain static. Some castes which were inferior in past
may now move up to a higher position in the caste hierarchy. This is true
not only of castes; but within the caste, different families and within the
families different individuals are also differentially affected by such a
group-specific upward mobility. Thus without moving down or even
without being affected by generalised decline, the relative position of
groups, families and individuals might decline as a result of the upward
mobility of other units of society. Such a consequential decline has been
conspicuously neglected in sociological analysis and only upward mobil-
ity has engaged the attention of sociologists so far.
Ahmad (1971: 171) reports that low or ‘backward’ castes advancing
higher status claims went on increasing at different censuses in different
states from 1901 to 1931. In 1901 the number of castes claiming high
status was only 21. The number increased to 148 in 1931. In many cases
a single caste made more than one claim and these claims changed in the
successive censuses. A number of castes claimed Kshatriya status in 1921
census and the same castes claimed the Brahmin status in 1931.
Similarly, many castes claimed Vaishya status in 1921 and Kshatriya
status in 1931. It would be necessary to know about the castes which
DOWNWARD SOCIAL MOBILITY 339

superseded and the castes which were superseded and the factors which
contributed to this discriminating mobility.
Since the field of downward mobility is still largely unexplored, we
are more interested here in analysing its manifestations than its struc-
tural constraints. This would enable us to postulate some hypotheses for
empirical investigation. Thus, we propose to analyse the processes
underlying downward mobility. However, in this paper it will not be
possible for us to analyse interactional relations between those who slide
down and those who go up in social hierarchy. Again, our analysis is
limited to the phenomenon of sliding down in economic hierarchy
mainly in village societies, but we would also relate it to caste segments
and to other aspects of social life. We present first a formalised view of
the forms and contexts of downward mobility and in the last section of
the paper we refer to concrete cases of downward mobility.
In this paper the term ‘mobility’ means upward mobility and the
term ‘decline” refers to downward mobility. Decline can be categorised
into: (a) generalised decline, and (b) domain-specific decline. Generalised
decline refers to total decline of a unit of society, i.e. individual, family,
group and nation. Domain-specific decline would mean downward
mobility of these units in a particular domain or aspect. Domain-specific
decline may also result from mobility of a particular type, or as an
unplanned or unforeseen consequence of a particular type of mobility.
Generalised decline can be categorised into ‘structural decline’ and ‘posi-
tional decline’ on the basis of the nature of the decline itself. Structural
decline follows changes in the organizational principles of the society;
positional decline, in contrast, implies only a movement of persons
within a continuing structure of society. Structural decline can, on the
basis of the nature of its effectivity for the units, be further classified into
“primary structural decline” and “secondary structural decline”. Primary
structural decline refers to radical changes which may be due to pressure
from above; for example, from the threat of war by a big power and/or
from elitist reformative policies, or from pressure from below, e.g. from
a Maoist revolution. In either case, the decline would reflect certain
normative pressures. However, the nature of the normative pressure
would be different in these two situations of primary structural decline.
Secondary structural decline refers to indirect and immediately less
effective changes to which individuals and groups are exposed. Primary
structural decline is brought about by the direct impact of these forces
340 K.L. Sharma

Chart 1. Upward and Downward Social Mobility

of change on the affected groups whereas the decline of these groups

may set off, though indirectly, the decline of other groups as well.
Secondary structural decline may be an intended or unintended conse-
quence of the structural changes. The analytical diagram2 of downward
social mobility and its various forms have been presented in Chart 1 on
p. 64.

Primary Structural Decline

Primary decline may follow the creation of new structural principles,

organizations and units which replace the old ones. Such a change may
restructure the existing status system, including property relations,
denying the erstwhile privileged groups and individuals their traditional
prerogatives and conferring these upon the under-dogs of the old order.
The abolition of the Jagirdari and Zamindari systems, for example,
expropriated the rights of the old landowning classes and conferred
peasant proprietory rights on the ex-tenants. This is the formal situ-
ation; we shall consider the realities shortly. Changes in organisational
principles and structural innovations, such as non-recognition of the
traditional village and caste councils and installation of statutory
Panchayati Raj agencies, have also led to downward mobility. The effects
of these measures could be seen on the office-bearers and landowners in
terms of their statutory non-recognition and sliding down socially,
politically and economically in the village community.
DOWNWARD SOCIAL MOBILITY 341

Primary decline takes place when highly placed sections or groups

are forced by the militant pressure groups to come down to a lower level
at par with the commoners. It is symbolic of structural upheavals and
revolutions. The privileged have no choice but to accept the dictates of
such an organised force. Such a pattern of decline of old established
groups requires a high degree of mobilization accompanied by intense
polarisation of interests and sharpening of ideological conflict. Naxalite
movement in West Bengal, Kerala and in some other parts could be said
to have caused the decline of jotdars, absentee landowners and rich peas-
ant proprietors at least to some extent and for some time. However, this
enforced downward mobility was foiled through a counter-offensive
launched by the youth-wing of another political party after some time.
Our point is that ideological and class polarisation is always found oper-
ating in the background of primary structural decline as a result of pres-
sures from below. These form part of a strategy of structural change and
the emergence of a new social order. Primary decline can also occur as a
result of ‘elitist’ intervention from above.

Secondary Structural Decline

Changes in organisational principles may affect some people directly

and immediately as we have noted above; they may affect some others
indirectly, as for instance, the dependents of the landed gentry conse-
quent upon Zamindari Abolition. Land reforms have also led to second-
ary structural decline of working peasants and marginal tenants. Since
land reform gave tenurial stability, it motivated the big tenants for agri-
cultural innovations and mechanisation of farming. “With agriculture
developing along capitalist lines the process of ruination and proletar-
ianization of the bulk of the peasantry is growing more intensely all the
time” (Kotovsky 1964: 160). The emergence of rich capitalist peasantry
on the one hand and pauperisation of the working peasant households
and their reduction to the status of proletarian households on the other
has also been identified (Saith and Tankha 1972: 712) as an indirect
result of the ‘green revolution’. The process of impoverishment of most
small peasant households has increased recently. Saith and Tankha
observed that rapid expansion of the forces of production has intensified
the process of differentiation and, consequently, of polarisation of the
peasantry. This process transforms the rich surplus-making peasants
342 K.L. Sharma

into machine-using capitalist farmers. “The same process, however,

spells the ruination of small working-peasant classes. An inescapable
conclusion must be that the ‘diffusion of prosperity’ hypothesis (we
referred to in an earlier section) . . . does not stand up to scrutiny” (Saith
and Tankha 1972: 723). The accentuation of economic inequalities
denoted by the emergence of capitalist farmers on the one end and pau-
perised peasant-workers on the other was perhaps an unintended and
indirect consequence of land reforms and later of the ‘green revolution.
Thus, secondary structural decline results both from intended and
unintended consequences of innovations and it takes place both at the
level of individuals and of groups. It forms part of the generalised
decline.

Positional Decline

Positional decline can be defined as decline of an individual or a group

from one social position to another. A number of factors or a combin-
ation of factors may be responsible for this decline. Demotion of indi-
viduals due to changes in occupations, or due to transfer of persons
from one place to another and such other set-backs could be identified
as positional decline. These downward movements do not involve a
change in the principles of the structure. Positional decline, however,
affects the dominant status of persons and groups and, therefore, it
would affect other domains of social life of those groups and
individuals.
Positional mobility and positional decline are characteristic features
of a relatively stable society. Srinivas (1966: 7) observes that a result of
the process of sanskritization only positional changes in the system have
taken place. He writes: “. . . a caste moves up, above its neighbours, and
another comes down, but all this takes place in an essentially stable hier-
archical order. The system itself does not change” (Srinivas 1966: 7).
Saberwal (1972: 121) also states: “In contrast, there may only be
positional change for the individuals concerned, resulting from an
imprudent use of scarce resources as, for example, in repeatedly contest-
ing and losing expensive elections, or in failing to maintain relationships
important for generating resources which sustain one’s status”. Positional
decline is thus a part of generalised decline, and as such it is related to
policies and programmes and their implementation. But it does not
DOWNWARD SOCIAL MOBILITY 343

result from structural changes as such. Positional decline does not pose
a threat to the existing structures.
Bailey (1957), Lynch (1968: 209–240) and Rowe (1969: 66–77)
have also brought to our notice certain processes of social mobility.
Though some of these processes represent “unsuccessful” attempts
(Rowe 1968: 66–77), others were related to the “decline” of the
land-owning castes (Bailey 1957). The unsuccessful attempts refer to
positional decline of the lower castes who aspired for higher status. The
decline of the landowning castes refers to structural decline. However,
both unsuccessful attempts and sliding down of landowners are a part of
generalised decline.

Domain-Specific Decline

Domain-specific decline stands in contrast to generalised decline. In

fact, it is to some extent unplanned and unexpected because it results
from upward mobility, and the actor’s motivation is directed towards
going up in the hierarchy. As such domain-specific decline takes place as
an unforeseen consequence. However, it is not coercive as the affected
persons can also neutralise the negative consequences by retreating to
the position they had before they moved upward. Hypothetically we
could say that if the actors apprehended the specific dysfunctional con-
sequences, perhaps these could have been avoided either by non-activity
or by deploying some mechanisms to avert the negative repercussions.
We do not mean that these changes are irreversible. There could be
counter-mechanisms and instrumentalities by which some people might
undo the positive consequences of mobility. But our point is that in the
case of domain-specific decline, choice to avert it is considerably greater
than in the case of the two other forms of structural decline, i.e. primary
structural decline and secondary structural decline. Since domain-
specific decline is generally a result of volitional mobility, its avoidance
is also possible when its cost becomes much more than the gains of
mobility.
A certain amount of simultaneous rejection and acceptance of caste
ethic is also clearly observable. In seeking ritual identity with the higher
castes, the lower castes seem partly to reject the ideology of the caste
system; but by imitating the behaviour pattern and cultural idioms of
the upper castes, with a view to upgrade their rank, these castes also
344 K.L. Sharma

accept very much the caste ideology. The lower castes, on the other
hand, have united against the upper castes through political participa-
tion in order to have adequate representation in different agencies and
institutions. All these accounts of mobility, both upward and down-
ward, reveal that these mobility movements have not secured the claimed
higher status for the lower castes because status acquisition is now more
a matter of command over resources (Sharma 1970: 1537–43).
Therefore, imitating discarded life-ways of the upper-castes, or adopting
new caste names would be unhelpful for upward status aspirants. In
these accounts domain-specific decline is implicit and this has not been
analysed. We shall discuss this point in detail in the next section of this
paper.
A number of sanskritizing castes have adopted upper caste names,
such as Singh, Rawat, Verma, Sharma, Berua and Bariba. They have
adopted the sects or cults, such as Kabir, Raidas and Ramdeo Panth,
Vaishnava Sampradaya and Bhagat Sampradaya (Sanyal and Roy
Burman 1970: 1–31). Recently on March 22, 1973 in Delhi thousands
of Harijans embraced Buddhism. The manifestos of these castes are
related to socio-cultural reforms including rejection of the ‘polluting’
callings. These castes have mobilised their members through traditional
caste Panchayats. However, some formal associations have also been
active in the mobility endeavours (Sanyal and Roy Burman 1970: 1–31).
The analysis of these mobility movements have not taken cognisance of
‘substantial’ mobility, that is, the status accorded to the aspiring low
castes by the upper castes and the gains they have received actually in
terms of higher education, standard of living and active participation in
decision-making in different spheres at various levels.

III

The problem of decline is not as simple as it appears to be. The dilemma

arises from the gap that exists between our legal-political structure and
the existential conditions. Ours is a system which is perhaps most open
in theory (i.e. in terms of the principles of the Constitution) but at the
practical level chances of upward mobility are limited to only certain
sections of the society. This is obviously because of historical and insti-
tutional reasons. Therefore, upward mobility and primary structural
decline have not been simultaneous and movements seeking upward
DOWNWARD SOCIAL MOBILITY 345

mobility have generally been “unsuccessful”. The movement of workers

from manual to non-manual positions and vice versa has not been cru-
cially significant because of the conspicuously low rate of industrialisa-
tion. Structurally speaking, the most significant perhaps are the changes
resulting in the decline of a section of the erstwhile landed aristocracy.
At the same time, the same institutional changes have also resulted in
the upgrading of peasant proprietors and big tenants on the one hand
and the pauperisation of the poor peasants and village functionaries on
the other (Kotovsky 1964; Joshi 1971; Saith and Tankha 1972). Thus
these changes do not necessarily ensure a reduction in inequalities. This
is what we call unintended secondary decline.
Domain-specific decline could also be related to differential resource
ownership. Socio-cultural upward mobility demands a different set of
means and resources than what upward occupational or economic
mobility would require. The effectiveness of these institutional changes
is minimised when there is no substantial difference between the mag-
nitude of downward decline and that of mobility taking place at a given
time and when the operational norms too at the upper level continue to
be the same. Thus, because of differential prerequisites for mobility in
different spheres, it is quite possible to find a group which is not capable
of moving up in one sphere, but is capable of upward movement in
another domain. We have also evidence to prove that the affluent peas-
ants are those who were big tenants and who enjoyed security of land in
the past. Thus, a complex of factors in diverse forms constitutes the
existential background of downward mobility.
Jagirdari and Zamindari were two systems of land tenure the aboli-
tion of which affected differentially the people under these systems.
Jagirs constituted bigger estates than the Zamindaris. Jagirs were granted
to certain military commanders, ministers and courtiers by the state
chiefs or princes. The grantees appropriated the revenue for their own
support or that of a military force which they were bound to maintain.
Thus, the Jagirdar was an intermediary between the tiller and the state,
but for all practical purposes he acted as the master of his Jagir not only
in relation to the tenants but also in relation to the entire people under
his command.
‘Charge’ lands were Zamindari lands. A person appointed to manage
the tract under his influence was designated as the land-holder or the
Zamindar of his territory. The duty of such a Zamindar was strictly to
collect revenue and retain only his sanctioned share of the total revenue.
346 K.L. Sharma

The Jagirdar was the sole owner of his estate, and generally the jurisdiction
of a Jagir spread over several villages. There were a number of Zamindars
(particularly in ‘severality villages’) in the same village who shared the
benefits accruing to them from the Zamindari system. On the other
hand, a Jagirdar used to manage his land through Zamindars and a
‘formal bureaucratic’ organisation, i.e. the Jagirdar had several Zamindars
as his grantees. The Jagirdar had to pay only a fixed amount as tribute to
the king, and he was free to manage his Jagir in his own way. Thus, the
systems of Jagirdari and Zamindari were different on the basis of their
size, resources, rights and privileges. The diverse nature of the Jagirdari
and Zamindari systems affected differentially the rural class structure in
the two types of villages as a result of the abolition of these systems.
Several Zamindars shared land on the basis of their ‘charge’ right or
kinship status. Therefore, size of their landholdings was quite small even
before the abolition. The small size of the landholding made it possible
for them to retain the major portions in their own accounts by claiming
for themselves a self-cultivating status at the time of the abolition.
The situation in the case of the Jagirdar was different. He was the
sole owner of his estate and, therefore, only he was affected by the abo-
lition (though several retainers were also affected and perhaps much
more than the Jagirdar). The number of substantial beneficiaries in the
Zamindari villages (in many ‘severality villages’) was quite insignificant.
But the number of substantial beneficiaries in the Jagirdari villages was
quite significant. The Jagirdar being the sole owner of the land could
retain only a small fraction of it at the time of the abolition.
Consequently, a number of tenants received land rights due to the abo-
lition. However, the big tenants were benefitted more than the small
and marginal ones.3
It was found in our study of six villages in Rajasthan (Sharma 1968)
that in some villages Rajputs, Brahmins and Jats who were Zamindars
before the abolition, cannot now support themselves on the meagre or
uneconomic landholdings they have retained after the abolition and,
consequently, they have to work as manual and agricultural labourers.
The retainers and the Zamindars under the Jagirdars were left with
uneconomic holdings. They could not seriously anticipate the gravity of
the abolition and, therefore, did not eject their tenants. Secondly, their
dependence upon the Jagirdars was so much that they could not think of
their independent existence after the abolition. In fact, they associated
DOWNWARD SOCIAL MOBILITY 347

their existence with that of the Jagirdar. The number of such sufferers is,
however, quite small.
Some of the Rajputs who are impoverished today work as manual
and agricultural labourers either on the construction sites or on the
farms of the rich peasants who are lower to them in caste hierarchy.
Recently (December 1972) the author found in one of the six villages
that a Rajput who enjoyed social prestige was working as a labourer on
the famine relief-work site alongwith the ex-untouchable labourers.
Some other Rajputs have been working as labourers for a decade or so.
Some Brahmins Gujars and other clean caste persons were also working
as labourers. In 1965–66, about 15 families of ex-Zamindars were
engaged in manual activities in these six villages. We may add here that
none of these poor ex-Zamindar families worked as wage-labourers
before the abolition of Zamindari system. However, some of them were
partly absentee landlords and partly self-cultivators and worked casually
on their farms in the capacity of owner-cultivators.
Similarly the positions of Jagirdars and some big Zamindars have
declined considerably. The Jagirdars of the two of the six villages owned
lacs of bighas of land before the abolition, and had jurisdiction over a
number of villages. After the abolition, they have not only slided down
socially, politically and juridically but their economic position too has
declined enormously as they do not own land now even half a per cent
of what they owned in the past. But they are still better-off than even the
richest peasants in these villages.
The processes of mobility affect differentially the various sections of
the rural society. Those who have moved up affect negatively those who
could not do so. Earlier the landowners were at the top of class hierarchy;
now the ex-landowner-cum-cultivators and ex-tenant-cum-proprietors
are at the top of it. The studies by Saith and Tankha, Kotovsky and Joshi
reveal that the agrarian system has changed from the feudalistic to the
commercial and the capitalist type. This change has led to the ruination
of the working peasants further.
It has been noted (Singh 1969: 352–64) that as a result of the
Zamindari abolition the Zamjndars initially stayed away from statutory
village Panchayats. But later on they found that the statutory Panchayat
could be a forum through which they could exert some influence and
exercise their power. So this led to heightened tensions and conflicts
between the Zamindars and the climbers. Since the Zamindars still
348 K.L. Sharma

owned major resources they were able to get control over statutory
Panchayats. But the shock of the ‘withdrawal of status respect’ pro-
duced, especially among the Jagirdars, apathy and withdrawal from vil-
lage polity, decision-making and welfare activities (Sharma 1968).
In one village, to a Jagirdar who had ruled over a dozen revenue
villages, the rough and tumble of village politics seemed to be too
degrading for involvement. The Jagirdar’s tendency to withdraw, thus,
allowed the rich peasants to rise without a confrontation. In another
village the Jagirdar was unanimously elected Sarpanch for two consecu-
tive terms, but he did not take any interest in the village affairs, and
stayed away at Jaipur. People started criticising him for his lack of inter-
est in village activities. When he came to know about this criticism, he
withdrew from Panchayat elections for the third term, but asked one of
his subordinates to contest. The nominee of the Jagirdars was defeated
with a big margin by a Jat candidate. Thereafter the Jagirdar completely
withdrew from village politics.
It may be noted that, as compared to the Jagirdar, the Zamindar
was closer, in terms of social status, to the peasant proprietors; and the
abolition of intermediary tenures reduced the gap still further.
Consequently, the political arena has now numerous contestants, ex-
Zamindars as well as new peasant proprietors.
We have already made it clear that domain-specific decline has been
pronounced in the case of the depressed and lower castes. These castes
aspired for higher status generally within the caste hierarchy. The upper
castes frustrated their efforts and they also lost their traditional occupa-
tions and found themselves in a state of under-employment and hard-
ships. The other effect is the bifurcation of these castes into ‘deviants’
and ‘conformists’. Those who conformed to the new norms were devi-
ants but since they constituted the majority, they claimed higher status;
those on the other end who conformed to the traditional norms were a
minority and were labelled as conservative and given a lower status as
they were still associated with degrading styles of life and occupation.
The barbers decided to discard cleaning of defiled plates which was
a part of their traditional obligations. They, however, retained other
activities including hair-cutting. All the barbers did not abide by this
decision. This created another sub-caste of barbers. Those barbers who
conformed to the traditional norms received more patronage now than
before. On the other hand, those barbers who conformed to the new
DOWNWARD SOCIAL MOBILITY 349

norms had to face economic hardships due to the displeasure of the

patrons as a result of this change. Some of the families, however, silently
carried on the traditional activities though overtly they claimed that
they had left these polluting activities (Sharma 1968).
Similarly, the Balais (leather-workers) tried in vain to elevate their
status by imitating Brahmanical customs and practices. They gave up
leather-work, disposal of carcass and colouring of raw-hides, etc. As in
the case of the barbers, this led to a division among the Balais. They also
had to face acute difficulties like the barbers and perhaps much more
because of their greater dependence upon the upper castes. Their meagre
lands were not adequate for their livelihood. Under-employment result-
ing from their move compelled them to migrate to the cities in search of
employment as construction labourers.
The Regars (leather-workers) took to leather work fifteen years ago
when the Balais left their callings. Recently, however, they have dis-
carded working with leather. The Regars protested against the atrocities
of the patrons (particularly Jats) saying that they exploited them even
more than was done by the ex-zamindars. The Movement to discard
these obligations spread during 1971–72 from Rajasthan to Delhi,
Haryana and parts of Western Uttar Pradesh. They were harassed by the
Jajmans and even beaten up at many places during the period. For about
six months they stuck to their own decision. Within this small period
they had to face difficulties of employment and alienation. After about
six months they returned to their original position. Unlike the Balais,
none of the Regars came to Delhi before this incident. Drought has
further accentuated the consequences of discarding traditional occupa-
tional obligations.
This is a very short period to establish the existence of downward
mobility. This shows that the system does not allow upward mobility to
certain sections of society in a given context. It also becomes clear that
the Regars were successful in discarding their occupations but could not
stick to their decision. The pains of coming down economically could
not be borne by them and, therefore, they retreated to their original pos-
ition. The other castes who left their traditional obligations and had to
lose some economic support include Brahmins, Naiks, (ex-untouchables)
and Meenas (watchmen).
Domain-specific decline has really been demoralising for the
affected groups and individuals particularly when they had to revert to
350 K.L. Sharma

their original positions. Firstly, they were harassed when they left the
traditional and Jajmani obligations and, secondly, their persecution
increased when they, accepting the supremacy of the Jajmans or patrons,
retreated to their original position. Such a mobility has also resulted in
a heightened sense of insecurity. Migration became inevitable in many
cases when the sanskritized groups and individuals did not revert to
their traditional position.

Concluding Remarks

Downward social mobility is a complex process involving social, eco-

nomic, cultural and motivational factors, and occurs in different con-
texts and forms. We have made a distinction between domain-specific
decline and generalised decline. Generalised decline could be further
categorised into structural decline and positional decline. Structural
decline consists of primary structural decline and secondary structural
decline. Our scheme takes note of direct as well as indirect consequences
of the structural changes on the affected persons, families and groups.
Positional decline can be defined as decline of an individual or a group
from one social position to another. Such a decline does not involve a
change of principles of the structure. All generalised mobility is related
to normative pressure. Domain-specific decline is not a part of gener-
alised decline. It takes place often as a negative consequence of mobility,
but is not coercive because retreat to the original position is possible.
Downward mobility lends greater fludity to the social structure than
upward mobility.
We have’ noted that different land tenure systems and their aboli-
tion have affected differentially the people under these systems. In the
case of the Zamindars downward mobility has been less compared to the
Jagirdars. But the ex-Jagirdars still occupy dominant economic position.
The abolition, that is, the withdrawal of status respect, has led to their
detachment from village politics. The Zamindars have, however,
emerged as potential rivals to the emerging peasant proprietors. Again,
as a result of the abolition some sections of the people have gone up and
others have come down in social hierarchy. Both unequally and equally
placed people have been affected differentially by the same measure.
Domain-specific decline is generally a consequence of upward mobility.
It is a characteristic feature of the depressed and lower castes who try to
‘go up by discarding certain traditional occupations and obligations.
DOWNWARD SOCIAL MOBILITY 351

Notes
1. I am grateful to Dr. Satish Saberwal for his valuable comments on earlier drafts of this
paper. His comments, in fact, led to rewriting of this paper. I am also thankful to
Dr. T. K. Oommen, Mr. C. N. Venugopal and Professor Yogendra Singh for their
suggestions. The responsibility for errors that might have remained is entirely mine.
2. This diagrammatic presentation has been suggested by Dr. Satish Saberwal.
3. Similar observation has been made by P. C. Joshi (1971) in terms of differential trans-
fer of landholdings as a result of land reforms in the Zamindari and ryotwari areas.
The latter had peasant proprietors and the former consisted of absentee landowners.
Therefore, the distribution of land as a result of the abolition among the tenants has
been much more in Zamindari areas than the ryotwari areas. We would say that in
Jagirdari areas the impact of the abolition has been still greater due to the reasons
discussed in this paper.

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20
Dimensions of Agrarian
Structure and Change:
Issues in Theory1
Pradip Kumar Bose

Agrarian Structure and Change

T
hree dominant sociological approaches in analyzing agrarian
social structure in India are: (i) the approach which regards
‘tradition’ as an intrinsic element of and conceptual referent in
the study of structure (Singh, 1986); (ii) the approach using ‘natural’,
‘native’, or ‘indigenous’ categories as providing basic analytical tools in
the study of social structure and (iii) the approach adopting concepts
drawn from established Marxian, Weberian or even Durkheimian socio-
logical traditions. In the first approach ‘tradition’ as variously interpreted
is central to the issue. Dumont’s (1970) analysis of caste system is in a
way his coming to terms with the Indian tradition. While the concept
of ‘tradition’ drew our attention to the Indian identity in sociology, at a
theoretical level, a more rigorous analysis of this concept still remains to
be done. ‘Tradition’ intends to ascribe a special temporal status to a
group of phenomena that are both successive and identical or similar. It
makes continuous what is essentially discontinuous and links disper-
sions in the past by identifying similarities and by reducing the differ-
ences thereby enabling us to isolate the ‘new’ and the ‘present’ against a
background of permanence. It is crucial to note that ‘tradition’ is an
354 Pradip Kumar Bose

intentionally selective version of a shaping past and a pre-shaped present,

which is then powerfully operative in the process of social and cultural
definition and identification. At the heart of sociological writings on
tradition is the notion of ideology. However, the ideology of the sociol-
ogy of tradition still remains to be investigated. A different set of ideo-
logical problems is encountered in the second approach which focuses
on categories indigenous to the society being studied. Thus Beteille
asserts that “at least as a first step, we have to look into Indian society
itself in order to identify categories appropriate for a description of its
class structure” (1974: 48). Beteille acknowledges that the analysis of
indigenous categories has been dominated by studies of caste, but he
argues that “the native categories of the Indian villager, the categories in
terms of which he thinks and acts, are not exhausted by caste” (1974:
49). Indian villagers make use of “certain broadly economic categories”
which may properly be regarded as “categories of the class type” (1974:
126). While the problems of caste-based studies of rural structure has to
be taken up separately, the appeal of other indigenous categories derives
from the assumption that the indigenous terms that people use to define
their social universe and to identify themselves and their relations with
others, are immediately relevant and crucial. However people’s images of
their society are commonly ideological; that is, they may not only reflect,
but also distort, the underlying structure of their relations. It is not to be
assumed that indigenous categories constitute either an accurate or a
comprehensive representation of social reality. Moreover it still remains
confusing, whether the aim of such an approach is to present the native
ordering of the social world, or to go beyond and construct explanatory
models of a system of orderliness imposed by people on their social
world. Simply native ordering does not take us very far, except adding
one additional step in the comprehension of pre-existing reality.
As the view that positions in the secular oraer (the class system) are
indistinguishable from positions in the sacred or ritual order (the
caste and varna systems) came to be gradually challenged by sociologists,
the need for an independent class analysis began to be felt. The identity
of the two orders connoted by terms such as ‘status summation’, ‘role
summation’, ‘many stranded’, ‘manifold’ and ‘multiple stratification’
(Sanwal, 1976) is seen as problematic. The rise of social class struggles
and conflict in rural areas provided evidence of disharmony in the social
structure. (Gough, 1970; Singh, 1970).
DIMENSIONS OF AGRARIAN STRUCTURE AND CHANGE 355

Questions regarding ‘points of domination’ of capitalist social

relations in agrarian structure, as exemplified by the mode of produc-
tion debate in India influenced class analyses (Rudra, 1969; Patnaik,
1971a, 1971b, 1972; Chattopadhyay, 1972a, 1972b; Banaji, 1972;
McEachern, 1976). The debate attempted to isolate the ‘points of dom-
ination’, in the agrarian structure where the development of commodity
relations occurred under colonialism. It drew attention to the role of
merchant capital and usurers’ capital in intensifying commodity rela-
tions in the colonial social formation. This insight inspired analyses of
the mechanism by which these ‘antediluvian’ forms of capital subjugated
direct producers. Here different levels of analysis have generated radi-
cally divergent conclusions. Proponents of the view that circulation cap-
ital acquired new functions under the colonial system give importance
to the ‘context’ of production created by the ‘international connection’
between the colonial economy and the imperialist capitalist centre.
Other contributors note this connection but attach greater weight to
relations at the level of production within the rural sector and agricul-
ture production units. The difference over the appropriate level of ana-
lysis leads, inevitably, to wide disagreements on the criteria of capitalist
production and the significance of generalized commodity production.
At the village level, sociologists using the framework of mode of
production attempted analysis of agrarian social structure in terms of
classes (Mencher, 1974; Djurfeldt and Lindberg 1975; Patnaik, 1976;
Bardhan, 1982; Harriss, 1982; Bose, 1984). Two different approaches
in class analysis can be distinguished in these attempts: distributional
and structural. The distributional approach is dependent on the associ-
ation between people and things and on the basis of quantitative differ-
ences in the distribution of things, people are assigned to different
classes. Since classification remains arbitrary and ad hoc in this approach,
it does not contain within itself any explicit directives for the historical
analysis of class dynamics. The complexities of landholding pattern and
intricacies of production relations in agriculture lead many sociologists
to adopt a much simpler technique and select criteria that are typically
distributional. Among them one that is most commonly adopted is the
amount of land owned. Thorner points out the difference between pro-
prietors and working peasants in terms of their respective labour contri-
bution but concludes by claiming that “the chief distinguishing feature
[between them] is the amount of land held” (1976: 31). Mencher
356 Pradip Kumar Bose

(1978) in a similar vein, begins by making a number of structural

distinctions between landlord, farmers, traditional landlords and capi-
talist landlords, etc. These structural distinctions, however, are used not
to analyze relations within and between classes, but as descriptive labels
for strata that are in fact separated by distributional criteria, specifically
by the amount of land held. The analytical tactic of substitution, in
particular the replacement of class distinctions based on the social rela-
tions of production by distributional features with which they are in
some measure correlated has serious consequences. It subordinates the
theoretical holism of the structural approach to the conveniences of
empirical description, and confines the analysis within an essentially
stratigraphic and atomistic framework that presents a class simply as the
aggregate of all those individuals who find themselves in similar circum-
stances. The structuralist insistence that classes are fundamentally
defined in relation to one another is, in effect, abandoned.
Structural studies focus on social relations, particularly as these rela-
tions are related to differential control over the means of production.
Along with landed property, labour contribution is the other basic fea-
ture that structuralists use to differentiate agrarian classes; the theoret-
ical orientation also assumes that major classes are opposed to one
another. Empirically class distinctions are made in terms of hiring-in
and hiring-out of labour relative to self-employment along with criteria
such as possession of means of production and economic viability.
Since such studies of classes confine themselves to villages, intra-
village configurations of classes, inequalities, conflicts and contradic-
tions came out quite sharply in these studies, but they cannot
comprehend the social totality, the relationships between the village and
outside, the peasants and the state, power structure and the peasant
classes. Studies on power as such are again confined to villages and are
explicated in terms of dominant caste. In others it is banished from the
domain of investigation by making power subordinate to ritual status
(the religious domain). The structure of classes is of course a pattern of
unequal relationships and to that extent it is also a relationship of dom-
inance and dependence, and power is an important constituting ele-
ment in this analysis. Power at the village level, however, is different
from power transcending villages and power as manifested in the state.
The structure and institutionalisation of power outside the realm of vil-
lages still remains to be integrated into the sociological studies of
DIMENSIONS OF AGRARIAN STRUCTURE AND CHANGE 357

agrarian structure to bring out a fuller exposition of the degree of

economic exploitation and political dominance. These questions
become more relevant in the context of recent farmers’ agitations in
various parts of India. At a theoretical level the question of hegemonic
practice and articulation has to be established in terms of class division.
If class identity is established at the level of relations of production, the
theoretical question is how to conceive of its presence at other levels:
Should one view it as one of exteriority adopting the form of “represen-
tation of interests” making politics the superstructure? Or can one dis-
card the “representation of interest” and formulate specific theoretical
conditions of a class-embedded conception of hegemony?
Change has been conceived mainly in terms of specific orientation
of analysis. Social structure modelled on ‘tradition’ searched for ‘modern’
or modernizing elements in structure over time. Caste-based studies
investigate alterations in ritual practices and status, while studies on
class are mostly based on certain universalistic paradigms, which imply
increasing polarization in the structure. The petty commodity producer
tends to disappear; capitalist relations of production develop involving
an agrarian bourgeoise and a rural proletariat. The polarization of the
rural class structure will arise via differentiation of the peasantry. The
scenario that we witness, however, is a more complex one and suggests,
partial and incomplete nature of agrarian transition, where family labour
farms have persisted. The modest rise of agricultural labourer house-
holds from about 25 per cent of all rural households in 1956–57 to
about 30 per cent in 1977–78 does not really justify the thesis of prole-
tarianization envisaged by the paradigm.
The profit in capitalist agriculture can be derived from: (a) greater
productivity of land; (b) a protected market and (c) a depressed wage-
level which can originate from surplus wage-labour or from a sizeable
poor peasantry. Since India can be characterized in terms of the last two
alternatives, development along the lines envisaged by the paradigm is
to that extent complicated. Further complications are introduced by the
fact that the agrarian ownership structure can be controlled and manipu-
lated politically. The possibility of reproducing these conditions for cap-
italist development depends then on the political representation of the
dominant agrarian class and its alliances with other classes. When capi-
talism expands and penetrates rural areas, the dominant classes will
attempt to establish the political, legal, and ideological forms necessary
358 Pradip Kumar Bose

for its functioning and stability. In this process they will encounter
ideological practices which originated in social relations now subordi-
nate to capitalism. To explain the situation some have introduced the
concept of ‘ideological articulation’ which allows for a dynamic and his-
torical analysis because it does not assume that the disappearance of
non-capitalist ideological practices is a pre-condition for modernization.
In India agrarian capitalism has not yet successfully incorporated nor
effectively eliminated all earlier ideological practices. Furthermore, it
can be argued that all these ideological practices need not necessarily be
eliminated for capitalism to succeed. Ideology of caste still remains a
dominant constituent in the system of meanings through which rural
people often interpret the world which seem to give coherence to the
totality of relationship. In this sense ideology cannot be excluded from
a proper comprehension of the process of class formation. The explana-
tion of forms of symbolic domination making people participate in
their own repression, is necessary to comprehend the constitution of
class formation in India. In other words, both economic and ideological
aspects of articulation of the peasantry and capitalism is called for
because the problems of ‘selective tradition’ and consciousness are very
much linked with the problems of analysis and transformation of rural
structure.

Planned Agrarian Change

The rationale behind the planned change was the ‘modernizing’
approach adopted in the post-colonial state, substantiated by the argu-
ments of ‘spirit of the age’ and ‘scientism’. In agriculture, the earlier
theories which maintained that lack of land reforms, ignorance of
appropriate agriculture practices and the persistence of obsolete social
structure were responsible for low agricultural productivity were aban-
doned in favour of a strategy of technological modernization. Emphasis
shifted from ‘major’ to ‘minor’ irrigation works. Adequate provision of
credit, use of chemical fertilizers and of electricity and diesel for energy
and the adoption of fertilizer sensitive hybrid varieties of seeds for food
grain cultivation were included in the package to promote technological
modernization (Chakravarty, 1987).
Considerable research has been done on the social effects of green
revolution though much of it is contradictory. There are some who have
DIMENSIONS OF AGRARIAN STRUCTURE AND CHANGE 359

argued, somewhat optimistically, that the rural poor are not worse-off
than before, because the effects of agricultural modernization percolates
to the bottom. And when this process of percolation is arrested, agricul-
tural labourers get organized and demand better wages and living con-
ditions, thereby benefitting from the process (Oommen, 1971, 1975).
Epstein on the contrary concludes that the important result is that rich
have grown richer and poor have become poorer (1978: 142–82). As
against the thesis of greater bargaining power of rural labour resulting
from the percolation effects, some have commented that with the
imperfect labour market conditions in India, the bargaining power of
the rural labour is more apparent than real (Bardhan, 1984: 38–59).
That the green revolution accelerated the process of proletarianization
though argued by some (Dhanagare, 1988) is not accepted by others
(Omvedt, 1988). It is also shown that the use of certain types of capital
goods, such as diesel and electric pumpsets have increased substantially,
along with the use of tractors to a lesser extent. But as Sen points out, as
much of this capital was ‘land-esque’ rather than ‘labour-esque’, labour
displacement has not occurred to the extent predicted (Sen, 1960). The
assumption of scale-neutrality of green revolution techniques and inputs
has also been challenged by showing that the better-off farmers have
derived greater benefits than the poor ones. While the results of planned
agricultural change seems to be varied and contradictory, what is certain
is that the conditions of the agricultural labourer have not improved
substantially even though agriculture achieved better growth rates. The
demand for better wages and living conditions by labourers has often
led to the importation of labour from outside the region as we shall see
in the next section.
While the impact of green revolution on various sections of the
peasantry has been investigated, its effect on the changing relationship
of the peasantry to the state and to capital is not as well known. In other
words, while the development in agriculture is affecting relationships in
the village, the peasants are increasingly drawn into the market and are
encountering fluctuations in prices influenced by policies formulated by
the nation state. The relationship between the peasant and the state is
becoming more problematic and turbulent day-by-day.
The expansion of capitalist relationship in Indian agriculture also
has to be judged keeping in mind that capitalist accumulation though
not insignificant, has not produced the kind of universalization process
360 Pradip Kumar Bose

that is usually assigned to it by sociologists and planners. As a result, the

heterogeneity of social actors is conceptually reduced to homogeneous
‘economic man’ (Sen, 1989). However, communitarian relationship,
though vulnerable to co-option within the capitalist order, often poses
challenges to that order. The problem is both theoretical and empirical
in the sense that it revolves around conceptualisation of the social actors
in an uneven structure. In fact, implicit in the idea of planned develop-
ment is the uneven nature of the process affecting individuals, sectors,
regions and nations at uneven rates. This is contrary to the view that
‘modernization’ is both beneficial and inevitable in the specific form of
capitalist development that it has taken in India. Contributions to grow-
ing critical literature on the process of capitalist accumulation highlight
how, for instance, women’s loss of status results from the interweaving of
relations in production and gender relations in reproduction—from the
changes in women’s work and in the forms of their subordination
(Beneria and Sen, 1981; Mies, 1980). It is a system which making use of
existing gender hierarchies places women in subordinate positions at
each level of interaction between class and gender. If then the sphere of
production can make use of pre-existing gender hierarchies, what is
needed is a complementary analysis of these relations that both generate
and condition the dynamics of gender systems.
More generally the question to be explored is to what extent the state
supports the consolidation of surplus extracting mechanism through the
extension of the market, credit institutions and through fiscal measures
without really transforming the pre-capitalist forms of labour exploita-
tion in surplus extraction. A related question that needs investigation is
whether continued basis of the power of the state lies in extending its
democratic basis or in deepening its control through the means of
bureaucratic centralisation and the manipulation of ‘mobilization’ mech-
anisms such as elections, co-option of opposition leaders and the like.
In fact the nature of the problem is well known: low rates of capital
formation, low level of development of productive forces at home, and
therefore low labour productivity, and the difficulties of transforming
agrarian production while retaining the sources of stable political sup-
port for the nationalist leadership running the post-colonial state. The
framework of the analysis of such problems has to put the state and the
varying socio-historical contexts in which it operates at the centre of
analysis.
DIMENSIONS OF AGRARIAN STRUCTURE AND CHANGE 361

Variants of strategies of change discussed above are to view change

in terms of theories of modernization, regard change as immanent in
rural structure itself or view it as the resultant of exogenous influences.
The framework of ‘modernization’ in the planning process assumed
that there is but one given direction in which the economy must
move—the direction of rapid industrialization. This pre-determined
path of capitalist development would take care of all problems of tran-
sition in a post-colonial agrarian society like India. It is now being
increasingly realised that not only are there varying paths of capitalist
development but also there are certain historical limits to capitalist
development.

Migration, ‘Informal Sector’ and the Rural-Urban Nexus

The question of migration raises a number of interlinked theoretical and

empirical issues which require urgent and indepth analysis. In studies on
migration the focus on the ‘pull’ factor obviously draws our attention to
changes taking place at the destination area, but equally important are
the ‘push’ factors in the place of origin. That is, factors such as land
alienation, relative poverty, population pressure, quality of living stand-
ards, social differentiation and penetration of the market economy are
closely linked to migration.
The significant question in the case of rural-rural migration could
be on how capitalist relations in agriculture have developed a mechan-
ism to regulate the seasonal and annual movement of labour over long
distances. Social differentiation of peasantry and migration of labour
both could be linked to this overall process of development. A conven-
tional and rather simplistic explanation of labour migration is in terms
of demand and supply. It is often argued that the determinants of migra-
tion are factors like increased labour intensity of new cropping patterns,
absorption of the labouring class in expanding non-agricultural employ-
ment, unsatisfactory performance of local labourers, etc. The problem
here is not only that this approach assumes shortage of labour as the
cause of migration, but also neglects social relations and power relations
in shaping migration. For instance, studies show that labourers from
outside are brought in not to counter shortage in the area of destination
but to create a surplus and fragment the labour market so as to exercise
362 Pradip Kumar Bose

greater control over local labour, reduce the wage level and weaken the
bargaining position of the local landless (Breman, 1985). The migrants
who work in a strange environment can be more easily controlled; they
lack social identity in the work place and a contractual relationship can
be easily developed with them. In this sense recruitment of migrants is
in consonance with the structure and functioning of the labour market.
A corollary of demand-supply approach is the approach which pro-
claims that migration is a consequence of income differences at the two
ends, and assumes that the decision to migrate is taken by individuals
after rationally weighing the costs and benefits. The extent to which
these assumptions are applicable in a situation of extreme scarcity, where
migration is a question of survival needs examination. A related ques-
tion is whether the unit of decision-making is the individual or the
household which distributes the available labour in the family to spread
risks in different spheres of activity.
In some other theories it is assumed that mobility is always from the
‘traditional’ to the ‘modern’ sector, and those who migrate from villages
to urban areas are less traditional and act as ‘change agents’ when they
go back to the villages. In this scheme, migration is equated with urban-
ization and modernization which result in rural development. So peo-
ple’s ‘willingness’ or ‘preference’ to leave the village, is favoured by such
modernization theories, which assume a static, passive and backward
rural population. How far do such theories reflect the reality?
The mobility model, often very simple and naive, assumes that
unskilled workers who migrate to the town first drift into “urban trad-
itional sector” and subsequently move to jobs in the “modern sector”
(Todaro, 1969: 138–149). In other words, small-scale, labour-intensive
activities act as buffer zones and absorb the floating labour force. This
approach transforms the rural migrant into a passive being whose mobil-
ity is laid out in a completely mechanistic pattern. In reality, however,
access to employment operates at different levels depending on skill,
education, socio-economic background and availability or lack of pro-
tection. As Breman points out:

Under otherwise equal conditions, determinants of a high ranking in the rural

systems are converted into advantages over other categories of migrants who,
conversely, see their former backward position within the village continued in
the urban environment. In the second place, the idea that in the town it is
possible to progress to better paid and more highly qualified work is largely
DIMENSIONS OF AGRARIAN STRUCTURE AND CHANGE 363

fictional. Those who join the lower ranks of the urban labour system usually
remain there, and even horizontal movement is limited. Shortage of work and
limited chances to accumulate any capital or to invest in any formal educa-
tion, can lead to a position of defensiveness in which one’s accustomed sphere
of activity is protected as much as possible and entrance to it is restricted to
those who can appeal to particularistic loyalties-although the success in doing
so may vary (1980: 19).

A related but important aspect of the planned change in the agrar-

ian social structure is the nature of rural-urban interface. Contradictions
generated by agrarian transformation are reflected in the emerging pat-
tern of the country-town nexus. For a long time however the unex-
pected and tremendous urban population growth remained solely a
demographic issue and urban studies were largely based on the method-
ology of social surveys without showing any sensitivity towards organic
linkages within the city social systems or country-city inter-relationships
(Singh, 1988). This obviously resulted from the prevailing notion of
village as a ‘closed-system’ and consequently town or city as an autono-
mous unit of investigation. Urbanisation in most of these studies pro-
ceeded from the premise that cities in the third world are specific
analogues of the contemporary modern towns in general and the exter-
nal factors play a decisive role in the development of the city. Quite
consistently with this view, Manuel Castells suggested the term “depend-
ent urbanisation”. However, the problem is not that external factors
have no role in this regard, but the need to analyze the specific combin-
ation of internal and external factors. Hence the problem should be
what type of society causes urbanisation under the influence of specific
external stimuli. Cities have become places where the ‘fruits’ of primary
accumulation are concentrated; where there are large sections of early
capitalist economy, and where foreign and local monopolies and state
economic organisations are also evident. This motley pattern caused by
the simultaneous existence of different types of pre-capitalist and vary-
ing capitalist social institutions has shaped and continues to shape all
aspects of urban communities, primarily their class structure. It is for
such reasons that employment and unemployment in the cities present
such a varied picture-the significant factor being that a sizeable section
of the labour masses of urban dwellers is associated with primitive or
long-obsolete types of productive forces and work organisation. This has
given prominence to another set of conceptual duality—informal and
364 Pradip Kumar Bose

formal sectors—which is no different from other dualistic divisions like

‘modern’ and ‘traditional’, ‘organised’ and ‘unorganised’, etc., and like
its predecessors fails to reflect the complex basis of urban society and
rural-urban linkages.
‘Informal sector’ is located at the interstice of rural-urban interface
resulting from migration and labour mobility. As Peter Lloyd (1982)
noted, the growing informal sector appears because the urban formal
sector was unable to absorb the waves of migration. The formal sector is
taken to mean wage labour in permanent employment, internally
well-organised labour whose working conditions are protected by law.
Economic activities which do not meet these criteria are then bundled
under the term informal sector, a catch word covering a considerable
range of economic activities. Often the inadequacy of this description is
compensated by a somewhat arbitrary listing of those activities that
meets the eye in a third world city. The concept is taken to cover every-
thing that does not belong to the formal sector and this gives the distinc-
tion a tautological character.
In short, the dualism in terms of formal-informal is largely unten-
able, a more realistic position would be to distinguish the spheres of
activity in terms of diverse articulated production relations which can be
found within the economic system in varying degrees and gradations.
Conceptualisation of informal sector gets muddled not simply because
of the impossibility of demarcating its activities as an isolated sector of
urban economy, but also because of its association with concepts like
“basic needs of the poorest strata”, “redistribution of income and
growth”, the “crisis of cities”, etc., which demonstrate to what extent the
criteria of division would be subject to control by the state.
An important and related aspect of the rural-urban interface in both
‘formal’ and ‘informal’ sector is the nature of the working class. That the
urban workers maintain their ties and interests and that the ties of lan-
guage, caste, religion or region have survived is well known and docu-
mented. The primordial ties continue to play an important role in the
division and unity of workers. There are, however, varied interpretations
of this phenomenon. With the emergence of ‘articulation’ approach it
has been argued that at the economic level, because of dependent devel-
opment workers must continue to rely on subsistence production and
thus ‘peasant-worker’ stage is prolonged. As a consequence, extended
reliance on subsistence production leads to prolonged transition of
DIMENSIONS OF AGRARIAN STRUCTURE AND CHANGE 365

‘peasant-workers’ who never become ‘true’ workers. This also means that
the kinship patterns, occupational behaviour, and political activities of
these wage workers are more like those of peasants than of workers (Lake,
1981). This is an empiricist approach which tries to overcome the
explanatory problems regarding caste and religious ties of the working
class, by just juxtaposing diverse elements as some kind of an algebraic
sum. The articulation theory only describes the phenomenon of co-
existence, does not really explain the reasons. A simpler explanation
favoured by the Marxists is that the capitalist factory will transform the
old particularistic ties of ‘peasant-workers’ into universalistic ties of class.
Survival of primordial and particularistic ties and consciousness are
explained away by blaming everything on colonialism. “In colony some
specific features of exploitation as distinct from that in metropolitan
country, impede the development of economic struggles of the workers
and in consequence retard the growth of their class political conscious-
ness” (Sen, 1977). This is an argument based on the universalistic para-
digm. Moreover, though the link between skill and militancy is not
self-evident, in the Indian case it is assumed to be so. Absence of artisan
origins of the working class is regarded as the cause of its particularistic
survivals. This is considered as the ‘missing factor’ in explaining the
‘weakness’ of the working class, as for instance Sarkar writes:
“Organization among such an amorphous, undefined and generally
unskilled labour force was a major problem especially as, unlike in
England, this working class did not have any long-standing artisan ori-
gins with its own radical democratic traditions” (Sarkar, 1980: 158).
This again points out the over dependence on the metropolitan country
as the cause of the weakness of the working class. A different strategy is
to recognise the interweaving of caste and class consciousness but explain
this as a function of local circumstances. Thus Bhattacharya writes: “The
interaction between the primordial and the new class loyalties (in Indian
labour history) is subject to wide regional variations and fluctuations
overtime determined by exogenous factors” (Chakrabarty, 1988: 26).
This empiricist approach, in a different guise, however does not explain
the question: “why this intertwining?” Yet another strategy is to show that
primordial loyalties are linked with the organisation of labour market,
where workers are recruited on the basis of religious, caste or village ties,
since worker’s welfare depends on these ‘pre-modern’ ties, it is only
‘rational’ for the worker to value these ties (Chakrabarty, 1982; Joshi,
366 Pradip Kumar Bose

1986). In other words, fragmented loyalties of the working class is

explained in terms of fragmented labour market. This strategy, of course,
begs the question, because if the structure and organisation of the labour
market is responsible for the primordial ties of workers, then, in effect,
the cause lies in the nature of industrialization which, perhaps followed
a ‘distorted’ path a position similar to those who blamed colonialism and
consequent ‘distortions’ while assuming a universalistic paradigm of
history.
The issue being raised here is that such blanket categories will not
really be helpful in the analysis of the problem, which can be considered
as a typical manifestation of rural-urban interface in the cultural sphere.
The point is that such analytical procedures will fail to produce an
anthropological or theoretical understanding of culture so long as we
deal with notions of culture or consciousness as being exogenous to par-
ticular histories or cultures that are being studied.

Conclusion

In this paper I have tried to focus on certain crucial aspects of structure,

change, rural-urban interface and the theoretical problems arising out of
the various ways sociologists have attempted to comprehend the pro-
cess. The problems encompass both ideological and structural space. A
sociological study attempts to locate similarities in various social forma-
tions, equally and above all, it will prove itself when it is able to restore
the particularities, the specific differences, which give each social
formation under consideration a singular essence.
In the analysis of agrarian structure, on the one hand we are faced
with conceptual and theoretical confusions, on the other with concepts
which are partial, incomplete and often essentialist in nature. For
instance, the concept of ‘tradition’ is always viewed as an absolute, with-
out investigating its ideological contents; certain notions of agrarian
classes conceal ideology, and may in some cases, distort the agrarian
reality. The other theoretical problem with the analysis of classes in
Indian sociology is the neglect of wider power relations and the question
of hegemonic practice and articulation that is linked with the division of
classes. At a theoretical level, the question arises as to how to conceive
the articulation of classes beyond the regional boundaries. Should it
be regarded simply as ‘representation of class interests’, that regards the
DIMENSIONS OF AGRARIAN STRUCTURE AND CHANGE 367

structure of power as a ‘superstructure’, or should one formulate a

concrete class-embedded conception of hegemony? In the context of
expanding capitalism in agriculture, this leads to the question of the
modus operandi of power: whether the continued basis of power would
lie in expanding the democratic process or would it be expressed through
the manipulation of mobilization mechanisms?
The approach of viewing the village as a ‘closed system’ has raised
a related set of problems. The conceptualisation of the different
domains of reality arising out of rural-urban interaction faces problems
similar to the ones mentioned above; the concept of ‘informal sector’ is
one such example. In fact, the rural-urban interface cannot only throw
light on the problem of migration, rural industry and class formation,
but also is closely linked with the nature of urban workers’
consciousness.
Finally, it must be added that the capitalist expansion and its pene-
tration in the rural areas has not been uniformly and universally success-
ful. It is not a smooth and irreversible process, but rather a convergence
of contradictory forces. A more holistic approach provides us with a way
to grasp the relationships and complex forms of articulation involving
both persistence and destruction, reflecting a continuous dialectic
between capitalism and other social formations.

Note
1. An earlier draft of this paper was presented as a working paper at the XIX Indian
Sociological Congress at Hisar. I am grateful to Anjan Ghosh for bringing to my atten-
tion some of the sources used in this paper.

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Index
aesthetic culture of Indian rural society,
15–16
agrarian structure and change,
xxxiii–xxxiv
agrarian capitalism, 357–58
class system and rise of social class
struggles, 354
distributional distinctions, 355
domination of capitalist social
relations in, 355
ideological problems, 354
migration and, 361–66
mobility, in terms of, 362–65
mode of production, 355
ownership structure, 357–58
planned change, 358–61
power structure, 356–57
rural-urban interface and, 363–65
social relations, 356
sociological approaches in analyzing,
353–54
structural distinctions, 356
in terms of formal-informal sectors,
363–64
tradition v. modernity, 357
anti-Brahmin movements, 142
arena councils, 146
artistic craftsmanship, 16
Arya Samaj movement, 124
ascendent caste, 138
Bahujan Samaj Party (BSP), xxiii
Basantpur village, 114
Bergram village
Bhadralok–Chhotolok categories,
99–100
caste distribution in, 97–98
caste-wise landholding in, 102
division of castes, economic
terms, 103
hierarchy of castes in, 99
layout of habitations, 96–97
Moslems, 101
non-agricultural occupations, 105
relation between Great Tradition and
Little Tradition, 101
Bhadralok. See also Bhadralok–Chhotolok
system of stratification
connotation, 95
cultural pattern and mode of
intergroup behaviour, 96
Bhadralok–Chhotolok system of
stratification, xxvii–xxviii, 96
in agricultural work, 103–4
caste and position in power
structure, 108
class and power, 102–8
economic relation, 104–7
land and work relations, 107
pattern of interaction, 109–10
ritual pollution, 109
INDEX
Bharchakia village, 114
Bishrampur village, 114
bridge-action, xviii
British India
canal irrigation and land value, 24
caste system, changes in, 23
communication system, 36–37
cotton, development of, 22–23
effects of, 35–36
extension of economic network,
22–23
Namhalli village, economic and
social changes in, 26–27
peasants of Wardha Valley, 23
uniform civil and criminal law,
introduction of, 22
villages, economic and social changes
in, 24–28
Western education, introduction of,
22, 36
caste in contemporary rural Bihar,
xxviii, 115
agricultural farming, 116
institutional practices, 116
involved in business, 122
jajmani system, 123–36
non-government monthly paid
services, 117–22
occupation, 116–23
services of purohits, paunis and
Mahabrahmans, 126–31
types, 122–23
worshipping and rituals, 116
caste system, 12
ascendent caste, 138
caste, pure and impure, xix,
215–16, 233
caste as a hierarchy, xix
caste dominance, 139
caste grouping, 12
caste lobbies, 139
dominant castes, 140
371
entrenched caste, 138
ideal-typical, 78–79
Kumbapettai village, 28
non-dominant castes, 140
pre-British India, 21–22
ranking of groups, 77
Chhotolok, connotation, 95. See also
Bhadralok–Chhotolok system
of stratification
Chokhala, xxix
alternative modes of social control,
185–86
boundaries of, 176–77
caste courts/caste council, 178–79
composition of guests in caste
dinners, 185
council of elders, 177–78
defined, 175
group activities, 177
panchayats, functions of, 179–84
sub-divisions of a caste, 178
city life in India, 34
culture, role of, 34
Muslim invasion and, 34
city of heterogenetic transformation,
51–52
city of orthogenetic transformation, 51
codes for eating and cooking, 239–40
Community Development Programme,
xxviii, xxxii–xxxiii, 155
cooperatives, 156, 166
country-town nexus, xx
Dakala village, social stratification in.
See rigidity-fluidity dimension
of social stratification
Dalit protests, xxx, 213–14
antagonism in Panchayat elections,
231–32
Chindu dance, 227
claim over sacred thread by the low
castes and Untouchables,
226–27
372
covert revenge, 225–26
damaging the property of domina-
tors, 225
incidents of retaliation, 230–31
narration of stories and song recitals,
228–30
ritual abuses, 227–28
shouting or abusing upper caste
persons, 223
subversion or passive non-co-operation,
224–25
withdrawal, 230
decentralization, 47
Devigarh village, social stratification in.
See rigidity-fluidity dimension
of social stratification
Doaba area, 239
dominant castes, 140
downward social mobility, xviii.
See also socio-cultural upward
mobility
creation of new structural principles
and, 340–41
domain-specific decline, 343–44, 349
emergence of rich capitalist
peasantry, 341–42
industrialisation and, 336–37
Jagirdari and Zamindari system,
abolition of, 341, 345–48
land reforms and, 341
patterns, 336
positional decline and, 342–43
possibility of, 338–39
primary structural changes, due to,
340–41
Saberwal’s views on, 337
secondary structural changes, due to,
341–42
specific v. generalised, 335–36, 339
economic development of a country,
45–46
contribution of a town, 46
Sociological Probings in Rural Society
economic elites, 142
economic life of rural Society, 9
elite councils, 146
elite group, 140–41. See also power of
rural elite
arena councils, 146
economic elites, 142
elite councils, 146
hierarchy of “Seths,” 142
intra-elite ranking, 141
land ownership and rank of the
‘estate’, 142
martial Rajput, 142
political elites, 143–44
professional elites, 143
rural elites, 143
traditional elites in villages, 141
“twice-born” groups, 141
entrenched caste, 138
epoch making, 5
factions, idea of, xviii
familism, 10
family institutions, 11
family pattern in rural India, 58–72
age group, 69
average size of a family, 62–65
castewise distribution, 70–71
cordiality and functional tie between
the families, 72
groups, family-wise and person-wise,
65
with lineal descendants, 69–70
modification of caste family patterns,
61–62
proportion of joint family and
nuclear family, 59–61
relationship with the head of the
family, 68
sharing of grief and happiness, 71
in terms of relationships between the
members, 66–68
traditional families, 68
INDEX
family planning, 156
Family Planning Programme (FPP),
xxix–xxx
dimensions of, 187
fertility behaviour and, 188
in Mogra village, 188–209
‘flu’ epidemic of 1919, 27
folk-urban continuum, xxviii. See also
fringe society
criticism of, 51
culture, role of, 51
peasant society, 51
relation between Great Tradition and
Little Tradition, 51
fringe society, 52–53
caste structure and occupational
mobility, 54–55
of Delhi, 54
economic life of, 53
extended fringe, 53
family organisation, 55
rural-urban fringe, characteristics
associated with, 53–54
Gandhian ideals, 37
Ghanyari, shrines of, xxxi, 257–59
administration of shrines, 264–65
association between shrine and
family that ‘owns’, 264
ban on use by members of unclean
castes, 265–66
caste divisions and, 274–75
characteristics of deities, 268–69
chelas of different deities, 271–72
cult of Baba Dera, 262–63
custodianship of a shrine, 261–62
establishment of a new village shrine,
267–68
as extensions of private and domestic
cults, 266–67
festivals, 262
as general resources, 261
Jvalamukhi Devi shrine, 268
principle of exclusion, 266
373
rituals for welfare of a community,
273–74
type of celebrations, 269–70
vadhai ceremonies, 269–71
graphic arts, 15
green revolution, xxi
interventions in rural life, xxii–xxiii
Gujarat, sub-regions and castes in,
156–57
Hindu-Muslim riots, 8
impact villages, 61. See also Navsari town
Indian rural society, 10–11
aesthetic culture, 15–16
caste grouping, 12
family institutions, 11
forces and factors of change, 17
impact of British rule and capitalist
economic forces, 10–11
land or property relations, 9–10
mode and technique of production, 9
patterns of family relationships, 10
political behaviour, 13–14
rural religion, 15
standard of life, 9
Indian society
approach to study of, xvii
features of, xviii
realist view, xviii
Indian village, xviii
institutional change in rural commu-
nity, 155. See also Mahi village
inter-caste relationships, xxiv
intra-elite ranking, 141
intra-regional and interregional
variations in rural India, xvii
Jagirdari systems, 145, 150
jajmani system, 114, 123–36
class and services of purohits, paunis
and Mahabrahmans, 132–35
Koeri caste, 124, 136
Mahabrahmans caste, 124–25
374
relation between families, 125, 136
services of purohits, paunis and
Mahabrahmans, 126–31
Kallapura village, xxxi–xxxii
agricultural lands, 300
ancestral fields, 299–300
caste divisions, 292
geography, 292
history of people and settlement,
293–94
inner settlement, 296–97
marital relations, 294
outer settlement, 297
protecting fence, 298–99
ritual circles, 294–302
temple of the village God, 296
thrashing and winnowing grains,
ground for, 297–98
vllage ritual boundary, 300–02
Kelon village, social stratification in.
See rigidity-fluidity dimension
of social stratification
Khanna villagers, FPP in, 200
Khera village, social stratification in.
See rigidity-fluidity dimension
of social stratification
Khiruli village
caste and community-wise landhold-
ing in, 103
layout of, 99
Moslem families of, 104
non-agricultural occupations, 106
Kumbapettai, economic and social
changes in, 28
labour-buyer/wage-earner relationship.
See jajmani system
little traditions v. great traditions, xix
Mahi village
agriculturists of, 167
caste-wise distribution of seats, 170
caste-wise ownership of land, 163
Sociological Probings in Rural Society
Community Development
Programme in, 171–72
cooperative business associations in,
166–69, 171
demography, 157, 159–61
dominant position of Leuwas,
167–68
inter-Gol hypergamy, 158
landlessness and Leuwas, 163–64
landownership, 158, 162, 164
land valuation, 162–63
Leuwa neighbourhoods, 157–58
scholarships, freeships and other
facilities offered to backward
classes, 165
urban migration and education of
children, 164–67
Majhi Para
landholding, 103
Santals of, 101
Mallur village, xxxi
ceremonies, 285–88
climate, 279–80
comon practices in, 282
geography, 279–80
“Kooridge pooja,” 284
“Kudugolu Devaru,” 284
“Makkala Devaru,” 285
occupation, 279
“Rasabiduvudu,” 284
religion and shrines, 280–81
“Thanuvu mudde” ritual, 283
“Tottilu Devaru,” 285
Manali village, social stratification in.
See rigidity-fluidity dimension
of social stratification
Manhalli village, economic and social
changes in, 24–26, 54
canal-irrigation, impact of, 25–26
population growth, 26
martial Rajput, 142
matrilineal joint family, 11
middle class in rural Gujarat, xx
migration, xxi
INDEX
migratory agricultural villages, 6
Milk Producers’ Cooperative, 166–67,
171
Mitra Mandal, 165
mobility, xxiii. See also downward social
mobility; socio-cultural upward
mobility
mode of production, xviii, 9, 317, 355
modernization
as a complex process, 30
in India, 31
planning concept, 31–32
traditional vs modern, 32
of Western societies, 31
Mogra village, family planning in,
188–94
attitudes towards sterilisation,
207–09
child mortality and, 196–99
contraceptive methods, 190–92
decision to opt for sterilisation,
202–07
distribution of sterilised parents,
196–97
female sterilisations, 193
laparoscopy, 193
place of sterilisation, 195
sterilisations, 192, 194–02
tubectomy, 192
multi-village comparative studies, xix
Nambudri Brahmins, 22
Namhalli village, economic and social
changes in, 26–27, 54
black-marketing and prostitution, 27
Navsari town
banks, 58
dominant castes in, 58
industrial organizations, 57
proportion of joint family and
nuclear family, 59–61
schools, 57
networks, xviii, xx
non-dominant castes, 140
non-farm economy, xvii, xxiv
375
non-governmental political
organizations, 14
Panchayati Raj, 144, 156
Panchayati Raj institutions, 145
participant observation, xix
patrilineal joint family, 11
peasant society, 51
comparative studies of Mexican and
Indian villages, 52
plastic arts, 16
political elites, 143–44
power of rural elite, xxxiii
basic feature of, 144
contemporary, 151–52
dominance mobility, 147–50
downward economic mobility, 145
formal positions of power, 145–46
Indian princes, mobility of, 148–49
Jagirdari systems, 145, 150
multiple power structure, 140
of non-dominant groups families, 150
out-group (caste) unity and
activities, 149
power dispersion, 140
power exercisers, 146
power pool, 140
sources and determinants, 138,
140–42
in Thalupuru village, 232–34
upward mobility, 148
Zamindari systems, 145, 150–51
pre-British rural India, 20–21
political instability, 21
relations between individuals and
groups, 22
production and products of labour,
relations of, xxx, 239
acts of work in ploughing and
sowing, 246–47
agrarian calendar for, 241
cash crops, 249–51
cash transactions, 250–51
crops of the home, 251–52
food crops, 241–49
376
harvest of cotton and chilli, 251–52
harvest rite of mong, 244
period of the seeds’ gestation, 248
potato, cultivation of, 249–50
rite of mang, 243–45
village economy, 249–51
wadhi, 243, 245
weeding, 248
wheat, significance of, 241–43
professional elites, 143
Punjab, codes for eating and cooking,
xxx, 240. See also production
and products of labour,
relations of
chakkna, 241–42
Radhaswamis, 276
Ramakrishna Mission, 276
Rampura village, economic and social
changes in, 27–28
Rampur village, social stratification in.
See rigidity-fluidity dimension
of social stratification
Report of the Countrylife
Commission, 5
rigidity-fluidity dimension of social
stratification, xxvii, 77
adoption of improved agricultural
practices, 90–93
attitudinal dimension of modernity,
87–89
comparison among societies, 84
consensus about individual prestige,
78, 82
degree, comparison of indices,
82–83
demographic, locational and
developmental characteristics,
85–86
distribution of properties of
individuals, 78
heterogeneity of individual prestige,
79–80, 82
level of services and order of
progressiveness, 87–88
Sociological Probings in Rural Society
literacy rate, 85–86
occupational heterogeneity, 78,
80–81
order of progressiveness, 86–87
Spearman’s Rank-order coefficients
of correlation between indices,
83–86
validity of the indices, 83–84
ritual statuses of castes, 291–92.
See also Kallapura village
Roosevelt, Theodore, 5
rural development programmes, 44–45
family planning and mechanization
of farming, 46
rural elites, 143
rural family, study of, 11–12
rural people, study of, 8–9
rural religion, 15
Rural Society in India, 6
rural sociology, xxv–xxvi
advance of, 5–6
as an organised discipline, 5
controversies, 6
creative role of, 17–18
impact of capitalist industrial
civilisation, 5, 7–8
rural social organization, function
and evolution, 3–4
scholarly study on, 5
in U. S. A., 5
rural sociology in India, xxv–xxvi
rural-urban continuum, xxvi, 34
rural-urban dichotomy, xxvi
rural-urban divide, xvii
rural-urban polarity, xxiii
Ryotwari Settlement of 1886, 26
ryotwari system, 114
Sahakari Vikas Cooperative for lift
irrigation, 171
Sahakari Vikas Mandal, 166
Sanskritization, xix–xxii, 29, 140, 313,
319, 342
satvik-rajasik mental traits, 111
self-contained village, 86
INDEX
Seva Sahakari Cooperative, 171
Seva Sahakari Mandali, 166
social change in rural India, xxxii
causation of, 314–18
measurement of, 311–12
methodologies used in studies,
318–21
nature and linearity of, 313
post-independence political
leadership and, 308
quantum and adequacy of, 313–14
uses and abuses of studies, 321–24
value-neutrality, 309–11
social changes in village life, xxiv
socio-cultural upward mobility, xxviii,
147–48, 336–39, 343, 345
Thalupuru village
castes in, 215
egalitarianism, 220–23
fictive kinship, 217–20
forms of resistance, 223–32
political and economic power,
215–16
power relationships, nature of,
232–34
traditional pattern of occupations, xvii
“twice-born” groups, 141
Unwas village, 114
urban agglomerations, 39
urban bias, xxii
urban centres, 34
urbanization
distinction between orthogenetie
and heterogenetic towns, 35
effects of British arrival, 35–36
Muslim invasion and, 34
percentage of urban population,
38–39
post Independence, 38
problems of urbanism and urban
growth, 32
push from villages, 37
secondary phase of, 35
377
Sjoberg’s analysis, 39–40
in South India, 28–29
Westernization of Brahmins, 29
urban-rural differences in India, xxvi,
33. See also fringe society
in age and sex composition, 41
consumer expenditure, 42–43
decentralization, impact of, 47
difficulty in distinguishing urban
areas from rural, 33–34
economic differences, 33
historical background, 34–36
income and expenditure pattern, 42
levels of education, 42
problems, 33–34
realistic assessment of, 45
rural-urban integration and, 48
size and types of family, 41–42
traditional institutions, 43
values, attitudes and beliefs, 43
Vallabh Vidyanagar University, 165
varna order, xxviii, 111
Veerabrahmam, Sri Potuluri, 220–21
Venkaiahswamy, Sri, 220–21
villages, studies of. See also rigidity-
fluidity dimension of social
stratification
classification of Indian, 7
Ecological criterion for, 7
groupings of, 7
migratory agricultural, 6
nucleated, 7
villages, sudies of, xix
Voluntary Associational Enterprise, 156
Welfare associations, 156
Westernization
of Brahmins, 29
process of, 31
zamindari system, 114
Zamindari systems, 145, 150
About the Editor and
Contributors

The Editor

K.L. Sharma was Professor and Chairperson, Centre for the Study of
Social Systems, School of Social Sciences, and Rector (Pro-Vice-
Chancellor), Jawaharlal Nehru University, New Delhi, and was also
Vice-Chancellor of the University of Rajasthan, Jaipur. He is presently
Vice-Chancellor, Jaipur National University, Jaipur.

The Contributors

Ranjit Bhattacharya was an anthropologist and was associated with the

Anthropological Survey of India.

Pradip Kumar Bose was educated at Jawaharlal Nehru University, New

Delhi. He is Professor of Sociology at the Centre for Studies in Social
Sciences, Kolkata.

Brij Raj Chauhan taught at several universities, and finally he superan-

nuated from the Department of Sociology, Meerut University, Meerut.

Radhika Chopra is a faculty member at the Department of Sociology,

Delhi School of Economics, University of Delhi.

Victor S. D’Souza was educated at the University of Bombay, and he

was the founder of the Department of Sociology at Punjab University,
Chandigarh.
ABOUT THE EDITOR AND CONTRIBUTORS 379

A.R. Desai was a distinguished sociologist at the Department of

Sociology, Bombay University, Bombay.

Gurumurthy K. Gowdra is Professor of Sociology at Karnatak

University, Dharwar.

K.M. Kapadia was educated at the University of Bombay and he was

Professor and Head of the Department of Sociology at Bombay
University.

J. Panchanadikar was educated at the University of Bombay, and was

Professor of Sociology at the M.S. University, Baroda.

K.C. Panchanadikar was educated at the University of Bombay, and

served at the Department of Sociology, M.S. University, Baroda.

Tulsi Patel has taught earlier at the Department of Sociology, Jamia

Millia Islamia, New Delhi, and currently she is Professor of Sociology at
Delhi School of Economics, University of Delhi.

M.S.A. Rao was Professor of Sociology at Delhi School of Economics,

Delhi University.

N. Sudhakar Rao is a faculty member of the TALEEM Research

Foundation, City Plaza, Bopal, Ahmedabad.

Gaurang Ranjan Sahay studied at the Centre for the Study of Social
Systems, Jawaharlal Nehru University, New Delhi, and currently he is a
faculty member at the Tata Institute of Social Sciences, Mumbai.

Ursula Sharma is Reader in Sociology and Social Anthropology at the

University of Keele, the United Kingdom.

N.R. Sheth has specialist in Industrial Sociology, and he was Director,

Indian Institute of Management, Ahmedabad.

M.N. Srinivas was at the M.S. University of Baroda and at the

Department of Sociology, Delhi School of Economics, Delhi University.
380 Sociological Probings in Rural Society

Surajit Sinha was an anthropologist and was associated with the

Anthropological Survey of India.

K.N. Venkatarayappa—Not known

H.S. Verma is Professor at the Giri Institute of Development Studies,

Lucknow.
Appendix of Sources

All articles and chapters have been reproduced exactly as they were first
published. All cross-references can be found in the original source of
publication.

Grateful acknowledgement is made to the following sources for permis-

sion to reproduce material for this volume.

1. “Rural Sociology: Its Need In India,” A.R. Desai

Vol. 5, No. 1, 1956: 9–28.

2. “Symposium on Rural-Urban Relations: The Industrialization and

Urbanization of Rural Areas,” M.N. Srinivas
Vol. 5, No. 2, 1956: 79–88.

3. “Modernization and the Urban-Rural Gap in India: An Analysis,”

N.R. Sheth
Vol. 18, No. 1, 1969: 16–34.

4. “‘Fringe’ Society and the Folk-Urban Continuum,” M.S.A. Rao

Vol. 8, No. 2, 1959: 13–18.

5. “Rural Family Patterns: A Study in Urban-Rural Relations,”

K.M. Kapadia
Vol. 5, No. 2, 1956: 111–126.

6. “Measurement of Rigidity–Fluidity Dimension of Social Stratification

in Six Indian Villages,” Victor S. D’souza
Vol. 18, No. 1, 1969: 35–49.
382 Sociological Probings in Rural Society

7. “Bhadralok and Chhotolok in a Rural Area of West Bengal,”

Surajit Sinha and Ranjit Bhattacharya
Vol. 18, No. 1, 1969: 50–66.

8. “Caste System in Contemporary Rural Bihar: A Study of Selected

Villages,” Gaurang Ranjan Sahay
Vol. 47, No. 2, 1998: 207–220.

9. “Power Elite in Rural India: Some Questions and Clarifications,”

K.L. Sharma
Vol. 25, No. 1, 1976: 45–62.

10. “Social Stratification and Institutional Change in a Gujarat Village,”

K.C. Panchanadikar and J. Panchanadikar
Vol. 25, No. 2, 1976: 225–240.

11. “Chokhala—An Intervillage Organization of a Caste in Rajasthan,”

Brij Raj Chauhan
Vol. 13, No. 2, 1964: 24–35.

12. “Modernization and Changing Fertility Behaviour: A Study in a

Rajasthan Village,” Tulsi Patel
Vol. 39, No. 1&2, 1990: 53–73.

13. “Ideology, Power and Resistance in a South Indian Village,”

N. Sudhakar Rao
Vol. 45, No. 2, 1996: 205–232.

14. “Voices from the Earth: Work and Food Production in a Punjabi
Village,” Radhika Chopra
Vol. 43, No. 1, 1994: 72–92.

15. “Public Shrines and Private Interests: The Symbolism of the Village
Temple,” Ursula Sharma
Vol. 23, No. 1, 1974: 71–92.

16. “A Study of Customs in Rural Mysore,” K.N. Venkatarayappa

Vol. 11, No. 1&2, 1962: 208–220.

17. “Ritual Circles in a Mysore Village,” Gurumurthy K. Gowdra

Vol. 20, No. 1, 1971: 24–38.
APPENDIX OF SOURCES 383

18. “Study of Social Change in Independent Rural India: Critical Issues

for Analyses in the Fourth Decade of Independence,” H.S. Verma
Vol. 28, No. 1&2, 1979: 83–119.

19. “Downward Social Mobility: Some Observations,” K.L. Sharma

Vol. 22, No. 1, 1973: 59–77.

20. “Dimensions of Agrarian Structure and Change: Issues in Theory,”

Pradip Kumar Bose
Vol. 38, No. 2, 1989: 183–198.
 Sociology of Childhood
and Youth

Prelims Vol III.indd 1 2013-11-27 3:25:24 PM

 Readings in Indian Sociology
Series Editor: Ishwar Modi

Titles and Editors of the Volumes

Volume 1
Towards Sociology of Dalits
Editor: Paramjit S. Judge

Volume 2
Sociological Probings in Rural Society
Editor: K.L. Sharma

Volume 3
Sociology of Childhood and Youth
Editor: Bula Bhadra

Volume 4
Sociology of Health
Editor: Madhu Nagla

Volume 5
Contributions to Sociological Theory
Editor: Vinay Kumar Srivastava

Volume 6
Sociology of Science and Technology in India
Editor: Binay Kumar Pattnaik

Volume 7
Sociology of Environment
Editor: Sukant K. Chaudhury

Volume 8
Political Sociology of India
Editor: Anand Kumar

Volume 9
Culture and Society
Editor: Susan Visvanathan

Volume 10
Pioneers of Sociology in India
Editor: Ishwar Modi

Prelims Vol III.indd 2 2013-11-27 3:25:25 PM

 READINGS IN INDIAN SOCIOLOGY
VOLUME 3

Sociology of Childhood
and Youth

Edited by
Bula Bhadra

Prelims Vol III.indd 3 2013-11-27 3:25:25 PM

 Copyright © Indian Sociological Society, 2013

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or utilised in any form
or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or
by any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from
the publisher.

First published in 2013 by

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 Contents

List of Tables ix
Series Note xiii
Foreword by Professor K.L. Sharma xvii
Preface and Acknowledgements xix
Introduction by Bula Bhadra xxi

Section I: Child and Childhood

1. Social Class and Educational Aspirations in an Indian
Metropolis 3
Vimal P. Shah, Tara Patel, and William H. Sewell
2. Education and the Emerging Patterns of Political
Orientations: A Sociological Analysis 23
Ehsanul Haq
3. Adolescent Thieves and Differential Association 46
K.S. Shukla
4. Culture and Fertility: Son Preference and Reproductive
Behaviour 67
Ashesh Das Gupta
5. Sex Preference and Contraceptive Use in Manipur 79
L. Ladusingh, N. Minita Devi and Kh. Jitenkumar Singh
6. Disappearing Daughters and Intensification of Gender
Bias: Evidence from Two Village Studies in South India 92
T.V. Sekher and Neelambar Hatti

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 viii Sociology of Childhood and Youth

Section II: Young and Youth

7. The Attitudes to English and Use of It by Students
of Three Different Mother Tongues: Hindi,
Kannada and Tamil 119
Aileen D. Ross and Suraj Bandyopadhyay
8. Perception of the Female Role by Indian College
Students 132
Khadlid Ahmed Kazi and Rehana Ghadially
9. Social Class and Occupational Aspirations
of College Students 142
Ambarao T. Uplaonkar
10. Youth Aspirations vis-a-vis National Development:
Participate or Emigrate? 160
Narsi Patel
11. The Use Psychotropic Drugs among College Youth
in India: An Appraisal 170
Prabha Unnithan, D.R. Singh and M.Z. Khan
12. Problems of the Youth of North-East India:
A Sociological Inquiry 185
A.K. Nongkynrih
13. Youth in Techno Global World: Predicaments
and Choices 203
Rajesh Gill

Index 219
About the Editor and Contributors 224
Appendix of Sources 226

Prelims Vol III.indd 8 2013-11-27 3:25:25 PM

 List of Tables

Chapter 1
Table 1 Post-High School Educational Aspirations of S.S.C.
Students, by Sex 8
Table 2 Percentages of S.S.C. Students Aspiring to a College
Degree, by Socio-economic Status and Sex 11
Table 3 Percentages of S.S.C. Students Aspiring to a College
Degree, by Academic Performance and Sex 12
Table 4 Socio-economic Status, Academic Performance, and Sex 12
Table 5 Percentages of S.S.C. Students Aspiring to a College
Degree, by Socio-economic Status, Sex, and Academic
Performance13
Table 6 Means, Standard Deviations, and Intercorrelation
Coefficients of Socio-economic Status, Academic
Performance, and Educational Aspirations of S.S.C.
Students by Sex 15

Chapter 2
Table 1 Number of Selected Students, Teachers and Parents 27
Table 2 Number of Selected Parents, Their Occupational
Backgrounds and the School to Which They Send Their
Children28
Table 3 Total Scores Secured by National Value in All the
Classes (I to XI) 31

Chapter 3
Table 1 Subjects’ Perception of the Characteristics of the Associates 49
Table 2 Distribution of the Subjects According to Type and Stated
Instigating Sources for Committing Serious Offences 51

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 x Sociology of Childhood and Youth

Table 3 Factors in the Continuance of Friendship between the

Subject and the Criminal Companions 53
Table 4 Distribution of the Subjects in Regard to Type and Stated
Frequency of Visits to Home 55
Table 5 Distribution of the Subjects Regarding Type and Usual
Leisure Time Mates 56
Table 6 Distribution of the Subjects According to Type and
Approximate Time Spent in Association with Those
Possessing Known Delinquent Proclivity 56
Table 7 Distribution of the Subjects by Type and Stated
Predominant Characteristic of the Oldest Associate 57
Table 8 Distribution of the Subjects According to Their Type and
Stated Preferred Idols 58
Table 9 Distribution of the Subjects, by Type and Their Stated
Confidants59
Table 10 Willingness of the Subjects to Participate in Other
Offences When Pressed by Associates 60
Table 11 Distribution of the Subjects by Type and Stated Actual
Participation in Other Offences When Pressed by Associates 62

Chapter 4
Table 1 Son Preference and Fertility (Hindus) 70
Table 2 Mean Fertility of HSP, LSP and NPS Categories and
‘t’ Values (Hindus) 70
Table 3 Son Preference and Fertility (Muslims) 71
Table 4 Mean Fertility of HSP, LSP and NPS Categories and
‘t’ Values (Muslims) 71
Table 5 Son Preference and Fertility (Christians) 72
Table 6 Mean Fertility of HSP, LSP and NPS Categories and
‘t’ Values (Christians) 72
Table 7 Son Preference and Fertility (Sikhs) 73
Table 8 Mean Fertility of HSP, LSP and NPS Categories and
‘t’ Values (Sikhs) 73

Chapter 5
Table 1 Contraceptive Use by Sex Composition and Residence 84
Table 2 Contraceptive Use by Sex Composition and District of
Residence86

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 List of Tables xi

Table 3 Contraceptive Use by Sex Composition and Literacy 88

Table 4 Effect of Sex Preference on Contraceptive Use 89

Chapter 6
Table 1 Range of Dowry in a Village in Mandya District (1970) 101
Table 2 Range of Dowry in Village M (2005) 102
Table 3 Ideal Family Size According to the Respondents in
Village M 106
Table 4 Value Attached to the Children by Parents in Village M 106
Table 5 Vokkaliga Parental Perception about the Future of Their
Children in Village M 106

Chapter 7
Table 1 Students Reporting Proficiency in English in the Three
Capital Cities Considered Together 122
Table 2 Students Reporting Proficiency in English in the Cities of
Madras, Bangalore and Jaipur 122
Table 3 Students Reporting Very High Proficiency in English
in Relation to Their Use of It at Home, as Medium of
Instruction at School and in Social Situations in the Cities
of Madras, Bangalore and Jaipur 123
Table 4 Students Reporting Very High Proficiency in English
in Relation to Their Use of It at Home, as Medium of
Instruction at School and in Social Situations in the Cities
of Madras, Bangalore and Jaipur 124
Table 5 Students’ Preference for English as Medium of Instruction
at College and as the Official Language of the Central
and State Governments Compared to Their Sex, Urban or
Rural Background, Proficiency in English and
College City 127
Table 6 Students’ Preference for English as Medium of Instruction
at College and as the Official Language of the Central
and State Governments Compared to Their Proficiency in
English129

Chapter 8
Table 1 Percentage of Male Subjects Imagining Themselves to Be
in a Given Situation 15 Years Hence 136

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 xii Sociology of Childhood and Youth

Table 2 Percentage of Male Subjects Accepting a Wife Doing a

Given Type of Work 137
Table 3 Percentage of Male Subjects Accepting a Given
Circumstance as a Reason for Their Wife to Work 137
Table 4 Percentage of Female Subjects Imagining Themselves in a
Given Situation 15 Years Hence 138
Table 5 Percentage of Female Subjects Choosing a Given Type of
Work139
Table 6 Percentage of Female Subjects Opting for Marriage or
Career139
Table 7 Percentage of Female Subjects Choosing a Given Reason
to Work 140

Chapter 9
Table 1 Percentage Distribution of the Students Occupational
Aspirations by Religion and by CICB 149
Table 2 Percentage Distribution of the Students Occupational
Aspirations by Caste and by CICB 152
Table 3 Percentage Distribution of the Students Occupational
Aspirations by Sex and by CICB 155
Table 4 Social Background and Occupationl Aspirations
(Coefficient of Simple and Partial Correlation and
Determination)156

Chapter 11
Table 1 User—Types According to the Sex of the Respondents in
the Study-Centres 176
Table 2 The Prevalence Rate of Individual Drugs in the Study
Centres179
Table 3 Prevalence Rates of Individual Drugs According to the Sex
of the Respondents 180

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 Series Note

The Indian Sociological Society (ISS), established in December 1951,

under the leadership of Professor G. S. Ghurye at the University of Bombay
celebrated its Diamond Jubilee in 2011. Soon after its foundation, the
ISS launched its biannual journal Sociological Bulletin in March 1952. It
has been published regularly since then. The ISS took cognisance of the
growing aspirations of the community of sociologists both in India and
abroad to publish their contributions in Sociological Bulletin, and raised its
frequency to three issues a year in 2004. Its print order now exceeds 3,000
copies. It speaks volumes about the popularity of both the ISS and the
Sociological Bulletin.
The various issues of Sociological Bulletin are a treasure trove of the most
profound and authentic sociological writings and research in India and else-
where. As such it is no surprise that it has acquired the status of an interna-
tionally acclaimed reputed journal of sociology. The very fact that several of
its previous issues are no more available, being out of print, is indicative not
only of its popularity both among sociologists and other social scientists but
also of its high scholarly reputation, acceptance and relevance. Although
two series of volumes have already been published by the ISS during 2001
and 2005 and in 2011 having seven volumes each on a large number of
themes, yet a very large number of themes remain untouched. Such a situ-
ation necessitated that a new series of thematic volumes be brought out.
Realising this necessity and in order to continue to celebrate the Diamond
Decade of the Indian Sociological Society, the Managing Committee of
the ISS and a subcommittee constituted for this purpose decided to bring
out a series of 10 more thematic volumes in such areas of importance and
relevance both for the sociological and the academic communities at large as
Sociological Theory, Untouchability and Dalits, Rural Society, Science and
Technology, Childhood and Youth, Health, Environment, Culture, Politics
and the Pioneers of Sociology in India.

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 xiv Sociology of Childhood and Youth

Well-known scholars and experts in the areas of the chosen themes

were identified and requested to edit these thematic volumes under the
series title Readings in Indian Sociology. Each one of them has put in a lot
of effort in the shortest possible time not only in selecting and identifying
the papers to be included in their respective volumes but also in arranging
these in a relevant and meaningful manner. More than this, it was no easy
task for them to write comprehensive ‘introductions’ of the respective vol-
umes in the face of time constraints so that the volumes could be brought
out in time on the occasion of the 39th All India Sociological Conference
scheduled to take place in Mysore under the auspices of the Karnataka
State Open University during 27–29 December 2013. The editors enjoyed
freedom not only in choosing the papers of their choice from Sociological
Bulletin published during 1952 and 2012, but they were also free to request
scholars of their choice to write forewords for their particular volumes.
The volumes covered under this series include: Towards Sociology of Dalits
(Editor: Paramjit S. Judge); Sociological Probings in Rural Society (Editor:
K. L. Sharma); Sociology of Childhood and Youth (Editor: Bula Bhadra);
Sociology of Health (Editor: Madhu Nagla); Contributions to Sociological
Theory (Editor: Vinay Kumar Srivastava); Sociology of Science and Technology
in India (Editor: Binay Kumar Pattnaik); Sociology of Environment (Editor:
Sukant K. Chaudhury); Political Sociology of India (Editor: Anand Kumar);
Culture and Society (Editor: Susan Visvanathan); and Pioneers of Sociology in
India (Editor: Ishwar Modi).
Sociology of Childhood and Youth (edited by Bula Bhadra with a
Foreword by K. L. Sharma) is the third volume of the series titled Readings
in Indian Sociology. Bula Bhadra maintains that prior to the 1980s chil-
dren and young people were on the margins of sociology. In the 1980s, a
growing number of European and American scholars called attention to
the relative absence of children and young people in the knowledge of the
social sciences. They argued that children and youth should be studied in
their own right, as full social actors, rather than being framed primarily as
adults-in-training or as problems for the adult social order. This volume is
truly the first of its kind which provides the sociological articulations on
the Indian child and young along with the accompanying multi-faceted
discourses on childhood and youth situating it in the historical experience
of India. The volume is divided into two parts. The first part focuses on
selected pertinent issues in relation to the reality of child and childhood in
India. In the second part articles reflect on lived experience of young people
focusing on meeting grounds and diversities of youth in India. This volume
will be welcomed as a groundbreaking effort for opening doors for critical

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 Series Note xv

thinking and new-fangled works in an area which is one of the most chal-
lenging and motivating concern of contemporary India and also for our
sociological imagination.
It can hardly be overemphasised and can be said for sure that this
volume as well as all the other volumes of the series Readings in Indian
Sociology, as they pertain to the most important aspects of society and soci-
ology in India, will be of immense importance and relevance to students,
teachers and researchers both of sociology and other social sciences. It is also
hoped that these volumes will be received well by the overseas scholars inter-
ested in the study of Indian society. Besides this, policy-makers, administra-
tors, activists, NGOs and so on may also find these volumes of immense
value. Having gone through these volumes, the students and researchers of
sociology would probably be able to feel and say that now ‘We will be able
to look much farther away as we are standing on the shoulders of the giants’
(in the spirit of paraphrasing the famous quote by Isaac Newton).
I would like to place on record my thanks to Shambhu Sahu, Sutapa
Ghosh and R. Chandra Sekhar of SAGE Publications for all their efforts,
support and patience to complete this huge project well in time against
all the time constraints. I also express my gratefulness to the Managing
Committee Members of the ISS and also the members of the subcommittee
constituted for this purpose. I am also thankful to all the editors and all the
scholars who have written the forewords. I would also like to thank Uday
Singh, my assistant at the India International Institute of Social Sciences,
Jaipur for all his secretarial assistance and hard work put in by him towards
the completion of these volumes.

Ishwar Modi
Series Editor
Readings in Indian Sociology

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Prelims Vol III.indd 16 2013-11-27 3:25:25 PM
 Foreword

A
n edited volume on Sociology of Children and Youth by Professor
Bula Bhadra will become a significant contribution to the Indian
sociology as this volume would fill up the void in the study of chil-
dren and youth. Professor Bhadra’s discrete selection includes articles pub-
lished in Sociological Bulletin from 1971 to 2012. Of the two parts, the first
one is on child and childhood and the second is on young and youth, which
also indicates the genealogical sequence of children and youth.
Anthropologists have studied child-rearing practices, basic personality
formation, national character and so on, particularly among the tribal com-
munities. Some scholars have also attempted child-rearing practices and
personality attributes in India. The present collection of articles brings out
understanding and analysis of children and youth in metropolises, towns
and villages. Role of education, gender, class, occupation and aspirations
for achievement has been the main concern in the articles incorporated in
the volume.
Professor Bhadra argues that the studies of children and youth must
occupy an important place like other fields of inquiry and knowledge in
the discipline of sociology. Some government agencies and NGOs have
compiled comprehensive statistical profiles of both children and youth,
but there are hardly any systematic studies of children and youth relating
to socialization and upbringing of children, impact of culture, neighbour-
hood, parental background, formal institutions, child labour exploitation,
deviance, sexual abuse, childcare, rehabilitation and so on. Some scholars
also argue that there are no agreed definitions of ‘child’ and ‘youth’.
Professor Bula Bhadra has raised some important issues in her ‘intro-
duction’, such as exploitation of children, role of the UN agencies and
approaches to the study of children and youth.
The articles on delinquency, aspirations of school and college students,
gendering of sex roles, family planning, use of drugs and so on hint at the

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 xviii Sociology of Childhood and Youth

process of shaping the children and youth in Indian society. Most of the
articles, however, bring out that preference for a male child persists despite
significant strides made by women in education, employment and partici-
pation in public life. The editor expresses her concern on account of the
scant attention paid to this important field of sociological investigation.
This volume would certainly inspire students and teachers to engage them-
selves in studies and research, which in turn may earn a mainstream space
for the sociology of childhood and youth in the discipline of sociology in
particular and social sciences in general.

K.L. Sharma
Vice-Chancellor
Jaipur National University
Jaipur.

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 Preface and
Acknowledgements

I
ssues and practices relating to children and young people have been on
the margins of mainstream Indian sociological concerns and interests.
It is now well attested that the dominant paradigms in sociology either
completely excluded ‘child and childhood’ as objects of meticulous research
or dealt with them as subordinate or mute categories. Unfortunately, the
institutionalisation of sociology of childhood and youth is still in its nascent
stage in the level of university teaching and research in India. There is a
serious absence of systematic knowledge building in this area. At best, one
or two lectures are delivered on the problem of Child Labor or on Child
Abuse as part of a Social Problems course. In actuality, sociologists have
been caught off guard when criticisms started to pour about the fact that
there has been very little sociological imagination regarding Indian children
and youth even though there is so much to explore and explain. Though
the attention shown to young people and youth is little better compared to
children and childhood but it is still enormously wanting. The experiences
and lives of youth are still predominantly dealt with from social problem
perspective considering youth as passive recipients. And, often children
and young people have been described in homogeneous manner without
recognising that there are multiple childhoods and multiple youths, thus
disregarding the intersectional dimension entirely. In short, the nuances of
these two groups of people in India are yet to be documented by researches
in any significant way.
Ergo, it is heartening that the series on Diamond Decades of Indian
Sociology has kept its unearthing effort to explore new and often mar-
ginalised areas through Sociological Bulletin, the official journal of Indian
Sociological Society (ISS). The articles published in the Sociological Bulletin
on one hand are meagre, on childhood and youth, to say the least, for the

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 xx Sociology of Childhood and Youth

journal started its journey as early as 1952; and, on the other hand, so
many pertinent dimensions of lived experience of children and young peo-
ple of Indian society are just simply absent. In fact, it was quite difficult
to find suitable, meaningful articles on childhood and youth in the first
two decades of the publication of this journal. However, the best part is,
though few in number, the selected articles are very relevant in terms of
their context, focus and importance for comprehending specific aspects of
childhood and youth in India. The efforts of ISS, especially of the current
President Professor Ishwar Prasad Modi deserve heartfelt congratulations
for continuing the efforts which started with Golden Jubilee volumes with
much dexterity. I am extremely grateful to Professor Modi for giving me
this opportunity to delve into this challenging endeavour. I owe my sin-
cere thanks to Professor K. L. Sharma for agreeing to write the Foreword
and providing such a scholastic preamble to this volume. I would like to
say a special thanks to my UGC research scholars Ms Saheli Chowdhury
and Ms Chandrabali Dutta, and my project fellow Ms Oindrila Mukherjee
for enriching me with their works on children and youth along with their
constant assistance and support for this volume. I like to express my warm
appreciation and love to my daughter Sompurna’s ways of teaching ‘stuff’ to
her mother so that her mother could understand how children and young
people really think and act. Her agency role reinforced my realisation that
this volume could play a catalytic role for opening doors for critical think-
ing and new-fangled works for and with children and young people rather
than on them. Finally, the authors whose essays are reproduced here will be
pleased to witness that their contributions have become part of a collective
effort which will pave the way for future productive initiatives.

Bula Bhadra
Professor
Department of Sociology
University of Calcutta

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 Introduction
Bula Bhadra

Prelude

Prior to the 1980s, children/young people were on the margins of soci-

ology. That is, both sociology of childhood and sociology of youth have
attracted relatively belated interest within the discipline of sociology, to say
the least. Either these areas were parts of parental discourse or exclusive con-
cern of developmental psychology and/or indistinctly outlined within the
discipline of education. In youth studies, the evolution of familial and edu-
cational structures has gradually led to the construction of a new category
of individuals: ‘young people’ where youth is represented as a transitional
period between childhood and adulthood. In fact, the definition of youth
itself is constantly in a state of flux; age boundaries are becoming more
blurry with some aspects of adolescence starting earlier and other aspects
of youth continuing well into the 30s. Strangely enough, in India, Rahul
Gandhi, son of late Prime Minister Rajiv Gandhi, is portrayed as a youth
leader in his mid-40s. Current relevant literature made attempts to simplify
the understanding of this very heterogeneous category, and attention has
frequently been devoted to the pathways to adulthood that they experi-
ence and youth is represented as a transitional period between childhood
and adulthood. Thus, sociologically speaking, youth refers to a ‘category’
rather than a ‘group’; the difference being that a category has diverse or
heterogeneous elements unlike a group which is sociologically similar in its
composition. New concepts are even appearing in reference to the extended
period between adolescence and adulthood, such as ‘emerging adulthood’
or the ‘young adult’.
In earlier sociological accounts children/young people1 were subsumed
into accounts of the family or the school—in other words, into the major

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 xxiiBula Bhadra

sites of socialisation. Children were, therefore, most visible when they were
being socialised. Socialisation, which is mainstream sociology’s explanation
for how children become members of society, and how children progress
from incompetent to competent adulthood through the process of accul-
turation and/or socialisation. In socialisation theory there was no view of
children as active social agents; rather, children/young people were seen (if
they were seen at all) as passive recipients of socialisation. Here child is
rather appropriated by society, trained to become a competent and con-
tributing member by playing primarily a passive role. In addition, socialisa-
tion theory failed to see the child as existing in the present—instead, the
focus is on what children/young people could become. It has been said
that socialisation theory ignores children’s role in socialising both them-
selves and others. One classic example was Talcott Parsons, an influential
American sociologist of the 1950s and 1960s, who theorised social systems
as smoothly functioning wholes. The society, for Parsons, was an ‘intricate
network of interdependent and interpenetrating roles and consensual val-
ues’ (Parson and Bales, 1955: 36). In his view, the child is a threat to the
society; he or she must be appropriated and shaped to fit in. When children
are born, he wrote, they are like pebbles thrown into a social pond. First
the family and then schools and other institutions shape the growing child,
who comes to internalise the values and rules of adult society. Sociologists
in this time period focused on children/young people not only as learners
but also as threats (research on juvenile delinquency emerged in the 1950s)
and as victims of adults (child physical abuse became a topic in the 1960s,
and child sexual abuse in the 1970s). With the further development of
sociological theory, the functionalist model of socialisation lost favour, and
some theorists suggest social reproduction of class inequalities in terms of
access to resources and its consequences. These theorists (Bernstein, 1981;
Bourdieu and Passeron, 1977) provided much required acknowledgement
of the effect of social conflict and inequality on the socialisation of children.
But this model also underestimates the active and innovative capacities of
children/young people and, thus, simplifies complex social processes and
fails to take account of the child/young people as a competent social actor.
Both functionalist and reproductive models neglect the point that children
do not just internalise the society they are born into. Thus, what was miss-
ing from sociology, then, was an account of the socially constructed nature
of childhood and youth which would focus on children/young people as
social actors rather than passive ‘becomings’.
The deliberations on these narrow versions of the child/young people
offered by academic discourses and methods of enquiry prompted in the

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 Introduction xxiii

1980s a growing number of European and American scholars to call for

attention to the relative absence of children/young people in the knowledge
of the social sciences. They argued that children should be studied in their
own right, as full social actors, rather than being framed primarily as adults-
in-training or as problems for the adult social order. But it was undeniably
the credit of the French historian Philippe Aries, who first highlighted the
socially constructed character of childhood beginning in the early 1960s.
He argued that childhood did not exist in the Middle Ages as they were
not granted a special or distinctive social status (1962: 125). According to
Aries children/young people only participated in societal activities just as
the adults did because of the lack of awareness that children/young people
require a different and specific kind of social experience. They were depicted
as little adults and there was thus no difference in rearing them. The dawn-
ing of consciousness about children/young people as being different and
particular has gradually developed from 17th century onwards along with
social, political and economic institutionalisation of the thought of chil-
dren’s needs. Though his account of childhood has by now been widely crit-
icised methodologically and empirically, his broad framework and his ideas
remain foundational to childhood studies. As Heywood (2001) argued that
Aries’ analysis provided scholars with a platform from which to ‘mount a
radical critique of thinking about children in their own society’ (2001: 12).
Aries’ contribution was profoundly significant in that it recognised that
childhood cannot be considered as an ‘unproblematic descriptor of a natu-
ral biological phase’ (James and James, 2004: 13). In short, therefore, child-
hood, a developmental stage of life course, being common to all children at
one and the same time, is also fragmented by the heterogeneity of children’s
everyday lives. The manner in which childhood is analysed, understood and
socially institutionalised varies considerably across and between cultures
and generations in regard to children’s everyday lives and actions. Likewise,
in connection with child-specific needs and competencies articulated and
made comprehensible in law and social policy along with social interactions
between children and adults. Thus, the social construction of childhood is
portrayed ‘as the complex interweaving of social structures, political and
economic institutions, beliefs, cultural mores, laws, policies and everyday
actions of both adults and children , in home and on the street’ (ibid). The
social construction approach, which draws on social interaction theory and
includes children’s agency and daily activities to interpret children’s lives,
became the dominant paradigm (see James and Prout 1990/1998; Jenks
2005; Qvortrup 1994, 1; Woodhead 2009), especially from mid-1990s of
the last century.

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 xxivBula Bhadra

Breaking the Ice Institutionally: UN Convention

on the Rights of the Child (UNCRC)

The discourses on the child and young people and childhood and youth
culminated in the recognition of the social fact that children and young
people are persons and not sub-persons. Before UNCRC 1989, it was 1924
Declaration of the Rights of the Child which came to be known as the
‘Declaration of Geneva’. Recognising that ‘mankind owes to the child the
best that it has to give’, the five simple principles of the Declaration estab-
lished the basis of child rights in terms of both protection of the weak and
vulnerable and promotion of the child’s development. The Declaration also
made it clear that the care and protection of children was no longer the
exclusive responsibility of families or communities or even individual coun-
tries; the world as a whole had a legitimate interest in the welfare of all
children. In 1946, the Economic and Social Council of the United Nations
recommended that the Geneva Declaration be reaffirmed as a sign of com-
mitment to the cause of children. The same year, the United Nations estab-
lished a specialised agency—UNICEF (United Nations Children’s Fund)
with a mandate to care for the world’s children. The UNCRC was adopted
by the United Nations in 1989. Since then, children’s rights have become a
significant field of study. The Convention appealed to the ‘academic respon-
sibility’ of scholars in various disciplines, which gave the academic interest ‘a
timely impetus’ (Verhellen, 1998: 97). Today, scholarly works on children’s
rights is almost inconceivable without considering the Convention as the
bearer of the children’s rights debate. Taking cue from the reality of chil-
dren’s rights and considering it as a social phenomenon arising from consti-
tutive human action (Cotterrell, 2005; Stammers, 1995; 1999; Tarulli and
Skott-Myhre, 2006), social constructions of children’s rights found in the
UNCRC have generated a new genre of literature (see Reynaert et al. 2009).
Since the adoption of the UNCRC, the academic discourse on children’s
rights has been preoccupied with highlighting the childhood image of the
competent child vis-à-vis the image of the incompetent child, characterised
by considering children as objects in need of protection because of their vul-
nerability. Aided by UNCRC, the children’s rights movement presented an
alternative pedagogical model for dealing with the children. Here, children
are represented as social actors, as active agents and autonomous, indepen-
dent human beings in constructing their lives in their own right (for exam-
ple King 2007; Matthews and Limb 1998; Miljeteig-Olssen 1990; Wilcox
and Naimark 1991), thereby criticising the ‘tutelage status’ of the child pro-
tection movement. Thus, at this juncture of the children’s rights paradigm
is the acknowledgment of the child as an autonomous subject, meaningful

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 Introduction xxv

in its current ‘child-being ’, and the slogan became ‘bring children back
into society ’ (Verhellen 2000). This brings to the fore indubitably that
that UNCRC imposes legally binding norms on state parties who ratify
the Convention, by which society becomes accountable for realising chil-
dren’s rights. The competent child with participation rights also took root
in policymaking. Melton (2005a) describes the UNCRC as a transforma-
tive instrument guiding policy. The Convention offers a judicial framework
to rethink childcare policies in the direction of ensuring children’s dignity
(Melton 1991, 2005b; Miljeteig-Olssen, 1990). Jupp (1990: 131) and
describes this as a ‘landmark in a century long struggle for social reform’.
After UNCRC, it became imperative that states not only have to take steps
to provide child services and childcare facilities (access to child services) but
should also guarantee that child services and childcare facilities meet cer-
tain standards (quality of child care). The relevant literature on the impact,
potentialities, loopholes and problems of implementation of UNCRC is
massive, which is not within the purview of this brief write–up, but it can
be asserted that the works on UNCRC unquestionably demonstrate a pre-
occupation with children’s rights wand a changing image of childhood that
considers children as autonomous human beings. However, there is diver-
gence on the notion of desirability of the shift towards autonomy for chil-
dren. Various scholars point out the risks of a rights tradition emphasising
individuality and autonomy (Federle, 1994; Freeman, 2007). To conclude,
it can be said that the academic discourses on children’s rights since the
adoption of the UNCRC in 1989, three themes dominate contemporary
scholarly works on the UNCRC—(i) autonomy and participation rights
as the new norm in child rights practice and policy; (ii) children’s rights
versus parental rights and (iii) the global children’s rights industry analysed
from the perspective of ‘educationalisation’2 (Reynaert et al. 2009: 528–9).
Unfortunately, relevant literature on Indian children’s rights is almost absent
from sociological and social science viewpoints, although some works exist
in the legal realm.

Childhood and Youth Studies: Issues,

Practice and Imaginations

Children and Childhood

In both contemporary and classical sociological theory, one can hardly find
any trace of that particular form of social agent, children, or of that special
feature of social life, childhood. (Turmel 2008: 16)

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 xxviBula Bhadra

As mentioned earlier, until recent decades, children were silenced, their

voices unheard and their experiences largely concealed in the knowledge
created by sociologists, anthropologists and historians. Critical perspectives
on the marginalisation of children were inspired by earlier political move-
ments on behalf of other subordinated groups such as colonised peoples,
racial-ethnic minorities, women and members of alternative sexualities.
These movements challenged the contours of traditional knowledge, show-
ing that the standpoints and interests of the dominant were embedded in
frameworks for studying topics as diverse as labour, politics, social organ-
isation, families and embodiment. These critical approaches helped open
attention to the silencing of children and to the goal of bringing them to
voice. The theme of ‘voice’—voicing experiences, claiming the right not
only to speak but also to be listened to—has become a metaphor for politi-
cal recognition, self-determination and full presence in knowledge. There
are especially close analogies, and complex connections, between move-
ments to bring children, and to bring women, more fully into knowledge.
Seemingly passive women and children were also clumped together by
phrases such as ‘the immigrants sent for their wives and children’, which
assume that the actors are adult males and that women and children are
essentially baggage to be carted, sent for or left behind. Framing women
and children as social actors—as participants in processes of labour, politics,
revolution, migration—has challenged male and adult-centred assumptions
and provided fuller, more illuminating knowledge. A good example of the
upturning of conventional perspectives can be found in Enid Schildkrout’s
classic 1978 article where he observed that children rarely entered descrip-
tions of social systems and proposed that they should be understood as
children rather than as the next generation of adults. Reversing the familiar
equation of children with dependence, Schildkrout asked, ‘[W]hat would
happen to the adult world (other than its extinction) if there were no
children? And in what ways are adults dependent upon children? What is
the significance of children in maintaining the relative status of men and
women?’ (1978/2002: 342) Drawing upon fieldwork among the Hausa,
a Muslim society in Nigeria, Schildkrout described how income-earning
women, confined to their households by purdah, depended on children to
purchase materials and to deliver and sell the final products at the market.
This arrangement—with spatially mobile children—actively contributed,
on the one hand, to patriarchal–economic practices but also, on the other,
made possible women’s earning opportunity.
The ‘new sociology of childhood’ intended to ‘de-naturalising’ age
categories and relations and attempted to theorise age as a structural and

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 Introduction xxvii

discursive dimension of social life, analogous to and intersecting with

gender, racial-ethnicity and other lines of difference with an emphasis on
historical changes and cultural variation. In this social construction of age
and relations, childhoods are socially located and children are construed
as social actors, agents and cultural creators. The ‘new’ continues here as a
statement of breaking from functionalist theories of ‘socialisation’ and stak-
ing out territory that was previously relinquished to developmental psychol-
ogy and notions like child development. A fully historical, sociological and
anthropological approach has solidified and scholars to pay closer atten-
tion to children as social actors with varied lives and experiences, gained
momentum in the 1980s and 1990s. This critical approach to adult-centred
frameworks was enhanced by increasing criticisms of knowledge organised
around the outlooks and interests of the powerful. Scholarly attention to
women and people of colour helped inspire calls for research that would
bring children more fully into knowledge. Critical examination of age rela-
tions, childhood and categories such as child and adult was also spurred by a
theoretical approach called social constructionism, which involved digging
beneath categories that are taken for granted to examine the varied ways in
which they have been organised and given meaning. A unitary category like
the child is especially ripe for examination because it encompasses a wide
range of ages and capacities, with an ambiguous and often disputed upper
boundary. International political and economic changes of the late 20th
century also heightened awareness of the varied lives and circumstances
of children. Global economic restructuring strengthened ties among geo-
graphically distant nations, with increasing circulation of commodities,
labour, information and images. In many parts of the world, these changes
forced children into new conditions of poverty and increased their numbers
among refugees and among those who work in highly exploitative con-
ditions. Televised images of children living in situations of war, violence,
poverty and famine have undermined the assumption that children are an
innocent and protected group, safely ensconced in families and schools.
In the late 1980s and early 1990s, on the one hand, was the work by
James and James (2004), which sought to build upon the pioneering origi-
nal explanation of the socially constructed nature of childhood that framed
the new paradigm of childhood studies (James and Prout 1990/1998) and
its subsequent elaboration (James et al. 1998). James and James set out
to develop and expand this paradigm by seeking to identify some of the
missing elements in the analysis of the relationship between structure and
agency and to specify some of the mechanisms connecting the two through
which social change and social continuity occur in relation to childhood.

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They developed the notion of the cultural politics of childhood—the com-

bination of national and therefore cultural contexts, social practices and
political processes through which childhood is uniquely constructed in dif-
ferent societies at different times—and identified the pivotal role of law
as the institutional embodiment of social practices, both in the construc-
tion and the regulation of childhood. On the other hand, Jens Qvortrup,
a Danish sociologist, coordinated an ambitious comparative study of the
living conditions of children in 13 European countries plus Israel, Canada
and the United States. The researchers relied, in part, on the techniques
of demography—that is the use of statistical methods to study the size,
structure and distribution of particular populations. Defining children as
a category spanning the ages of birth through 14, the research team com-
pared the age structuring of national populations. They found, for exam-
ple, that from 1950 to 1990, the proportion of children declined in all
16 industrialised countries, with the greatest decline in Finland and the
least in Israel. They also analysed comparative information about the size
and composition of the households in which children resided, patterns
in the employment of children and in children’s daily duties at home, the
amount of time children spent in school and in organised activities outside
of school, the legal and health status of children, and the proportion of
social resources, such as income and housing, that were allocated to chil-
dren in each national economy. Guided by a view of childhood as a posi-
tion in social structure, this comparative study emphasised relations among
legal, political, economic, health, educational, family and other institu-
tions. Research on the social construction of childhood has focused not
only on the institutional arrangements that shape children’s lives but also
on beliefs about the nature of children or particular groups of children,
such as infants or girls entering puberty. Studies have shown that street
children in Brazil have been portrayed as threats to the social order (a dis-
course the police have used to justify arrests), as victims (the discourse of
social welfare agencies) and through a discourse of children’s rights used by
activists who argue that children should participate in changing the condi-
tions of their lives (Hecht, 1998). Social scientists who study discursive
constructions of children and childhoods have analysed not only the ways
in which meanings are made but also their effects in the world. For exam-
ple, sociologists and anthropologists often puzzled about the gap between
the stated goal of public education in industrialised countries—to open
equal opportunity for all children—and the reality that schools, by and
large, reproduce social class and racial inequalities. Although teachers may
try to use even-handed practices and to focus on children as individuals,

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 Introduction xxix

assumptions about social class and race are embedded in processes of sort-
ing and tracking. In the United States, for example, some schools provide
special resources for children deemed to be gifted, a discourse that appears
to represent an objective and natural difference, but that embeds social class
and racial assumptions. Ann Ferguson (2000) studied the consequential
use of another discourse—‘bad boys’—in the daily world of a multiracial
middle school in California. Assuming that low-income African American
boys were especially prone towards misbehaviour, teachers monitored them
more closely than other students. To sustain a sense of dignity in the face
of this negative control, the boys sometimes engaged in acts that the adults
saw as defiance. The spiral of labelling, conflict and discipline reproduced
patterns of inequality. Children are discursively constructed not only by
experts and the media but also by corporations that design and sell goods
to an expanding child market. Marketing campaigns target groups that are
narrowly defined by age and gender, promoting particular conceptions of
childhood. Actually market-driven ideas about the pace of growing up enter
into negotiations between children, parents and teachers over issues such
as what clothing can be worn to school; Ann Solberg (1995), a Norwegian
sociologist, coined the term social age to refer to negotiated conceptions of
being older or younger, a more flexible construction than chronological age.
The concept of children’s agency has been used in varied ways. A flourishing
body of research on children’s everyday lives emphasises their capacities as
experiencing subjects who are capable of autonomous action and cultural
creation. William Corsaro (1997) has observed preschools in the United
States and in Italy, documenting children’s use of ideas from the adult world
as they created distinctive peer cultures. He coined the term interpretive
reproduction to emphasise children’s participation in cultural production
and change. Solberg (1995) found that 10-year-old Norwegian children
and their employed mothers had quite different perspectives on children
taking care of themselves at home after school. The mothers worried that
their children came home to an ‘empty house’, but some of the children
spoke instead of coming home to a ‘welcoming house’, with independent
access to food, television and the telephone. There is no doubt that children
have agency in the sense of the capacity to experience, interact and make
meaning. From this perspective, the division between children and adults or
teens is somewhat arbitrary and continually negotiated.
Recently, Adrian James, one of the stalwarts of Childhood studies in
UK wrote: ‘Childhood studies is approaching a crossroads, reaching a point
in its history and development when searching questions must be asked
about how the field is now perceived and whether there is any longer a

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shared understanding of what was once a unified project.’ That is to say, ‘a

fracturing of the field is inevitable with different agenda, different paths and
‘thinking afresh about the nature of childhood studies and reconstructing
it’ (2010: 485–7). In 2005 Qvortrup asserted that the increasing emphasis
on the plurality of childhoods was obscuring the overriding importance
of childhood as a social category and its structural significance in terms of
generation and intergenerational relations. Thus, the global cultural politics
of childhood became an area of contention as well as a focus of interdisci-
plinary sociological research. ‘The new discourses of childhood understand
the child as being. The child is conceived of as a person, a status’, as Chris
Jenks said that ‘any analysis of childhood must rigorously attempt to open
up the boundaries that have been placed around the experience’ (1996: 11)
as ‘the recognition is that childhood and “the child” are indeed complex
phenomena; understanding them properly, and not just partially, compels
any disciplinarian to consult researchers from other disciplinary fields, and
to develop efficient forms of communication and collaboration with them’
(Alanen 2012: 419). A few articles have appeared in the journal Childhood
on India in recent years, like Sarada Balagopalan’s article on ‘Children’s
lives and the Indian context’ (2011) where she has highlighted multiple
childhoods. In this connection it is necessary to remember what Bühler-
Niederberger wrote while comparing researches from 10 countries that in
childhood sociological research

all the influential books are written in English, and some have been trans-
lated into other languages. But no books not written in or translated into
English were listed among the most influential ones. So there is not only
a global, but also a hegemonic influence shaping childhood sociological
research all over the world. (2010: 377)

This, of course, is again a serious problem as it has always been in other

sub-fields of sociology, especially from the point of view of ex-colonies and
developing countries (see Nieuwenhuys, 2009).

Young and Youth

At the end of the first decade of the 21st century, and in the context of
rapid technological change and extensive economic and social uncertainty,
the lives and identities of young people continue to be the subject of a
broad range of scholarship which is as stimulating as it is important. The
over-arching questions indubitably are how are scholars contributing to the

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 Introduction xxxi

sociology of youth engaging with themes of generational issues, identity,

transition and culture and above all young people’s own perceptions? The
challenges in front of the researchers are the choice of apposite conceptual
and methodological tools to understand adequately the complexities of con-
temporary young lives. And what sorts of re-assessments or new conceptual-
isations might be necessary in order to adequately explore the contemporary
life-worlds of young people today? Of special significance here are derived
understandings of youth as located on the pathway between childhood and
adulthood and, as part of this, the notion of adulthood as ‘destination’. In
this regard, a brief mention must be made to adolescence which becomes
culturally defined as a life stage when full-time education replaces full-time
employment as the primary activity of young people. In reality the growing
public concern over the problem behaviours exhibited by children led to
the social invention of the concept of adolescence. This emerged as a new
interim social status between childhood and adulthood (Jensen and Rojek,
1998). The concept of adolescence has also been referred to in the literature
as youth or juvenile status which further adds to the confusion around ter-
minology in the field of juvenile justice (Agnew, 2001; Ferdinand, 1991).
The fact of the matter is globally, research on adolescence flourished in the
last three decades of the 20th century. According to David Bakan (cited
in Jensen and Rojek, 1998), the concept of ‘adolescence’ was an American
discovery and if we look at the sub-field of sociology of crime and deviance,
it can be attested that it was the work of a group of researchers of Chicago
school who highlighted juvenile delinquency within the context of social
disorganisation theory framework. The vast majority of studies on youth
are focused on the problematic features of adolescence and explicitly on
problem behaviour. A review of the leading journals on adolescence points
out that at least half of all articles were principally about youthful mis-
behaviour and maladjustment: delinquency and violence, substance abuse,
school problems, mental health and the like. This focus is especially promi-
nent in the literature on early adolescence when youth engage in behaviours
defined as ‘high risk’ (Bahr et al. 1998; Barber 1992; Bogenschneider Wu
et al. 1998; Buehler et al. 1998; Christopher et al. 1998; Dryfoos 1998;
Perkins et al. 1998). A far smaller share of the literature concerns measures
of conventional behaviours (Crockett and Crouter 1995) to adolescent suc-
cess or to adult roles. Here, as Howard Becker (1973) explained that most
youth (like many adults) engage in behaviours that may have more complex
meanings depending on both their context and consequences, for example,
why should learning to drive safely is regarded as a positive development,
whereas learning to drink responsibly is seen as a negative event?

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Hence, it seems that the boundaries of childhood, youth and adult-

hood are hazy, imprecise and are always changing. In this context, the use
of the concept of ‘social generation’ has been suggested as a way of mov-
ing beyond this impasse. As the sociology of youth is made up of mul-
tiple theoretical and empirical focuses, much of the current discourses can
still be seen as focusing either on changes in young people’s transitions to
adulthood or young people’s self-understandings and culture. Sociology of
Youth has a long history, in focusing on these transitions and cultures even
though there have been a lot of modifications as far as the utilisation of
these concepts and the dominant metaphors have certainly changed over
time. The 1970s and into the 1980s saw the rise of youth unemployment
in a number of Western countries and a rethinking of the concept of tran-
sition. This rethinking drew on the ‘structural’ sociological approaches of
the time and focused researchers’ attention on the way that social position
constrains young people’s transitions (Cohen 1997; Wyn and White 1997).
Likewise, a new way of thinking about subjective orientations, focused
on youth cultures, emerged as a major alternative sociological approach
to youth (Bennett, 2000). This subcultural approach brought to the fore
the way those groups of working-class young people (mostly young men)
appropriated meaning through the cultural resources available to them
and used these and refused to accept constrictions and rejoiced their own
cultural expressions (for example Willis, 1977). While focusing on young
people’s subjective experience and shared meaning-making, this work theo-
rised youth culture in reference to a body of theory centred on structural
constraint and class inequality. By the 1990s, a new set of economic and
social conditions was shaping the experience of youth; a new proliferation
of literature was growing on the distinctive experiences of young women.
The post-school education lengthened significantly, particularly for women,
manufacturing work declined to be replaced by service work and often
casualised employment, and young people increasingly deferred marriage
and family formation. In different ways, Giddens (1991), Beck (1992) and
Bauman (1998 and 2000) argued that considerable changes have occurred
in the principles by which modern society is organised. Control over uncer-
tainty and risk comes to seem significantly less possible yet appears to be
appreciably more valuable. This same process of increasing complexity and
speedy change is seen to mean that institutions such as the family, employ-
ment and community potentially become more fragmented, and personal
life comes to appear less predictable. Using a social generation approach
to move beyond the binary between young people’s cultural expressions
and transitions, let me focus on the premise that young people today are

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 Introduction xxxiii

growing up in a world that is significantly different, and is experienced as

different, from the world in which their parents grew up. These changing
conditions have again reshaped the way transitions and youth cultures are
conceptualised. A major area of discussion over the past two decades has
centred on the multiplication of the number of possible pathways of transi-
tion and on rapid change in the timing and synochronisation of transitions
to various markers of adulthood (Côté 2000; te Riele 2004). A second area
of interest has been how young people make choices about their future and
shape their identity in the face of more intricate and prolonged transitions
in an arguably ‘post subcultural’ and individualised world (Andres and Wyn
2010; Brannen and Nilsen 2002; Harris 2002; MacDonald and Marsh
2005; Threadgold and Nilan 2009). The focus of contemporary youth
research is shaped adding a focus on social change and complexity to the
long-standing concerns with the variable outcomes of transition to adult-
hood for differently positioned young people (for example Ashton and Field
1976; Roberts 1968). The focal point of youth research is shaped not only
by changes in the experience of youth, but also by the conceptual resources
deployed and by the history of past research, or at least the way that this his-
tory is told in the present. Much contemporary youth research can be seen
as a continuation of these ‘twin tracks’ of youth studies. In many ways, this
focus on how social change has impacted on youth cultures, and on the way
young people think about the present and the future, shows continuity with
the long-standing interest in how young people make sense of their experi-
ence and actively shape their lives (Hall and Jefferson 1976; McRobbie and
Garber 1976; Willis 1977), but this focus on change and complexity also
marks the potential for a fruitful convergence of approaches.
Recent efforts at overcoming the ‘false binary’ (even if it has been real
in some of its consequences for the field) between the two approaches to
youth research has frequently taken the form of calls for ‘middle-ground’
conceptual approaches, particularly in research focused on both youth
transitions and youth culture (Woodman 2009). This has emerged as a
response to critiques of the over-emphasis on structure in youth-transitions
research post-1960s and a perceived over-emphasis on agency in many stud-
ies of youth culture (Evans 2002; Lehmann 2004; Roberts 2003). These
middle-ground approaches draw on concepts such as ‘bounded agency’ or
‘structured individualisation’ as a way of overcoming historical divisions
(Brannen and Nilsen 2002; Lehmann 2004; Roberts 2003; Rudd and
Evans 1998). Indeed, conceptualisations converge in the critique of each
tradition’s bias and through an engagement with theories of individualisa-
tion. Engaging with and critiquing these claims about the opening of the

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biography to new uncertainties is a central aim in many studies within con-

temporary youth sociology across the two traditions and, thus, offers an
opportunity to break with the past. But the problem with finding a ‘middle
ground’ between youth transitions and youth cultures is that approaches
often remain trapped within a conceptual model that distinguishes between
structural, historically specific conditions and young people’s subjective
experience of the times in which they live. The ‘middle-ground’ solution
also has the drawback of failing to confront what many youth researchers
now acknowledge, that the boundaries of childhood, youth and adulthood
are blurred, indistinct, porous and changing. Under these conditions it
could be argued that, in late modernity, the notion of transition has become
relatively meaningless as a conceptual tool because of the increasing lack
of synchrony of transitions across life domains. The leavings and arrivals
associated with residence, employment, studying and personal relationships
no longer add up to a clear status or to acknowledged rites of passage with
regard to life stage. Indeed, research from a number of countries finds a clear
trend towards the de-standardisation of the life course (for example Heinz,
2009; Shanahan, 2000). While there are clear signs of convergence between
the ‘transitions’ and ‘cultural’ perspectives in the sociology of youth, as yet
there is no conceptual framework that is accepted by those aligned to either
tradition. The major strength of a social generation approach is that it has
the capacity to reveal local variations on global patterns: it enables us to
understand the significance of subjectivities and the unevenness of capacity
across groups (gender, class and race) and across time and place to enact
these subjectivities.
Since modern-day ‘childhood’ and youth are increasingly saturated by
technology i.e. from television to the Internet, video games to ‘video nasties’,
camcorders to personal computers, mobile phones to micro-laptops and to
electronic toys, this brief overview remains rather incomplete if the usher-
ing and penetration of new technology in the lives of children and youth is
not referred to. Children and young people engage with and exercise com-
petence in a whole range of technologies in the home, at school and in the
public social world on a daily basis. In fact, it is almost impossible to imag-
ine their lives without new technologies and at one and the same time there
is no arena which does not use or apply these new technologies one way or
the other. A new proliferation of literature has been born during the last 20
years in both Europe and North America on new sociology of childhood/
youth along with interface between new technology and children/young
encompassing a variety of facets starting with the impact of introduction of
computers at the educational institutions to mobile internet and mediated

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 Introduction xxxv

interaction as a new social relation. Turkle, wrote that computers signifi-

cantly change people’s relationships and daily lives, especially among young
and cyberspace is currently offering space for fun. It offers an opportu-
nity for experimentation that is frequently absent from the rest of our lives
(2011). Turkle explained that it was ‘Technology (that) proposes itself as
architect of our intimacies’ (2011:1). The release of iPhone and other smart
phones has revolutionized telephone services and surprised even those who
are no longer taken aback by any technological breakthroughs, as pointed
out by the survey published in MTV’s 2008 Young Universe Dossier. The
rising popularity of the internet and the ever increasing amount of time
adolescents spend online pose challenges to parent-child relationship, the
very notion of family and its role as well as the overall process of growing up
as children/young people (Subrahmanyam et al. 2009). To Tom Boonaert
and Nicole Vettenburg (2011) the internet is just not a source of informa-
tion but also help develop new digital skills that enable children to cope
in a digitized society. The two important kinds of use of internet among
children and young are Education and Entertainment. However these two
uses, that is education and entertainment overlaps so much that the term
‘Edutainment’ was coined to describe software that seeks both to educate
and entertain (Demner 2001). For some, internet acts as a double edged
sword which represents both ‘risks’ and ‘opportunity’ for children and young
adult. Chatting over internet, accessing social networking sites and spending
hours in the computer among adolescents have become the most popular
leisure—time activity which leads them to develop the habit of Compulsive
Internet Use (CIU) or Internet addiction (Eijnden, Spijkerman, Vermulst,
Rooij and Engels 2009). Children and young people’s use of diversified new
media technologies enable a paradoxical reframing of leisure by complicat-
ing the distinction between leisure and work. A ‘digital/net generation’ and
a ‘participatory media culture’ has transformed their private space of home
in to a site of multi-media culture. This space of home is now very much
open to new forms of public and community engagement by convert-
ing children’s/young people’s domestic leisure practices as sites of cultural
production. Here, the children are agency ranging from ‘nurtured begin-
ners’ to ‘nurtured cybernauts’ (Tapscott 2009; Davies and Eynon 2013).
Sonia Livingstone (2008) in her in-depth studies shows that the impact
on children/youth of social networking sites by enabling communication
among ever-widening circles of contacts, by inviting convergence among
the hitherto separate activities of e-mail, messaging, website creation, dia-
ries, photo albums, and music/ video uploading and downloading. The very
language of social relationships is being reframed; today, people construct

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their ‘profile’, make it ‘public’ or ‘private’, they ‘comment’ or ‘message’ their

‘top friends’ on their ‘wall’, they ‘block’ or ‘add’ people to their network, and
so forth. It seems that creating and networking online content is becom-
ing, for many, an integral means of managing one’s identity, lifestyle and
social relations. Danah Michele Boyd (2008) explains how teens negoti-
ate self representation and impression management in social networking
sites. For Buckingham (2006) Computer games, the Internet, and other
new communications media are often seen to pose threats and dangers to
young people, but they also provide new opportunities for creativity and
self-determination. Marika Luders (2009) shows how Personal media are
important social symbols that indicate social success along with mammoth
potentiality of creating an integration of online and offline spaces. This
brief review of works done on children, childhood and young and youth
is almost structurally compelled to exclude India as, unfortunately, to the
best of my knowledge, we have very few works done on children and youth
though youth especially is utilised as social and political capital by all politi-
cal parties, media and NGOs.

Children and Childhood in Sociological Bulletin

There is no doubt that children and childhood is still a much uncharted

territory in India’s sociological imagination. There has been almost a com-
plete silence about child and childhood in sociological discourses in India.
The dominant paradigms in sociology either completely excluded ‘child and
childhood’ as objects of meticulous research or dealt with them as subordi-
nate or mute categories. There is not a single sociology department in India
of any university which offers a paper or a course on sociology of child
and/or childhood. At best, a few lectures are delivered on the problem of
child labour or on child abuse as part of a Social Problems course. Children
even now remain as an add-on agenda if they are discussed in mainstream
sociological discourses or at best passive recipients and empty vessels who
are in need of instructions. But, interestingly and encouragingly enough,
there have been writings on children in Sociological Bulletin, the official
journal of Indian Sociological Society though miniscule in comparison to
articles on caste, village studies, religion, civil society or even gender which
was a neglected terrain for a long time. The rationale behind the choice
of the articles was simple and straightforward: as the collection is on the
reflections on ‘Sociology of Children and Childhood’, the preference has
been given to those papers which mostly focused on manifold aspects of the

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 Introduction xxxvii

children and childhood in their surrounding social context and its associ-
ated sociological implications in Indian society.
K. S. Shukla’s article on ‘Adolescent Thieves and Differential
Association’, published in 1976, is a part of his extensive work on the ado-
lescent property offenders (16 to 21 years) from two urban centres Gwalior
and Indore in Central India. The paper describes the nature of association
of 200 adolescent property offenders during different stages of growth and,
by inference or implication, it provides empirical test for the theory of
Differential Association of Edwin H. Sutherland. The study is based upon
interviews of the adolescents in both the cities. The selected offenders fell
in three categories: (i) freely moving offenders with prior record of convic-
tion, (ii) without any record, (iii) convicted offenders and under-trials in
the police custody or in the jails. The bases of classification of the adoles-
cents were source of livelihood, modus-operandi and frequency of theft,
skill, efficiency, ability to fix up cases, self-conception and attitude towards
society and the criminal world, potentialities and experience. The author
also studied police records of both the cities regarding adolescents so as
to get an idea of the prevailing crime situation. The records presented a
picture of the intensity, trend, variety, direction and other differentials like
age, sex and caste. This information not only helped in piecing together
the crime picture, in order to have a gestalt of the entire situation, but also
in the collection of the background information of the selected offenders.
This being a sensitive issue, the author argued that special care was taken to
exclude, as much as possible, the cases from custodial institutions emerging
out of incarceration. Due to the spatial mobility of the offenders, the chance
sample was his choice. They were interviewed with the help of an inter-
view-guide, in a wide variety of places, such as hotels, lonely places, open
streets, apartments of the subjects, police stations, jail premises and other
suitable spots. The findings demonstrate that the surrounding interactional
environment presents both anti-delinquent and pro-delinquent parameters.
Exposures favourable to violation of law were made at the intimacy associa-
tions other than the immediate neighborhood or school. This process has
been found being further reinforced by a variety of delinquency-generating
factors that almost incessantly operate upon the subjects. They initiate them
into professional techniques of undertaking various property offences and,
eventually, crystallise and sustain in them tangible pro-delinquent behav-
ioural patterns. The frequency, duration, priority and intensity aspects of
the theory of differential association find considerable support from the
empirical findings. This article, as mentioned earlier, is a classic exam-
ple of the application of theories of Chicago school that highlighted the

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problematic features of adolescence and explicitly on their non-normative

problem behaviour.
The article by Shah, Patel and Sewell on ‘Social class and educational
aspirations in an indian metropolis’ is on social class and educational and
occupational achievements and inequality. This paper examined the relation-
ship of socio-economic status and educational aspirations of 5,201 S.S.C.
students enrolled in a stratified sample of high schools in Ahmedabad, a
metropolis in western India. The data were collected by means of an eight-
page questionnaire administered to all S.S.C. students who were present
at the time of data-collection in the sample high schools. The question-
naire contained items concerning the socio-economic status of the students’
families, educational and occupational aspirations and perceptions of the
sources influencing their plans and aspirations, attitudes of their significant
others (parents, teachers and peers) towards higher education, and a short
form of a scale for measuring attitudes towards modernisation. The major
conclusions of this empirical work were that it seems that quite a large
number of the aspirants for college education, especially males, desire to
join college, presumably, as a temporary activity in the prevailing condi-
tions of a high rate of unemployment and difficulties in finding a suitable
white-collar job in the urban areas. Similarly, the girls who desire to join
college but do not aspire to college graduation probably desire some college
education before marriage. A lack of appropriate selection mechanisms and
facilities for sorting out and counselling youth in the choice of post–high
school alternatives may be a major factor leading many of them to desire
college education as a part-time or an ancillary activity. Further, both socio-
economic status and academic performance are related to the post–high
school educational aspirations of both males and females. When academic
performance is controlled, significant social class differences are found in
the educational aspirations of both males and females, although such differ-
ences are greater among females than among males. This research work was
conducted in late 1960s and authors reported that India still needs to plan
for more imaginative approaches to reduce, if not to eliminate completely,
social class differences in educational aspirations of its young adults. This
article was in complete tunning with the then dominant paradigm of treat-
ing adolescent children as problem-creators.
The next paper is almost on the same issue with empirical location
difference—‘Education and the emerging patterns of political orientations:
A sociological analysis’ by Ehsanul, Haq focused on the political role of
the family and the school and the impact of their role-performance on
political orientations of school children. The study also highlighted on

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 Introduction xxxix

the differential emerging patterns of their orientations as a consequence of

structural inequality. The study is based on the data collected from three
representative schools belonging to three major types of schools in Delhi:
Government School, Government Aided School and the Public School. The
selection of these schools takes into account the differences in terms of socio-
economic background of students, their exposure to mass-media, social
milieu in and outside the school, adequate population size, and content
of the school textbooks and the historical tradition of the rejected schools.
It was a multi-method study applying questionnaire, interview schedule,
observation and content analysis for a random sample of 600 respondents
(308 students, 128 teachers and 164 parents). The findings suggest that the
politically more aware students belong to the rich, elite and public school
background. They are articulate, economically secure, privileged, stable,
conformist and more class conscious. This type of situation tends to gener-
ate moderation and retreatism rather than militancy; routine rather than
rebellion. Contrary to this, the politically less aware students belong to the
poor, and the mass-based schooling system. They are inarticulate, economi-
cally insecure, deprived, unstable, non-conformist and less class conscious.
This type of situation tends to develop militancy and aggression rather than
moderation and retreatism. Thus, two differential patterns of political ori-
entations are the consequences of the two different conditions existing at
the family and school levels. He, therefore, concludes that the negative con-
sequences of political socialisation are the results of preserved inequality
in terms of enormous cultural differences, occupational gap and the dual
system of schooling catering separately to the rich and to the poor in India.
A stratified society and a stratified pattern of schooling reinforce each other.
These two studies, although not talked about, are based on the theoretical
departure point that instead of promoting equality, education maintains
inequality in the interest of dominant class. It plays a mediating role between
individual’s consciousness and society at large. Although Marx, Engels as
well as Lenin never prepared a separate theory of education, but in terms of
dialectical understanding, education and capitalist commodity production
are two productive sides of capitalist mode of production (Ivkovic, 1999).
Although Gramsci, Althusser and Bernstein discussed the role of education
in reproducing ideological hegemony and control, it was Pierre Bourdieu
who systematically considered culture and education as central in creating
and recreating differences between social classes in a capitalist economy. He
made the sub-discipline of sociology of education as a science understand-
ing the contribution of education in reproducing structure of power rela-
tionships, symbolic relationships between the classes and in the distribution

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of cultural capital among classes (1977). These articles, unlike the first one,
do not relate theory to empirical data, but the underlying message comes
clear that both political orientation and career/occupational achievements
of children/young people are socially conditioned and is basically an out-
come socio-economic factors and power relations.
The next three articles are epistemologically and ontologically very sig-
nificant as the trio highlights one of the worst crises of Indian social reality,
that is from ‘son preference’ to ‘get rid of girls’. The indiscriminate killing
of girl children beginning with murdering of female foetuses is now a fea-
ture of our lived experiences of daily life. The first of this trio is by Ashesh
Das Gupta entitled ‘Culture and fertility: Son preference and reproduc-
tive behaviour’. This paper explores the impact of son preference, which
is identified by the author as a strong cultural value, on the reproductive
behaviour of married couples belonging to the Hindu, Muslim, Christian
and Sikh religious communities in Patna. The study was conducted in the
city of Patna in the early 1990s. With the help of the Son Preference Scale,
the respondents were categorised into three broad groups, expressing three
different levels of preference for male issue. Thus, respondents scoring more
than 6 points (in the 10-item Son Preference Scale) have been placed in
‘higher’ son preference (HSP) category, those scoring points between
5 and 1 have been placed in ‘lower’ son preference (LSP) category, and
those scoring no point have been placed in the category of no preference
for son (NSP). Furthermore, the respondents were classified into lower and
higher fertility groups, with women having three or more children placed in
‘higher’ fertility group and those with two or less than two children placed
in ‘lower’ fertility group. The findings show that the son preference value is
a potential promoter of higher fertility in all the four religious communi-
ties, though this value operates differently in different religious communi-
ties. The percentage of respondents having higher son preference has been
found to be the highest among the Hindus (61 per cent), followed by the
Sikhs (54 per cent), the Muslims (52 per cent) and the lowest among the
Christians (44 per cent). Furthermore, a good number of respondents from
higher socio-economic group have shown a strong preference for the male
issue. It is unmistakably evident that having a ‘girl child’ is considered as a
predicament and the dominant value here is not on having a child but a boy
child. Therefore, infertility cannot be considered from a gender-neutral per-
spective in India. Child, per se as part of a ‘family’ is not worth much irre-
spective of gender in this deep-rooted patriarchal culture of Indian society.
Interestingly, the second one in this group is on ‘Sex preference and
contraceptive use in Manipur’ by L. Ladusingh, N. Minita Devi and Kh.

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 Introduction xli

Jitenkumar Singh. The popular notion is that Manipuri women occupy

a high status in the family and society, not only for their contribution to
the economy of the household, but also for their major roles in the soci-
ety. According to the authors also, the Manipuri women are in a better
position than their counterparts in other parts of the country, both educa-
tionally and in terms of their position and roles in the society. Absence of
dowry for marrying daughters and companionship the daughters provide
to their mothers preclude daughters being viewed as liabilities. The data
for this study were collected from sampled representative areas of all eight
districts of Manipur, of which three are in the valley and five, in the hilly
region. A target sample of 1,000 currently married women were distributed
among the eight districts proportionate to their population size. A two-
stage sampling design was adopted: using systematic sampling procedure.
The authors’ research reveals that, in Manipur, there is moderate son prefer-
ence across residence and socio-economic background, but not at the cost
of balance sex composition of a boy and a girl. Son preference is stronger
in rural and hill areas, possibly because of the nature of livelihood in these
residence backgrounds. Irrespective of their socio-economic and residence
background, women are not at all satisfied with having ‘only daughters’,
though ‘only sons’ is acceptable to some extent. Had there been no sex pref-
erence, contraceptive use would have risen to the highest rate at any parity,
invariant of sex composition of children. The low rate of contraceptive use
for the sex composition of children dominated by daughters and the high
rate of its use for the sex composition of children dominated by sons at any
parity confirm the presence of sex preference in Manipur. This is alarming
and intriguing at the same time as it seems Manipur is catching up with the
ills of patriarchal values of the mainstream Indian society.
The last article by T.V. Sekher and Neelambar Hatti, on ‘Disappearing
daughters and intensification of gender bias: Evidence in two village studies
in South India’, is a logical culmination of son preference as they coined it
so sharply that it is now ‘get rid of girls’ with the help of technology of sex
determination tests and widespread facilities of abortion. The study based
on two villages from low fertility regions of Karnataka and Tamil Nadu.
The desired family size and the desired gender composition of children are
on a convergence level. The authors have analysed how fertility decline has
actually increased sex bias instead of reducing which was the anticipation.
That is, the norm of small family size and reduced fertility became catalytic
to ‘get rid of girls’. As the authors have unmistakably stated in their con-
cluding observations that these two village studies illustrate that daughters
are rarely able to substitute sons for the parents. Particularly among peasant

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 xliiBula Bhadra

communities blessed with new technology and its cheaper availability, these
two low-fertility regions exhibit strong son preference. It was a focus group
study coupled with observation. Finally, the authors have reported that the
communities which did not practice dowry have now started in a big way as
the daughter became the symbol of dowry payments. The law here is mani-
fest only as legislation but not as in practice and, thus, gender justice is only
gendered injustice (see Bhadra, 2006) aided by gendered new technology
and associated patriarchal social practices.

Young and Youth in Sociological Bulletin

Compared to children and childhood, young and youth and their lived
experiences have captured the imagination of sociologists of India a little
more. That is why there are six articles selected for the section on Children
and Childhood and seven articles are selected for section on Young and
Youth. There is no denying the fact that children are still considered passive
recipients by the majority sociologists in India and left to the domain of
psychologist for any repair/therapy, and so on, they require to make them
competent adults. And childhood also is a social fact which exists in absentia
for majority children and thereby as well missing in most of our sociologi-
cal imagination. However, it must be stated in all honesty that reflections/
deliberations on India’s young and youth are also compared to works on
caste, religion, family, marriage, kinship, and villages is almost zilch or at
best insignificant and negligible. Amidst this the articles in Sociological
Bulletin were a ray of hope and were clearly evincive of dynamic aspect
of sociological imagination of some Indian sociologists. The articles which
have been chosen bring to the fore the changing contexts within which
young people build their lives in Indian society.
The article ‘Attitudes to English and use of it by students of three
different mother tongues: Hindi, Kannada and Tamil’ by Ross and
Bandyopadhyay is an excellent example of exploration of new territories
of the relation between language and youth identity with special reference
to English and three regional languages Hindi, Kannada and Tamil. Their
purpose was to find out how and why English language is being maintained
even though there are regional languages after about a quarter of a century
of independence. ‘Maintenance’ was measured by the number of students
speaking it and their proficiency in that language. The cities chosen were
Bangalore, Jaipur and Madras, the capital cities, respectively, of the States
of Mysore, Rajasthan and Madras. The original study was based on the

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 Introduction xliii

answers of 1,254 fourth-year college students in the summer of 1965 to a

questionnaire based on their language experiences at home, school and col-
lege and their mother tongues were Tamil, Kannada and Hindi. Data were
gathered from colleges in the capital cities of Madras, Bangalore and Jaipur,
and from two other non-capital cities and small towns in the southern
states. Their findings showed that the extensive use of English as medium
of instruction in primary and/or high school was found to be the most
important factor in attaining proficiency in English for it was an influential
factor irrespective of the city in which the learning took place. It was found
to be next in importance that speaking English at home when the students
were young and/or at the present time was one of the major reasons for
English maintenance. However, speaking English every day and most often
with friends was not found to be highly associated with proficiency in all
of the cities. In other words, it was the variable most affected by outside
contingencies, and so not a constant influence in learning English. When
they looked at the way in which the different variables are associated with
the students’ desire to retain English in three important areas of life, it was
found that proficiency in the language is more highly associated with the
desire to retain English at these three levels which were medium of instruc-
tion at college, official language of the centre and also of the state. The
conclusions drawn from these data are that whereas the school and home
are the main agencies that generate proficiency in English, it is the mastery
of the language which becomes the key factor in determining the students’
attitudes towards English. In other words, proficiency in English leads to
a preference to retain it. In fact, a higher proportion of the students from
the two southern cities had been exposed to English in these three areas
than the students from Jaipur. This article was a pioneering effort in socio-
linguistics which is still typically untried in mainstream sociology of India.
Actually this article was written in mid 1970s when only a scanty attention
was paid to patterns of youth language change and adaptation. The findings
of this work corroborates with a recent study done on the city of Kolkata’s
youth in terms of displacement of native languages in relation to English.3
‘The use of psychotropic drugs among college youth in India: An
appraisal’ by Unnithan, Singh and Khan emphasised the need to develop a
synchronised and comparable database with respect to the use of psychotro-
pic drugs among college students as the phenomenon became a source of con-
cern at every level. They aimed to develop an estimate of the prevalence rate
of drug use among the college/university students in the country as a whole
by collecting especially data from Bombay, Delhi and Madras (metropolitan
areas) as well as in Hyderabad, Jabalpur and Jaipur (non-metropolitan areas),

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 xlivBula Bhadra

and the Banaras Hindu University, Varanasi (a wholly residential university),

that is from seven urban centres. A confidential self-report questionnaire
has been administered in a group-setting interrupting normal instruction-
work in the class. The data thus collected have been processed separately by
each study centre. The findings show, as a whole, that the incidence of the
use of psychotropic drugs among the college youth in the country does not
appear to be so large as to cause alarm at least in the late 1970s. It is mostly
the traditional substances like alcohol and cannabis that dominate the drug
scene. To a good extent, these drugs may have linkages with several socio-
cultural practices. Therefore, the authors suggested towards containing the
problem of the non-medical use of psychotropic drugs, whatever its extent,
a viable social intervention programme would do well to direct its thrust on
restructuring social norms and practices. One of the most important con-
clusions the authors drew that the incidence of psychotropic drugs among
male students is far more than among female students: for every two male
students on drugs there is only one female student. They opined that, in
part, this may be attributed to the differential role expectations in society
which discourage the use of intoxicants by women more than that by men.
But authors also noted that the female–male ratio noticeably varies with
the study centres. The difference is least in Bombay (3:4) and the highest
in Madras (3:23). Moreover, the drug preference also varies: it is tobacco,
alcohol and painkillers for men; and painkillers, alcohol and tobacco for
women. Notwithstanding this, the womenfolk are ahead of men in the use
of painkillers. This article is again within the perception and paradigm of
problematic features of adolescence /youth behaviour model taking its cue
from Chicago School of Social Disorganisation framework. But full credit
goes to the authors for indigenising the paradigm and its application.
Kazi and Ghadially’s ‘Perception of the female role by Indian college
students’ was in a sense a pioneering attempt in late 1970s as they inves-
tigated empirically whether college men and women with ‘traditional’ and
‘non-traditional’ attitudes towards sex-roles differed in terms of the impor-
tance they attached to marriage and age of marital partner, the wife’s edu-
cational and career aspirations. They administered a questionnaire part of
which dealt with perception of sex-roles, importance of marriage and their
educational and career plans. The questionnaire was adopted from the one
originally developed and used in a cross-cultural study at Rutger’s University,
USA. A sample of 193 male and 286 female college students drawn from the
disciplines of arts, commerce, engineering, home science, law, medicine and
pure sciences. The mean age of the respondent was 22.0 years. Some of the
findings are, for example, when women respondents were asked to choose

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 Introduction xlv

between a career or marrying a man of their choice who disapproves of a

working wife, 27.1 per cent of non-traditional girls and only 7.5 per cent
of traditional girls opted for career; whereas 26.9 per cent of traditional and
only 11.9 per cent of non-traditional girls opted for marriage. Nearly two-
thirds of traditional and non-traditional girls opted for marriage but hoped
to change husband’s mind later. Another classic finding was when asked their
reasons for working outside the home after marriage, 29.9 per cent of tradi-
tional girls, as opposed to only 10.6 per cent of non-traditional girls, stated
insufficient family income. 45.1 per cent of non-traditional girls and only
18.2 per cent of traditional girls said they work in order to pursue a career.
According to the authors, the overall picture that emerges from the findings is
that a young college student with non-traditional attitudes towards sex-roles
considers marriage to be less important, believes that women seek educa-
tion to develop intellectual capacities, is less concerned about society’s norms
of age of marriage partner, emphasises compatibility between partners and
consistently more prone to accepting a working wife. The non-traditional
woman aspires to higher education, seeks education to develop intellectual
capacities and prepares for a career, is less concerned about society’s norms of
age of marriage partner and emphasises maturity as an important quality in
her husband and wishes to combine career and family (1979: 69). This work
of late 1970s was really significant because, on the one hand, it unleashed
the sociological imagination for innovative kinds of researches which were
outside the traditional arenas of caste, religion, kinship, and village and, on
the other, developed an intersectional type of analysis by combining youth,
gender and socio-economic aspects of Indian social reality which stands as a
rare example in those days and even today when the application of intersec-
tional approach is still in its infancy in India.4
The article by Uplaonkar, ‘Social class and occupational aspirations of
college students’, aimed to examine the influence of social class on the occu-
pational aspirations of students in higher education. To be specific, the objec-
tive was to analyse the extent to which social class vis-à-vis traditional groups,
such as religion, caste and sex, is adapting to the avowed goal of the Indian
Constitution, namely, equality of opportunity. The data for the present study
were collected by administering a printed semi-structured questionnaire in
English and also in Kannada, the regional language of Karnataka state, to the
respondents. The findings unfolded that an analysis of the influence of class
status on the occupational aspirations of college students, after controlling
for the effect of religion, caste and sex (separately), revealed that class status
by itself did not exercise any significant influence on the occupational aspira-
tions of the respondents. Traditional groups, on the contrary, did influence

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 xlviBula Bhadra

the occupational aspirations of college students through class status as an

intervening variable or factor. However, an analysis of the data by applying
simple and partial correlation method revealed that class position made a
major contribution to the occupational aspirations of the students. Viewed
in terms of statistical finding, it is the class status rather than the traditional
groups or ritual status, which is beginning to influence the occupational aspi-
rations of college students. It means that modern India is providing a greater
degree of scope to individuals for upward mobility on the basis of their class
position. But author cautioned that such a conclusion would be unwar-
ranted as the equality of opportunity guaranteed by the Indian Constitution
to every citizen, regardless of religion, caste or sex, has not become a reality in
practice. And, furthermore, modernisation only benefitted the already exist-
ing privileged and elite groups and the process of modernisation itself is par-
ticularistic, inequitable and discriminatory. Three comments are in order for
the author’s attempt to liberate the social reality of Indian society from the
clutch of caste–caste paradigm. One, it is a commendable effort and ushered
a new era of research in studies on social class and its impact on occupational
aspirations of young people in India after three decades of independence.
Second, at same time, the study did not neglect the traditional aspects like
caste and religion and tried to correlate and intersect them with class. Finally,
the study did also focus on aspirations of women students and this was really,
in a true sense, an intersectional methodological attempt, although only with
quantitative approach. The data for the women students reveal that about
48 per cent of the women students had low occupational aspirations which
implies that they had taken to college education as a status symbol or just
to keep themselves busy until their parents found suitable bridegrooms. It
means that, by and large, women students had low occupational aspirations,
at least according to this study.
The objective of Narsi Patel’s article on ‘Youth aspirations vis-a-vis
national development: Participate or emigrate?’ was to assess youth’s iden-
tification with national life, their perceptions of economic changes, the
extent to which they were caught up in chain migration (having close rela-
tives living abroad), their occupational background and the relationship of
these factors with their aspirations to stay or go abroad. The respondents
were young people in the final year of high school and they were selected
on the rationale that this was the time in their life crucial for making
career decisions. The paper focused on the social fact that an overwhelm-
ing majority of the youth, chose seeking livelihood in the country to going
abroad. Their identification with national development was more guided by
their valuation of emigration as a loss to the country. Those few who were
inclined to go abroad considered emigration as a gain for them as well as the

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 Introduction xlvii

country. According to the author, a consensus seemed to develop among the

young people as regards the advantages of migration that there was a world
out there to count on for education, cultural revitalisation and economic
improvement. The Participate emphasised the former, the Emigrate the lat-
ter. Going to stay abroad was not considered by these people as breaking all
bonds with the national heritage or culture. This study of youth aspirations
reveals an underlying desire on the part of the young to redefine national
development, not entirely as a task of toiling within the nation, but as the
enrichment of national heritage. In that sense, the distinction between the
Participate and the Emigrate, made for the expediency of an empirical anal-
ysis, fades. Both groups express, perhaps unknowingly, a unity of effort:
working from within and outside. Finally, the findings tend to confirm the
observation that neither the rich and secure nor the dismally poor show a
propensity to emigrate, for different reasons; it is the people pressed in the
middle who are mobile. This study reflected the ambiance of ‘brain-drain’
controversy as it was in its peak in 1980s. The ushering of globalisation put
a semicolon if not a full stop to this discourse.
The article on the ‘Problems of the youth of North-East India: A
sociological inquiry’ by A. K. Nongkynrih is a unique one as it does not
confine itself within the limits of students’/youth movements, but pro-
vides a mapping of the discourses on the problems of the youth in the
region. The author stated this in very clear terms and collected informa-
tion from the fieldwork on the current status of the programmes for HIV/
AIDS Prevention and Care for the young people of four states of the North-
Eastern Region from both female and male youth. The second source of
data for the paper came from the field notes of the North-Eastern Region
Community Resource management Project for Upland areas in Assam and
Manipur in 2004, and this study assesses implementation of projects and
problems faced by youth. The author also highlights the discourses on the
definitional contours of youth. He successfully explains the different depar-
ture points of popular (which is dependent on media portrayal) and aca-
demic discourses on youth; the former is within the paradigm of problems
of youth behaviour and youth subculture and, though sympathetic, yet it
stigmatises youth, reminiscent of once again of Chicago school researches
of 1930s to 1950s. The academic discourse attempts to perceive the prob-
lems of youth by focusing on a variety of factors that have impact on the
lives of youth emanating mainly from the structural conditions of society
and do not really try to label or stigmatise the young people, that is do not
view them as predicament of society. The academic discourse, in essence, is
in tune with theories starting from symbolic interactionism (labelling) to
political economy to identity construction.

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Rajesh Gill’s paper on ‘Youth in techno global world: Predicaments and

choices’ has represented the contemporary situation within the context of
globalisation. Gill fittingly considers youth as a highly differentiated segment
of population, especially in a ‘transitional society’ like India. The author
opines that although globalisation seemed to have offered a whole lot of
choices on life-chances and life styles but the access and capabilities to exer-
cise these choices remain extremely skewed among the youth. He discusses
the role of Information and Communication Technologies (ICTs), develop-
ment of social networking sites and associated virtual sociality and asserts
that Indian youth’s take on all these are a very mixed blessing. According to
him, while globalisation intensely tempted youth towards greener pastures,
these destinations vary to a great extent on the differential competence, both
ascribed and achieved by young men and women to seize these opportuni-
ties. Additionally, globalisation structurally stepped up the process and pace
of individualisation but on the other extreme, left these globalised individuals
in anxieties, in risks and also being alone. To put this in Sherry Trurkle’s lan-
guage, these young people are ‘alone together’. Gill makes this point amply
clear that globalisation has come with potentialities and predicaments; but in
a country like India, the predicaments still far outweigh potentialities. Since
the potentialities and choices globalisation offered are clearly dependent on
urban–rural, rich–poor, literate–illiterate, skilled–non-skilled, etc., etc., the
tilt towards making rich further rich is very much there. The uneven and
assorted benefits are thus no way devoid of biases, discrimination and some-
times super exploitation. This article is really a timely critical commentary
on one of the most vital aspects of young people’s lived experiences in the
burgeoning globalised knowledge society of India.

Concluding Remarks: Mainstreaming

the Marginalised(?)

In conclusion, one can just start with this bare fact that sociology of child-
hood and youth is the weakest link in Indian sociological endeavors. It can
be said that the focus on children is generally consumed by India’s dismal
performance in controlling and/or eradicating child labour. As a whole,
there cannot be any congratulatory remark for us sociologists in India for
neglecting this issue for such an elongated time. We have woken up only
recently about our children and youth. But if this is any consolation, then
it can be said that we have followed them, the Europeans and Americans
as usual, as they were very late too—to cite a few examples, SAGE journal

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 Introduction xlix

Youth and Society was started in 1969, which is also a latecomer compared
to others, and the journal Young by SAGE debuted as late as 1993. The
Journal of Youth Studies published by Routledge started only in 1998. In this
connection, though with a few articles only but still, Sociological Bulletin is
probably the only journal in India where sociologists have truly reflected,
even if sometimes in a so-called traditional fashion, on social aspects of
childhood and youth. This to me is a ground-breaking effort for opening
doors for critical thinking and newfangled works in an area which is one
of the most challenging and motivating concerns of contemporary India
and also for our sociological imagination. That the everyday lives and the
lived experiences of our children and their childhood(s) and young people
and their youth(s) do need sociological attention, description, exploration
and, above all, explanation has passed all caveats. This volume takes the first
footstep towards a sociological articulation and interrogation of India’s soci-
ological imagination on children and youth. If this volume can trigger off
a new proliferation of literature not only in English but also in vernaculars
on children and childhood, young and youth of India, the discipline and
the profession will certainly have something to celebrate on that historical
juncture.

Notes
1. In this section, children and young people are used synonymously.
2. Educationalisation refers to the institutionalisation of childhood whereby
increased attention is being given to the pedagogical aspects of the daily life of
children (Depaepe, 1998).
3. See for details, Dutta, C and Bhadra, B. 2012 “Youth Language(s): A Sociolinguistic
Enquiry of Native Language Displacement vis-à-vis Popular Linguistic Patterns
in the 21st Century Kolkata”, E Journal of the Indian Sociological Society, 1:
63–89.
4. Social life is considered as too complex to make fixed categories. The concept
of intersectionality emerged in response to the inability of various singular
analyses of structural inequality to recognize the complex interrelation between
forms of oppression. Thus the concept of intersectionality provides an analytical
tool to study, understand and respond to the ways in which gender, ethnic-
ity, class, sexual orientation, religion, age and different abilities do intersect and
expose different types of discrimination. See for details, Crenshaw, Kimberlé.
1991. Mapping the Margins: Intersectionality, Identity Politics, and Violence
against Women of Color. Stanford Law Review 43, 1241–1279; Mc Call, Leslie.
2005. The Complexity of Intersectionality. Signs 3, 1771–1800; Anthias, Floya,
and Nira Yuval-Davis. “Contextualizing Feminism: Gender, Ethnic and Class
Divisions.’’ Feminist Review 15 (1983): 62–75.

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 SECTION I
Child and Childhood

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Chapter 01.indd 2 11/23/2013 11:07:54 AM
 1
Social Class and Educational
Aspirations in an Indian
Metropolis1
Vimal P. Shah, Tara Patel, and William H. Sewell

I
n any society, the educational system plays an important role in the
training, development, and allocation of its manpower resources.
Ideally, it sorts people according to their interests and ability, chan-
nels them into streams of training which develop their interests and
potentials, encourages them to aspire to adult roles that are in keep-
ing with their talents, and imparts such types and levels of informa-
tion, knowledge, and training to individuals as are necessary to enable
them to fulfil the demands of their occupational roles on one hand,
and to meet with the society’s needs for trained manpower resources on
the other hand (Sorokin 1927; Parsons 1959; Sewell and Shah 1967).
In a developing country like India, the educational system becomes a
powerful instrument of economic and social change for accelerating the
process of transforming its traditional and agrarian ways and means of
living into those of a modern and industrial society.
After a period of about two decades of planning, India is still far
from obtaining, for a large section of its people, the coveted fruits of
economic and social equality, and there is a growing feeling among con-
cerned people that a large portion of its expanding and developing edu-
cational facilities continues to benefit the already “privileged” strata. The
Education Commission observes that “It is the responsibility of the edu-
cational system to bring the different social classes and groups together
and thus promote the emergence of an egalitarian and integrated society.

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 4 Vimal P. Shah, Tara Patel, and William H. Sewell

But at present, instead of doing so, education itself is tending to increase

social segregation and to perpetuate and widen class distinctions. Instead
of trying to provide good education to all children, or at least to all the
able children, from every stratum of society, it is available to a small
minority which is usually selected not on the basis of talent but on the
basis of its capacity to pay fees” (Ministry of Education, Government of
India 1966: 10). Even in the Western countries, an important and con-
sistent finding in the area of stratification research is that the children of
higher social-class origins are more likely to aspire to high educational
and occupational goals than are the children of lower social-class origins
(Sewell and Shah 1967: 2n). Similar results are also reported regarding
the relationship between social class and educational and occupational
achievements. In a study of socio-economic conditions of students
admitted to vocational, technical, and professional schools in 1965,
the Education Commission found that “the students admitted to the
more important of these institutions generally tend to come from urban
areas and from good schools or from well-to-do homes” (Ministry of
Education, Government of India 1966: 119). However, what we lack in
India most is reliable evidences about the nature and strength of the rela-
tionships between social class and educational and occupational aspi-
rations and achievements.2 Many factors other than the ability of the
student influence his eventual educational experiences and attainments.
These include differences in the level and quality of education avail-
able in the country, region, or community in which he lives; differential
access to educational facilities according to his social class status; differ-
ences in his motivations, values, and attitudes; and differences in the
willingness and ability of his parents and significant others to provide
the financial and psychological supports necessary for the maximization
of his talent potentials (Sewell and Shah 1967; 1968a; and 1968b).
The purpose of this paper is to examine the relationship of socio-
economic status and educational aspirations of 5,201 S.S.C. students
enrolled in a stratified sample of high schools in Ahmedabad, a metrop-
olis in western India.

Purposes and Statistical Procedures

The specific purposes of this paper are as follows:

(1) To examine the various levels of aspiration for higher education of a sample
of 5,201 S.S.C. students enrolled in high schools in Ahmedabad;

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 SOCIAL CLASS AND EDUCATIONAL ASPIRATIONS 5

(2) To examine the relationships of sex, socio-economic status, and academic

performance to educational aspirations;
(3) To examine the relationship of socio-economic status to educational
aspirations, controlling for academic performance, for males and females
separately; and
(4) To obtain relative estimates of the magnitudes of the independent effects
of socio-economic status and academic performance on educational aspira-
tions of males and females separately.

Various statistical procedures will be used in this paper to accom-

plish the above purposes. For purposes (1) to (3), bivariate and multiple
cross-tabular analysis will be employed. In addition, means, standard
deviations, and intercorrelation coefficients will be used to obtain mea-
sures of central tendency and association for socio-economic status, aca-
demic performance, and educational aspirations. For purpose (4), the
method of path analysis will be used to obtain a measure of independent
effects of socio-economic status and academic performance on educa-
tional aspirations.3 Throughout the analysis, tabulations will be made
separately for males and females because of known differences in their
propensity to pursue higher education as well as likely differences in the
influences of socio-economic status and academic performance on their
educational aspirations.

Sample Design

The data for this study come from a questionnaire survey of 5,201 stu-
dents enrolled in the S.S.C. (high school senior) class of a stratified
sample of all high schools in Ahmedabad.4 Like any major industrial
and growing metropolitan city in a developing country, Ahmedabad
has ecological areas manifesting contrasting social characteristics. It was,
therefore, considered necessary to select a sample of high schools from
several ecological strata in Ahmedabad, and then collect data from all
students in the S.S.C. class of the sample high schools.5

Data Collection

The data were collected by means of an eight-page questionnaire

administered to all S.S.C. students who were present at the time of
data-collection in the sample high schools. The questionnaire contained

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 6 Vimal P. Shah, Tara Patel, and William H. Sewell

items concerning the students’ family socio-economic status, educa-

tional and occupational aspirations, perceptions of the sources influ-
encing their plans and aspirations, attitudes of their significant others
(parents, teachers, and peers) toward higher education, and a short
form of a scale for measuring attitudes toward modernization (Smith
and Inkeles 1966: 372–373). While most of the respondents used the
questionnaire in Gujarati, the non-Gujarati respondents used the ques-
tionnaire in English.
Because of financial constraints, we depended on the voluntary
assistance of local college teachers of sociology to contact the school
authorities, to arrange for a mutually convenient time, and to admin-
ister the questionnaires to the students in the respective schools.6 Data
were obtained from 52 of the 54 high schools in the sample.7 Three
research assistants with M.A. degrees in sociology were trained for cod-
ing the questionnaires. The facilities available in a local research institute
were utilized to put the data on IBM cards, and arrangements were
made with a local commercial company to transfer the data on to a
magnetic type. After initial checks for coding and punching errors,
consistency-checks in the data, development of indices, and statistical
analysis were carried out at the University of Wisconsin Computing
Center, Madison, Wisconsin, U.S.A.

Measurement of Variables

The variable socio-economic status is a combination of several objective

and subjective indicators of the status of the student’s family of origin.
The students were asked in the questionnaire to indicate their caste,
total annual income of the family, father’s education, mother’s educa-
tion, father’s occupation, their parent’s ability to support their higher
education, and individual as well as overall status of their family in terms
of caste, occupation, and income and wealth. For developing scores
based on these items, the sum of the standard scores of the items was
first obtained. Items with missing data for any individual were excluded
from that individual’s sum of the standard scores of the items. Since a
given student’s score can thus be based on an unequal number of items,
the scores obtained were adjusted by multiplying each score by the ratio
of the total number of items in the scale to the number of items in a
given individual’s score. If the data for a given individual were missing

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 SOCIAL CLASS AND EDUCATIONAL ASPIRATIONS 7

for all items in the scale, the mean score of the scale (exclusive of all indi-
viduals with missing data) was substituted. The resulting score values
were then transformed into a scale with a range from 0 to 99.
The variable academic performance is a combination of the percent-
ages (rounded to first decimal point) of marks obtained by the respon-
dents in (i) the annual examination of the Xth standard, and (ii) the
terminal (mid-year) examination of the XIth standard.8 The procedure
used in developing the scores on socio-economic status was also used to
obtain the respondents’ scores on academic performance.
For the purposes of cross-tabular analysis, the sample is divided into
halves (of approximately equal size) labelled as low and high categories
of socio-economic status and academic performance. However, the full
range of scores from 0 to 99 on both these variables is employed in the
correlational analysis.
The variable educational aspirations is based on the student’s
response to a question concerning the maximum level of higher edu-
cation he desired to obtain. The responses of the students, originally
coded into eight categories, are combined, for the purpose of initial
cross-tabulation in this study, into five categories, namely, No answer,
No further education, Some vocational or technical school training,
Some college education, and At least a college degree. For the purposes
of using this variable as a dependent variable in the cross-tabular analy-
sis, this variable is defined as a dichotomous variable, namely, Do not
aspire to a college degree (0), and Aspire to a college degree (1). The full
range of 0 to 8 scores on educational aspirations is employed in the cor-
relational analysis.

Results and Discussion

The post-high school educational aspirations of the S.S.C. students in

Ahmedabad are shown in Table 1, for males, females, and the total sam-
ple separately. Only 1.5 percent of the students have not responded to
the question concerning their post-high school educational aspirations,
an additional 4.6 percent of the students do not aspire to obtain any
post-high school education and the remaining students aspire to obtain
some kind of post-high school education.
In the state-wide final examination held in March-April, 1969,
72.5 percent of the respondents succeeded in obtaining the high school

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 8 Vimal P. Shah, Tara Patel, and William H. Sewell

Table 1
Post-High School Educational Aspirations of S.S.C. Students, by Sex*

Males Females Total

Level of Educational Aspirations % % %
1.  No further education 3.7 6.0 4.6
2.  Some vocational or technical school training 7.8 4.5 6.6
3.  Some college education 12.2 23.3 16.3
4.  College graduation 75.1 64.0 71.0
5. N.A. 1.2 2.2 1.5
Total (%) 100.0 100.0 100.0
(N) (3,283) (1,918) (5,201)
*The chi-square for the sex-differences in this table is significant at the 0.001 level.

diploma. It may be expected that an additional ten to fifteen percent of

the respondents will be able to graduate from high school at the subse-
quent examinations which are held every six months. Considering such
a failure rate at the final S.S.C. Examination the figures of 71.0  per-
cent respondents desiring to obtain a college degree and of 16.3 per-
cent respondents desiring to obtain some college education suggest that
almost all respondents who might eventually graduate from high school
desire to obtain some post-high school education. Such a phenome-
nonally high proportion of Ahmedabad students aspiring to post-high
school education, therefore requires some explanation. This explanation
is provided partly by the data of this study and partly by some additional
supporting evidence from other sources.
First, even if we exclude those who aspire to some vocational or
technical school training and those who want to obtain only some col-
lege education, 71.0 percent of the students aspire to obtain a college
degree. Judged by the trends in the Western countries, this is still a very
high proportion of a cohort of the high school seniors aspiring to college
graduation. However, this high proportion of the aspirants for a college
degree does not seem unrealistic when countries, there is a very high
drop-out rate during the primary and secondary school years in India,
which suggests that the process of socio-economic and intellectual selec-
tion operates at a very early stage in the Indian educational system.9
Consequently, most students who have been able to reach the final year

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 SOCIAL CLASS AND EDUCATIONAL ASPIRATIONS 9

of high school aspire to college education more or less as a continued

stage in their education. Further, while most studies in the Western coun-
tries have attempted to inquire about the respondents’ next year plans to
attend or not to attend college, the respondents in this study were asked a
general question as to the maximum level of higher education they desire
to attain. Thus, the responses in the study refer to “aspirations” rather
than “college plans” for the next year or in the near future.
Second, about 23.0 percent of the students aspire to some vocational
or technical school training or some college education. More specifically,
almost one-fourth of the female students and about half that many of the
male students do aspire to some college education but they do not aspire
to college graduation. It seems that most of the male students in this
group are not really the aspirants for college education, but they desire to
join college presumably as a temporary activity in the prevailing condi-
tions of a high rate of unemployment and difficulties in finding a suitable
white-collar job in urban areas. The girls who desire to join college but
do not aspire to college graduation are probably wishing to obtain some
college education while they are waiting to be married. This presumably
is the major reason for the high percentage of female students, almost
twice that of the male students, who aspire to join college but do not
aspire to a college degree. Thus, about one-fourth of the girls and about
one-eighth of the boys seem to be desiring to use college simply as a
waiting ground until they find some employment or a marriage-partner.
Third, there is almost a complete lack of facilities to provide guid-
ance for vocational school training and for university education in most
of the Ahmedabad schools. In addition, the increasing emphasis on a
college degree even for low-level clerical jobs in the government and
commercial organizations seems to have lowered the already low pres-
tige of vocational school training as compared to university education.
The high school graduates seem to be just drifting toward university
education without due consideration to the available opportunities for
vocational training in keeping with their interests and ability. Further,
expansion of the higher educational facilities, special facilities for morn-
ing and evening classes, the system of external examination, and the
use of the regional language as a medium of instruction and examina-
tion, all of these factors have made it possible for most students who
want to pursue college education to do so. Although higher education
is expensive by Indian standards, it seems most high school graduates in

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 10 Vimal P. Shah, Tara Patel, and William H. Sewell

India can manage to pay for college expenses while they are waiting for
employment or marriage opportunities. The system of education and
examination is such that most students can take college education as
a part-time or an ancillary activity. Considering all of these factors, it
seems that the relatively high proportion of aspirants for a college degree
in this study reflects a realistic phenomenon in the Indian milieu.
Finally, it may also be noted that the percentage of the female stu-
dents aspiring to join college is the same as that for the male students;
however, the percentage of the male students aspiring to a college degree
is much higher than that of the female students. This difference in the
proportions of the male and the female students aspiring to a college
degree bespeaks of the differences in the roles of males and females in
the Indian society, Although the absolute number as well as the propor-
tion of females employed in white-collar and professional occupations
is much higher now than ever in the past, most educated women in the
Indian society still view their household role as primary and their occu-
pational role as secondary, occasional, and part-time, and consequently
do not consider a college degree as important to their future as do males.
As most readers will have already observed, the percentages of males
and females desiring college education are so high that there is a little
variance in the dependent variable to be explained in terms of individ-
ual and background characteristics. Considering this fact, as well as the
peculiar nature of the educational system in India, it seems best to define
aspirations for a college degree as the dependent variable. Consequently,
in the remaining portion of this paper the cutting point used in examin-
ing the relationship of socio-economic status to aspirations is whether
or not a student aspires to a college degree.
In Table 2, the percentages of S.S.C. students aspiring to a college
degree are given for males and females in each category of socio-economic
status. The relationship of socio-economic status to educational aspi-
rations of these students is positive and statistically significant. Only
about 60 percent of the students from the low socio-economic status
category as against 82.5 percent from the high socio-economic status
category aspire to a college degree. When the data are examined sepa-
rately for males and females, the relationship of socio-economic status
to educational aspirations continues to be positive and statistically sig-
nificant. Specifically, 66.1 percent of males and 43.3 percent of females
from the low socio-economic status category aspire to a college degree

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 SOCIAL CLASS AND EDUCATIONAL ASPIRATIONS 11

Table 2
Percentages of S.S.C. Students Aspiring to a College Degree, by Socio-economic
Status and Sex*

Socio-economic Status Males Females Total

Low 66.1 43.3 59.8
(1,905) (726) (2,631)
High 87.6 76.7 82.5
(1,378) (1,192) (2,570)
Total 75.1 64.0 71.0
(3,283) (1,918) (5,201)
*The chi-square for each column in this table is significant at the 0.001 level.

as against 87.6 percent of males and 76.7 percent of females from the
high socio-economic status category. The social class differences in the
educational aspirations of females are, however, much greater than those
for males. Further, both sex and socio-economic status are positively
associated with educational aspirations, and thus while 43.3 percent of
females from the low status category aspire to a college degree, 87.6
percent of males from the high socio-economic status category aspire to
a college degree.
Before we can accept the hypothesis of a positive and strong rela-
tionship between socio-economic status and educational aspirations of
boys and girls in India, it is necessary to determine whether this rela-
tionship is an artifact of the relationship of socio-economic status to
academic performance and of academic performance to educational
aspirations. That there is a strong and statistically significant relation-
ship between academic performance and the educational aspirations of
the students is clear from Table 3.
While 60.9 percent of the students in the low academic perfor-
mance category aspire to a college degree, 81.4 percent of the students
in the high academic performance category so aspire. Such differences in
educational aspirations on the basis of academic performance or ability
will be expected in any system of education designed to increase “con-
test” mobility as against “sponsored” mobility, to use Turner’s (1960)
terminology. When these data are examined separately for males and
females, it is observed that the relationship between academic per-
formance and educational aspirations continues to be positive and

Chapter 01.indd 11 11/23/2013 11:07:54 AM

 12 Vimal P. Shah, Tara Patel, and William H. Sewell

Table 3
Percentages of S.S.C. Students Aspiring to a College Degree, by Academic Per-
formance and Sex*

Academic Performance Males Females Total

Low 65.9 53.3 60.9
(1,579) (1,047) (2,626)
High 83.6 78.1 81.4
(1,704) (871) (2,575)
Total 75.1 64.0 71.0
(3,283) (1,918) (5.201)
*The chi-square for each column in this table is significant at the 0.001 level.

Table 4
Socio-economic Status, Academic Performance, and Sex*

Socio-economic Status Males Females Total

Low 49.3 37.7 46.1
(1,905) (726) (2,631)
High 55.4 50.1 53.0
(1,378) (1,192) (2,570)
Total 51.9 45.4 49.5
(3,283) (1,918) (5,201)
*The chi-square for each column in this table is significant at the 0.001 level.

statistically significant for both males and females. Thus, 53.3 percent of
females from the low academic performance category aspire to a college
degree in contrast with 83.6 percent of males from the high academic
performance category. Further, as in the case of socio-economic status,
the percentage difference between the low and the high categories of
academic performance is greater for females than for males.
In order to examine the relationship between socio-economic status
and academic performance, the percentage distribution of the students
with high level of academic performance in each socio-economic status
category is given in Table 4, for males and females separately. It is found
from these data that there is a disproportionate distribution of students
with a high level of academic performance in the two categories of socio-
economic status. Thus, in the low socio-economic status category 46.1
percent of the students achieve a high level of academic performance

Chapter 01.indd 12 11/23/2013 11:07:54 AM

 SOCIAL CLASS AND EDUCATIONAL ASPIRATIONS 13

whereas in the high socio-economic status category 53.0 percent of the

students achieve a high level of academic performance. Similarly, a dis-
proportionate distribution of the students with a high level of academic
performance is found for both males and females in the two categories
of socio-economic status. It may also be noted that the percentage dif-
ference in the distribution of the students with a high level of academic
performance is greater for females than for males in the two categories
of socio-economic status.
The data presented so far show not only that both socio-economic
status and academic performance are positively related to the educational
aspirations of males and females, but also that there is a disproportionate
distribution of males and females with a high level of academic perfor-
mance in the two categories of socio-economic status. Consequently, it
is necessary to control for academic performance while examining the
relationship of socio-economic status to educational aspirations. This is
done in Table 5, in which the percentages of students aspiring to a col-
lege degree are presented according to socio-economic status, sex, and
academic performance simultaneously.
Several conclusions should be made from the data presented in this
table. First, the relationship between socio-economic status and educa-
tional aspirations continues to be positive and statistically significant even
when differences in academic performance are taken into account. In
other words, the higher the level of socio-economic status, the higher is
the proportion of males and females in each category of academic perfor-
mance who aspire to a college degree. More specifically, among the stu-
dents with a low level of academic performance 35.2 percent of females

Table 5
Percentages of S.S.C. Students Aspiring to a College Degree, by Socio-economic
Status, Sex, and Academic Performance*

Males Females
Academic Performance Academic Performance
Socio-economic Status Low High Low High
Low 57.0 75.4 35.2 56.6
(965) (940) (452) (274)
High 80.0 93.7 67.1 86.3
(614) (764) (595) (597)
*The chi-square for each column in this table is significant at the 0.001 level.

Chapter 01.indd 13 11/23/2013 11:07:54 AM

 14 Vimal P. Shah, Tara Patel, and William H. Sewell

and 57.0 percent of males from low socio-economic status families in

comparison with 67.1 percent of females and 80.0 percent of males from
high socio-economic status families aspire to a college degree. Similarly,
among the students with a high level of academic performance 56.6 per-
cent of females and 75.4 percent of males from low socio-economic status
families in contrast to 86.3 percent of females and 93.7 percent of males
from high socio-economic status families aspire to a college degree.
Second, the social class differences in educational aspirations are
greater among females than among males in each category of academic
performance.
Third, the social class differences are greatest among females with a
low level of academic performance and least among males with a high
level of academic performance.
Fourth, the relationship between academic performance and educa-
tional aspirations continues to be positive and statistically significant for
both males and females, even when the differences in their socio-economic
status are taken into account. More specifically, in the low socio-economic
status category, 57.0 percent of males and 35.2 percent of females from the
low academic performance category aspire to college graduation in com-
parison with 75.4 percent of males and 56.6 percent of females from the
high academic performance category. Similarly, in the high socio-economic
status category, 80.0 percent of males and 67.1 percent of females from the
low academic performance category aspire to college graduation in com-
parison with 93.7 percent of males and 86.3 percent of females from the
high academic performance category. Thus, the higher the level of aca-
demic performance the higher the proportion of both males and females
in each category of socio-economic status who aspire to a college degree.
Finally, although sex, academic performance, and socio-economic
status—all influence the educational aspirations of the S.S.C. students
in this study, the percentages of those aspiring to a college degree indi-
cate that the differences are least in terms of sex, greater in terms of
academic performance, and greatest in terms of socio-economic status.
The results of the cross-tabular analysis are useful in mapping out
the separate and joint effects of socio-economic status and academic
performance on the students’ educational aspirations. However, since
we had to use only dichotomies of these variables in the cross-tabular
analysis, it is still necessary to examine measures based on the full range
of scores on these variables. For this purpose, the means, standard
deviations, and intercorrelation coefficients of socio-economic status,

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 SOCIAL CLASS AND EDUCATIONAL ASPIRATIONS 15

Table 6
Means, Standard Deviations, and Intercorrelation Coefficients of Socio-economic
Status, Academic Performance, and Educational Aspirations of S.S.C. Students
by Sex

Intercorrelation Coefficients
Variable Mean S.D. (1) (2) (3)
Males
(1)  Socio-economic Status 41.7 13.1 – .054 .354
(2)  Academic Performance 37.8 23.4 – .221
(3)  Educational Aspirations 5.6 2.2 –

Females
(1)  Socio-economic Status 47.4 12.1 – .170 .425
(2)  Academic Performance 36.5 22.9 – .319
(3)  Educational Aspirations 4.8 2.1 –

academic performance/and educational aspirations, computed by using

the full range of scores on these variables, are given in Table 6.
Several observations should be made on the data of this table. First,
the mean score on socio-economic status is much greater for females
than for males, and its standard deviation is greater for males than for
females. This supports the common knowledge that, because of the dif-
ferences in the male and the female roles in Indian society, most females
who pursue higher education come from high-status families while there
is a considerably more spread in the social status of males who go on to
higher education. Second, the mean score on academic performance is
slightly lower for females than for males and its standard deviation is
slightly less for females than for males. This, in conjunction with the
first observation made above, seems to suggest that a larger proportion
of females than of males with low academic performance but high social
status have been able to continue their study up to the final year in high
school. Third, the mean level of post-high school educational aspirations
is higher for males than for females. Fourth, the coefficient of correla-
tion between socio-economic status and academic performance, for both
males and females, is the lowest among the relationships examined in
this paper, although this relationship is slightly stronger for females than
for males. Fifth, the coefficient of correlation between socio-economic

Chapter 01.indd 15 11/23/2013 11:07:54 AM

 16 Vimal P. Shah, Tara Patel, and William H. Sewell

status and educational aspirations, for both males and females, is the
largest of all of the relationships examined in this paper, although this
relationship is stronger for females than for males. And finally, the rela-
tionship of academic performance to educational aspirations is much
stronger for females than, for-males. All of these latter observations sup-
port the observations made from the cross-tabular analysis presented
earlier, namely, that sex, academic performance, and socio-economic
status—all the three variables are positively related to the post-high
school educational aspirations of both males and females, and that both
socio-economic status and academic performance are more strongly
related to the educational aspirations of females than of males.
We now turn to the final question regarding the magnitude of the
relative influences of socio-economic status and academic performance
on the educational aspirations of both males and females. This is shown
in the path diagrams given in Figure 1.
We find from the path diagrams that socio-economic status and
academic performance together explain only a small proportion of the
variance in the post-high school educational aspirations of either males
or females. Socio-economic status and academic performance jointly
explain about one-sixth of the variance in the educational aspirations
of males and about one-fourth of the variance in the educational aspi-
rations of females. Further, for both males and females, the indepen-
dent influence of socio-economic status on educational aspirations is
greater than that of academic performance, although the magnitude of
the independent influence of both socio-economic status and academic
performance on the educational aspirations of females is greater than
that of males. Obviously, however, there is still a need for considering
the influences of other variables (such as school and community con-
textual variables, the respondents’ attitudes and values toward higher
education, the influence of their significant others on their aspirations,
and of course the availability of funds for higher education) on their
educational aspirations (cf. Duncan, Haller, and Portes 1968; Duncan,
Featherman, and Duncan 1968; Sewell, Haller, and Portes 1969; and
Sewell, Haller, and Ohlendorf 1970.)
Finally, it may be pointed out that the magnitudes of the explained
variance in educational aspirations of the S.S.C. students in Ahmedabad
compare very well with the results of similar studies in the Western
countries. For example, in a Wisconsin study (Sewell and Shah 1967:
18) of 9,007 high school seniors, the path coefficients measuring the

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 SOCIAL CLASS AND EDUCATIONAL ASPIRATIONS 17

Figure 1.  Path Diagrams Showing the Independent Influence of Socio-economic

Status and Academic Performance on Educational Aspirations, for Males and
Females Separately*
*In this figure, the determination of the relationship between socio-economic status and
academic performance is not analyzed, and therefore, only the zero-order correlation coef-
ficient between socio-economic status and academic performance is shown on a curved
line. One-way arrows leading from each of the independent variables to the dependent vari-
able are shown by straight lines to indicate that these relationships are analyzed assuming a
recursive and closed system composed of all standardized variables. The quantities entered
in the figure are the numerical values of path coefficients, or the beta-weights as they are
commonly known. The residual path is shown above the dependent variable.

relationships of socio-economic status and intelligence to college plans

were Pvl = .32 and Pv2 = .34 for males and Pvi = .37 and Pv2 = .23
for females, respectively. While the path coefficient for the relationship
between intelligence and college plans of males in the Wisconsin study
is greater than the path coefficient for the relationship between aca-
demic performance and educational aspirations in the present study, the

Chapter 01.indd 17 11/23/2013 11:07:55 AM

 18 Vimal P. Shah, Tara Patel, and William H. Sewell

same general pattern of relationships of social class and intelligence (aca-

demic performance) to educational aspirations occurs in both studies.
Notwithstanding the differences in the samples and measurement of
variables in these studies, and despite great differences in the educational
system, social structure, and cultural milieu of the United States and
India, such striking similarities in the pattern of relationships of social
class and ability to educational aspirations seem to indicate promising
possibilities for developing models based on cross-cultural studies in the
areas of stratification and sociology of education.

Summary

This study of 5,201 S.S.C. students enrolled in a stratified sample of

52 high schools in the Ahmedabad Metropolitan Area, Gujarat, India
shows that 87.3 percent of the students aspire to some college educa-
tion. It seems that quite a large number of the aspirants for college
education, especially males, desire to join college, presumably, as a
temporary activity in the prevailing conditions of a high rate of unem-
ployment and difficulties in finding a suitable white-collar job in the
urban areas. Similarly, the girls who desire to join college but do not
aspire to college graduation are probably desiring some college educa-
tion before marriage. A lack of appropriate selection mechanisms and
facilities for sorting out and counselling youth in the choice of post-
high school alternatives may be a major factor leading many of them to
desire college education as a part-time or an ancillary activity. Further,
both socio-economic status and academic performance are related to
the post-high school educational aspirations of both males and females.
When academic performance is controlled, significant social class differ-
ences are found in the educational aspirations of both males and females,
although such differences are greater among females than among males.
Consequently, while 35.2 percent of females with low academic per-
formance from low socio-economic status families aspire to a college
degree, 93.7 percent of males with high academic performance from
high status families have such aspirations. The independent influence of
socio-economic status of the students’ families is much greater than that
of academic performance on their educational aspiration. The results
of this study indicate that after having had a programme for financial
assistance to children from underprivileged communities for about a
period of two decades, and to children from economically depressed

Chapter 01.indd 18 11/23/2013 11:07:55 AM

 SOCIAL CLASS AND EDUCATIONAL ASPIRATIONS 19

families in more recent years, India still needs to plan for more imagi-
native approaches to reduce, if not to eliminate completely, social class
differences in educational aspirations of its youth. Finally, the similarity
in the pattern of relationships of social class and ability to educational
aspirations found in this and a Wisconsin study points out the possibil-
ity of developing models based on cross-cultural studies in the areas of
stratification and sociology of education.

Notes
1. The research reported in this study was financed by W. H. Sewell, Vilas Research
Professor, University of Wisconsin from the research funds granted to him by the
Vilas Trust. The writers acknowledge the services of the University of Wisconsin
Computing Center and wish to thank N. H. Kapadia, Secretary, Ahmedabad Head
Masters’ Association and the principals of high schools for their cooperation in data
collection; D. B. Desai, H. C. Doshi, V. Joshi, U. S. Kanhere, E. J. Masihi, H. H. Pate!,
R. Patel, S. I. Patel, A. R. Shan, N. P. Shukla, and P. Valand for their assistance in
fieldwork; Kadambari Dave, Mahendra Mehta, and Bhadra Vora for their assistance
in coding; and Keith Billingsley and Victor Jesudason for their assistance in com-
puter analysis. This is a revised version of the paper presented at the Tenth All-India
Sociological Conference held at Hyderabad in December, 1970.
2. Except for an earlier pioneering study by I. P. Desai and five other studies by his
students, the Education Commission of the Government of India has been principally
responsible for encouraging interest in a sociological analysis of education (Gore,
Desai and Chitnis (eds.) 1967).
3. Path analysis provides a convenient and efficient method for determining the direct
and indirect effects of each of the independent variables in a causal chain composed
of standardized variables in a closed system. These effects are expressed in path coef-
ficients which are the partial beta-weights of all of the preceding independent vari-
ables on the successive dependent variables in the system. This method assumes a
complete system including, if necessary, residual variables to represent unmeasured
influences, which are assumed to be uncorrelated with the measured ones (Boudon
1965; Duncan 1966; Li 1955 and 1956; Wright 1934, 1960a, and 1960b).
4. Ahmedabad is the sixth largest metropolitan city and was, until recently, the capital
of Gujarat State. According to the 1961 census, the percentage increase, during the
1951–60 decade, in the population of Ahmedabad city was the highest (45.8%), and
the literacy rate in Gujarat was the second highest (Kerala having the highest rate) in
India.
For the purpose of a sampling frame, a list of all recognized high schools impart-
ing instruction upto the S.S.C. level in Ahmedabad was prepared using the following
four sources, none of which by itself provided an adequate sampling frame:
(a) A membership-list of the Ahmedabad Head Masters’ Association;
(b) Complete postal addresses of about 80 high schools obtained from the local
telephone directory;

Chapter 01.indd 19 11/23/2013 11:07:55 AM

 20 Vimal P. Shah, Tara Patel, and William H. Sewell

(c) Electoral roll for the Head Masters of the High School Constituency, published
by the Gujarat University;
(d) A list containing the names and addresses of the full-fledged and other high
schools obtained from the office of the Education Inspector, Ahmedabad
District.
5. On account of the nonavailability of an uptodate street map of Ahmedabad City,
a bus-route map published by the Ahmedabad Municipal Transport Service and
another map published by a book-store were used to plot the location of all high
schools in the Ahmedabad Metropolitan Area. Then, nineteen geographical strata
were demarcated such that a minimum of five and a maximum of nine high schools
were included in one stratum. While it is desirable to use some objective indicators
like density, nature of housing conditions, socio-economic and occupational structure
of the various localities of the city in determining ecological strata, in absence of any
such data the authors were obliged, in determining these nineteen strata, to rely heav-
ily on their own experience and knowledge about the various localities of the city. The
high schools in each of these nineteen areas were alphabetically arranged and serially
numbered. Using a table of random numbers, approximately one-third of the high
schools from each stratum were selected. The high schools selected by this procedure
were compared with the schools in four categories (co-educational high schools, high
schools for boys only, high schools for girls only, and high schools with certain spe-
cial characteristics) to determine the representativeness of the sample. Because some
categories were not adequately represented, ten high schools were added to the list of
forty-four high schools which had been originally selected using a stratified random
sample design.
6. A letter introducing the investigators and describing briefly the purposes and nature
of the research project and signed by Mr. N. H. Kapadia, Secretary, Ahmedabad Head
Masters’ Association was sent to the principals of all high schools in the sample. Then
a convenient day and time were fixed for administering the questionnaire to all stu-
dents in one of their regular class hours. The investigators, after introducing them-
selves and explaining the purpose of the study, asked the students to answer the
questionnaire in a question-by-question manner. They also drew their attention to
the details asked in some questions (e.g., details about father’s occupation, and per-
formance in high school).
7. The two schools which did not cooperate in this research had about 40 students in
their S.S.C. class; these schools do not have any special characteristics and constitute
a small numerical loss. Consequently, it seems reasonable to assume that there could
be no significant bias in this study on account of the non-inclusion of these two
schools.
8. It was found that several students had not responded to these questions and that many
others had indicated only approximate numbers and percentages. Consequently,
more accurate information was obtained directly from the records of the sample high
schools. The analysis reported in this paper is based on the data obtained from the
high school records. Past studies concerning the relationship of socio-economic status
to educational aspirations have shown a positive and statistically significant relation-
ship of measured intelligence to both socio-economic status and educational aspira-
tions (Sewell and Shah 1967). Since no high schools in Ahmedabad administer any

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 SOCIAL CLASS AND EDUCATIONAL ASPIRATIONS 21

tests of intelligence regularly, it was necessary to use academic performance as a sur-

rogate for a standardized test of academic ability.
9. In a state-wide survey of all high school seniors in Wisconsin, 37.4 percent of males
and 29.5 percent of females planned on college, and 43.7 percent of males and 30.7
percent of females were found to have attended college during a period of about seven
years following their graduation from high school (Sewell and Shah 1967: 9). While
at least 85 percent of the Wisconsin age-cohort are enrolled in the senior year in high
school, the estimated enrolment in India in 1960–61 was about 5 percent of the cor-
responding age groups in the higher secondary classes as against about 13 percent
of the corresponding age groups enrolled in the lower secondary classes (Ministry of
Education, Government of India 1966: 100).

References
Boudon, Raymond 1965 “A Method of Linear Causal Analysis: Dependence Analysis,”
American Sociological Review, 30: 365–374.
Clark, Burton R. 1960 “The Cooling-Out Function in Higher Education,” American Journal
of Sociology, 65: 569–576.
Duncan, Otis Dudley 1966 “Path Analysis: Sociological Examples,” American Journal of
Sociology, 72: 1–16.
———, David L. Featherman, and Beverly Duncan 1968 Socio-economic Background
and Occupational Achievement: Extension of a Basic Model. Ann Arbor: University of
Michigan, Population Studies Center.
———, Archibald O. Haller, and Alejandro Protes 1968 “Peer Influences on Aspirations: a
Reinterpretation,” American Journal of Sociology, 74: 119–137.
Gore, M. S., I. P. Desai, and Suma Chitnis (eds.) 1967 Papers in the Sociology of Education in
India. New Delhi: National Council of Educational Research and Training.
Li, C. C. 1955 Population Genetics. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
——— 1956 “The Concept of Path Coefficient and Its Impact on Population Genetics,”
Biometrics, 12: 190–210.
Ministry of Education, Government of India 1966 Report of the Education Commission
1964–66. Delhi: Government of India Press.
Parsons, Talcott 1959 “The School Class as a Social System: Some of Its Functions in
American Society,” Harvard Educational Review, 29: 297–318.
Sewell, William H., and Vimal P. Shah 1967 “Socio-economic Status, Intelligence, and the
Attainment of Higher Education,” Sociology of Education, 40: 1–23.
——— 1968a “Social Class, Parental Encouragement, and Educational Aspirations,”
American Journal of Sociology, 73: 559–572.
——— 1968b “Parents’ Education and Children’s Educational Aspirations and
Achievements,” American Sociological Review, 33: 191–209.
———, Archibald O. Haller, and Alejandro Protes 1969 “The Educational and Early
Occupational Attainment Process,” American Sociological Review, 34: 82–92.
———, Archibald O. Haller, and George W. Ohlendorf 1970 “The Educational and
Early Occupational Status Attainment Process: Replication and Revision,” American
Sociological Review, 35: 1014–1027.

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 22 Vimal P. Shah, Tara Patel, and William H. Sewell

Smith, David Horton, and Alex Inkeles 1966 “The OM Scale: A Comparative Socio-
Psychological Measure of Individual Modernity,” Sociometry, 29: 372–373.
Sorokin, Pitinm A. 1927 Social Mobility. New York Harper and Brothers.
Turner, Ralph H. 1960 “Sponsored and Contest Mobility and the School System,” American
Sociological Review, 25: 855–867.
Wright, Sewell 1934 “The Method of Path Coefficients,” Annals of Mathematical Statistics,
5: 161–215.
——— 1960a “Path Coefficient and Path Regressions. Alternative or Complementary
Concept?” Biometrics, 16: 189–202.
——— 1960b “The Treatment of Reciprocal Interaction with or without Lag in Path
Analysis,” Biometrics, 16: 423–445.

Chapter 01.indd 22 11/23/2013 11:07:55 AM

 2
Education and the
Emerging Patterns
of Political Orientations:
A Sociological Analysis*
Ehsanul Haq

T
his study is concerned with the sources and the consequences of
political socialization in India. The enquiry into this aspect of
the political function of both formal, as well as, informal educa-
tion is important because it provides an understanding of what elements
of political culture are being introduced, internalized and modified, and
what patterns of political orientations are emerging. This function is
performed by a number of agencies where formal education is consid-
ered to be one of the important sources which provides an input support
to the system of polity. This role of education has neither been prop-
erly explored nor available studies take this into account in its totality.
However, the studies conducted in India and elsewhere have broadly
reflected two conflicting views regarding the political role of education.
One view is that the family is the most important sources of
influencing political values of children. Greenstein (1968) is the main
advocate of this view. The other view focuses on the potentiality of
the school as another source of politicization. The main exponents of
this view are Hess and Torney (1969). The nature and role of these

Chapter 02.indd 23 10/4/2013 7:40:40 AM

 24 Ehsanul Haq

agencies are shaped by the type of social structure in which they

exist. For example, in a class-oriented society, they tend to be strati-
fied leading to a differential patterns of politicization or political role-
performance. For illustration, in France, elites attend the Lycee; in
Germany, the Gymnasium; in Soviet Union, the Senior or Complete
Secondary School; in U. K., the Grammar School; in India, the Public
School.1 Such a pattern of schooling as a result of the type of society
in which it is exhibiting has a very strong impact on socialization in
general and politicization in particular (Entwistle, 1971 and Tapper,
1971). Edger Litt’s study (1968) supports this fact. In order to examine
this impact, he chooses different communities in his work on “Civic
Education, Community Norms and Political Indoctrination.” He
finds that political role of different schools is highly governed by the
nature and political needs of the community in which they function.
For instance, Alpha Community stresses the need for higher political
participation, consciousness, awareness, decision-making and critical
evaluation of the working of the government. The Beta Community
stresses the need for moderate political participation and responsibility
of citizens but does not emphasize the dynamics of decision-making.
The Gamma Community is simply concerned with the elements of
democratic form of government without stressing the importance of
political participation. Edger Litt (1968), as well as, Greenstein (1965)
have pointed out that these differences in political orientation of these
communities are reflected in the functioning of their respective schools,
specially in the textbooks prescribed for children through which school
reinforces what the community desires.
The present study focuses on this dimension and examines the
political role of the family and the school and the impact of their role-
performance on political orientations of school children. The study also
focuses on the differential emerging patterns of their orientations as a
consequence of structural inequality. Taking this into account, we divide
the paper into the following sections:

I Research Setting.
II Sources of Political Orientations.
III Consequences, Emerging Patterns and the Implications.

The study is based on the data collected from three represen-

tative schools belonging to three major types of schools in Delhi:

Chapter 02.indd 24 10/4/2013 7:40:40 AM

 Education and the Emerging Patterns of Political Orientations 25

Government School, Government Aided School and the Public

School.3 The selection of these schools takes into account the differ-
ences in terms of socio-economic background of students, their expo-
sure to mass-media, social milieu in and outside the school, adequate
population size, content of the school textbooks and the historical
tradition of the rejected schools. Our survey of the selected schools in
particular and other schools in general reflects broadly two different
the family and the school conditions to which students belong. These
different conditions which have bearing on the process of politiciza-
tion are as follows:

1. The government school are controlled by the Department of Education,

Government of India. The aided schools are privately managed but the
Government has sufficient control over them because they get 95 per cent
of financial aid from the Government and only 5 per cent from other
sources. These non-public schools4 have uniform syllabus. The public
Schools, on the other hand, have their own financial sources (mainly fees
and donations). They are privately controlled and managed by different
bodies. The Government has least control over these schools.
2. The students drawn to the non-public school belong mainly to lower
administrative and petty business class back ground of parents who have
comparatively low education, low level of politicization, lesser specialized
knowledge and lower monthly income (Rs. 200–1,000). They are mostly
from lower and middle castes and belong to both rural and urban areas.
The students drawn to the public school mainly belong to higher admin-
istrative, professional (Income Rs. 1,000–3,000) and big business class
parental (Income Rs. 2,000–10,000) backgrounds. Their parents are highly
educated and belong to mostly the upper and middle castes and urban
background. (See, Table 2). A study conducted by Prof. R. P. Singh (1972)
supports this fact. He points out that 87.2% public School students in
India are urban based, 88.5% of them belong to rich business, official and
professional type of home environment and only 6.9% of them to lower
socio-economic background.
3. The home conditions of the children who attend the non-public school
are disorganized and least effective in terms of proper socialisation. Their
parents have localistic orientations. They are localized, adapted to the
community and send their children to mainly these schools which are
essentially neighbourhood and local schools with limited catchment areas,
with Hindi as medium of instructions and minimum tuition fees. On the
other hand, the public school children are exposed to an organized and
academically conducive home conditions. Their parents are exposed to the

Chapter 02.indd 25 10/4/2013 7:40:40 AM

 26 Ehsanul Haq

world outside their locality. They are cosmopolitan in their orientations.

They send their children to the public schools which are essentially cosmo-
politan, standard, expensive and elite schools with widespread catchment
areas and English as medium of instructions.
4. The school milieu of the non-public schools as well as public schools is
similar to that of the home conditions to which the children of respective
schools belong. The conditions at the non-public schools are miserable.
The selected schools particularly do not regularly and in a systematic
way organize even the school programmes, such as, every day ritual of
pledging allegiance to the national flag, singing patriotic songs and national
anthem, etc., as well as, national and international celebrations, such as,
Independence Day. Gandhi Jayanti, U. N. Day, Human Rights Day, the
like. The selected public schools on the other hand, organize not only these
programmes well but also the Student Council and the House System for
giving training in leadership position, decision-making, active participation
in co-curricular activities of the school, parliamentary form of government,
national, as well as, international understanding.
5. The non-public school students are poorly exposed to the mass-media and
have parents and teachers who are politically less informed and articulate.
The public school students, on the other hand, are well exposed to the
media and have comparatively more politically informed and articulate
parents and teachers. The above characteristics of the existing conditions
show that the selected schools represent different classes and distinct
cultures. On the one hand, we find a small group of efficient, elite based,
privately managed, high fee charging, English medium schools catering to
the needs of the upper classes and, on the other hand, we have a bulk of
mass-based, government maintained, low fee charging, Hindi medium, low
standard and mismanaged schools catering to the needs of the lower classes
(See, Haq: 1981:45–46).

After the location of representative schools, a representative sample

of students, teachers and parents was selected. We have chosen male
students5 of class XI only, because we wanted to examine the end-
product of politicization taken place at various levels of schooling. We
have selected more or less a uniform size of sample from representative
schools on the basis of a random sampling. The Table 1 shows the details
of total sample of 600 respondents (308 students, 128 teachers and
164 parents). We have selected about 50% student of the total enrol-
ment in class XI and about 50% parents of the total number of selected
students. We have included all the students of class XI of the Aided
School (only 112 could be contacted) because of the limited number

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Chapter 02.indd 27
Table 1
Number of Selected Students, Teachers and Parents

No. of No. of Selected

Total Enrolment Total Enrolment No. of Total No. Teachers Parents Who
Selected of Students of Students Selected of Teachers Who Completed Completed the
Schools in Class (VI–XI) in Class XI Students (VI–XI) Questionnaire Interview Schedule
Govt. School 1389 212 106 49 40 58
Aided School 1066 117 112 41 38 46
Public School 1230 183 90 60 50 60
Total 3685 512 308 150 128 164
Source: Table is based on the figure collected in 1973–74 from the Directorate of Education, Delhi.
Education and the Emerging Patterns of Political Orientations
27

10/4/2013 7:40:40 AM
 28 Ehsanul Haq

Table 2
Number of Selected Parents, Their Occupational Backgrounds and the School to
Which They Send Their Children

S. No. No. of Parents Occupational Background School Type

1. 58 Lower administrative services with low
Non-Public
salary
School
2. 46 Petty business with low income

3. 40 Higher administrative and professional

services with high salary Public
School
4. 20 Big business with high turn-over

of students in this class. We have also included all the teachers in the
sample because hopefully they would have influenced the political ori-
entations of students at one stage or the other. However, the Table shows
the number of only those respondents who were interviewed and had
competed the questionnaire. Among the selected parents of the govern-
ment school children, most belong to lower administrative services and
rural areas while most of the parents of aided school children belong
to the families petty business and urban areas but they are localized
in a congested slum area. All the selected parents of the public school
children are urban-based, scattered in different posh areas and belong to
higher professional, administrative, big business class backgrounds. The
Table 2 gives the details of their occupational background.

Sources of Data

We have collected data through questionnaire, interview schedule, obser-

vation and content analysis. The questionnaire (for teachers) and inter-
view schedule (for parents) deal with political orientations. The student
questionnaire covered background information; political understanding
of local, national and international levels; their preference and com-
mitment to politics; their expected or actual participator)’ behaviour
towards political activities; and the degree of exposure to mass-media.
The questionnaire and interview schedule were pre-tested on 5% of the
total sample of respondents. The content analysis of school textbooks has

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 Education and the Emerging Patterns of Political Orientations 29

been done in the light of some of the values including the Constitutional
values.6
In order to minimize the element of subjectivity, the political con-
tent of the textbooks was analysed and scores were given by a panel
of three judges including the author. They were requested to identify
the relevant passages in the books. For example, a book entitled Social
Studies: Our Country India, published by the NCERT for class IV deals
with various values. The book explains to children that “Our country is
a big country. Our people speak different languages. They have differ-
ent faiths and customs. But all are Indians. We have one Constitution,
ore National Flag, one National Anthem and one National Emblem.
These are the symbols of our National Unity” (P. 77). This passage
promotes the value of ‘fraternity’ and ‘a sense of belonging to the
nation.’ Similarly, another book entitled A Textbook of Civics and Indian
Administration, published by the Orient Longman and prescribed in the
public school for the class IX, highlights some of the important aspects
of political culture, such as, ‘Fundamental Rights,’ ‘Welfare and Secular
State,’ ‘Qualities of Good Citizens,’ ‘Political Rights,’ ‘Common Good,’
‘Democracy and Dictatorship,’ ‘Party System of Government,’ etc. Such
aspects of the textbooks were identified.
However, in a particular passage there may be conflicting and overlap-
ping themes which may create measurement problem but scores were given
to specific aspects of the political content of the passage relevant to the
values. The weightage of values has been examined in terms of how many
times they have been mentioned in the prescribed textbooks of various
subjects like History, Civics, Hindi, and English. After rating, an average
of frequencies given by the judges was taken and the figures rounded off in
order to examine variations, if any, in scores secured by the values.
With the help of information collected through questionnaire and
interview schedule, we have examined the level of political orientations
of teachers, parents and students in terms of the percentage of their cor-
rect responses which were put into Low (0–33%), Medium (34–66%)
and High (67–100%) in order to see the relationship and potentiality of
various sources of political orientations.
The political orientations develop through political socialization.
Our democratic political culture demands three important political ori-
entations from citizens in terms of which political objects could be clas-
sified. These are: political awareness, political commitment and political

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 30 Ehsanul Haq

participation.7 The political awareness includes informatory contents of

the questionnaires and interview schedules in terms of constitutional
values, national political parties, countries favouring the policy of mili-
tary alignment and non-alignment, etc. The nature of the questions vary
according to respondents. The political commitment consists of ques-
tions regarding their preferences of certain ideology or political party.
Similarly, we have examined their political participation in terms of par-
ticipatory behaviour in political activities.

II

The political orientations among the School boys develop through polit-
ical socialization, the function which is performed by various sources
which transmit political values and make them politically aware, com-
mitted and participant. These are some of the essential prerequisites of
a democratic polity. The sources as shown below are some of the impor-
tant agents through which this function is performed.

1. —————— Textbooks
2. —————— Teachers }
3. —————— Parents } Students

4. —————— Mass-media }

EDUCATION  AND  THE  EMERGING  PATTERNS
34

We have examined the role of school textbooks within the frame-

work of some of our national values. The textbook plays an important
role in preparing the young for a desired political order by transmitting
political values (See NCERT Report 1970: 15–16; Almond and Verba
1963; Anderson 1966; Massialas 1969; Coleman 1965; Rudolph 1972;
Shah 1971 and Damle 1967). Here we have made an attempt to exam-
ine the relevance of school textbooks to the values mentioned in Table 3.
We assume that students may be properly politically informed if the
values are systematically incorporated into the textbooks. Therefore, we
raise the questions whether there is any systematic effort made to incor-
porate our democratic values into the textbooks and whether there is
any correlation between the age of students and the nature of values

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 Education and the Emerging Patterns of Political Orientations 31

internalized. Our analysis shows that the School textbooks of History,

Civics and Geography prescribed in the public as well as non-public
schools are less relevant to our national values because no systematic and
consistent effort has been made to incorporate them into the textbooks
and the scores which they obtain, on an average, are much lower than
the minimum limit of 33 percent as shown in the Table 3.
These values have not been given proper weightage. For example, as
shown in Table 3, ‘a sense of belonging to the nation’ secures an average
score of 17.9% in the textbooks prescribed in the non-public schools
and 19.61% in the public school textbooks but “secularism” secures only
8.40% and 6.38% respectively. There is a considerable difference in the
weightage given to these values. Similarly, other values have quite insig-
nificantly been represented. For example, ‘equality of opportunity,’ ‘dis-
tributive justice,’ ‘individual liberty’ and ‘protection of minority rights,’
secure only 10.05%, 8.00%, 6.18% and 2.88% in the non-public school
textbooks and 7.35%, 7.84%, 4.41% and 1.96% in the public school
textbooks respectively. If we observe class-wise distribution of scores, we

Table 3
Total Scores Secured by National Value in All the Classes (I to XI)

Govt. Schools Public Schools Govt. Public School

S. No. National Values Scores % Scores % % Difference
1. Citizenship 125 25.77 83 40.69 −14.92
2. A sense of belonging 37 17.90 40 19.61 −1.71
to the Nation
3. Fraternity 54 11.10 16 7.84 +3.26
4. Equality of 51 10.50 15 7.35 +3.15
opportunity
5. Political 44 9.27 8 8.92 +5.85
participation
6. Secularism 41 8.40 13 6.38 +2.02
7. Distributive justice 39 8.00 16 7.84 +0.16
8. Individual liberty 30 6.18 9 4.41 +1.77
9. Protection of
minority rights 14 2.88 4 1.96 +0.92
Grand Total 435 100.00 204 100.00

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 32 Ehsanul Haq

may find again an unsystematic effort made to incorporate these values.

For instance, all the values, on an average, secure 15.67% and 12.98%
in the non-public school textbooks prescribed in class VI and XI respec-
tively while it is only 6.84% and 1.47% in the public school textbooks
prescribed in the same classes. This shows that the textbooks do not take
into account the age factor, mental maturity and comprehension, and
the course content which is highly differentiated at higher stages where
students are quite mature to understand the deeper meanings of the
values.8
However, our analysis takes us to the following conclusions. Firstly,
in the textbook writing no purposive and systematic efforts have been
made to incorporate our democratic values with a view to develop basic
political orientations to the core values enshrined in our Constitution.
Secondly, there is no correlation between the age of students and the
nature of values internalized. This implies that the textbook writing has
ignored the logical argument that comprehension of national values is
improved with mental and physical maturity of students (Merelman
1970: 59).

EDUCATION  AND  THE  EMERGING  PATTERNS
54

Here the purposive and systematic efforts do not mean that the
amount of emphasis given to the values should be the same in all the
classes. It must vary from one class to another in accordance with age
and mental maturity but the emphasis should be given on all the values
within a class. What aspects of a value are to be emphasized at what stage
will certainly differ. Our analysis, although not an exhaustive but pre-
liminary and exploratory, shows that the courses, specially in civics and
social studies have to be restructured and made more systematic, purpo-
sive and relevant to the national values so as to effect greater impact on
political orientations of school children. The responses given by students
also confirm the fact that the textbooks are less relevant as most of them
expressed their unawareness of the presence of these values in the text-
books. This implies that the textbooks play a nominal role in making
students politically aware of their national values. There may be other
comparatively more important sources of politicization. Therefore, we
do not suggest that the presence of these values into the textbooks will
be a Sufficient but certainly a necessary condition to affect the political

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 Education and the Emerging Patterns of Political Orientations 33

attitudes of students if the values are properly incorporated and con-

sciously taught about.
The teachers and the parents are comparatively more important
Sources of developing political orientations among the school boys (See,
for instance, Zeigler 1967 and Davis 1968). The following paradigm
shows the level of their political orientations which correspond to that
of the boys of the respective schools.
The paradigm shows that the public and non-public school teach-
ers do not differ in terms of the level of their political commitment but
they do differ in terms of the level of their political awareness and par-
ticipation. The public school teachers are more politically informed as
compared to non-public school-teachers. For example, more than 50%
public school and less than 30% non-public school teachers are aware of
the ideological bases of various political parties which they prefer. Such
differences may be attributed to a general lack of awareness, poor school
milieu, lack of initiative to acquire knowledge, nature of role-perception,
greater exposure to local situation and to the socio-economic and psy-
chological factors in the case of non-public School teachers while better
school milieu, accessibility to current literatures, greater exposure to a
wider situation, motivation to acquire knowledge and the type of work-
ing conditions in the case of public school teachers.
Contrary to the level of political awareness, the public school teach-
ers are less politically participant as compared with non-public school
teachers. For example, we find a large number of non-pubic school

Paradigm
Political Orientations of Teachers & Parents of Public and Non-Public Schools

Political Awarences Political Commitment Political Participation

Public Non-Public Public Non-Public Public Non-Public
Respondents School School School School School Public
Teachers M L H H L H
Parents H L H H M H
Note: In this Paradigm we have combined Government and Aided schools into the Non-
public School because the teachers and parents who send their children to these schools
have the same level of political orientation. The paradigm is based on averages of correct
responses which are put into a simple scale: 0–33% as Low (L), 34–66% as Medium (M),
and 67–100% as High (H).

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 34 Ehsanul Haq

teachers are members of the registered Government School Teachers’

Association (GSTA), Government Aided School Teachers’ Association
(GASTA) and Adyapak Parishad. These associations have sympathy
with various political organizations. As against this, the public school
teachers who feel institutional constraints on being politically active are
simply members of unrecognized teachers’ associations of their respec-
tive schools, although an attempt is being made to have a recognized
association of public school teachers in Delhi.
The non-public school teachers are also comparatively more active
in other forms of participation, such as, campaigning and canvassing
activities of their associations;, participation in Metropolitan Council’s
election in Delhi, strike and demonstration as modes of action to affect
governmental decisions. 75% teachers of the non-public schools sup-
ported the general strike of 6th November, 1973 started in connection
with the rising prices of consumer goods. Similarly, in 1979, an orga-
nized attempt was made by these teachers to paralyse the school system
in Delhi to press their demands for an increase in their basic salary and
more promotion avenues for them. Such attempts show a compara-
tively higher level of political participation, polymorphic behaviour and
the emerging trend of activism among the non-public school teachers
because of a number of factors, such as, deteriorating; school condi-
tions, lack of opportunities, feelings of powerlessness, low political effi-
cacy, lack of status recognition, job dissatisfaction, etc.
Here the factors of localism and cosmopolitanism also seem to play
their roles. The non-public school teachers are localized and adapted to
the. existing conditions because of their longer duration of stay. They
can, therefore, be easily organized and mobilized to participate, specially
in local politics. The public school teachers are not local people. They
seem to be less interested in local politics. They have short duration of
stay and most of them are not registered as voters. They are neither local-
ized nor completely adapted to the local conditions and, therefore, they
are neither easily organized nor mobilized to participate in local politics.
They are rather cosmopolitan type with comparatively higher level of
political awareness as compared to localistic orientation of non-public
school teachers who belong to the neighbourhood schools.
The parents were another source of developing political orientations
among the school boys (see, Davis, 1965). The above paradigm shows
the level of political orientations of parents which also correspond to
that of the boys of the respective schools. The Parents, like the teachers,

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 Education and the Emerging Patterns of Political Orientations 35

also do not differ in terms of the level of their political commitment but
they do differ in terms of their political awareness and participation.
The public school parents are more politically informed as compared
to non-public school parents. For example, 96.7% public school and
only 7.3% non-public school parents are aware of the ideological bases
of various Communist parties. Such differences are attributed to the
type of existential conditions to which they belong (see, for instance,
Black, 1961:53 and Davis, 1965). The public school parents belong to
a higher socio-economic background. They are exposed to mass-media
and national, as well as, international matters. They are not local people.
They are widespread in posh areas in Delhi. They are highly educated,
socially conscious, well informed, articulate and cosmopolitan in ori-
entation. The non-public parents, on the other hand, belong to poor
socio-economic background. They have a sense of deprivation. They are
insignificantly exposed to the media and the world outside their locality.
They are local people, inarticulate and poorly informed. They are less
educated, less socially conscious and more localistic in orientation.
The participatory behaviour of the parents shows that those who
are highly educated, more politically aware and coming from upper
socio-economic background are less politically participant as compared
with those who are less educated, less politically aware and having lower
socio-economic background. The former category of parents occupy
superordinate positions in the hierarchy of statuses and actively partici-
pate in decision-making processes because of their knowledge and train-
ing. Their position itself involves political operations. Therefore, they
do not take much interest in any organization for extending their inter-
personal relationships. The latter category of parents occupy subordi-
nate positions. They are powerlers, confronted with problems and suffer
from complexes. Therefore, they channelize their interest into political
activities like voting, strikes, demonstrations, etc., to exert their influ-
ence through their numerical dominance. For example, their voting pat-
tern shows that 75.6% non-public school and only 41.7% public school
parents voted in 1972 national elections and 70.0% former and only
27.0% of the latter category of parents participated in strike and dem-
onstration. The level of participation and responses of these parents who
send their children to different schools show that the non-public school
parents are more of aggressive and militant type without corresponding
level of political awareness. The higher sense of political participation
among them shows a polymorphic tendency and the possibility of the

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 36 Ehsanul Haq

emergence of leadership from the lower and middle classes. However,

these parents in particular seem to be monomorphic type because they
want to exert their influence on local areas in which they live but they
do not reflect the potentiality to lead a movement to affect the wider
society and bring about drastic changes. The public school parents, on
the other hand, have a comparatively lower level of political participa-
tion but higher level of political awareness. They are more moderate and
retreatist type because they very rarely participate in political activities.
But they reflect a polymorphic behaviour because they are oriented to
the world outside their locality and want to exert their influence on the
wider society by involving in decision-making process rather than in
political activities.
The next and equally important source is the mass-media through
which certain symbolic transfer of values takes place and individuals are
socialized. The political socialization which is an aspect of genera] social-
ization process is one of the social responsibilities of the media to which
a child is exposed (Peterson, 1956 and Hyman, 1963:128–148). The
media, such as, newspaper, radio and television, is not only a decisive
factor of mobilization of power but also an agent of developing political
orientations and making each individual politically aware and respon-
sive citizen. In a government resting on public opinion, media plays an
important role in furnishing the people with the information to enrich
their political understanding. Our study shows that those respondents
who are more exposed to the media are more politically informed. For
example, the non-public school teachers who have low level of politi-
cal awareness, very casually listen to radio and watch television and
only about 50% of them subscribe to newspapers. They mostly prefer
to Subscribe to Nav Bharat Times, a Hindi newspaper which is more
locally circulated. The public school teachers who are comparatively
more politically aware, are more exposed to the media and more than
70% of them subscribe to newspapers, specially the Times of India, an
English newspaper which is widely circulated. Similarly, the non-public
school parents who have low political awareness, are less exposed to the
media and only about 22% of them subscribe to newspapers, specially
the Nav Bharat Times which caters for the needs of the local people.
The public school parents who have higher level of political bareness are
more exposed to the media. They have their own televisions and radios
and more than 80% of them subscribe to Newspapers and different
periodicals, Specially the Times of India, Hindustan Times, the Times,

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 Education and the Emerging Patterns of Political Orientations 37

etc. We observe the same pattern of political awareness and the mass-
media exposure among the boys who belong to different schools and
different parental backgrounds.

III

In the preceding section, we have examined the sources of political ori-

entations of school boys. Here we intend to see the impact of these
sources and the consequences or the emerging patterns and the implica-
tions. The following paradigm summarizes the preceding section and
explains the relationship between the sources and the consequences. All
the sources do play their role in determining the political orientations
of school boys but the family seems to be the most important because it
determines the kind of school one attends and the degree and nature of
mass-media to which he is exposed. As a result of differential family and

Sources and Consequences (Political Awareness)

Main Source and Levels Consequences of Political

Type of of Political Awareness Awareness
School Level of Typology of
Teachers Parents Exposure Media Students Students
Public M H H H “Articulate”
School
Non-Public L L L L “Inarticulate”
School

Sources and Consequences (Political Awareness)

Main Sources and Levels Consequences of Political

of Political Participation Participation
Typology
Type of School Teachers Parents Students of Students
Public School L M M “Moderate”
Non-Public School H H H “Militant”
Note: For typology construction, we have taken into account only political awareness and
participation because the respondents differ in terms of these dimensions and not in terms
of political commitment.

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 38 Ehsanul Haq

the school backgrounds, we observe different patterns in political orien-

tations of school boys. The typologies of these patterns explained below
show mainly two sets of roles: “Articulate-Moderate” (HPA-MPP) and
“Inarticulate-Militant” (LPA-HPP). The former is the product of the
upper class and public school background while the latter is the product
of lower and lower middle class and non-public school background. The
other aspects of these roles namely “Articulate-Militant” (HPA-HPP)
and “Inarticulate-Moderate” (LPA-MPP) are not emerging because of
the reasons explained below.

1.  “Articulate” (Higher level of Political Awareness) (HPA)

2.  “Inarticulate” (Lower level of Political Awareness) (LPA)
3.  “Moderate” (Medium level of Political Participation) (MPP)
4.  “Militant” (Higher level of Political Participation) (HPP)

Moderate Militant
Inarticulate +− ++
Articulate −− −+

Articulate +
Inarticulate −
Militant +
Moderate −

The “Articulate-Moderate” signifies a set of roles where students

would play a maximal role in political discussions or debates because
they are more politically aware and articulate. They are exposed to local,
national and international problems. However, these students who have
sufficient political knowledge are of retreatist and moderate type in terms
of political participation, although they may be an effective instrument
of change because they are highly aware. They are cosmopolitan in their
outlook, although of reformist and conformist type who do not like to
negate the existing system. This pattern is very much similar to that of
their parents. However, the “Articulate-Moderate” are not “Articulate-
Militant” type because they are not discontented. They are from well-off
family background and hence do not feel deprived and, therefore, they
are not militant and aggressive type of individuals. They avoid indul-
gence in politics which might affect their career and future prospects.

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 Education and the Emerging Patterns of Political Orientations 39

They are not muscle-activist type with interest in “street-politics” and

mass-politics but brain-activist and ideologue type with greater interest
in “class-politics.” We may observe a similar orientation among those
university and college students who are articulate and who come from
public school and who belong to well-off socio-economic background.
The same attitude can be observed among officials, professionals and
university intellectuals as compared with Karamcharis and those who
belong to lower administrative services. They hardly indulge in any
direct political action, such as, strikes, demonstrations, etc., but they are
actively involved in decision-making and ideological discussions.
The public school students who are drawn from such a background
of highly educated and affluent urban elite groups are also highly politi-
cally aware but not so much of politically participant. These students
in particular and the students of similar background in universities
and colleges and also the upper class educated elites in general might
become active participants in leading a value-oriented movement which
can bring about a meaningful change in the society and cause enduring
influence on political, as well as, wider social systems if they become
more politically participant, sacrifice their class interest and identify
themselves with the masses, express their ideas freely, attract the people
at large to get the mass support, and leave behind their attitude of
status-quo. Only if they acquire these qualities, they can become an
effective instrument of change like those urban-based English educated
Indian elites who played significant role in our national movement.
The “Inarticulate-Militant” signifies a different set of roles where
students would play a minimal role in political discussions or debates
because they are inarticulate and less politically informed. They are less
exposed to national, as well as, international scenes which Merton calls
the “Great Society” (Merton, 1968:455). However, these students who
do not have sufficient political knowledge, reflect a militant and violent
orientation. They may also not be an effective instrument of change in
spite of their higher sense of political participation, aggressive behaviour
and non-conformist orientation because they lack political knowledge,
the necessary condition to make participation meaningful. Since, these
individuals are localistic, exposed to the locality to which they belong,
they seem to be more monomorphic type, although they reflect a radi-
cal polymorphic orientation because they want to negate the existing
system and exert their influence on the wider society bringing about
drastic changes in order to have equitable distribution of opportunities.

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 40 Ehsanul Haq

Therefore, these individuals are not “Inarticulate-Moderate” type

because they are discontented and socio-economically and culturally
deprived. It is because of this reason that they adopt a coercive, violent
and aggressive attitude and not a moderate, reformist, conformist and
retreatist orientation towards political participation (Lipset, 1967:57).
These individuals who show a militant attitude without sufficient politi-
cal awareness and knowledge ran easily be misguided and used by politi-
cally minded people who can easily practice their policy ‘catch them
young’ on such rebellious youngsters and use them as muscle-activities.
It is mostly this exploited group of students in particular and the
people in general who are mobilized and drawn into collective action
to participate in ‘street-politics,’ such as, rally, demonstration, strike,
physical violence, etc. They are more concerned with their immediate
local problems and, therefore, these individuals may be more active in
leading a norm-oriented movement which is primarily concerned with
immediate social problem (Lipset, 1971:87). It is also possible that they
lead a society-oriented movement which is concerned with wider issues
but this may happen only if such individuals become more politically
aware and conscious because they reflect a polymorphic orientation and
potentiality to change but with limited political awareness.
However, the “Articulate-Moderate” and “Inarticulate-Militant”
role-types are the consequences of two different existential conditions
representing the elite and the mass cultures of our society. The Indian
society has historically been a stratified society. It has perpetuated
cultural inequality. For example, we had broadly Brahmanic and non-
Brahmanic traditions in our old society; nobility and rest of the people
during the Islamic tradition: and British rulers and the Indian ruled
during the British time. In the present day society, we have preserved the
same tradition of two types: the culture of the privileged elites, decision-
makers, advice-givers and verbally articulate and moderate citizens on
the one hand, and the culture of the ruled masses, deprived people,
decision-followers, advice-seekers and verbally inarticulate citizens on
the other.
The continuance of this type of tradition of inequality is against the
principles of citizenship (Marshall, 1963:67–127). The schooling system
in India is not above the existing tradition of this type. It also reflects
inequality catering to the needs of different classes. The politically more
aware students belong to the rich, elite and public school background.

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 Education and the Emerging Patterns of Political Orientations 41

They are articulate, economically secure, privileged, stable, conform-

ist and more class conscious. This type of situation tends to generate
moderation and retreatism rather than militancy; routine rather than
rebellion. Contrary to this, the politically less aware students belong to
the poor, and the mass-based schooling system. They are inarticulate,
economically insecure, deprived, unstable, non-conformist and less class
conscious. This type of situation tends to develop militancy and aggres-
sion rather than moderation and retreatism. Thus, we find that the two
differential patterns of political orientations are the consequences of the
two different conditions existing at the family and school levels. The
following paradigm explains the relationship between the differential
conditions and the differential patterns of political behaviours. (Please
see p. 55).
These consequences have certain implications for the system of pol-
ity in particular and the society in general. The differential patterns are
not desirable for a coherent democratic culture because democracy needs
citizens who are politically aware and informed; politically conscious
and committed; and politically participant and active. These may be
considered as some of the prerequisites of a modern democratic system.
The political socialization function being performed by various sources
is unable to provide a systematic result because of stratified existential
conditions and, therefore, the emerging patterns will have a negative
impact on the democratic system where the articulate, privileged and
active few will continue to represent the collective consciousness of
inarticulate, deprived and passive masses. This will maintain the edge
between the two, perpetuate the hierarchical political cultures and pre-
vent the essential unity between them. The negative consequences  of
political socialization are the results of preserved inequality in terms
of enormous cultural differences, occupational gap and the dual system
of schooling catering separately to the rich and to the poor.
At present, we have a stratified society and a stratified pattern of
schooling. They reinforce each other. The school has the potentiality
but it reinforces what family, the primary institution, does. If this insti-
tution is stratified and differentiated, the political socialization func-
tion being performed by such an institution will also be differentiated.
Therefore, one alternative, to have a uniform pattern of politicization, is
to reduce the class character of the family or to abolish the class-oriented
family system. But this is a difficult task at present and, therefore, the

Chapter 02.indd 41 10/4/2013 7:40:41 AM

Chapter 02.indd 42
42

Family, Schooling and Behaviour Characteristics

Rich Family Schooling Gratification Articulate Security Conformity Moderation

Conditions Better &
Stability
Differential
Differential
Political Behaviour
Conditions
in the Society
Poor Family Poor Deprivation Inarticulate Insecurity Non- Militancy
Condition Schooling and Conformity
{ Instability
}
Ehsanul Haq

10/4/2013 7:40:41 AM
 Education and the Emerging Patterns of Political Orientations 43

second alternative would be to establish a uniform system of schooling

in order to minimize educational inequality and reduce the differential
consequences. It will not be so difficult to abolish dualism in education
through legislation and by establishing a common pattern of schooling,
so as to minimize the effects of family and to promote an integrated
democratic culture in order to build a strong and unified democratic
system in India.

Notes
* This paper was presented in the 16th All India Sociological Conference, held at
Annamalai University, Tamil Nadu (29–31 Dec. 1982) for the panel on “Special
Sociologies.”
1. The public school in India is a privately managed system. Similar to the public school
system in England but the latter was not exclusive in character while its counterpart
in. India during the British time was exclusive and inaccessible to the masses. It still
caters mainly to the needs of those who are higher in terms of class position.
2. These communities are: Alpha, Beta and Gamma. They are upper middle class, lower
middle class and working class communities with higher, mode rate and little political
activities and consciousness respectively.
3. In order to maintain anonymity, the names of the selected schools are not given.
4. We have combined government and aided schools into non-public schools because
they more or less reflect the same existential conditions.
5. Female students could have been included in the sample but in order to restrict the
size, we have chosen only the male students.
6. The values taken into account are: Citizenship, A sense of Belonging to the Nation,
Fraternity, Equality of Opportunity, Political Participation, Secularism, Distributive
Justice, Individual Liberty and Protection of Minority Rights.
7. These orientations are parallel to cognitive, affective and evaluative orientations as
devised by Almond and Verba (1972:15). Their classifications of political objects
in terms of these orientations are based on the contributions of Parsons and Shils
(1951:53). To them, cognitive orientation includes knowledge and belief of political
system, its roles, its inputs and outputs. Affective orientation refers to the feelings
about the functioning of political system and the evaluative orientation refers to the
judgements and opinions about political objects based on knowledge and feelings.
8. At an early age, young children first recognize subjects along an undifferentiated,
unstructured, good-bad dimensions. The child’s comprehension and structuring of
democratic values improve with age and mental maturity. See, for instance, Piaget,
1965:135; Weinstain, 1957:166–74; Merelman, 1970:62; Greenstein, 1968:6; and
Haq, 1976:1–16. However, our analysis shows that neither any correlation has been
maintained between the age of students and the nature of values internalized nor any
attempt has been made as to what weightage should be given to what values, to what
dimensions of the values and at what stage of learning.

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 44 Ehsanul Haq

References
Anderson, C. A. 1966 “The Modernization of Education” in M. Wiener (ed.) Modernization:
The Dynamics of Growth, New York: Basic Books.
Almond, G. A. and Varba, S. 1972 The Civic Culture, New Jarsey, Princeton Univ. Press.
——— 1963 “Education and Politics,” International Encyclopaedia of Social Science, New
York: Crowell-Collier.
Bhatia, C. M. and Seth, V. K. 1975 “Hierarchy in the System of Schools: Political Economy
of Education.” Sociological Bulletin, Vol. 24, No. 1.
Black, Max 1961 The Social Theories of Talcott Persons, Prentice-Hall.
Coleman, J. S. (ed.) 1965 Education and Political Devolopment, Princeton Univ. Press.
Damle, Y. B. 1967 “The School and College as a Social System.” in M. S. Gore, I. P. Desai
and S. Chitnis (eds) Papers in the Sociology of Education in India, New Delhi: NCERT.
Davis, R. 1968 “Political Socialization in the Schools,” Harvard Educational Review, Vol.
36, No. 3.
Davis, James C. 1965 “The Family’s Role in Political Socialization,” The Annals of American
Academy of Political and Social Sciences, Vol. 361.
Entwistle, A. 1971 Political Education in a Democracy, London: Routledge and Kegan
Paul.
Geenstein, F. I. 1968 “Political Socialization,” International Enclyclopaedia of the Social
Sciences, New York: Crowell-Gollier.
Greenstein, F. I. 1965 Children and Politics, Yale University Press.
Haq, Ehsanul 1981 Education and Political Culture in India, New Delhi: Sterling Publishers.
——— 1976 “Sociology of Curriculum: The Role of School Textbooks in Nation Building,”
Indian Educational Review, Vol. II, No. 1.
Hess, R. D. and Torney, J. V. 1963 The Development of Basic Attitudes and Values Toward
Government and Citizenship, Chicago Press.
Hyman, H. H. 1963 “Mass Media and Political Socialization: The Role Patterns of
Communication,” in Lucian Pye (ed.) Communication and Political Development,
Princeton Univ. Prees.
Lipset, S. M. 1971 Student Politics, New York: Basic Books.
Litt, E. 1965 “Civic Education, Community Norms and Political Indoctrination,” American
Sociological Review, Vol. 28, No. 1.
Massialas, B. G. 1969 Education and the Political System, London: Addison-Welsey
Publishing Company.
Marshall, T. H. 1963 Sociology at the Crossroads and Other Essays, London: Heinemann
Educational Books.
Morton, R. K. 1963 Social Theory and Social Structure, The Free Press.
NCERT 1970 Report of the First Meeting of the National Board of School Textbooks, New Delhi:
NCERT Publication (April 5–6, 1969 and May 3, 1970).
Parsons, T. and Shifs, E. A. 1951 Towards a General Theory of Action, Cambridge, Harvard
University Press.
Peterson, T. 1956 “The Social Responsibility Theory of the Press,” in F. S. T. Peterson and
W. Schram, Four Theories of the Press, Urbana: University of Illinois Press.
Piaget, J. 1965 The Moral Judgement of the Child, New York: The Free Press.

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 Education and the Emerging Patterns of Political Orientations 45

Pye, L. W. 1965 “Introduction: Political Culture and Political Development,” in

L. W. Pye and S. Verba (eds.) Political Culture and Political Development, Princeton:
Princeton Univ. Press.
Shah, B. V. 1971 “Problems of Modernization and Education in India,” in A. R. Desai (ed.)
Essays in Modernization of Underdeveloped Societies (Vol. 2), Bombay: Thacker & Co.
Rudolph, S. H. and Rudolph, L. I. (eds.) 1972 Education and Politics in India: Studies in
Organization, Society and Policy, New Delhi: Oxford University Press.
Singh, R. P. 1971 The Indian Public School, New Delhi: Sterling Publishers.
Tapper, T. 1971 Young People and Society, London: Faber and Faber.
Weinstain, E. A. 1957 “Development of the Concept of Flag and the Sense of National
Identity,” Child Development, Vol. 28, No. 1.
Zeigler, H. 1967 The Political Life of American Teachers, Prentice-Hall.

Chapter 02.indd 45 10/4/2013 7:40:41 AM

 3
Adolescent Thieves and
Differential Association1
K.S. Shukla

T
he major plank on which the theory of differential association,
propounded by Edwin H. Southerland (1942) rests, if restated,
is that criminal behaviour is learned in communicative interac-
tion within intimate personal groups. The essentials of this theory are
(i) criminal behaviour is learned; (ii) it is learned in interaction with
other persons in a process of communication; (iii) the principal part
of learning occurs within intimate personal groups; (iv) the learning
includes (a) techniques of committing the crime, which are sometimes
very complicated, sometimes very simple, (b) the specific direction of
motives, drives, rationalizations, and attitudes; (v) the specific direction
of motives and drives is learned from definitions of the legal codes as
favourable; (vi) a person becomes a criminal because of an excess of defi-
nitions favourable to violation of law over definitions unfavourable to
violation of law, this is the principle of differential association; (vii) dif-
ferential association may vary in frequency, duration, priority and inten-
sity; (viii) the process of learning involves all of the mechanisms that are
involved in any other learning; and (ix) while criminal behaviour is an
expression of general needs and values, it is not explained by those gen-
eral needs and values since non-criminal behaviour is also an expression
of the same needs and values (Sutherland and Cressey 1955: 77-79).
Therefore, it may be inferred that criminal behaviour may involve satis-
faction of needs but may not be caused by them.

Chapter 03.indd 46 2013-11-23 2:15:48 PM

 Adolescent Thieves and Differential Association 47

Method of Study

To formulate an effective design, a pilot survey in two cities was con-

ducted. In drawing the requisite sample the police records of both the
cities regarding adolescents were thoroughly studied, so as to get an
idea of the prevailing crime situation. The records presented a picture
of the intensity, trend, variety, direction and other differentials like age,
sex and  caste. This information not only helped in piecing together
the crime picture, in order to have a gestalt of the entire situation, but
also in the collection of the background information of the selected
offenders.
To avoid any bias emerging out of incarceration, special care was
taken to exclude, as much as possible, the cases from custodial institutions.
Due to the spatial mobility of the offenders, the chance sample was relied
upon.
The selected offenders fell in three categories (i) freely moving
offenders with previous record of conviction, (ii) without any record,
(iii) convicted offenders and under-trials in the police custody or in the
jails.
The subjects were studied through case study method and were
observed in open2. They were interviewed with the help of an interview-
guide, in a wide variety of places, such as hotels, lonely places, open
streets, apartments of the subjects, police stations, jail premises and
other suitable spots, with utmost care to induce the subjects to come out
with maximum factual information. More often than not, recording of
the data thus gathered, has been done afterwards in order to sustain the
uninhibited flow of interviews. In addition to the interviews, attempts
have been made to supplement the data through non-participants
observation and subjects were also observed during free play activities.
The types of theft we deal with are those planned on conscious plane.
They are learned and demonstrated in socio-cultural context. The com-
mission anticipates the purpose, the means and the knowledge of its
significance. We attempt to discuss, with empiricals support, the process
and forms of thievery, a sub-cultural activity aimed at violation of con-
vention, property norms, conducted at resolving the practical problems
of the actor.
The compulsive thievery symbolically present in the behaviour of
some psycho-neurotics who had been hospitalized was not taken into

Chapter 03.indd 47 2013-11-23 2:15:48 PM

 48 K.S. Shukla

account due to their non-rational participation, meagre percentage and

relative jurisdictional insignificance.
The study, therefore, exclusively encompasses the common varieties
labelled as crime by the society and the agencies of the criminal justice
system, with the objective of its relevance to the students of criminology
and law enforcement personnel. The theft has been mostly found to be
a structured activity—starting from a casual indulgence but gradually
moving to increasing sophistication, aided by technology, and training,
reinforced by group participation to end up with a career.

The Structure of Differential Association

The opinions in regard to family were positively prejudicial. Moreover,

the associations with peers had been found to be of longer duration
and intensity than that of the family members. These associations,
therefore, have been considered to be of greater significance in the
learning process from the differential associational perspective.
Notwithstanding the accepted sociological typology relating to groups,
it is generally accepted that the ‘intimate personal groups’, apart from
familial setting, would ordinarily include friendship groups existing
in the neighbourhood, school, work-place or elsewhere in a given
community and provide a plethora of definitions both favourable and
unfavourable to violation of law. These would, therefore, be taken to
be the contingent infrastructures in shaping the conduct norms of the
incumbents. These structures may possess both the conforming as well
as deviant members with conforming or deviant aspects of life with a
prominent emphasis on either of them, and depending upon the prior-
ity and intensity of association, one may either turn towards accepting
conforming or deviant role models. As already indicated, the present
concern is the analysis and explanation of companionship variable in
regard to frequency, duration, priority and intensity which are signifi-
cant in understanding the expression ‘excess’. Among these four enu-
merated variables, the last two, namely, priority and intensity, call for a
little elaboration. The first two as modalities of association are obvious
and need no explanation.
‘Priority’ is assumed to be important in the sense that conformist
behaviour developed in early childhood may persist throughout life, and
also that delinquent behaviour developed in early childhood may persist

Chapter 03.indd 48 2013-11-23 2:15:48 PM

 Adolescent Thieves and Differential Association 49

throughout life. ‘Intensity’ is not precisely defined but it has to do with

such things as prestige of the source of a criminal or anti-criminal pattern
and with emotional reactions related to the associations. (Sutherland
and Cressey 1955: 78-79). These are some of the aspects that have been
brought into focus within the framework of peer group association of
primary reference.

Background of Associates:
Conformists or Deviants?

At the outset, analysis of the nature of environmental forces/factors

behind the friendship associations that were operative on the subjects
was made. This was done to evaluate their differential impact in deter-
mining criminogenesis. To assess the nature and characteristics of these
intimate interactional forces, criminogenic or non-criminogenic, the
subjects’ own assessments were taken into consideration. They were
asked to describe as to what they considered of them in this regard.
Although no social segment is perhaps conceivable as exclusively ‘delin-
quent’ or, for that matter exclusively ‘law abiding’, yet, it may be said
that one tends to identify, in terms of his own perceptions and experi-
ences, social entities with different conduct models. It would be sig-
nificant to note here that the subjects in general were set for primary
delinquency at the family level itself on account of deviant pressures. At
the companionship level, therefore, it was more a matter of reinforce-
mant and more delinquent direction of the drift. The data that has been
presented in Table 1 describes the estimation of the conduct norms of
the intimate personal group of the subjects, made by them.

Table 1
Subjects’ Perception of the Characteristics of the Associates
(In Percentage)
Total
Environmental Law-abiding Delinquent Mixed (N = 200)
Neighbourhood 31.0 8.5 60.5 100
School 27.5 13.0 59.5 100
Others 8.0 63.5 28.5 100

Chapter 03.indd 49 2013-11-23 2:15:48 PM

 50 K.S. Shukla

It has been found that the associational structure of the neighbour-

hood and the school have been described, by most of the subjects, as
of mixed character, offering almost even opportunities for internaliza-
tion of deviant and conventional conduct norms. It is significant to
note that the delinquency perception of the residents in the immedi-
ate environment—neighbourhood and school was more diffused, as a
vast majority of them perceived the members of the neighbourhood as
decisively ambivalent. However, the perception was clear in case of the
interacting members under the category of ‘others’, with whom the fre-
quency of contact was much more. The social constellations grouped
under the category of others include those located near market places,
cinema houses, railway and bus station rendezvous, where for most of
the time interaction between the subjects and others takes place. In this
context, the evaluations in regard to deviant or conforming character of
the association has been highly distinct. A sizeable section (63%) finds
them to be predominantly delinquent; and most of them were free in
expressing their preferences. Only 8% could perceive these associations
as non-delinquent.
The data, thus, to an extent, bring home the fact that the external
environment surrounding the subject, broadly speaking, has not been
conducive to internalization of legally acceptable conduct and secondly,
that the subjects have, for major part of their early lives, mixed with
groups that have been in varying degrees, marked by positive bias towards
deviant norms. The deviant models in most of the cases were present in
the family itself.

Types of Delinquents and Sources of Instigation

As stated in the beginning only contacts with conditions having favour-

able definitions to violation of law in most of the cases, could not be
considered as sufficient condition for participation in deviant activities.
These contacts, however, made the delinquent modes accessible and
extended to the subjects opportunities of choice between delinquent
and anti-delinquent modes. Since the neighbourhood had been directly
or indirectly permissive towards delinquent sub-culture, the learned
delinquency, in favourable circumstances, could be conveniently given
practical shape. At this level itself, the perception and contact were trans-
formed into action of primary and secondary delinquent types. The push

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 Adolescent Thieves and Differential Association 51

factors, the normative flexibility towards delinquent learning and the

permissiveness of the neighbourhood, would not have automatically led
towards deviant action unless there were factors like situational motiva-
tion and the role intermediaries. Except in a few cases where a situa-
tional and accidental introduction with criminal role model augmented
a sudden take off to delinquency, the subjects on the whole had definite
and persistent interaction with deviant intermediaries contributing to
the learning process and instrumentalising the learning into delinquent
behaviour. These interactions have been the sources of instigation and
most pertinent variable of delinquent actions.
These roles were played by different sets of people. Information
gathered in this regard, therefore, has been found markedly significant.
Only 4% of the subjects met the delinquent companions inadver-
tently. 7.5% subjects adopted the criminal modes under the mediation
of family members who have been delinquent themselves. These inter-
mediaries were mostly the sibs. It would be seen from Table 2 that all the
three types of the subjects, e.g., professionals, habituals and occasional,
barring minor variations, have been instigated to participate in delin-
quent activities by the peers (88.5%) in different interactional situa-
tions, that is, streets, shops, playgrounds, places of recreation, custodial
institution, etc. Breckenridge and Abbott pointed out (1917: 34-35)

Table 2
Distribution of the Subjects According to Type and Stated Instigating Sources for
Committing Serious Offences
(In Percentage)
Types (3) Total
Instigating Source Professional Habitual Occasional N = 200
Friendship circle/playmates 13.5 17.0 10.5 41.0
Schoolmates 7.5 14.0 − 21.5
Occupational mates 3.5 7.5 10.5 21.5
Professional offenders 1.0 3.0 0.5 4.5
Family members 2.0 4.0 1.5 7.5
Inadvertent accidental 2.0 1.0 1.0 4.0
association
29.5 46.5 24.0 100.0

Chapter 03.indd 51 2013-11-23 2:15:48 PM

 52 K.S. Shukla

“not only are most delinquent offences committed in groups but most
of the lone offenders are influenced by companions”. A larger percentage
of them were playmates and schoolmates with frequent and prolonged
interaction.
In some cases, initially, the subjects have been unaware of the inten-
tion of the go-between; the group on the contrary, purposely accepted
this new member in their associational fold. The subject could learn the
meaning of the friendship only after he was inextricatably involved with
the activities of the group. The subjects were victims of connivance and
tricked into entering the delinquent setup. These are the cases where
action almost preceded learning and the learning was reinforced by suc-
cessive actions. They were made to enter the life of crime. The subject,
through various persuasive and directive means, was often instigated or
often coerced to commit an offence at school or place of employment
and later on was given assistance to get out of the difficult situation. The
anticipated protection was a sufficient basis for increasing alliance which
gradually developed into fraternity.
Some of the subjects simply emulated other delinquents who were
co-inmates in custodial institution. These were the cases of home aban-
doning type, the pavement sleepers, the destitutes and the vagrants or
even young persons found near the scene of crime or with those who
were in the bad books of the police, and had experience of police or
judicial custody under section 109 Cr. P.C. The career criminals already
present in the custodial institution, find an opportunity of selection or
recruitment. They initiate the process of induction almost on a psycho-
logical plane. The hostile reactions against the police and lawful soci-
ety were persistently reinforced. Their innocence was “established” and
police action termed as persecution or brutal action. Provocative state-
ments were made to win immediate or subsequent alliance.
Predominant role of the intimate personal groups is found essen-
tial both for setting favourable attitude for committing crimes against
property and communicating techniques of theft. It is empirically
accepted that for a steady course in property offences, particularly in
house-breaking and pocket-picking, optional acquaintance with rel-
evant techniques is a prerequisite. The data collected in this respect,
i.e., the sources that initiated the subjects in the ‘technique’ have been
found closely following the distribution presented in Table 2. The
subjects have been, in most of the cases, oriented to the techniques for

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 Adolescent Thieves and Differential Association 53

committing property offences and committed the first offence outside

the family in the company of the members of the intimacy groups, who
initiated the learning process. This activity, in the beginning, has been
more for the thrill of the daring venture, but, later on, in a significant
majority, the pecuniary purpose was more emphasised.
It has been observed that the primary delinquency may not augment
habitual indulgence or a career. Even after the first successful attempt,
the boys may break off for one reason or the other. In the present study,
the first serious offence has not been found necessarily sufficient for
further incrimination. A number of factors, operating singly or jointly,
have been responsible for providing continued motivation in favour of
criminal associations. Prominent among these have been (Table 3) the
initial experience, the pecuniary returns, the intensity of relationship
and the identification with the criminal associations of neighbourhood
situation, defence, pressure of the companions, workplace, and school
and the family conditions. The major factors influencing the continu-
ance were professional interests and common habitat. Significantly
4.5% of the subjects have been obliged to maintain pro-delinquent links
as a matter of ethics; they received timely financial assistance from the
delinquent friends when family members declined to help.
A disparity has been noticed between the preference and actual
commission in respect of group participation. A large majority of the

Table 3
Factors in the Continuance of Friendship between the Subject and the Criminal
Companions
(In Percentage)

Factors of Types of Delinquents Total

Continuance Professional Habitual Occasional N = 200
Family member 2.0 4.0 1.5 7.5
Neighbourhood 13.0 17.5 7.5 38.0
Schoolmate 2.0 6.5 1.5 10.0
Saviour 1.0 2.0 1.5 4.5
Same Profession 9.5 13.0 9.0 31.5
Others 2.0 3.5 3.0 8.5
29.5 46.5 24.0 100.0

Chapter 03.indd 53 2013-11-23 2:15:48 PM

 54 K.S. Shukla

subjects indicated that they were continuing in the profession as a group

due to the constraints of the circumstances, while 95% of the subjects
preferred to commit the offence alone. It is obviously more satisfying
and egoistic to do something adventurous alone. But they had to defer
this preference in practice as a majority of them found the help of the
group indispensable. To be loner is not an easy task. Only the profes-
sionals and habituals equipped with sophisticated techniques of action
and defence and vast experience, could venture to operate alone. The
loan indulgence certainly extends the privilege of possession of the
entire booty and reduces the chances of apprehension. But even then
for one reason or the other, they had to rely on others. And then there
are many more activities other than the commission of theft, where the
group is needed. More than half of the subjects (55%) indicated that on
most of the occasion, they had set aside their preference and taken one
or more companions along with them. They realised that it was difficult
to execute the plan alone.
In the cases of the house-breakers (23%), the group participation
is all the more essential, because of the distinct division of labour. The
group, however, has to be small and compact unit, and every member
well-versed in the performance of the individual roles.

Delinquents and Their Familial Association

For analysing the variables of frequency and duration of association

with pro-delinquent groups, the following attributes have been taken
as indicators of their inclination towards a particular group. In addi-
tion, these provide scope for interpretation regarding their characters.
This approach has the advantage of analytical manageability. Therefore,
the variables of frequency and duration of association have been given
operational frames to bring out evidence for composite variables. The
association with pro-delinquent groups has been taken as a composite
variable and measured through operational frames. These frames are fre-
quency of home visits (deductive indications of increasing opportunity
for frequenting delinquent associations in low frequency situations);
leisure-time mates (indicators of pull of the pro-delinquent associations,
assuming, on the basis of data analysed earlier, that associations out-
side the family are generally disposed to delinquent behaviour); and,

Chapter 03.indd 54 2013-11-23 2:15:48 PM

 Adolescent Thieves and Differential Association 55

the oldest associate and the time spent with pro-delinquent companions
(both showing duration). In the following account analysis of some of
these aspects has been attempted in order to ascertain the push-factors
that operate upon the subject, and drive them away from home. These
may indeed be thought of as being the function of several cognitive as
well conantive processes.
While recognising the fact that there could be equally strong pull
factors from the gangs operating on the subjects, the present analysis,
however, restricts itself to the degree of dissociation or withdrawal from
borne or discontinuity in association between the family members and
the subjects since, as has already been indicated earlier, the subjects
were associated with delinquent companions, who not only helped in
solving the adjustment problems but also provided in different inter-
actional situations, new, exciting and thrilling experiences of life. It
has been found that more than 7% of the subjects maintain poor or
no relationship with homes. Only 5% of the subjects were maintain-
ing tangible links with their homes, and they were depending upon
companionship for specific purposes only. At the other extreme of the
continuum, were those who have virtually abandoned their homes.
These were 10% of the sample. It would be further noticed that pro-
fessionals and habituals find the home less engaging as compared with
the occasionals.

Table 4
Distribution of the Subjects in Regard to Type and Stated Frequency of Visits to
Home
(In Percentage)
Types of Delinquents Total
Frequency Professional Habitual Occasional N = 200
Most of the day – 3.0 2.5 5.5
A few hours in a day 2.0 12.5 8.0 22.5
Twice or thrice in a week 8.0 19.0 10.0 37.0
Twice or thrice in a month 5.5 5.0 1.5 12.0
Twice or thrice in a year 6.0 6.0 1.0 13.0
Virtual stoppage since long 8.0 1.0 1.0 10.0
29.5 46.5 24.0 100.0

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 56 K.S. Shukla

Table 5
Distribution of the Subjects Regarding Type and Usual Leisure Time Mates
(In Percentage)
Types of Delinquents Total
Leisure-Time Mates Professional Habitual Occasional N = 200
Friend(s) from outside 26.5 42.0 21.0 89.5
family
Family members 2.5 4.5 3.0 10.0
Other acquaintances 0.5 − − 0.5
29.5 46.5 24.0 100.0

Table 5 indicates the structure of associational pattern and the areas

from where the leisure time mates of the subjects are usually drawn. It
is worthwhile to quote Reiss and Rhodes (1964: II) here: “Boys gener-
ally choose close friends whose law abiding or delinquent behaviour is
similar to their own”.
The Table 5 shows that as much as 80% of the leisure-time mates
are other than family members.

Delinquents and Their Peer Groups

Attempt has been made to approximate the time presently spent by the
subjects in the company of those with known delinquent proclivity.
Table 6 brings out significant information in this respect.

Table 6
Distribution of the Subjects According to Type and Approximate Time Spent in
Association with Those Possessing Known Delinquent Proclivity
(In Percentage)
Types of Delinquents Total
Duration Professional Habitual Occasional N = 200
Major part of the day 25.5 32.0 7.5 65.0
Some part of the Day 3.5 11.0 8.5 23.0
Small part of the Day 0.5 3.5 8.0 12.0
29.5 46.5 24.0 100.0

Chapter 03.indd 56 2013-11-23 2:15:49 PM

 Adolescent Thieves and Differential Association 57

Table 7
Distribution of the Subjects by Type and Stated Predominant Characteristic of the
Oldest Associate
(In Percentage)

Predominant Types of Delinquents Total

Characteristic Professional Habitual Occasional N = 200
Delinquent 18.5 21.0 4.5 44.0
Law-abiding 2.0 5.0 5.5 12.5
Mixed 3.0 4.5 1.5 9.0
No response 6.0 16.0 12.5 34.5
29.5 46.5 24.0 100.0

It has been found that 65% of the subjects spent major part of
the day in the company of those who may be described as established
delinquents. Obviously, the home resistance would turn out to be
weak. Increasing association with the delinquent models was logical in
the case of professionals and habituals. The occassional were a mixed
group. The companionship attendance in general has been found to be
directly related to professional obligations and inversely related to home
resistability.
Taking tenacity of friendship as the operational measure of duration
of association, the study has attempted to probe into the predominant
characteristic of the existing oldest associate of the subjects (see table 7).
About one-third of the subjects (34.5%) could not specifically
mention anyone of his companions as his existing oldest associate.
They could not make an intimate friend due to physical separation
of the friend, excessive physical mobility, discordant temperament
etc. Among those who responded, more than two-thirds (44.00)
stated that their oldest mate was involved in multifarious delinquent
activities. 12.5% said that their oldest associate was law-abiding. It
could be accordingly inferred, on the basis of available data, that the
subjects, particularly the professionals and the habituals, have been
interacting with deviant or pro-delinquent associates for a prolonged
duration.
In the following analysis an effort has been made to assess the prior-
ity in regard to anti- or pro-delinquent association. The analysis is based

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 58 K.S. Shukla

upon the assumption that priority accorded to groups outside the family
implies preference for pro-delinquent associations; and this assumption
is partly supported by the earlier analyses. Apart from this, the theoreti-
cal construct of priority in the present work has been broken into certain
operational variables including perceived characteristic of leisure-time
mates, preferred idol and confidant of the subjects.
So far as the distribution of leisure-time mates of the subject is con-
cerned, it has already been seen that nearly 80% of the subjects were
found drawing leisure-time mates from outside the family (Table 5). It
would be found that this data provides a great deal of information about
the attitudinal predisposition and preferences of the subjects in regard to
their selection of the companions.
Efforts have been made to collect information about the preferred
idols, that is, the person whom the subjects tried to emulate in their
day-to-day conduct. As could be seen from Table 8, the models from
outside the family outnumber those from within the family, although
the difference is not very clearly marked. (It may be reiterated here that
the information has been collected through interviews and, therefore,
it may not be fully free from biases. It is probable, as per interviewers
observation, that the actual number of the subjects with preferred idols
from outside family, may be even higher).
It is relevant to point out that there are several considerations gov-
erning the subjects’ choice of idols from outside the family circle. It has
often been reported that young ones easily join groups with ‘identical
values’ (Mckay 1963: 32), that similarity in conduct norms leads to
‘homogeneity in conduct norms’ and later leads to ‘homogeneity in

Table 8
Distribution of the Subjects According to Their Type and Stated Preferred Idols
(In Percentage)
Type of Delinquents Total
Preferred Idol Professional Habitual Occasional N = 200
Friend(s) from outside 20.0 25.5 6.5 52.0
family
Family members 9.0 21.0 17.0 47.0
Others 0.5 0.0 0.5 1.0
29.5 46.5 24.0 100.0

Chapter 03.indd 58 2013-11-23 2:15:49 PM

 Adolescent Thieves and Differential Association 59

group composition’ (Festinger 1950: 4–6) and that with the rise in group
uniformity, perhaps with the spiralling effect, increases the dependence
of individual members on the group’ (Cohen 1955: 68).
Closely related to the variable of preferred idol is another variable,
namely, the role of confidant in the existing life-scheme of the subjects.
The conceptual status of a confidant is of a person with whom one
would feel comparatively free in sharing one’s personal secrets either
for receiving expert advice or for securing appreciation or approval.
‘Approval and disapproval from peers is of greater concern to many
youngsters than the reactions of their parents’ (Parsons 1942: 604–6).
The findings (Table 9) in this context are in line with our earlier data
(Table 8).
However, the variation is more marked and significant. It can also
be noted that, as compared with the occasionals, the professionals and
the habituals contribute a larger proportion to the category of those hav-
ing confidants from outside family. The degree of intensity of relation-
ship between the subjects and their delinquent models in the present
interactional context has a positive valence. Similar to earlier analyses of
the variables of learning delinquency, the intensity too has been assessed
in terms of certain operational variables. It has been assumed that the
degree of intensity of relationship in interpersonal associations would
be demonstrated by the tenacity of associations, willingness to partici-
pate in activities sponsored by the associates and/or the group or others.
Participation in the activities that have a stamp of approval from other
members is taken to be more significant in the context of property-
offender in India. Among these, there obtains an unwritten sub-cultural

Table 9
Distribution of the Subjects by Type and Their Stated Confidants
(In Percentage)
Types of Delinquents Total
Confidant Professional Habitual Occasional N = 200
Friend(s) from outside 21.5 25.5 13.0 60.0
family
Family members 6.0 17.0 11.0 34.0
Others 2.0 4.0 – 6.0
29.5 46.5 24.0 100.0

Chapter 03.indd 59 2013-11-23 2:15:49 PM

 60 K.S. Shukla

code of conduct (which is generally adhered to) that a regular offender

of a particular delinquent mode should not take another line of offence.
A property offender generally identifies himself with the profession
and the people who are involved in this profession as pick-pockets, as
has been generally evident during the course of field work, would nor-
maly avoid to secure pecuniary gains by resorting to cheating. From
among those who were their oldest companions, more than 67 per
cent have had a delinquent career. Over a period of time, he is not
only an ideal member, but he turns out to be a confidant in respect of
his professional and personal problems. Since the subjects conceived
a delinquent image of the preferred idol and are emotionally related
to him, the intake of delinquency is almost a normal process. We
have already seen that among our subjects, of those who could pres-
ent a total ‘moral’ image of their oldest mate, 67% turned out to be
delinquents. They were mostly members of the intimacy groups other
than the family. The intimacy of relationship, prolonged association
and delinquent conception of the mate are indications of the degree
of intensity of relationship and exhibit the causality behind the learn-
ing of delinquency on the part of the subjects. This could be taken
to indicate the tenacity of pro-delinquent association of the subjects
and provide tacit evidence in respect of intensity in inter-personal
relationship.
The responses collected as to the volitional disposition of the sub-
ject to participate in offences other than the theft, when pressed by the
associates, to a considerable extent reveal the intensity of relationship
(see Table 10).
Table 10
Willingness of the Subjects to Participate in Other Offences When Pressed by
Associates

Mode of Delinquent Activity

Pocket House Total
Responses Picking Breaking Pilfering N = 200
Willing for selected 11.5 18.0 1.5 31.0
offences
Any offence 11.0 14.0 0.5 25.5
Not willing 12.0 23.5 8.0 43.5
34.5 55.5 10.0 100.0

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 Adolescent Thieves and Differential Association 61

43.5 per cent of the subjects unequivocally discount the possibility

of their participating in offences other than their existing delin-
quent sphere even when pressed by associates. But, the rest 56.5%
showed their willingness to yield to the pressure of the companion.
Out of them, 31% said that they could go in for selected offences and
25.5% of the subjects seem to be ready for any other offence from
gambling to homicide. It is strikingly clear that the variations over
mode of delinquent activity have wide disapproval among the pilfer-
ers as only 5% of them showed willingness to participate indiscrimi-
nately in different offences as against 31.9% of the pocket-pickers and
25.2% of the house-breakers. Though the sub-sample is too small for
any dependable generalization, yet in a limited manner it shows that
pilferers tend to stick more to their particular line of delinquency.
The few who showed willingness for occasional change of the mode
of delinquency, had an effective rationalization. They did not con-
sider these indulgences as deviant at all; these were the spontaneous
responses in group situations.
Our observations, however, produced a contrary picture to what
was portrayed by the subjects, vis-a-vis, the above query. The practice
was different from what was professed. They tried to rationalise a
moral image of themselves; the main mode, however, was known to
the observer. The pressure to participate in a variety of delinquent acts
was used as a defence mechanism. 78% of them have been found freely
participating in indiscriminate variety of offences in the company of
others. Some 20% were detected offering initial resistance, but yielded
in some selected offences. Barely 2% seem to stick to their main verbally
articulated mode. Needless to say that they were occasionals.
The subjects participation in other delinquent activities was found
related to his income, temperament, type, potentialities and status in
the group. At times, along with the pressure of companions, such par-
ticipations were held to be motivated by short-run hedonism associated
with similar temporary fun or excitement (Table 11).
Intra-group proportions in respect of participation in varied
offences, were found to be 77.8% for the professionals, 80.7% for the
habituals and 75% for the occasionals. It is justifiable to infer that the
subjects, almost irrespective of the type of delinquent activity, were
normally responding to the occasional demands and have increasingly
participated in offences other than those of their usual line. There was
no trace of constraint at all. The participation was volitional. This

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 62 K.S. Shukla

Table 11
Distribution of the Subjects by Type and Stated Actual Participation in Other
Offences When Pressed by Associates

Type (Percentages) Total

Participation Professional Habitual Occasional N = 200
Participation in selected 6.0 8.5 5.0 19.5
offences
Varied offences 23.0 37.5 18.0 78.5
No participation 0.5 0.5 1.0 2.0
29.5 46.5 24.0 100.0

propensity is a clear indication of significant degree of intensity of

the relationship that exists between the subjects and their delinquent
associates.

Age Factor in Companionship Affiliation

The age composition of the companions, it was found, was not a deter-
mining factor in developing affinity. The group maintained a signifi-
cant heterogeneity in this regard. An offender of 16 years was found to
be sufficiently intimate with offenders of 40 years of age. In friendship
generally what mattered more were the qualities like skill, performance,
tact, economic potential, accommodating nature, trustfulness, obedi-
ence, physique, appearance and ability to ‘fix up’ cases.
A very large group of our subjects (61%) indicated that they could
be very friendly and adjust with persons of all age groups, while 16.5%
indicated that they were at home and secure in the company of older
persons. 14.5% subjects preferred the company of same age-group, as in
the homogeneous group they could be more expressive and free. Only
8% companions showed predilection for the companions of younger
age group, because in their view it was easier to exercise control over
them.
Those who showed higher adjustment potential for all age groups
were mostly professional pocket-pickers and occasional pilferers. Since
professional pocket-pickers were more mature, intelligent and success-
ful careerists, they could easily manage to gain a reasonable status even

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 Adolescent Thieves and Differential Association 63

in a heterogeneous group. They, therefore, had no complexes and the

age factor posed no restriction to them. The occasional pilferers on the
contrary, being beginners, were less demanding in terms of status. They
could easily be obedient to elder and fraternal to younger member.
Moreover, as they were apprentices their status in the profession did
not permit them to antagonise or be assertive. Their training was influ-
enced by their relationship with others; the trainers were mostly elders.
Because of these factors, they were more popular and assimilative, sim-
ple, adjustable, responsive and less inhibitive members of group. The
subjects of all categories, for most of the time, preferred to remain with
the group. The preceding analysis provides some insight into the nature
and extent of intensity in relationship the subjects were having with pro-
delinquent associations.

Conclusions

The present empirical analyses, in the light of salient aspects of the the-
ory of differential association, demonstrate that the surrounding inter-
actional environment presents both anti-delinquent and pro-delinquent
parameters. It has been observed that the inter-actional environment
of the young property offenders under study has been more or less
full of associations recurringly offering definitions favourable to
violation of law. The major proportion of these exposures were made
at the intimacy associations other than the immediate neighbourhood
or school (see Table 2). This process has been found being further rein-
forced by a variety of delinquency generating factors that almost inces-
santly operate upon the subjects. They initiate them into professional
techniques of undertaking various property offences and, eventually,
crystalize and sustain in them tangible pro-delinquent behavioural pat-
terns. Likewise, the analysis relating to the clarification of the concept
of “excess of definitions” has been found to be significant. It has been
observed that the subjects had merely a feeble attachment to the family
and the leisure-time mates of most of the subjects have come from out-
side the family. Not only these mates have been found delinquents, but
also they have been conceived so by the subjects. The pro-delinquent
associations, therefore, have been tenacious and most of the subjects
have been spending the major part of their time with pro-delinquent

Chapter 03.indd 63 2013-11-23 2:15:49 PM

 64 K.S. Shukla

companions. The operational aspects of relationship have been found

supporting delinquency factors in regard to frequency and duration vari-
ables. The  analysis relating to the third variable, namely, priority, has
been found valid. The preferential disposition toward pro-delinquent
associations over family members has been evident. And, the oldest asso-
ciate has been a delinquent model. Likewise, the dimension of intensity
has also been significantly strong. This has been indicated by the qualities
of the oldest mate, who possessed predominantly delinquent character-
istic and had profound influence on the subjects. The willingness along
with actual participation of the subjects in offences other than property
offences when pressed by companions are also indicators of the intensity
of relationship between the subjects and the companions (see Table 11).
It is justifiable to suggest that the initial assumptions that the young
property offenders are excessively exposed to delinquent associations and
that the excessive exposure is the function of the frequency, duration,
priority and intensity, stand substantiated. These aspects of the theory
of differential association find considerable support from the empirical
findings. The property offences are basically learnt in association. In the
learning process, two different consecutive situations were involved:
(a) Primary delinquency stage:
(i) Developing a favourable attitude towards the profession which predisposes
the learning of delinquent modes through different motivational processes;
and,
(ii) action learning (reinforcement) which is almost a simultaneous process, and
includes loners, tricked or coerced to take up delinquency and the emulated
ones (primary deviants, destitutes, beggars, vagrants, etc.).
(b) The secondary delinquency stage:
Strong delinquency attitude and primary delinquency are already present and
lead towards learning serious delinquent modes and developing rationalizations
thereof (development of gang delinquency of professional and habitual nature).

The analyses, however, have, it must be recorded, their own limita-

tions. The process of reducing the theoretical variables into operational
variables for investigation can suffer from some degree of ambiguity or
over-emphasis. Besides, these operational variables have been frequently
based upon assumptions which are often only circumstantially tested.
Thus, though the data presented here largely support the theory of dif-
ferential association, they succeed only marginally in demonstrating its
empirical validity and call for a more controlled enquiry.

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 Adolescent Thieves and Differential Association 65

Notes
1. The author is indebted to Dr S. S. Srivastava, Kashi Vidyapeeth, Varanasi, and Dr M. Z.
Khan, Deptt of Criminology and Forensic Science, University of Saugar, Saugar, for
their critical comments and suggestions.
The present paper is a part of the extensive work on the adolescent property
offenders (16 to 21 years) from two urban centres Gwalior and Indore in Central
India (Shukla, 1970). The paper describes the nature of association of two hundred
adolescent property offenders during different stages of growth and by inference or
implication it provides empirical test for the said theory. The study is based upon
interviews of the subjects in both the cities.
2. Direct and indirect help of the police had to be sought in establishing initial contacts
with the gang leaders and hardened criminals, as no other method was found suitable.
However, in these cases, techniques of rapport were more extensively used to mitigate
the police bias.
3. The bases of classification were source of livelihood, modus-operandi, frequency of
theft, skill, efficiency, ability to fix up cases, self-conception, attitude towards society
and the criminal world, potentialities and experience.
The following chart shows the comparative statement of characteristics of the
three categories of subjects.

Habitual
Theft a habit and repetitive behaviour
Theft as well as other sources of income
Partial dependence on conformist world for
earning money. Affiliates with non-conformist
world for support, approval and associations.
Faith in the legitimacy of conformist world
Do not wait for the favourable circumstance and
can create circumstances for the act
Theft is irresistible activity. Partly scared of
being called a thief due to social fear
Marginal outer social control and the inner
controls are minimum
Tries to mix or associate with delinquent
world* and lacks guts to fix up cases; less
agile and efficient
No specific modus operandi. Techniques and
tools applied in the commission of an offence
*Delinquent World: Associations where activities involve violation of Criminal Law.
Professional
Theft a profession
Major source of income
Not dependent on conformist world,
particularly in regard to earning money. Little
faith in the legitimacy of conformist world
Circumstances for theft are easily
manipulated
Perfect identification with a theft, strong
rationalizations and no fear of social stigma.
Minimum familial and social control-inner
and outer
Resourceful, able to fix up cases, Swift,
agile and efficient. Believes in group
criminality but prefers to operate alone
Modus operandi is guaranteed. Skill and
craftsmanship used in the commission of
the act. Techniques and tools innovated or
developed

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 66 K.S. Shukla

References
Breckenridge, S. P. and Eddith Abbott 1917. Delinquent child and the home, New York:
Russel Sage Foundation.
Cohen, A. K. 1955. Delinquent boys: culture of the gang, New York: Free Press.
Festinger, L. 1950. “Informal social communication”, in Festinger et al., Theory and experi-
ment in social communication. Ann Arbor: University Institute of Social Research.
McKay, H. D. 1963. “Differential association and crime prevention”, Social Problems,
VIII(1).
Parsons, Talcott 1942. “Age, sex and social structure”, American Sociological Review, VII(4).
Reiss, A. J. and Rhodes, A. L. 1964. “An empirical verification of differential association
theory”, Journal of Research in Crime and Delinquency, 1(1).
Shukla, K. S. 1970. “Adolescent thieves: A crimino-sociological study of 200 offenders in
Gwalior and Indore”, (Unpublished Ph. D. Dissertation), Saugar, University of Saugar.
Sutherland, E. H. 1942. “The development of the concept of differential—association”,
Ohio Valley Sociologist, 15(1).
Sutherland, E. H. and Gressey, D. R. 1955. Principles of criminology, (5th ed.), New York:
Lippincott.

Chapter 03.indd 66 2013-11-23 2:15:49 PM

 4
Culture and Fertility:
Son Preference and
Reproductive Behaviour1
Ashesh Das Gupta

H
uman reproductive behaviour, though a biological process, is con-
ditioned largely by the socio-cultural milieu of couples. The value
system of the society, which provides the basic element of cultural
milieu, influences the behaviour patterns of the members (including their
reproductive behaviour) by setting the desired goals for their life. It is in this
context that a strong preference for son may be treated as a cultural value,
something viewed as highly desirable, in many parts of the world, including
India. Since the expectations of the parents and those of the society from
the male issue are cultural, preference for son and its implications for the
fertility behaviour of couples may vary from one culture to another and, at
times, within the same society from one community to another. Indian soci-
ety, with a long history of coexistence of various culturally heterogeneous
groups, provides an interesting case for a comparative study of the impact
of son preference on the reproductive behaviour in four major religious
communities—the Hindus, the Muslims, the Christians and the Sikhs.

The Background

In most developing societies with an agrarian economy, for various socio-

economic and cultural considerations, a pronounced preference for
son may be observed. Such preference is generally considered to be an

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 68 Ashesh Das Gupta

important factor underlying high level of desired as well as actual fertility

in these societies. Son is preferred for maximising several economic and
non-economic activities, such as contributing to family’s resources by
working in the family farm, providing support to the parents in their old
age, carrying out certain religious rites, helping the family in the village
factional politics, and so on. The role of male children in family farms
has been reported from many countries in South and South-East Asia,
such as Bangladesh, India, Indonesia, Nepal and Taiwan (see Muller
1976; Cain 1977; Nag et al. 1978; Bardhan 1988; Basu 1989). Recent
studies have found a strong preference for male issue to be almost perva-
sive in Indian society (see Parasuraman et al. 1994; Murthi et al. 1995;
Arnold 1996; Arnold et al. 1998).
It is a common belief that a strong preference for son is a barrier
to the adoption of birth control measures, as couples may continue to
reproduce if they are not satisfied with the sex composition of their off-
spring. However, the available studies do not show a consistently strong
effect of son preference on fertility control (see Das 1984, 1987 and
1989; Bairagi and Langsten 1986; Haddad et al. 1996; Arnold 1992
and 1997).

The Study

Though the literature on the role of son preference value on human

reproductive behaviour is quite rich, rarely has any effort been made in
India to ascertain the relative impact of son preference value on various
religious and ethnic communities. India, being a multi-religious and
multi-ethnic country, provides a fertile field for comparative studies on
the relationship between son preference and fertility. Keeping this in
view, the following two hypotheses have been tested in this paper:

1. Son preference has a positive influence on reproductive behaviour of various

religious communities.
2. Preference for male issue influences the reproductive behaviour of the four
religious communities differentially.

The study was conducted in the city of Patna in the early 1990s.
According to the 1991 Census, the Patna Urban Agglomeration had

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 Culture and Fertility: Son Preference and Reproductive Behaviour 69

a population of 10,98,572,2 of which the Hindus constituted about

85 percent, the Muslims about 13 percent, and the Christians and the
Sikhs constituted about 0.40 and 0.70 percent respectively. The sample
for the present study consisted of 400 respondents living in Patna Urban
Agglomeration, of which 200 respondents were Hindus, 100 were
Muslims, and 50 each were Christians and Sikhs. The sample was drawn
by following the principle of quota sampling based on the researcher’s
knowledge of the socio-economic and religious composition of the
universe. Data were gathered with the help of an interview schedule.
The level of son preference (the independent variable) was measured
with the help of a 10-item attitude scale.3 Fertility (the dependent vari-
able) was measured in terms of completed fertility (total number of live
births to women who have completed their reproductive period). Thus,
the respondents for the present study constituted of only those mar-
ried women who were either in the age group of 45 years and above or
those who have deliberately terminated their reproductive capability by
undergoing sterilisation.

The Findings

With the help of the Son Preference Scale, the respondents were catego-
rised into three broad groups, expressing three different levels of prefer-
ence for male issue. Thus, respondents scoring more than 6 points (in
the 10-item Son Preference Scale) have been placed in ‘higher’ son pref-
erence (HSP) category, those scoring points between 5 and 1 have been
placed in ‘lower’ son preference (LSP) category, and those scoring no
point have been placed in the category of no preference for son (NSP).
Furthermore, the respondents were classified into lower and higher
fertility groups, with women having three or more children placed in
‘higher’ fertility group and those with two or less than two children
placed in ‘lower’ fertility group.
Table 1 presents data for the Hindu respondents. It shows a defi-
nite trend with 83 (68.03%) of the 122 respondents in HSP category
belonging to higher fertility group, and only 39 (31.96%) belonging to
lower fertility group. On the other hand, in LSP category, 28 (56 %) out
of 50 respondents belong to lower fertility group, and 22 (44%) belong
to higher fertility group. Finally, out of 28 respondents in NPS category,

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 70 Ashesh Das Gupta

Table 1
Son Preference and Fertility (Hindus)

Son Preference and Fertility HSP Category LSP Category NPS Category Total
1–2 39 (31.96%) 28 (56%) 20 (71.42%) 87
3 and above 83 (68.03%) 22 (44%) 8 (28.54%) 113
Total 122 50 28 200
x = 18.65, df = 2, Significant at .01 level.
2

Table 2
Mean Fertility of HSP, LSP and NPS Categories and ‘t’ Values (Hindus)

HSP Category LSP Category NPS Category

 3.38 2.78 2.28
SD 1.76 1.77 1.44
HSP – LSP LSP – NPS HSP – NPS
‘t’ value 2.14 1.38 3.66
Df 170 76 148
Level of significance .05 Not significant .001

20 (71.42%) belong to lower fertility group, and the remaining 8

(28.57%) belong to higher fertility group. Thus, the Hindu respondents
show a definite trend of fertility going up with increasing level of son
preference and vice versa. The Chi-square test confirms the relationship
between the two variables to be positive at a highly significant level.
Furthermore, the mean fertility of the three son preference catego-
ries indicates an apparent trend with HSP category showing the highest
mean fertility, followed by LSP and NPS categories (see Table 2). The
‘t’ ratio values confirm that the difference between the mean fertility of
HSP and LSP, and of HSP and NPS to be significant.
Table 3 presents the distribution of Muslim respondents in terms
of their level of son preference and fertility. It shows a clear difference
between the overall distribution of lower and higher fertility groups,
with only 18 percent respondents in lower fertility group and 82 per-
cent in high fertility group. Furthermore, in HSP category 46 (88.46%)
respondents belong to higher fertility group and only 6 (11%) belong

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 Culture and Fertility: Son Preference and Reproductive Behaviour 71

Table 3
Son Preference and Fertility (Muslims)

Son Preference and Fertility HSP Category LSP Category NPS Category Total
1–2 6 (11.53%) 4 (13.79%) 8 (42.10%) 18
3 and above 46 (88.46%) 25 (86.20%) 11 (57.89%) 82
Total 52 29 19 100
x = 18.65, df = 2, Significant at .01 level.
2

Table 4
Mean Fertility of HSP, LSP and NPS Categories and ‘t’ Values (Muslims)

HSP Category LSP Category NPS Category

 4.50 3.98 3.28
SD 2.42 1.54 1.82
HSP – LSP LSP – NPS HSP – NPS
‘t’ value 1.20 1.40 2.34
Df 79 48 69
Level of significance Not significant Not significant .05

to lower fertility group. It is remarkable that even in LSP category, 25

(86.20%) out of a total of 29 belong to higher fertility group. Finally,
in NPS category 11 (57.89%) out of 19 respondents belong to higher
fertility group and 8 (42.10%) belong to lower fertility category. Thus,
here one finds that the son preference variable does have an important
bearing on fertility performance of the couples. Nevertheless, those
Muslim couples who do not cherish any preference for son issue still
have a higher fertility than their Hindu counterparts.
Table 4 shows that in the three son preference categories fertility
rises with the increasing level of son preference. However, the difference
at the level of mean fertility of the concerned categories is not significant.
The ‘t’ value finds significant difference only between HSP and NPS
categories.
Table 5 presents the distribution of Christian respondents as
regards their levels of son preference and fertility. It shows a positive
association between son preference and fertility: Out of 22 respondents

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 72 Ashesh Das Gupta

Table 5
Son Preference and Fertility (Christians)

Son Preference and Fertility HSP Category LSP Category NPS Category Total
1–2 3 (13.63%) 4 (23.52%) 6 (54.54%) 13
3 and above 19 (86.36%) 13 (76.47%) 5 (45.45%) 37
Total 22 17 11 50
x = 6.43, df = 2, Significant at .05 level.
2

Table 6
Mean Fertility of HSP, LSP and NPS Categories and ‘t’ Values (Christians)

HSP Category LSP Category NPS Category

 4.04 3.14 2.59
SD 1.75 0.85 1.31
HSP – LSP LSP – NPS HSP – NPS
‘t’ value 2.11 1.27 2.78
Df 37 26 31
Level of significance .05 Not significant .01

in HSP group, 19 (86.36%) belong to higher fertility group and only

3 (13.63%) belong to lower fertility group. In lower son preference cat-
egory, 4 (23.52%) belong to lower fertility group, while 13 (76.47%)
belong to the higher fertility group. Thus, a good number of respon-
dents with lower son preference belong to higher fertility group. In
NPS category, respondents are almost equally distributed in lower and
higher fertility groups. However, the value of Chi-square test indicates
that the observed relationship between the two variables is statistically
significant.
Table 6 reveals that the mean fertility is the highest in HSP cat-
egory and the lowest in NPS category, with LSP category occupying
the intermediate position. This distribution goes on to form a positive
association between the two variables. Moreover, the statistically sig-
nificant difference observed in the mean fertility between HSP and LSP
categories and between HSP and NPS categories corroborates the posi-
tive correlation between the two variables.

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 Culture and Fertility: Son Preference and Reproductive Behaviour 73

Table 7 presents the distribution of Sikh respondents in terms of

their level of son preference and reproductive behaviour. Out of 28
respondents belonging to HSP category, as many as 25 (89.28 %) have
higher fertility and only 3 (10.71%) have lower fertility. In LSP category,
the percentage of respondents having lower fertility is higher (33.33%)
than it is in HSP category (10.71%). However, even in LSP category,
a higher percentage (66.66%) have higher fertility. In NPS category,
60 percent of the respondents belong to lower fertility category and
40 percent to higher fertility category. Thus, on the whole, the pattern
of relationship between the level of son preference and fertility observed
in other three communities is observed in the Sikh community, too. The
positive relationship between the two variables is further supported by
the value obtained by the Chi-square test, which has been found to be
highly significant.
Table 8 shows that the mean fertility of the three son preference
categories among the Sikhs reflects that the level of fertility goes down

Table 7
Son Preference and Fertility (Sikhs)

Son Preference and Fertility HSP Category LSP Category NPS Category Total
1–2 3 (10.71%) 4 (33.33%) 6 (60%) 13
3 and above 25 (89.28%) 8 (66.66%) 4 (40%) 37
Total 28 12 10 50
x = 11.11, df = 2, Significant at .01 level.
2

Table 8
Mean Fertility of HSP, LSP and NPS Categories and ‘t’ Values (Sikhs)

HSP Category LSP Category NPS Category

 4.16 4.28 2.70
SD 2.21 1.71 1.60
HSP – LSP LSP – NPS HSP – NPS
‘t’ value 1.62 0.17 2.67
Df 20 38 36
Level of significance Not significant Not significant .05

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 74 Ashesh Das Gupta

with the decreasing level of son preference. This is in accordance with

the trends observed among other three religious communities. Finally,
the difference between the mean fertility of HSP and NPS categories
among the Sikhs has been found to be statistically significant, a finding
which has also been observed in the other three religious communities
and which, to a large extent, corroborates our hypothesis.

Conclusions and Policy Implications

Following are some conclusions that may be derived from the above
analysis:

1. In all the four religious communities, the percentage of respondents

belonging to higher fertility group (3 and above) is highest among those
who are in the higher son preference category and vice versa. This estab-
lishes a positive correlation between the two variables.
2. The positive correlation between the two variables is further supported by the
difference observed in the mean fertility of the three son preference categories
in all the four religious communities. It is highest in HSP category and lowest
in NPS category, in all the four communities. Furthermore, in all the four
communities, the difference between the mean fertility of HSP and NPS
categories is found to be highly significant.
3. In all the four communities, the observed relation between the dependent
and independent variables is found to be statistically significant. Hence, it
may be concluded that the first hypothesis concerning the positive correla-
tion between son preference and fertility is established.
4. Finally, the percentage of respondents having higher son preference has
been found to be the highest among the Hindus (61%), followed by the
Sikhs (54%), the Muslims (52%), and the lowest among the Christians
(44%). This finding is corroborated by the National Family Health Survey
Subject Report which observes that ‘in general the effect of son preference
is weaker among Muslims than among Hindus . . .’ (Rangmuthia et al.
1997: 25). The report further says that

In every state except Kerala, son preference has some effect on fertility for
Hindus, and the effect is statistically significant in 14 states. Women who
are not Hindus or Muslims often exhibit strong son preference in parity
progression in states with sufficiently large samples of these women. Most
notable is the case of Punjab where Sikhs have very strong preference for
sons (Ibid.: 25–26).

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 Culture and Fertility: Son Preference and Reproductive Behaviour 75

5. Conversely, the Christian community has the maximum number of

respondents (22%) expressing no preference for male issue, while the Hindu
community has the lowest number (14%) of such respondents. This distri-
bution, thus, confirms the second hypothesis as well.

Many explanations may be put forward in support of the observed

positive correlation between the level of son preference and fertility.
First, couples with higher son preference will tend to reproduce late
in their married life to have the desired number of male issues and are
thus less prone to adopt birth control measures till they have the desired
number of male issues. Second, during the course of fieldwork, the pres-
ent researcher came across a good number of respondents in all commu-
nities, excepting the Christians, who expressed a strong desire to have at
least two sons. ‘One son’, some of them observed, ‘is like an earthen pot
which may break at any time’. Thus, the desire to have at least two sons
has resulted in undesired pregnancies and ultimately a larger family than
what they had originally planned. Finally, the incidence of highest per-
centage of respondents expressing son preference among Hindus may
be attributed to the following facts: (a) sons are believed to be essential
for transmitting family name and property, (b) the complicated rules of
endogamy and exogamy compel the parents to marry their daughters
generally outside their villages,4 (c) the religious reason that son must
perform the sradha rites, which is believed to save his parents from going
to hell,5 and (d) the practice of receiving dowry at the marriage of a son
(May and Heer 1968). Conversely, such values do not prevail among
the Christians. Moreover, a higher percentage of respondents living in
urban centres or in nuclear neolocal families, their being educated,6 and
other such factors perhaps account for the lowest level of son preference
observed among the Christian respondents.
Thus, it has been found that preference for son is almost a universal
value in India, though different religious communities cherish this value
at different levels of intensity. This value has also been a potential source
of higher fertility and a great stumbling block in the way of fertility tran-
sition in the desired direction. A fact which needs special attention is that
a good number of respondents from higher socio-economic group have
shown a strong preference for the male issue. In other words, it means
that correlates of low fertility have been found not to be strong enough
forces to counter the preference for the male issue. Furthermore, queries
have revealed that old-age security and desire for salvation have been the

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 76 Ashesh Das Gupta

two most important considerations for preferring the male issue. Hence,
any effort to minimise or counter this strong cultural value must seek
alternative arrangements for the aged. This can be achieved by providing
and protecting old parents with various welfare schemes like pension,
health and old-age insurance, old-care homes and the like. Along with
welfare schemes for the aged, there is an urgent need to improve health
care facilities for children. This will help bring down the infant mortality
rate, which is a vital precondition for fertility transition, as the parents
will be more assured of the survival of their children. Finally, schemes
to provide maximum employment or, at least, a minimum income, to
the lowest strata of society, along with strict measures prohibiting child
labour, will also help counter the values assigned to son preference and
thus create a new cultural condition for fertility transition.

Notes
1. This is an expanded and revised version of the paper presented at the 8th Annual
Conference of the Indian Association for the Study of Population held at Lucknow on
25–27 March 1995.
2. According to 2001 Census, the population of Patna Urban Agglomeration is
17,07,429.
3. The Son Preference Scale used in this article included the following 10 items. The
respondents were asked to endorse the statements in terms of a three-point response
category.

(1) Son provides helping hand in economic activities.

Yes  (2) No (1) Undecided (0)
(2) Son is the potential source of receiving dowry.
    
Yes (2) No (1) Undecided (0)
(3) Son provides economic and social security to parents during their old age.
Yes  (2) No (1) Undecided (0)
(4) Son is the medium of achieving salvation.
Yes  (2) No (1) Undecided (0)
(5) Son helps maintain lineage.
Yes  (2) No (1) Undecided (0)
(6) Son helps in enhancing prestige in the community.
Yes  (2) No (1) Undecided (0)
(7) Son provides manpower and physical strength in village feuds.
Yes  (2) No (1) Undecided (0)

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 Culture and Fertility: Son Preference and Reproductive Behaviour 77

(8) Son helps in meeting family obligations.

Yes  (2) No (1) Undecided (0)
(9) Son is a good friend during one’s old age.
Yes  (2) No (1) Undecided (0)
(10) To have a son is a psychological satisfaction in itself.
Yes  (2) No (1) Undecided (0)

4. Hence, if no son is alive, the possibility of economic and emotional support from
daughters is considered both limited and undesirable.
5. There is a strong belief, especially among the Hindus, that a man achieves salvation
when his last rites are performed by his putra (son). Etymologically, the term putra in
Sanskrit means ‘Punnamnarkat trayate iti’, that is, one who rescues a person from put
or hell is putra (Bahadur 1961: 167).
6. Analysing the relationship between the level of education and fertility, it was found
that the distribution of respondents in different educational categories—that is,
higher, middle and lower—among the Christians was 24 percent, 32 percent and 50
percent respectively.

References
Arnold, Fred. 1992. ‘Sex preference and its demographic and health implications’,
International family planning perspectives, 18 (2): 93–101.
——— 1996. ‘Son preference in South Asia.’ Paper presented at the International Union for
the Scientific Study of Population (IUSSP) Seminar on ‘Comparative Perspectives on
fertility Transition in South Asia’, Islamabad, 17–20 December.
——— 1997. ‘Gender preferences for children: Findings from the demographic and
health surveys.’ Paper presented at the 23rd General Population Conference of the
International Union for the Scientific Study of Population (IUSSP), Beijing, 11–17
October.
Arnold, Fred et al. 1998. ‘Son preference, the family-building process and child mortality
in India’, Population studies, 52 (3): 301–15.
Bahadur, Radhakanta Deb (ed.). 1961. Shabda, Kalpa, Drumah (Vol. III). Varanasi:
Choukhamba Sanskrit Series Office.
Bairagi, R and Ray L. Langsten. 1986. ‘Sex preference for children and its implications for
fertility in rural Bangladesh’, Studies in family planning, 17 (6): 302–07.
Bardhan, Pranab K. 1988. ‘Sex disparity in child survival in rural India,’ in T.N. Srinivasan
and Pranab K. Bardhan (eds.): Rural poverty in South India (472–82). Oxford: Oxford
University Press.
Basu, Alka M. 1989. ‘Is discrimination in food really necessary for explaining sex differen-
tials in childhood mortality ?’, Population studies, 43 (2): 193–210.
Cain, M.T. 1977. ‘The economic activities of children in a village in Bangladesh,’ Population
and development review, 3 (3): 201–07.
Das, Narayan. 1984. ‘Sex preference pattern and its stability in India: 1970–1980’,
Demography India, 8 (1 & 2): 108–19.

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 78 Ashesh Das Gupta

Das, Narayan. 1987. ‘Sex preference and fertility behaviour: A study of recent Indian data’,
Demography, 24 (4): 517–30.
——— 1989. ‘A simulation model to study the effect of sex preference on current fertility’,
Demography India, 18 (1 & 2): 49–72.
Haddad, Lawrence et al. 1996. ‘Food security and nutrition implications of interhouse-
hold bias: A review of literature’ (Discussion paper No. 19). Washington DC: Food
Consumption and Nutrition Division, International Food Policy Research Institute.
May, D.A. and D.M. Heer. 1968. ‘Son survivorship motivation and family size in India: A
comparative simulation’, Population studies, 22 (2): 199–210.
Muller, E. 1976. ‘The Economic value of children in peasant agriculture’ in Ronald G.
Ridker (ed.): Population and development: The search for selective interventions (98–153).
Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins University Press.
Murthi, Mamta et al. 1995. ‘Mortality, fertility and gender bias in India’, Population and
development review, 21 (4): 745–82.
Nag, M. et al. 1978. ‘An anthropological approach to the study of economic value of chil-
dren in Java and Nepal’, Current anthropology, 19 (2): 293–306.
Parasuraman, Sulabha et al. 1994. ‘Sex composition of children and fertility behaviour in
rural Maharashtra’, in K.B. Pathak, U.P. Sinha and Arbind Pandey (eds.): Dynamics of
population and family welfare (57–71), Bombay: Himalaya Publishing House.
Rangmuthia, M. et al. 1997. ‘Son preference and its effect on fertility in India’, National
family health survey subject report, No. 3: 25–26.

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 5
Sex Preference and
Contraceptive Use
in Manipur
L. Ladusingh, N. Minita Devi
and Kh. Jitenkumar Singh

Introduction

P
reference for sons is pervasive in traditional and patriarchal soci-
eties. Sons are considered by parents as productive assets for
agricultural work and security for old age, while daughters are
regarded as liabilities, particularly in those states of India where dowry
system is in vogue. The most important reason for son preference in
patriarchal societies is the continuation of family lineage. Although
preference for sons over daughters is pronounced, couples prefer to have
at least one child of each sex to fulfil their socio-cultural obligations
and psychological needs (Nag 1991). The existence of sex preference for
children is also documented in the case of South Korea (Arnold and Kuo
1984) and China (Arnold and Liu 1986), countries which share a tradi-
tion of Confucian patriarchal value system, and Bangladesh (Bairagi and
Langsten 1986), a predominantly agricultural country. However, the
degree of son preference varies substantially across countries depending
on such factors as the level of economic development, social norms,
cultural and religious practices, marriage and family systems, level of
urbanisation, and the nature of social security.

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 80 L. Ladusingh, N. Minita Devi and Kh. Jitenkumar Singh

There is an increasing recognition in demographic literature that

sex preference for children has a strong bearing on the contraceptive
practice by couples. Couples who have an abiding preference for sons
or for a balanced number of sons and daughters will continue bearing
children if they are not satisfied with their sex preference for children.
As such, satisfied couples are more likely to adopt contraception for
discontinuation of childbearing. Thus, data on the sex composition of
children can be used to examine the effect of sex preference on contra-
ceptive prevalence. The present study is an attempt to empirically verify
this theoretical relation between sex preference and contraceptive use in
the state of Manipur.

The Tribal Communities of Manipur

Manipur, the easternmost state of India, bordering Myanmar (formerly

known as Burma), has unique geographical, demographic and socio-
cultural characteristics. The state has three ethnic groups: the Meiteis
of the valley, and the tribal Nagas and Kukis of the surrounding hills.
These ethnic groups are predominantly Mongoloid in their physical
characteristics, and they all speak Tibeto-Burma group of languages.
According to T.C. Hodson (1908), ‘Meithei’ is a combined appellation
of Siamese ‘Tai’ and Kochin Chinese ‘Moy’ (Moy + Tai = Moytai =
Moitai = Meitei) and the ‘Meitheis’ belonged to the ‘Moi’ section of
the great ‘Tai’ race. The tribes of Manipur who are now grouped under
the Naga fold are among the earliest inhabitants of the hills of Manipur.
The origin of the word ‘Naga’ is unknown, but it is supposed to have
been derived from the Sanskrit word Nanga and applied in derision to
the people for their paucity of clothing. The British came to know them
for their famous headhunting practice (Kabui 1995). The ‘Kuki-Chin’,
or simply ‘Kuki’, is both a linguistic group and an ethno-cultural entity.
To its immediate neighbours in Bengal and Tripura, ‘Kuki’ refers to hill
people or mountaineers. In modern Burmese, ‘Chin’ means a ‘basket’,
and some scholars interpret ‘Kuki-Chin’ as a ‘man with a basket’. Kukis
are concentrated in the Chin Hills of Myanmar with some distribution
in India and Bangladesh.
The Meiteis, the Nagas and the Kukis had inbuilt affinities in the
course of the ethno-genetic process. In the living folk traditions of Manipur,

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 Sex Preference and Contraceptive Use in Manipur 81

they are said to be brethren. In historic times, the tribes and principalities
of Meiteis had amalgamated through conquest and other arrangements
into a full-fledged nation equipped with a centralised administration,
market, cultural complex and external relations with neighbours. In
1947, Manipur became a part of the Indian Union.
For the different communities—Meiteis, Nagas, Kukis, and
Muslims—living in Manipur, the family line is carried on solely by
descendents on the male side, and daughters have no social right to
inherit the family name. Among the Meiteis there are instances of par-
ents giving a boy’s name to a girl child (such as, ‘Chaoba’) in the hope of
getting a boy, and parents with only male issues giving a girl’s name (such
as, ‘Tombi’) to their sons. Traditionally, sons are considered advantageous
for two reasons: family lineage and old age support, even if productive
utility of sons is limited. However, the daughters are not considered as
liabilities, as the marriage system accepts love marriage, and dowry sys-
tem is not prevalent in the state.
Although son preference is still common, this preference often exists
side by side with parents desiring to have at least one child of each sex.
Educationally, girls are given equal opportunities as the boys and women
are empowered for household decision-making. Manipuri women occupy
a high status in the family and society, not only for their contribution to
the economy of the household, but also for their major roles in the society.
In fact, ‘Ima-Keithel’, the only market in the country exclusively ‘manned’
by women, is the symbolic trademark of the capital city, Imphal. However,
women are more engaged in the unorganised sector, and male dominance in
the society persists.
The Kuki women are valued for their labour. The manner of obtain-
ing a wife is either by paying the bride price, or as in the old Jewish
fashion, by serving for her in bondage for a term of years; but no great
value is placed on her rectitude (Roy Burman et al. 2004). While the
idea of religion is similar among the tribes, the Kukis believe more in
spirits having charge of their forest, hills and rivers, than in household
deities, and that the best sacrifice a man can make to them is the heads
of his enemies. Kukis are considered to be the most intelligent of all
tribes in Manipur.
The family is the basic social institution in the Naga society. Naga
families are usually closely knit with bonds of affection and respect. The
Naga society is patriarchal and descent is traced through the father’s side.

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 82 L. Ladusingh, N. Minita Devi and Kh. Jitenkumar Singh

The Naga administrative system covers almost all conceivable needs of

a human being from birth to death. Every village is the custodian of its
tribal laws. Feast time and festivals are times of added warmth, elaborate
cooking, unhurried celebrations, music and dancing.

Data and Methods

The data for this study were collected from sampled representative
areas of all eight districts of Manipur, of which three are in the valley
and five, in the hilly region. A target sample of 1,000 currently mar-
ried women were distributed among the eight districts proportionate to
their population size. A two-stage sampling design was adopted: using
systematic sampling procedure, first villages/towns were selected from
the districts, and then the households from the villages/towns. The data
were collected during March 2000–November 2001. The analysis that
follows is based on 983 completed structured questionnaires. The data
have been weighted by design weight for ‘sampling’ and ‘non-response’.
The survey included questions about desired and current family size and
sex composition, contraceptive use, complete pregnancy history, and a
host of socio-demographic background particulars of currently married
women.
In this study, an attempt is made to assess the presence of sex pref-
erence for children by examining the current use of any contraceptive
method in relation to the sex composition of surviving children. The
measure adopted for this assessment was briefed by the question ‘What
would happen to contraceptive use if all sex preferences were to disap-
pear suddenly?’ To measure the presence of sex preference for children,
Fred Arnold (1985) has formulated the index
?i Ci* Pi
IP ?
?i Pi
where Ci* equals the maximum contraceptive use rate at each parity i,
and Pi equals the number of women at each parity i. It is assumed that
all couples at each parity will act in the same manner as those couples
who are currently most satisfied in terms of the sex composition of their
children. If the sex of the child made no difference, couples with one
girl would be equally satisfied as couples with one boy, and hence they
would have the same rate of contraceptive use.

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 Sex Preference and Contraceptive Use in Manipur 83

Arnold’s index is an improvement over previous measures in many

respects. First, it can handle any type of sex preference (boy prefer-
ence, girl preference, balance preference, or any combination of these).
Second, the method can be used with a number of behavioural and
attitudinal measures related to fertility and family planning. Third, it
automatically adjusts for the current level of the independent variable.
Fourth, the data needed to calculate this measure are widely available.
The method requires data on only the number of living children by sex
plus any fertility-related dependent variable such as, for example, con-
traceptive use.

Contraceptive Use by Sex Composition

In order to assess the presence of sex preference for children, we shall

analyse the pattern of contraceptive use by sex composition of surviving
children, considering residence and other socioeconomic background of
currently married women from whom the data have been collected. Of
the 983 currently married women, 897 (91.2 percent) have at least one
child and 265 of them are presently using contraceptives, giving a con-
traceptive prevalence rate of 29.5 percent. The distribution of currently
married women in rural and urban areas of Manipur is 541 and 356
women respectively, and the number of women using contraceptives
in the corresponding areas is 113 and 152, resulting in contraceptive
prevalence rates of 20.9 percent and 42.4 percent in rural and urban
areas respectively.
Table 1 provides the rural and urban distribution of contraceptive
use by sex composition of surviving children. The first column depicts
the sex composition of surviving children. In both rural and urban cate-
gories, the first column (Columns 2 and 5) shows the number of women
and the second column (Columns 3 and 6) the percentage of women
who are actually using any method of contraception. The third col-
umn (Columns 4 and 7) of both categories depicts the percentage that
would use contraceptives in the absence of sex preference of children.
For example, in rural areas, 25.5 percent of women with one boy and
one girl are using contraceptives, compared with 12.5 percent of those
with two daughters. If the sex of the child made no difference, women
with two girls would be equally satisfied as women with one boy and
one girl, and hence they would have the same rate of contraceptive use.

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 84 L. Ladusingh, N. Minita Devi and Kh. Jitenkumar Singh

Table 1
Contraceptive Use by Sex Composition and Residence

Rural Urban
In the In the
Sex Percentage Absence Percentage Absence
Composition of No. of Using of Sex No. of Using of Sex
Living Children Women Contraceptives Preference Women Contraceptives Preference
One child
One boy 37 18.9 (7) 18.9 34 11.8 (4) 14.7
One girl 33 6.1 (2) 18.9 34 14.7 (5) 14.7
Two children
Two boys 24 20.8 (5) 25.5 18 33.3 (6) 54.1
Two girls 24 12.5 (3) 25.5 12 16.7 (2) 54.1
One boy & 51 25.5 (13) 25.5 61 54.1 (33) 54.1
one girl
Three Children
Three boys 9 1.1 (1) 46.9 10 30.0 (3) 71.0
Three girls 6 0.0 (0) 46.9 5 0.0 (0) 71.0
More boys 32 46.9 (15) 46.9 31 71.0 (22) 71.0
More girls 47 23.4 (11) 46.9 50 64.0 (32) 71.0
Four children
Four boys 4 0.0 (0) 39.3 2 50.0 (1) 83.3
Four girls 5 20.0 (1) 39.3 6 66.7 (4) 83.3
Two boys & 34 26.5 (9) 39.3 18 83.3 (15) 83.3
two girls
More boys 17 35.3 (6) 39.3 12 50.0 (6) 83.3
More girls 28 39.3 (11) 39.3 9 66.7 (6) 83.3
Five or more
children
Only boys 4 0.0 (0) 17.9 1 0.0 (0) 25.9
Only girls 2 0.0 (0) 17.9 3 0.0 (0) 25.9
Boys = Girls 15 13.3 (2) 17.9 – 0.0 (0) 25.9
More boys 84 17.9 (15) 17.9 23 21.7 (5) 25.9
More girls 85 11.8 (10) 17.9 27 25.9 (7) 25.9
Total 541 20.9% Ip = 27.9% 356 42.4% Ip = 50.7%
Note: Figures in parentheses indicate the number of women.

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 Sex Preference and Contraceptive Use in Manipur 85

With this assumption, the figures in the third column (Columns 4

and 7) in each parity for both rural and urban categories are obtained.
On the whole, it is found that sex preference has marginal effect
on contraceptive use in both rural and urban areas: the contraceptive
use increases marginally from 20.9 percent to 27.9 percent in rural
and from 42.4 percent to 50.7 percent in urban areas in the absence
of sex preference. Table 1 reveals a preference for sons, particularly at
higher order parities in both rural and urban areas. Among women
with one child, those with one boy (18.9 percent) reported using con-
traceptives three times more as compared with those with one girl (6.1)
in the rural areas. For the same residence background, for women with
two children, 20.8 percent of those who have both sons are using con-
traceptives, as compared with 12.5 percent of women who have both
daughters.
The preference for one son and one daughter is the most accept-
able sex combination of children: a quarter of the women of parity two
with this sex composition reported using contraceptives. As the parity
increases, two patterns of contraceptive use emerge. First, women with
more number of boys are more satisfied in terms of sex composition
of children, as reflected in higher percentage of women going for con-
traception once they have more boys than girls. Second, a pronounced
preference for balance in the sex composition of children is evident from
the next higher percentage of women using contraceptives when they
have balance sex composition of children. From the present analysis of
percentage of women adopting contraceptives at each parity by sex com-
position of children, it is clear that women with ‘only daughters’ are less
likely to be satisfied with the sex composition of children, and most
probably they may proceed to have subsequent children. Similar pattern
of preference for sex composition of children among urban women is also
evident from Table 1. Preference for sons and balance in sex composition
is more in urban areas than in rural areas. Ignoring rural-urban categori-
sation, in the absence of sex preference for children, contraceptive use
among currently married women rises substantially, from 29.5 percent
to 46.7 percent.
Table 2 presents the results of a similar analysis by district of resi-
dence. Imphal, Thoubal and Bishnupur are the three valley districts,
Tamenglong, Senapati, Chandel, Ukhrul and Churachanpur are the
five hill districts. Over 60 percent of the population lives in the valley,
which constitutes only about 10 percent of the total land area of the

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 86 L. Ladusingh, N. Minita Devi and Kh. Jitenkumar Singh

Table 2
Contraceptive Use by Sex Composition and District of Residence

Hill Districts Valley Districts

In the In the
Sex Percentage Absence Percentage Absence
Composition of No. of Using of Sex No. of Using of Sex
Living Children Women Contraceptive Preference Women Contraceptive Preference
One child
One boy 32 15.6 (5) 15.6 39 15.4 (6) 15.4
One girl 31 9.7 (3) 15.6 36 11.1 (4) 15.4
Two children
Two boys 18 27.8 (5) 54.2 24 25.5 (6) 31.3
Two girls 17 11.8 (2) 54.2 19 15.8 (3) 31.3
One boy & one girl 48 54.2 (26) 54.2 64 31.3 (20) 31.3
Three children
Three boys 10 30.0 (3) 66.7 9 11.1 (1) 52.8
Three girls 8 0.0 (0) 66.7 3 0.0 (0) 52.8
More boys 27 66.7 (18) 66.7 36 52.8 (19) 52.8
More girls 46 50.0 (23) 66.7 51 39.2 (20) 52.8
Four children
Four boys 4 0.0 (0) 60.0 2 50.0 (1) 50.0
Four girls 5 60.0 (3) 60.0 6 33.3 (2) 50.0
Two boys & two 31 45.2 (14) 60.0 21 42.9 (9) 50.0
girls
More boys 10 60.0 (6) 60.0 19 31.6 (6) 50.0
More girls 22 45.5 (10) 60.0 15 46.7 (7) 50.0
Five or more
children
Only boys 2 50.0 (1) 50.0 3 66.7 (2) 66.7
Only girls 3 0.0 (0) 50.0 2 0.0 (0) 66.7
Boys = Girls 12 16.7 (2) 50.0 3 0.0 (0) 66.7
More boys 61 16.4 (10) 50.0 46 26.1 (12) 66.7
More girls 65 13.8 (9) 50.0 47 14.9 (7) 66.7
Total 452 31.0% Ip = 50.9% 445 28.1% Ip = 44.1%
Note: Figures in parentheses indicate number of women.

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 Sex Preference and Contraceptive Use in Manipur 87

state. People in the hill districts are mostly Scheduled Tribes, and are
Christian by religion. Meiteis (who are Hindu converts) and Muslims
live in the valley. In terms of infrastructure—transport, education and
healthcare—there is inequality in favour of the valley districts. Both the
hill and the valley districts reflect more satisfaction in having sons than
daughters: a higher percentage of women with more number of boys
have adopted contraception. Slightly over 15 percent of women with
‘only son’ are using contraceptives, compared with below 12 percent of
women with ‘only daughter’ using contraceptives.
The preference for sons is also stronger in the hill districts than in
the valley districts. Balance in the sex composition is most desired by the
majority of women having two children: the contraceptive prevalence
rates in the valley and the hill districts are 31.3 percent and 54.2 percent
respectively, and these figures are more for women with children of one
sex only. For women with three children, those who have only daugh-
ters are least satisfied in terms of sex composition of children, as none
of these women are ready to accept contraception. At four and higher
order parities, no definite pattern of sex preference is noticeable either in
the hill or in the valley districts. This may be attributed to the fact that,
once women have larger number of children, the preference for certain
sex composition of children gradually diminishes.
The results of a similar analysis by literacy in dichotomised categories—
illiterate and literate—are shown in Table 3. As expected, more women
who are literate are using contraceptives at different parities. Among illiter-
ate women, those who have daughter as the only child are not at all satis-
fied, though ‘one daughter’ as the only child is acceptable to some extent
among literate women. In the case of women with two children, the most
preferred sex composition is a boy and a girl: the percentage of contracep-
tive use is 47.0 for literate and 24.1 for illiterate women. The correspond-
ing figures for women with two sons are 31.3 percent and 10.0 percent
respectively for literate and illiterate women. When women have three liv-
ing children, ‘all daughters’ is not acceptable in both groups, and ‘all three
sons’ is also not acceptable among illiterate women, though it is acceptable
to literate women. When they have children of both sex, literate women
preferred to have more number of boys than girls. At higher order parities,
women in the literate category seem to bother more about discontinuation
of childbearing rather than sex composition of children, probably because
they realise that a desired sex composition of children at higher parities is
not feasible.

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 88 L. Ladusingh, N. Minita Devi and Kh. Jitenkumar Singh

Table 3
Contraceptive Use by Sex Composition and Literacy

Illiterate Literate
In the In the
Percentage Absence Percentage Absence
Sex Composition No. of Using of Sex No. of Using of Sex
of Living Children Women Contraceptive Preference Women Contraceptive Preference
One child
One boy 14 14.3 (2) 14.3 57 15.8 (9) 18.2
One girl 12 0.0 (0) 14.3 55 18.2 (10) 18.2
Two children
Two boys 10 10.0 (1) 24.1 32 31.3 (10) 47.0
Two girls 14 7.1 (1) 24.1 22 18.2 (4) 47.0
One boy & one girl 29 24.1 (1) 24.1 83 47.0 (39) 47.0
Three Children
Three boys 7 0.0 (0) 52.9 12 33.3 (4) 60.9
Three girls 4 0.0 (0) 52.9 7 0.0 (0) 60.9
More boys 17 52.9 (9) 52.9 46 60.9 (28) 60.9
More girls 31 16.1 (5) 52.9 66 57.6 (38) 60.9
Four children
Four boys 4 0.0 (0) 38.5 2 50.0 (1) 62.5
Four girls 3 0.0 (0) 38.5 8 62.5 (5) 62.5
Two boys & two 26 38.5 (10) 38.5 26 50.0 (13) 62.5
girls
More boys 9 33.3 (3) 38.5 20 45.0 (9) 62.5
More girls 17 35.3 (0) 38.5 20 50.0 (10) 62.5
Five or more
children
Only boys 2 50.0 (1) 50.0 3 66.7 (2) 66.7
Only girls 2 0.0 (0) 50.0 3 0.0 (0) 66.7
Boys = Girls 10 10.0 (1) 50.0 5 20.0 (1) 66.7
More boys 65 15.4 (10) 50.0 42 28.6 (12) 66.7
More girls 78 12.8 (10) 50.0 34 17.6 (6) 66.7
Total 354 18.6% Ip = 42.1% 543 37.0% Ip = 49.7%
Note: Figures in parentheses indicate number of women.

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 Sex Preference and Contraceptive Use in Manipur 89

Contraceptive Use by Socioeconomic

and Residence Backgrounds

In this section, we shall analyse the use of contraceptives by women

belonging to different socioeconomic and residence backgrounds (see
Table 4). Sex preference, particularly for sons, is prominent among illit-
erate women, as evident from the fact that contraceptive use would
have increased by 23.5 percent in the absence of sex preference and if
the women were satisfied with their present sex composition of chil-
dren. Similarly, it would have increased by 22.1 percent in the case of
women above 30 years of age. The increase in contraceptive use among
women in the hill districts, non-working women and women in the
valley, if they are satisfied with the present sex composition of children,
would be 19.9 percent, 16.7 percent and 15.9 percent respectively.
Above 10 percent gains are noticed among working and also among
literate women. For women who are below 30 years of age and residing
either in rural or urban areas, the increase in contraceptive use would
be below 10 percent.

Table 4
Effect of Sex Preference on Contraceptive Use

Background Contraceptive Use

Characteristics In the Absence
of Women Actual of Sex Preference Difference
Hill 31.0 50.9 19.9
Valley 28.1 44.0 15.9
Rural 20.9 27.9 7.0
Urban 42.4 50.7 8.3
Illiterate 18.6 42.1 23.5
Literate 37.0 49.7 12.7
Not working 28.9 45.6 16.7
Working 30.1 42.7 12.6
= 30 years 25.1 34.0 8.9
> 30 years 32.3 54.4 22.1
Total 29.5 46.7 17.2

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 90 L. Ladusingh, N. Minita Devi and Kh. Jitenkumar Singh

Conclusion

In a traditional male-oriented patriarchal society—as among the Meiteis,

Nagas, Kukis, and Muslims in Manipur—preference for son is expected,
particularly for family lineage. Persistence of agrarian economy with
limited social security system is another factor which can magnify the
preference for sons in the state. At the same time, the Manipuri women
are in a better position than their counterparts in other parts of the
country, both educationally and in terms of their position and roles in
the society. Absence of dowry for marrying daughters and companion-
ship the daughters provide to their mothers preclude daughters being
viewed as liabilities. Our analysis reveals that, in Manipur, there is mod-
erate son preference across residence and socioeconomic background,
but not at the cost of balance sex composition of a boy and a girl. Son
preference is stronger in rural and hill areas, possibly because of the
nature of livelihood in these residence backgrounds. Irrespective of their
socioeconomic and residence background, women are not at all satisfied
with having ‘only daughters’, though ‘only sons’ is acceptable to some
extent. Had there been no sex preference, contraceptive use would have
risen to the highest rate at any parity, invariant of sex composition of
children. The low rate of contraceptive use for the sex composition of
children dominated by daughters and the high rate of its use for the sex
composition of children dominated by sons at any parity confirm the
presence of sex preference in Manipur.

Acknowledgements

The authors thank the anonymous referee for her/his comments and sug-
gestions for improvement of the paper.

References
Arnold, Fred. 1985. ‘Measuring the effect of sex preference on fertility: The case of Korea’,
Demography, 22(2): 280–88.
Arnold, Fred and Eddie C.Y. Kuo. 1984. ‘The value of daughters and sons: A comparative
study of the gender preferences of parents’, Journal of comparative family studies, 15
(2): 299–318.

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 Sex Preference and Contraceptive Use in Manipur 91

Arnold, Fred and Zhaoxiang Liu. 1986. ‘Sex preference, fertility, and family planning in
China’, Population and development review, 12 (2): 221–44.
Bairagi, R. and L.R. Langsten. 1986. ‘Sex preference for children and its implications for
fertility in rural Bangladesh’, Studies in family planning, 17 (6): 302–07.
Hodson, T.C. 1908. The Meithei. London.
Kabui, G. 1995. ‘Genesis of the ethnoses of Manipur’, in N. Sanajaoba (ed.): Manipur: Past
and present (22–45). New Delhi: Mittal Publications.
Nag, M. 1991. ‘Sex preference in Bangladesh, India and Pakistan and its effect on fertility’,
Demography India, 20 (2): 163–85.
Roy Burman, B.K.; B. Choudhuri and K.K. Mishra (eds). 2004. Encyclopedia of Indian Tribes
and Castes (Vols. 12: 3594–97 & 16: 4726–38). New Delhi: Cosmo Publications.

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 6
Disappearing Daughters
and Intensification of
Gender Bias: Evidence
from Two Village Studies
in South India*
T.V. Sekher and Neelambar Hatti

Having a daughter is like watering a flower in the neighbour’s garden.

—Tamil proverb

C
onsiderable attention has been paid by researchers to different
aspects of female deficit in India (Visaria 1971; Miller 1981; Sen
1990; Agnihotri 2000; Croll 2000; Bhat 2002; Kaur 2004; Patel
2007). The 2001 Census has generated further debate on the issue and
has narrowed the focus to the changes in the juvenile or child sex ratio.1
Change in the sex ratio of children aged 0–6 is a better indicator of sta-
tus of girl child in India. It also reflects the sum-total of intra-household
gender relations. Why millions of girls do not appear to be surviving in
contemporary India, despite an overall improvement in welfare and state
measures to enhance the status of women? Why is daughter discrimination
on the rise despite progress in female literacy and growing participation
of women in economic and political activities? Is there a significant shift
from perceived ‘son preference’ to deliberate ‘daughter discrimination’?

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 Disappearing Daughters and Intensification of Gender Bias 93

While the 2001 Census shows that the overall sex ratio has mar-
ginally improved from 927 women per 1,000 men to 933 per 1,000
during the last decade, the number of girls to boys in the youngest age
group fell from 945 to 927. The regional disparities also appear to have
increased: the northern states generally exhibit a worsening trend in sex
ratio as compared to the southern states. The census evidence suggests
a clear cultural preference for male children, particularly among some
North Indian states. The census lists ‘sex-selective female abortions’,
‘female infanticide’, and ‘female neglect’—typically through giving girls
less food and medical care than boys—as ‘important reasons commonly
put forward’ for this shocking anomaly. The new figures point to the use
of new technologies to determine the gender composition. The acceler-
ated fall in the child sex ratio after 1981 is largely due to the diffusion of
prenatal sex-selection techniques in regions with well-entrenched gender
bias (Bhat 2002; Hatti et al. 2004). Furthermore, as social norms are
changing toward smaller families, the availability of and access to new
reproductive technologies provide an easy way for parents to achieve
such goals.
One of the most remarkable changes in the 20th century has been
the shift from high to low fertility and this has been described as the
greatest single demographic change in the second half of that cen-
tury (Caldwell 1993). The timing, onset, pace, and magnitude of this
decline varies between countries. The 2001 Census indicated that, after
a large spell of unprecedented population growth, India experienced a
gradual decline in the fertility levels. However, there is also evidence
that of a growing disparity between the north and the south, with the
southern states having been more successful in controlling population
growth.2 In a vast country like India with considerable demographic
diversity and heterogeneity and varying levels of socio-economic devel-
opment, the levels and phases of fertility decline vary significantly from
one state to another (Bhat 1994; Sekher et al. 2001; Guilmoto and
Rajan 2002).
Several studies suggest that cultural factors have played an important
role in determining fertility trends (Das Gupta, 1987; Basu 1992; Jeffery
and Jeffery 1997). While attention has been drawn to the importance
of cultural factors in studying demographic behaviour, few studies have
examined in detail the relations between cultural and economic aspects.
One important cultural (and economic) feature is the value attached to

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 94T.V. Sekher and Neelambar Hatti

sons. It is important to further analyse the nexus of economic, social and

cultural factors that underlie daughter discrimination, thus shifting the
focus from son preference to daughter discrimination.

Fertility Decline and Adverse Sex Ratio

In a significant article titled as ‘More than 100 Million Women are

Missing’, Amartya Sen (1990) brought to focus the increasing gender
discrimination by analysing the male-female ratio. He has argued that
the problem of missing women is ‘clearly one of the more momentous,
and neglected, problems facing the world today’ (ibid.: 9). B.D. Miller
(1981), in her anthropological study on neglect of female children in
North India, has illustrated the strong relationship between culture and
mortality. It is the cultural bias against females in North India that brings
into play neglect and mistreatment of unknown numbers of children.
Many studies have illustrated how the decline in fertility will affect
gender bias and greater imbalance in juvenile sex ratios (Das Gupta and
Bhat 1997; Clark 2000; Bhat and Zavier 2003; Nanda and Veron 2005;
Vella 2005). A substantial decline in fertility presupposes a desire for
fewer children as well as access to the means to limit the family size. Both
these conditions can be achieved with increase in social and economic
development. It is generally accepted that the pace of demographic
transition is closely associated with the levels of socio-economic devel-
opment. However, there is evidence to show that, even in the poorer
regions, substantial decline in fertility has occurred through political
intervention, in the form of family planning programme. The social and
economic development and governmental interventions, however, do
not ensure any substantial change in the cultural ethos of the society. In
South Asian societies, it is believed that a major barrier for decline in
fertility was the prevalence of strong son preference, irrespective of social
and economic development.
It is also argued that with the increase in welfare and economic
development, the influence of son preference would decline gradually.
These assumptions are being questioned by some studies indicating that
there has been an increase in son preference during the years of fertility
decline. This occurs not only in poorer communities but also in popula-
tions where women have taken to education and employment and have

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 Disappearing Daughters and Intensification of Gender Bias 95

achieved considerable social status. M. Das Gupta (1987) has found

that excess female mortality for second and subsequent parity daughters
was 32 per cent higher than their siblings for uneducated mothers and
136 per cent higher if the mothers were educated. Alaka Basu makes a
similar observation: ‘although her capacity to increase the chances of sur-
vival of her children seems to increase with education, the typical Uttar
Pradesh woman’s ability to treat her male and female offspring equally
actually decreases’ (1992: 196). The existence of strong son-preference
has resulted in the desire to prevent the birth of daughters by carefully
balancing the desired family size and desired sex composition of the chil-
dren. In other words, the decline in fertility partly explains the rising mas-
culinity of many populations (Das Gupta and Bhat 1997; Croll 2002).
It is hypothesised that as fertility declines, two opposing forces could
affect the child sex ratio, what is called as ‘parity effect’, which leads
to a reduction of sex bias and ‘intensification effect’, which increases it.
Considering this dimension, there is a need to examine the influence of
the mirror image of son preference, namely, the daughter discrimination.
Does a strong son preference ultimately result in deliberate discrimination
against daughters? Miller asserts that, ‘the problem is that son preference
is so strong in some areas of India and amongst some classes that daugh-
ters must logically suffer in order that family’s personal and culturally
mandated needs are fulfilled’ (1981: 25). Logically, this would mean that
stronger the son preference, more intense the daughter discrimination.
Rather than going through repeated pregnancies bearing daughters
in an attempt to produce male progeny, the norm of small family size
and reduced fertility seem to imply that unborn daughters are the
first to be ‘sacrificed’. Generally, both infanticide and fatal neglect of
female children seem to be supplemented by sex identification and sex-
selective abortion to achieve the desired family size and desired gender
composition. Better opportunities for women’s education, increasing
labour force participation, and greater exposure to urban life do not
necessarily guarantee equal status for daughters. In many Indian com-
munities, daughters are associated with a double loss. Firstly, a daughter
leaves the natal family after her marriage and the benefits from invest-
ments made on her upbringing accrue to the new family, constituting
a loss to her natal family. This is further compounded by the expenses
of her marriage, particularly dowry, which are a heavy burden for
the bride’s family.3 Sons, on the other hand, are considered as assets,

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 96T.V. Sekher and Neelambar Hatti

deserving short and long-term investment. In rural India, the birth of

a boy is thus a time for celebration while a birth of a girl, especially
second or subsequent one, is often viewed as a time of crisis (Bumiller
1990). Besides economic considerations, there are cultural factors that
support son preference. All these factors put together contribute to the
firm belief that daughters cannot substitute sons.
A general explanation for son preference is that sons can provide
old age support. In India, a majority of the old parents live with married
sons. The Indian context, characterised by high levels of uncertainty,
where no institutional alternative to the family as a source of social
insurance has emerged, parental decisions are likely to be powerfully
motivated by their concerns about their own security in the old age. The
existence of such an understanding and commitment between parents
and sons, known as inter-generational contract, is one factor that
appears to have remained unchanged through overall socio-economic
changes. Sons are also important because they alone can perform the
funeral rituals of the parents. Added to this, most women have very
limited opportunities to contribute towards their parents’ welfare. This
creates an apparent dichotomy between the value of a girl to her parents
and that of a woman to her parents-in-law.
It has also become more expensive to raise children as education has
become more important and a necessity in a transforming society. The
increasing cost of education and marriage of girls is a major drain on the
household resources, which acts as a strong disincentive to have daughters.
The underlying workings of female discrimination are undoubt-
edly highly complex. However, many broad factors have been identified
which together create a situation where sons are preferred and daugh-
ters are neglected. The patterns of inheritance are typically patrilineal in
India with property passing from father to son (Miller 1981; Agarwal
1994; Kabeer 1996). Upon marriage the bride leaves her natal home to
live with the family of her husband. In this exogamous lineage system
women are left out. They become dispensable essentially because they
count for very little as individuals.
In recent years, a major factor directly influencing the imbalance in
child sex ratio is the widespread use of sex-determination technologies
and sex-selective abortion. Misuse of sex-determination tests has been a
subject of media attention for many years. Health activists and women’s
organisations have voiced their concern forcing the government to act.
In 1994, the Government of India banned the tests at the national level,

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 Disappearing Daughters and Intensification of Gender Bias 97

with the Pre-natal Diagnostic Techniques (PNDT) (Regulation and

Prevention of Misuse) Act. This Act specifies that no prenatal diagnostic
procedures may be used unless there is a heightened possibility that the
fetus suffers from a harmful condition or genetic disease. It also states
that no person conducting prenatal diagnostic procedures shall com-
municate to the pregnant woman concerned or her relatives the sex of
the fetus by words, signs, or in any other manner. This Act was again
amended in the light of the newer techniques of pre-conception tests
and the amended law came into effect in 2003. Now, the Act is renamed
as the Pre-conception and Pre-natal Diagnostic Techniques (Prohibition
of Sex-selection) Act, 1994.4 This legislation has been a miserable failure
in preventing the couples seeking sex-determination tests and abortions
and the medical practitioners performing them.
Female fetuses are liable to victimisation on the basis of their sex
alone even before they are born. Only far-reaching social changes that
aim at increasing female autonomy, female economic power and the
value of the girl child are likely to make a significant impact on the
demand for sex-selective abortion. Interestingly, there is no reliable sta-
tistics available on sex-selective abortion at the state or national level in
India. An indirect estimate using the data from two rounds of National
Family Health Survey5 (NFHS) indicates more than 100,000 sex-
selective abortions in India every year (Arnold et al. 2002). The evidence
of substantial sex-selective abortion in states such as Punjab, Haryana,
Delhi, and Maharashtra is consistent with the high rates of use of ultra-
sound and amniocentesis (Retherford and Roy 2003).
How does fertility decline and son preference manifest at the village
level, particularly in the context of widespread availability of sex-selection
techniques at low cost? By studying two villages in the low-fertility regions
of South India, we attempt to understand how these factors interplay
at the micro-level with changing socio-economic conditions. The main
objective of this field enquiry was to study the precarious situation of
female children before birth (their chances of being born at all), at birth,
and during the first six years of childhood. In order to gain an understand-
ing of the dynamics it is essential to look into household and individual
behaviour. Here, the main concern is how reproduction strategies and
specific gender discrimination practices vary among households belong-
ing to different socio-economic groups. It is important to understand how
the desire for sons, whether strong or weak, is directly related to daugh-
ter discrimination and neglect. The focus group discussions (FGDs) and

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 98T.V. Sekher and Neelambar Hatti

in-depth interviews were done to elicit information about the value of

boys and girls, reproductive preferences and strategies. The qualitative
research methods employed in the study provided very useful insights.
A focus group, generally consisting of 8–10 persons with similar socio-
economic and demographic background, encouraged lively discussions
on specific issues, moderated and facilitated by the researchers. The entire
discussion was tape-recorded which helped in the preparation of detailed
transcripts later. The focus group discussions provided not only experi-
ences and opinions of the participants but also their perceptions on vari-
ous issues. The information gathered through FGDs was supplemented
with individual interviews. All these qualitative information was pooled
together and synthesised to arrive at conclusions. The average time taken
for an FGD was 90 minutes. The focus group discussions were conducted
in panchayat offices, temples, anganwadi centres,6 and, in some cases, at
the residence of the informants. Retaining all the participants till the end
of an FGD was a challenging task. In general, villagers were very forth-
coming in expressing their views and revealing their perceptions.

Mandya District: A Low Fertility

Region of Karnataka

Mandya district, located in the central belt of southern part of Karnataka,

has been geographically classified as southern maidan (plains) region
of the state. The district is compact with high population and village
densities. More than 60 per cent of the total population of the district
belongs to a single peasant community, the Vokkaligas (Gowdas). With
the paucity of land for further expansion of area under cultivation, the
long history of irrigation and its impact, and the Vokkaliga’s love for
land and cultivation have been documented by social scientists (Epstein
1962, 1973; Srinivas 1976). There were fewer land transactions and the
land values have increased considerably in recent decades. Landholdings
of less than 2 hectare form nearly 85 per cent of all holdings. The large
holdings with more than 10 hectares accounted for only 0.33 per cent
of the total holdings and about 4.54 per cent of the total land held.
Thus, marginal and small farmers were predominant in the district. The
fortunes of a man generally depended upon the size of landed property
of his father and the number of siblings with whom he would have to
share the property.

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 Disappearing Daughters and Intensification of Gender Bias 99

Agricultural land, with assured canal irrigation, is the backbone

of the economy of the district. The major crops are paddy, sugarcane,
ragi, and coconut. Sericulture and handloom weaving are the two other
important economic activities, which provide work for thousands of
families. The district recorded a population density of 355 per sq. km in
2001. The male literacy rate was 72 per cent and female literacy, 52 per
cent in 2001.

Observations from the Study Village M

Village M is located about 8 km from Mandya town (district head-

quarters). Coconut gardens and fields of sugarcane and paddy along
with canals and streams surround the village. As per the 2001 Census,
there were 637 households in this village with an average household size
of 5. The literacy rate was about 60 per cent. The general sex ratio was
926 (females per 1,000 males) and the child (0–6) sex ratio was 732 in
2001, a considerable decline from 825 in 1991.
The advent of irrigation brought overall changes in the pattern of
cultivation and consequently, improved the economic condition of land
owning families. Ownership of land implies regular food availability
and income for the families. Therefore, land is the most important eco-
nomic resource for the villagers. Most farmers use high yielding varieties
of seeds and apply fertilisers. The availability of irrigation pump sets,
tractors and power tillers in a way replaced significant part of agricul-
ture labour. The easy availability of credit and marketing facilities also
helped farmers. The access to the commercially vibrant Mandya town
with many trade and industrial establishments also encouraged many
villagers to take up employment in the town. However, fragmentation
of land and unpredictability of agricultural production and prices made
many of them sceptical, as narrated during FGDs:

Fragmentation of land has taken place due to partition of the families, and every-
body now having only smallholdings. So, parents don’t prefer more children in order
to prevent further division of their land.

The population of the village has increased from 761 in 1951 to

2,921 in 2001. Nearly 70 per cent of the households were Vokkaligas, the
dominant community in the village as well as in the district. Vokkaliga
in the local language (Kannada) means ‘cultivator’, and, traditionally

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 100T.V. Sekher and Neelambar Hatti

the Vokkaligas have been agriculturists. Undoubtedly, the Vokkaligas

control bulk of the cultivable land in the village. According to the 2001
census, 36 per cent of the total workers were cultivators and 24 per cent
were agricultural labourers in this village. Twenty-one per cent of the
households belonged to the scheduled castes.
We observed that dowry, wealth flow from bride’s family to groom’s
family, has become a common practice in all castes and communities.
The communities that did not practice dowry in the past have now
started this in a big way. This has put a heavy burden on the girl’s family
in arranging for dowry demanded by the boy’s family and also meeting
the increasing marriage expenses. Having more children is a financial
burden on the family in terms of sending them to school and in per-
forming their marriages. Scarlett T. Epstein documents the emergence
of dowry practice in two Mandya villages:

In Wangala, it was Beregowda, one of the most enterprising peasants, who initi-
ated change to dowry payments. He explained that three considerations had
motivated him to take this step: first, he was keen to get an educated husband
to his daughter. Second, his daughter had not been trained to work in the fields
and far from being an economic asset she would be a liability as a wife; finally,
he said, Brahmins had always given their daughters dowries (1973: 197).

Another study of a South Karnataka village describes the changes in

dowry practices thus:

The major change was the coming of dowry. In the early 1950s, the first dowries
in Bangalore were paid by some Brahmin families. Not until the beginning of
the 1960s did the first Brahmin landlord family in the study area provide a
dowry and not until 1965 was this done by the first Vokkaliga (the major peas-
ant caste) family. It is still not paid by Harijans [scheduled castes], although in
the largest village they ceased paying the tera (bride price) five years ago, and the
payment is still small among some of the backward castes. Nevertheless, they all
anticipate its arrival. In all castes, the bride’s family now bears the major portion
of the wedding costs, and it is they who seek loans and sell land’ (Caldwell et al.
1982: 707).

The observations from FGDs illustrate how dowry has emerged as an

essential part of marriage negotiations:

In our colony, Kamala has two sons. Her elder daughter-in-law has not brought
anything, but the second daughter-in-law has brought a huge dowry. Therefore, the

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 Disappearing Daughters and Intensification of Gender Bias 101

younger one receives more respect than the elder one. Including the husband and
in-laws, threaten the elder one for not bringing dowry. I have seen them beating her
also. Any time, she will be sent back to her natal home’.

Boy’s parents consider it is their right to collect dowry. They never think about the
economic position of the girl’s parents.

They never realise it can happen to their daughter also.

Some parents are forced to give their land as dowry.

No marriage in this village has taken place without giving gold and cash to the boy’s
family.

I don’t want daughters. Even if I spend Rs 5,000 for abortion; it is better than spend-
ing Rs 500,000 on dowry.

Prosperous Gowda families are ready to pay even half-million to

one million rupees as dowry, besides giving gifts in the form of gold
jewellery, car, furniture, etc. Usually the girl’s family has to bear the
entire marriage expenses. The dowry paid and the gifts given depend
upon the qualification and employment position of the boy and land-
owning status of the family (see Tables 1 and 2). During our fieldwork,
we came across young Vokkaliga couples having only one child, mostly
male, and deciding to accept family planning. According to them, if
they had more than one child it would be extremely difficult to provide
good education and meet the cost of upbringing. As narrated in our
focus group discussions, since land was limited, it was difficult to main-
tain the standard of living.

Table 1
Range of Dowry in a Village in Mandya District (1970)

Occupation/Education Dowry Paid (Approximate)

Community of the Son-in-Law Cash (Rs) Items
Rich Vokkaligas Educated, with a 3,000–4,000 Jewellery (Rs. 3,000)
job in the city and cloth (Rs. 3,000)
Middle Class Vokkaligas Educated 1,000–2,000 Jewellery and cloth
(Rs. 3,000)
Poor Vokkaligas – Up to 1,000 Cloth and jewellery
(Rs. 1,500)
Note: Based on the description and case studies presented by Epstein (1973: 94–99).

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 102T.V. Sekher and Neelambar Hatti

Table 2
Range of Dowry in Village M (2005)

Occupation/Education Dowry (Cost)

Community/Caste of Son-in-Law Cash (Rs) Items
Rich Vokkaligas Groom is employed in 3–5 lakhs Land, car, 100–130 grams
government/private job gold, clothes, all other
and settled in the city. expenses towards marriage
Groom is employed in 2–3 lakhs Scooter, 80–100 grams
government/private job gold, clothes and all other
and settled in the village. expenses towards marriage
Middle class Groom is in government/ 1–2 lakhs Land, scooter, 60–70
Vokkaligas and private job and settled in grams gold, clothes and
other castes the City all other expenses towards
marriage
Groom is in government/ Less than Land, scooter, 60–70
private job and settled in One lakh grams gold, clothes and
the village. all other expenses towards
marriage
Groom is an agriculturist, 50,000 60–70 grams gold, clothes
settled in the village. and all expenses towards
marriage
Poor labourers Landless agricultural 10–20 10–20 grams gold, and
Scheduled Castes labour (groom) thousands clothes and all other
and other castes expenses towards marriage
Vodda* households Landless labour (groom) 5–10 10–20 grams gold and
thousands all expenses towards
marriage. 101 articles like
Vessels, etc.
Note: * Vodda is a scheduled caste community that migrated from Tamil Nadu and settled
in the village in the 1960s.
Source: FGDs carried out by the authors in 2005.

Earlier in this village, scheduled castes never used to give dowry. After seeing Gowdas,
they also started. Some people believe that paying more dowry is a prestige issue for
the family. They sell their land or borrow money to give dowry.

Even though girls with some education may try to oppose the payment of dowry in
villages, they generally give in to the parental/family pressure as the marriage nego-
tiations progresses.

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 Disappearing Daughters and Intensification of Gender Bias 103

The discrimination in providing primary education to boys and girls was

evident during the discussions with school teachers.
Some people send their sons to convent school (better quality education) and daugh-
ters to government school (poor quality education).

Why to spend on daughter? Son gets good education and will earn money for the
parents. Daughter, one or another day, has to leave the house.

Generally, the Vokkaliga families are nuclear. After marriage, women

have no right over the parental property, including land. The sons inherit
all family assets. During our interviews and FGDs, we found that there
was a strong preference for small families; interestingly, most of the cou-
ples had already accepted family planning. It was the Vokkaligas who, by
accepting contraception, paved the way for other communities towards
birth control.
The type of fertility transition experienced in this village and other
parts of the district has been unique, and one can see a strong relation-
ship between population pressure on land and rapid fertility decline
(Sekher and Raju 2004). The paucity of cultivable land and availability
of irrigation have resulted in increasing land values. The landowning
Vokkaliga desires to have only one or two sons to avoid further frag-
mentation of land. As mentioned by Epstein,
They now appreciate that large number of children creates economic problems
of future generations. But most of them still have a strong son preference. They
continue procreating until they have at least one son. For example, Shangowda
had one son after his wife had given birth first to two daughters. He and his
wife then decided that three children are enough for them. A large proportion
of villagers pursue the same strategy. In this too, old beliefs and customs persist
in a changed setting (1998: 196).

The Vokkaligas consider land as the source of old-age security, along with
the son. Alan R. Beals, while studying social change in a Mysore village
50 years ago, has stated that,
Namhalli’s landowning group, while not threatened with starvation, has been
faced, in recent years, with the problem of dividing a limited quantity of land
among an ever increasing population. Within the village many solutions to this
problem, ranging from abortion to the adoption of iron ploughs, have been
tried. In almost every family in Namhalli, at least one child has been groomed
for urban employment (1955: 98).

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 104T.V. Sekher and Neelambar Hatti

The focus group discussions with women of the village illustrate the
strong son preference and intense desire to limit the number of children:
After having two daughters, my mother-in-law told me not to go for sterilisation.
Then I thought, if I continue like this, it will be very difficult for me, and I may die.
Then I went to a doctor and decided to have operation.

I got operated immediately after the birth of my second child. My husband gave me
full support in this decision.

I have a daughter; my husband wanted at least one boy. My mother-in-law became

sad and cried when I gave birth to a girl child.

During our fieldwork we observed that a majority of the young

couples underwent sex-determination test, either in a private clinic or a
nursing home. People from village M go to nearby Mandya town, where
two nursing homes are known for conducting abortions. During FGDs
among the Vokkaliga and scheduled caste women, we found that almost
all were aware of the facilities available to find out the sex of the foetus.
We also came across cases where some public health workers, particularly
Auxiliary Nurse and Midwives, were providing information and advising
village women ‘how to get rid of unwanted daughters’. Many women
openly admitted that several doctors in Mandya city conduct both the
test and the abortion. In a few cases, people went to places like Bangalore
and Mysore. This was expensive for the family, but rich Gowdas were
ready to spend money for what they consider a ‘good purpose’. For con-
ducting sonography and disclosing the sex of the fetus, private nursing
homes in Mandya charge between Rs 1,000 to 2,000 and, if a woman
prefers to undergo an abortion, she has to pay an additional Rs 5,000.
During our FGDs, many women justified persuading their daughters or
daughters-in-law to opt for abortion saying that it is better to spend a few
thousand rupees now than spending a million rupees later, thus avoid-
ing all the future problems like education, marriage, dowry, etc. One
woman said that had this facility (ultrasound) been available 20  years
ago, she would have gone for it to reduce the number of daughters. She
said (in Kannada), ‘Hecchu edi kere haal maadtu; Hecchu henninda mane
haalaaitu’ (too many crabs destroy the lake; too many daughters destroy
the house). In her efforts to have a son 20 years ago, she gave birth to
three daughters. A few observations from FGDs are as follows:
If one becomes pregnant, the family won’t tell she is pregnant. She is taken to find
out the sex of the baby. If it is a girl, the foetus is aborted immediately. Everything is
done in a secretive manner.

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 Disappearing Daughters and Intensification of Gender Bias 105

Rame Gowda’s wife died during abortion. Poor woman, she has left behind two
daughters.

Another woman explained (in Kannada) the necessity for having

a son: ‘maga manege; magalu pararige’ (son is for our family; daugh-
ter is for others). When asked about whether they depend on their
sons for protection during old age, most men and women said ‘yes’.
Some of them strongly felt the necessity to have at least two sons.
Krishne Gowda quoting a local (Kannada) saying substantiated his
argument: ‘ondu kannu kannalla; obba maga maganalla’ (freely trans-
lated it means one eye is not enough to see, one son is not enough for
the family).
It is very evident that the practice of dowry has spread to all
communities. The girl’s family is under pressure to meet a series of
payments for the marriage, beginning with engagement and concluding
with the bride actually going to reside in the groom’s house. In many
communities, the practice of dowry was unheard of about thirty years
ago, but it has now become an essential feature of the marriage. Apart
from dowry, it is a well-established norm among all communities that
all expenditures for conducting the marriage have to be borne by the
girl’s family. Considering all these expenses and practically no return,
many feel that having a daughter is a ‘real burden’ for the family. An old
woman appropriately summarised (in Kannada) the situation: ‘Yavaga
honnina bele eruthade, avaga hennina bele iliyuthade’ (whenever the price
of gold goes up, the value of the girl goes down).
The findings from the sample household survey (96 young male or
female parents having at least one child in the age group 0–6) carried
out in village M show the changing attitude towards the perceived value
of sons and that of daughters. Out of 96 respondents, 66 are Vokkaligas
and the remaining are from the scheduled castes. The son preference is
strong among the Vokkaligas: nearly 77 per cent of them want either
one son or two sons (and no daughters!). Only 18 per cent of them
consider that their ideal family comprised of one son and one daughter
(see Table 3). More than four-fifth of them felt that daughters were
more expensive to bring up than sons and 71 per cent were apprehen-
sive of the problems/difficulties associated with suitably marrying off
their daughters (see Table 4). Nearly half of the mothers perceive that
the future life of their daughters will be worse than their own. However,
only 12 per cent of fathers felt that the life of their sons will be worse
(see Table 5).

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 106T.V. Sekher and Neelambar Hatti

Table 3
Ideal Family Size According to the Respondents in Village M

Community
Ideal Family Size Vokkaligas Scheduled Castes
One son 30.3 17.4
Two sons 46.9 47.8
One daughter 4.6 4.3
One son and one daughter 18.2 30.4
Two daughters – –
Total 100 100
Note: Figures in percentages.

Table 4
Value Attached to the Children by Parents in Village M

Communities
Value of Boys and Girls Vokkaligas Scheduled Castes
Sons are more expensive to bring up than daughters 21 24
Daughters are more expensive to bring up than sons 87 72
Will you face difficulty in arranging marriage for your son? 18 42
Will you face difficulty in marrying off your daughter? 71 89
Son will take care of you when you are old 63 74
Daughter will take care of you when you are old 9 12
Note: Figures in percentages.

Table 5
Vokkaliga Parental Perception about the Future of Their Children in Village M

Parental Perception Men Women

Better 11
How do you think life will be for your daughter(s)? Worse NA 49
Like your own 40
Better 39
How do you think life will be for your son(s)? Worse 12 NA
Like your own 49
Total 100 100
Note: Figures in percentages; NA = not applicable.

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 Disappearing Daughters and Intensification of Gender Bias 107

Salem District of Tamil Nadu: A Low Fertility

Region Known for Female Infanticide

Salem district recorded the lowest child sex-ratio in South India in

2001. This district attracted considerable attention in the 1990s for
the pre-valence of female infanticide (George et al. 1992). A study
carried out based on available PHC (Primary Health Centre) records
confirms the incidence of female infanticide in the districts of Salem,
Dharmapuri, and Madurai (Chunkath and Athreya 1997). The worsen-
ing child sex ratios of 2001 Census have amply substantiated the still
existing and rampant practice of female infanticide in parts of Tamil
Nadu, despite overall socio-economic changes in Tamil Nadu (Sekher
and Hatti 2007).
In Salem district, the average household size was 4.0, with a literacy
rate 65 per cent in 2001. Two major communities of the district are
Vanniyars and Kongu Vellala Gounders. The Vanniyar originally
formed the fighting force of the Pallavas and, hence, came to be called as
‘Padayachi’. Their community cohesiveness is remarkable. Some of them
practice agriculture as their main occupation. The traditional occupa-
tion of Vanniyar is oil pressing and oil selling. The nuclear family is
the most common form among them. Sons inherit property and the
eldest son gets a greater share. Daughter does not have any right to the
property unless they have no brothers. Vanniyars are categorised as Most
Backward Caste and the state government has reservation policy for
them. Kongu Vellala Gounder is an inhabitant of the Kongu region of
the Tamil Nadu. Agriculture is the traditional occupation of this com-
munity. The other economic activities are animal husbandry, trade,
industrial labour etc. They are hardworking agriculturists and specialised
in horticulture.

Observations from the Study Village K

According to the 2001 Census, the village K in Mettur taluk has 1,341
households, with a total population of 4,983 (2,676 males and 2,307
females). The average household size was 4.0. The overall literacy rate
was 47 per cent. The general sex ratio was 862 and the child sex-ratio
was 616 in 2001, a decline from 673, as recorded in 1991. Three major
communities in this village are Vanniyar, Kongu Vellala Gounder, and
scheduled castes.

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 108T.V. Sekher and Neelambar Hatti

During our filed work we came across incidents of female infanticide

in the village. Though some families, including women, were hesitant to
talk about it, there were a few who openly justified the practice. Though the
practice was more prominent among the Vanniyars, other communities
also occasionally indulge in infanticide. On many occasions, though the
mother of the child was not directly involved, the elder members ensured
the elimination of female infant within a week after birth. The methods
used for this purpose included feeding the child with poison, loosening
the knot of umbilical cord, suffocating baby to death, feeding with paddy
husk, and starving the baby to death. A more ‘modern’ method recently
observed was the use of pesticides or sleeping pills. Some elders use the
prediction of local astrologers (‘fortune tellers’) as a strong justification to
get rid of the daughter who would ‘cause destruction to the family’. As
one old woman, narrating the plight of her family said: ‘it is better they
die than live like me’. Penn shisu kolai (female infanticide in Tamil) is
justified for various reasons. Though many families tolerate the first girl,
the subsequent daughters are really at high risk. The general observation
that the female infanticide was confined to certain backward communi-
ties like Kallars has been proved erroneous. It has spread to communities
like Gounder, Vanniyar, and Pallars. Our discussions in village K indi-
cated that it was not only the poor who practised infanticide, but the rich
and powerful in the village also resorted to penn shisu kolai. There were
few police cases registered recently against parents for committing the
infanticide. But, the arrival of sex-determination tests, has given a new
method for those who can afford to pay. Many economically better off
families admitted that they avoided the birth of another girl ‘with the help
of doctor’. However, poor women in the scheduled caste colony said, ‘We
cannot afford to pay for test and abortion. So we still practice infanticide,
which is much cheaper.’ Our study clearly shows the practice of female
infanticide was being substituted by female foeticide, particularly among
the Gounders. The combined efforts of the state, NGOs, and some pan-
chayat leaders have had some impact on reducing the incidence of female
infanticide. Pregnant women already having a girl child used to be classi-
fied into high-risk category and were monitored closely by local NGOs.
Among the Kongu Vellala Gounders, dowry was reported as the
major reason to avoid having daughters. A few observations from FGDs
are cited below:
Parents of the bride borrow money from all sources; sometimes they sell their land to
meet the marriage expenses.

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 Disappearing Daughters and Intensification of Gender Bias 109

After paying so much dowry, they continue to demand more. If she fails to bring
dowry, the husband and in-laws start harassing her. That is why many people don’t
want daughters.

There has been a phenomenal increase in the amount of dowry transacted

in the village. The landowning Gounder has to pay at least 80 sovereigns of
gold, Rs 2 lakhs cash, and a car, as well as to meet all the lavish expenditure
to conduct marriage. The manifold increase in dowry among all commu-
nities repeatedly came up in FGDs. The Vanniars are not far behind: the
rates ranging between 40 to 60 sovereigns of gold, car or motorbike, and
marriage expenses. Even the landless dalits (the poorest in the village and
depending upon agricultural work for their livelihood) pay gold (5 to 10
sovereigns) and meet the marriage costs, which can easily exceed Rs 25,000.
Borrowing money to meet these ‘unavoidable’ expenses has pushed many
families into the trap of indebtedness, on the one hand, and social obliga-
tions, on the other. According to one dalit women, ‘having a daughter is a
punishment for the sins committed in previous life’. In most of the marriage
negotiations, the first criterion was how much dowry would be given.
Modernisation ushered in the importance of material status, driving the need
to be extravagant and to show off as a way of asserting one’s social standing.
For well-off Gounders performing seeru (dowry) and the conduct of marriages
of daughters became an important forum to display new found prosperity
and to assert their status within their community (caste group) (Srinivasn
2005: 602).

This explains why daughters were unwelcome, resulting in a deliberate

intensification of non-preference of daughters and consequent increase
in son preference.
Even the affluent families who can ‘afford’ daughters and can provide
them with good education are sceptical because, as a local leader put it,
‘the higher the education of the girls, the higher the dowry’. It is also true
that ‘an increase in the prevalence of dowry, which has raised the costs of
bringing up children, and created a situation of financial distress, have
also contributed to the fertility decline in some segments of population’
(Krishnamoorthy et al. 2005: 245). Marrying off a daughter without
giving a decent dowry can have serious consequences for the natal family
as well as for the daughter. One respondent expressed her worry thus:
The in-laws may humiliate our daughter, demand more dowry, ill treat her and
finally she may be forced to return to our home. How can we allow this to happen
to our daughter?

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 110T.V. Sekher and Neelambar Hatti

Apart from the demand at the time of marriage, the demand after
marriage for more dowry, resulting in the fear of ill treatment of their
daughter if the demands are not met, is a perennial worry for many
parents. The inability to pay the amount of dowry demanded could also
lead to a delay in the marriage itself and an unmarried daughter would
pose many a problem for the parents.

Concluding Observations

The two village studies clearly illustrate that, in the eyes of parents,
daughters are rarely able to substitute for sons. Although the will for
limiting the family size is evident across communities, ‘smart couples’
achieve the desired family-size and the desired sex-composition of
children together. The new reproductive technologies that are available
are employed by parents from all communities. Notwithstanding the
extent of use, it is also an indication of the easy availability and afford-
ability of sonography and abortion facilities despite the legal hinders
such as PNDT Act. As narrated by a literate woman in Village M, ‘Had
these clinics were available 30 years ago, many of us would never have
seen this world!’ According to an NGO activist in Tamil Nadu study
village, ‘the real culprits are the medical doctors who misuse the technology
to increase their profits’. Though the ‘technological effect’ may mainly be
responsible for the elimination of female foetuses, the powerlessness of
village women in a patriarchal society is an equally important factor to
be considered. Personal interviews with young women in the study areas
reveal that, many a time, they were forced to undergo sonography and
abortion, much against their wishes.
In both study areas, FGDs show the tendency to identify the daugh-
ter with dowry payments. The continuing trend of increasing dowry
demands, in cash and in kind, is a crucial factor in marriage negotiations
as well as a ‘status enhancer’ within the community. The dowry had
significant impact on how the parents value the worth of boys and girls,
even today.
Interestingly, the two peasant communities (the Vokkaligas and the
Kongu Vellala Gounders) in the study villages have become increasingly
affluent as major beneficiaries of access to irrigation and other inputs of
modern agriculture. This affluence has meant a continuing rise in living

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 Disappearing Daughters and Intensification of Gender Bias 111

standards, consumption, and aspirations. Besides acquisition of various

trappings of modern life, one way of demonstrating their economic
affluence, according to FGDs, was to get a ‘well-qualified son-in-law’,
as this would enhance their status and standing within the community.
This desire would, no doubt, gradually inflate the dowry demands of
the boy’s family and also increase the wedding expenditure of the girl’s
family. Hence, the increasing costs of education and marriage and a
conviction that dowry rates can only move upwards compel the parents
to seriously consider the investment in and return from a daughter as
against the benefits that can accrue to the parents from investing in a
son. Both the landed and the landless in our FGDs cite this as the most
important reason for preferring sons over daughters. In both villages, the
small family is the accepted norm, parents seem to make the deliberate
choice between a son and a daughter: son would mean inflow of wealth,
while daughter implies financial drain. The affluent communities, which
not too long ago considered payment of large dowries as a symbol of
their capability and status, now realise that such payments constitute a
threat to their affluence, lifestyles, and aspirations, and, consequently,
prefer not to have daughters.
As a result of the growing affluence of the landowning communities,
the cash flow among the landless agricultural labourers has also increased
due to higher wages, most of which is being paid in cash than in kind.
This fact coupled with the desire to imitate the customs of the higher
castes in the village, a kind of sanskritisation process, has meant that the
practice of dowry payment has permeated to the landless lower castes,
thus increasing the expenses of marriage of daughters. Consequently,
these communities also exhibit similar preferences to avoid having
daughters, albeit to a lesser extent.
The observations from the two low-fertility regions of South India
and the survey data analysis show a strong preference for sons, parti-
cularly among the peasant communities. However, with the substantial
decline in fertility in these regions, the son preference appears to have
resulted in an increased as well as intensified manifestation of deliberate
discrimination towards daughters. The widespread use of sex-selection
techniques has provided an opportunity for couples to choose a son
rather than a daughter. The increasing pressure on limited land, on the
one hand, and the spiralling cost of bringing up children (particularly
girls, due to dowry), on the other, parents prefer not to have daughters.

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 112T.V. Sekher and Neelambar Hatti

The medical technology has come in handy for many for achieving the
desired sex-composition and the desired family-size. The rapid fertility
decline, not accompanied by changes in the cultural values and gender
inequality, is in a way responsible for the intensification of gender bias
and the deliberate attempt to deny the girls from being ‘born at all’. In
other words, female foetuses are increasingly being ‘victimised’ on the
basis of their sex alone, even among the affluent communities.

Notes
* An elaborate version of this paper was presented at the International Conference on
Female Deficit in Asia jointly sponsored by CEPED, CICRED, and INED and held
in Singapore on 5–7 December 2005. We are thankful to the participants for their
comments and suggestions. We are also grateful to Ms Preethi Bhat, Shri Sampath,
Ms Shubhashree, Shri Gangadharappa, and Shri Ramachandra Bhat for assisting us in
fieldwork. Grateful thanks are also due to the anonymous referee for her/his construc-
tive suggestions.
1. The Census of India measures the sex ratio as number of females per 1,000 males,
as opposed to the standard international norm of number of males per 100 females.
Defining the sex ratio by covering children in the age group 0–6 may seem arbitrary,
but the Census uses it for the purpose of literacy status, categorising the entire popu-
lation into two groups: those aged 0–6 years and those 7 years and above.
2. For a detailed review of fertility transition in South India, see Guilmoto and Rajan
(2005). Quantitative and qualitative analysis of fertility changes in four southern states
have been made available under the South India Fertility Project (www.demographie.
net/sifp).
3. In the era of globalisation and consumerism, dowry payment is more a rule than
an exception. Many communities in South India, where the practice of dowry was
totally absent earlier, have started making huge payments in recent decades at the
time of marriage. In many families, even after the payment of dowry, there is con-
tinuing unidirectional flow of resources from a woman’s parental household to her
in-laws. Dowry has emerged as a strategy to acquire higher standards of material life
with adverse consequences to women’s status, including their survival. For a detailed
description of the changing nature of dowry practices in South India, see Srinivasan
(2005).
4. However, the first court-case and conviction under this Act did not happen until
March 2006, when a doctor and his assistant in the state of Haryana were sentenced
to two years in jail (The Hindu, Bangalore, 30 March 2006).
5. National Family and Health Survey, similar to Demographic Health Survey in other
countries, comprises a nationally representative sample of households covering ever-
married women in the age group of 15–49 years. This survey has been conducted
thrice: first in 1992–93, then in 1998–99, and recently in 2005–06 (IIPS and Macro
International 2007).

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 Disappearing Daughters and Intensification of Gender Bias 113

6. The anganwadi centers are nursery schools for children aged 3–6 years which provide
nutritious food under the Integrated Child Development Scheme of the Government
of India. Almost every village has an anganwadi centre, which also provides a meeting
place for pregnant and lactating mothers.

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Basu, Alaka. 1992. Culture, the status of women and demographic behaviour. Oxford:
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Marriott (ed.): Village India: Studies in the little community (78–101). Chicago:
University of Chicago Press.
Bhat, Mari P.N. 1994. ‘Levels and trends in Indian fertility’, Economic and political weekly,
29 (51–52): 273–80.
———. 2002. ‘On the trail of “Missing” Indian females (I and II)’, Economic and political
weekly, 37 (51 and 52): 5105–18 and 5244–63.
Bhat, Mari P.N and Francis Zavier. 2003. ‘Fertility decline and gender bias in northern
India’, Demography, 40 (4): 637–57.
Bumiller, E. 1990. May you be the mother of a thousand sons: A journey among women in India.
New York: Penguin Books.
Caldwell, John. 1993. ‘The Asian fertility revolution: Its implications for transition theo-
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and Implications (299–316). Oxford: Clarendon Press.
Caldwell, John; P.H. Reddy and Pat Caldwell. 1982. ‘The causes of demographic
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Croll, Elisabeth J. 2000. Endangered daughters: Discrimination and development in Asia. New
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———. 2002. ‘Fertility decline, family size and female discrimination: A study of reproduc-
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Das Gupta, M. and P.N. Mari Bhat. 1997. ‘Fertility decline and increased manifestation of
sex bias in India’, Population studies, 51 (3): 307–15.

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Epstein, Scarlett T. 1962. Economic development and social change in South India. Bombay:
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———. 1973. South India: Yesterday, today and tomorrow—Mysore villages revisited. London:
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T. Thimmegowda: Village voices: Forty years of rural transformation in South India (89–
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India’, Economic and political weekly, 27 (22): 1153–60.
Guilmoto, C.Z. and S. Irudaya Rajan. 2002. ‘Spatial patterns of fertility transition in Indian
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UNRISD.
Kaur, Ravinder. 2004. ‘Across-region marriages: Poverty, female migration and the sex
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in South India (227–47). New Delhi: Sage Publications.
Miller, B.D. 1981. The endangered sex: The neglect of female children in rural North India.
Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press.
Nanda A.K. and J. Veron. 2005. ‘Child sex ratio imbalance, fertility behaviour and develop-
ment in India: Recent evidence from Haryana and Punjab’, in I. Attane and J. Veron
(eds.): Gender discrimination among young children in Asia (91–131). Pondicherry:
French Institute of Pondicherry and CEPED.
Patel, Tulsi. 2007. ‘Informal social networks, sonography and female foeticide in India’,
Sociological bulletin, 56 (2): 243–62.
Retherford, R.D. and T.K. Roy. 2003. Factors affecting sex-selective abortion in India and 17
major states. NFHS Series—No.21. Mumbai: IIPS and Hawaii: East-West Centre.
Sekher, T.V. and K.N.M. Raju. 2004. Fertility transition in Karnataka (Monograph 5).
Bangalore: Institute for Social and Economic Change.
Sekher, T.V.; K.N.M. Raju and M.N. Sivakumar. 2001. ‘Fertility transition in Karnataka:
Levels, trends and implications’, Economic and political weekly, 36 (51): 4742–52.
Sekher, T.V. and Neelambar Hatti. 2007. ‘Vulnerable daughters in a modernising society:
From son preference to daughter discrimination in rural South India’, in I. Attane and
C.Z. Guilmoto (eds.): Watering the neighbour’s garden: The growing demographic female
deficit in Asia (295–323). Paris: CICRED.

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 Disappearing Daughters and Intensification of Gender Bias 115

Sen, Amartya. 1990. ‘More than 100 million women are missing’, New York review of books,
20 December 1990: 61–66.
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Srinivasan, Sharada. 2005. ‘Daughters or dowries? The changing nature of dowry practices
in South India’, World development, 33 (4): 593–615.
Vella, Stephanie. 2005. ‘Low fertility and female discrimination in South India: The puzzle
of Salem District, Tamil Nadu’, in C.Z. Guilmoto and S. Irudaya Rajan (eds.): Fertility
transition in South India (248–81). New Delhi: Sage Publications.
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New Delhi: Office of the Registrar General of India.

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 SECTION II
Young and Youth

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 7
The Attitudes to English and
Use of It by Students of Three
Different Mother Tongues:
Hindi, Kannada and Tamil
Aileen D. Ross and Suraj Bandyopadhyay

T
o what extent can a foreign language, imposed on a country dur-
ing a colonial period, maintain its position against strong forces
promoting a new indigenous national language and the revival
of many regional languages?
English became the official language in India when the British were
in power, through its use in the civil service, education, the professions,
business and commerce. After Independence its position as the official
language was threatened when Hindi was made the new national lan-
guage and later when regional language groups began to push for more
linguistic power (Roy 1962).1
That it has not disappeared over the twenty years since India
obtained Independence implies that it may still be serving some impor-
tant function. What is this function? Is it equally important for Indians
in the different linguistic regions? It also implies that mechanisms still
exist through which the language is being passed on to successive gen-
erations. What are these mechanisms? How effective are they in main-
taining a language which was imposed from above, and, except for
a small portion of the more Anglicized Indians and the small group

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 120 Aileen D. Ross and Suraj Bandyopadhyay

of Anglo-Indians, never took roots amongst the large majority of the

Indian people?
A broad generalization has been formulated stating: “Language
maintenance is a function of intactness of group membership or group
loyalty, particularly of such ideologized expressions of group loyalty as
nationalism” (Fishman 1964: 442).
Does this apply to India? It is difficult to think of the English-speaking
Indians as being a closely integrated group. Sociologically speaking, the
one factor that binds them all is that they do speak English. An exception
might be the Anglo-Indians, who may have a strong sense of loyalty to
English. However, they are not numerically large enough, nor do they
have enough prestige to maintain English except within their own group.
What chance has a language to survive, then, when it no longer has
an ‘intact group’ to maintain it, supported by ‘group loyalty’? Another
broad generalization may indicate one of the main reasons why English
still remains powerful in India. “When two languages are in compe-
tition the more prestigeful language displaces the less prestigeful lan-
guage” (Fishman 1964: 444). In the present case, this might read: “The
international prestige of English gives it strong support in comparison
to the indigeneous Indian languages.” Moreover, its world-wide impor-
tance in the economic, political and scientific fields means that at least
some members of each country must be facile in English. But is this
reason strong enough to motivate one to learn English when one is not
sure whether he will ever have to use it? Two other reasons may be more
important motivating factors. Some linguistic groups, notably the Tamil-
speaking Indians of Tamilnadu state, have felt that the rise of Hindi to
the position of a national language has put them at a great disadvantage,
particularly in regard to positions in the central civil services. They have
thus tried to retain English as a barrier against Hindi.
The other reason is that many ambitious parents feel that their chil-
dren will not be able to attain the highest business, political or profes-
sional careers without a good knowledge of English. It is therefore still
deemed important for their self-interests to see that they become fluent
in that language. English, then, is still encouraged, but the degree to
which it is accepted varies from one part of India to another. Various
other factors may also be relevant.
In this context, the present study explores the extent to which
English is being maintained by samples of fourth year college students
in the capital cities of three different States, each having a different
regional language. “Maintenance” would be measured by the number

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 THE ATTITUDES TO ENGLISH AND its USE 121

of students speaking it and their proficiency in that language. The cities

chosen were Bangalore, Jaipur and Madras, the capital cities, respec-
tively, of the States of Mysore, Rajasthan and Madras.2
It was hypothesised that we would find English as being maintained
to a greater extent in the Southern than the Northern cities. It was also
hypothesised that English would be maintained to a greater degree in
Madras than Bangalore. Finally, it was hypothesised that the students in
the Southern capital cities would have a greater desire to have English
as medium of instruction, and at the State and Central levels of govern-
ment than those of Jaipur, and that the Madras students would be more
favourable to this than those of Bangalore.
The maintenance of English was tested on two levels, namely, how
people were actually preserving it, and how they felt about preserving
it. The first hypotheses were tested by the use of certain variables which
were thought to be important in maintaining a language, namely, the
use of English in the home, at school and in the students’ social life.
These variables were chosen because each represented a different type of
training and a different ‘approach’ to the language. The home has the
advantage over the school in maintaining a ‘foreign’ language in that it
may be spoken daily in a relaxed atmosphere where the child has little
fear of being ridiculed, and so is able to experiment with the vocabulary.
As we expected that the longer a child was exposed to a language the
more proficient he would become. The students were asked two ques-
tions: “What languages did you speak at home as a child?” and “What
languages do you now speak at home?”
Schools and colleges have the advantage in language training in that
they teach more systematically and precisely than do parents, and the
child will learn to read and write as well as speak. Talking English every
day, possibly with a wide variety of people as well as with friends, has
the advantage of forcing the student to cover many more topics than in
the home or class-room, and so it extends his vocabulary. Conversation
with friends is usually of a more intimate and subtle nature, especially
when it includes humour, and proficiency in this respect is perhaps the
best index of a person’s bilingual ability.
Several other minor hypotheses were tested, namely, that students
who had grown up in cities or large towns would be more anxious to
have English as medium of instruction at college, and as the official lan-
guage of the State and Central governments, than those who had been
brought up in villages; male students would want English at these three
levels more than female students; and students who had a very high

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 122 Aileen D. Ross and Suraj Bandyopadhyay

proficiency in English would prefer English at these three levels more

than those whose proficiency in English was below average. Table  1
shows the students’ own estimation of their proficiency in English. A
surprisingly large proportion of them rated their ability to speak, read
and write English as very or moderately high. Only a relatively few rated
themselves as moderately low or very low in this respect. Table 2 shows

Table 1
Students Reporting Proficiency in English in the Three Capital Cities Considered
Together

Proficiency of English Percentage of Students

(1) (2)
Very high 68.9
Moderately high 13.1
Average 15.6
Moderately low 1.8
Very low 0.6
Total 100.0 (n = 665)
[The students’ claim to proficiency in speaking, reading and writing English was rated on a
seven-point scale. Those coded with 6 or 7 points were said to have very high proficiency in
English; 5 moderately high; 4 average; 3 moderately low and 1 and 2 were rated as very low.]

Table 2
Students Reporting Proficiency in English in the Cities of Madras, Bangalore and
Jaipur

Percentage of Students
Proficiency in English Madras Bangalore Jaipur
(1) (2) (3) (4)
Very high 76.1 77.0 37.2
Moderately high 10.7 11.0 22.5
Average 13.2 10.2 31.0
Moderately low – 1.8 6.2
Very low – – 3.1
Total 100.0 (n = 310) 100.0 (n = 226) 100.0 (n = 129)

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 THE ATTITUDES TO ENGLISH AND its USE 123

Table 3
Students Reporting Very High Proficiency in English in Relation to Their Use of It
at Home, as Medium of Instruction at School and in Social Situations in the Cities
of Madras, Bangalore and Jaipur

Percentage of Students Reporting Very High Proficiency in English When

English Was Spoken English Was the Student Speaks English
at Home During Medium of Instruction Every Day and/or Uses
Childhood and/or at Primary and/ It Most Often with
City at Present or High School Friends
(1) (2) (3) (4)
Madras 86.4 89.8 80.4
(125) (59) (266)
Bangalore 89.3 90.7 89.8
(28) (118) (187)
Jaipur 60.0 75.0 47.2
(25) (12) (72)
Total 83.1 89.4 77.5
(178) (189) (525)
Results of test 6.304(*) 2.892(−) 45.285(**)
for inter-city
differences
(χ2 at 2 df )

[Figures in brackets indicate the number of students in each cell; in this and other tables ‘**’
and ‘*’ show where the results are significant at 1% and 5% levels respectively, ‘−’ shows
that a result is not significant at even 5% level.]

that this is more true for the students studying in Madras and Bangalore
than in Jaipur. In that city, we find a much larger proportion of students
who claim to possess average or below average proficiency in English.
When we look at Tables 3 and 4 we see the way in which the three
variables—speaking English at home, exposure to it at school and using
it in social situations—are related to the proportion of students who
claimed very high proficiency in that language. We find that a higher
proportion of the students from the two Southern cities had been exposed
to English in these three areas than the students from Jaipur. Table 3 also
shows a high association between the use of English in the home, at

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Chapter 07.indd 124
124

Table 4
Students Reporting Very High Proficiency in English in Relation to Their Use of It at Home, as Medium of Instruction at School and
in Social Situations in the Cities of Madras, Bangalore and Jaipur

Differences between the Cities in the Percentages of Students with

Very High Proficiency in English (t-test Results Indicated in Bracket)
English Was Spoken at Home during Medium of Instruction at Primary and/ English Spoken Everyday and/or
Childhood and/or at Present or High School Was English Most Often with Friends
City Madras Bangalore Jaipur Madras Bangalore Jaipur Madras Bangalore Jaipur
(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10)
Madras 2.9 −26.4 0.9 −14.8 −9.4 −33.2
(−) (**) (−) (−) (**) (**)
Bangalore −29.3 −15.7 −42.6
(*) (−) (**)
Jaipur
Aileen D. Ross and Suraj Bandyopadhyay

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 THE ATTITUDES TO ENGLISH AND its USE 125

school and in social situations and high proficiency in that language.

The only exception is in the case of Jaipur, where less than half the stu-
dents who claimed very high proficiency in English used it extensively
in social situations.
Unexpectedly, we found that the three variables did not have
the same importance in maintaining English in each city. For we had
thought that if the use of English in the home was important in, say,
Madras in promoting proficiency, it would be equally important in
Bangalore and Jaipur. This, however, was not the case. The difference
between the cities was of greatest significance in regard to the use of
English in social situations, less in regard to its use in the home, and
quite insignificant in regard to its use in school. This seems to suggest
that the school plays a rather independent role, irrespective of the city
in which it functions, whereas the location of the home has some rel-
evance in promoting proficiency. The most important difference in the
influence of the cities on proficiency in language, however, is seen in its
use in social situations. To understand why this is so we must consider
some of the different characteristics of the cities themselves. Only a few
suggestions can be made in this short paper.
One possible reason may be that, whereas Jaipur is situated in a
Hindi-speaking region, and the other two cities are located in that part
of India which is, generally speaking, pro-English and anti-Hindi, the
‘climate of opinion’ in regard to speaking English is more favourable in
the latter than in the former cities (Roy 1962: 24).3 That is, students
achieve prestige when they show ability in English in the South, but in
the North, and this acts as a motivating factor to speak it well in public.
Another reason for the difference in the climate of opinion to
English in the three cities might be found in the linguistic composition
of the three cities. The proportion of people who have other mother
tongues than the regional language varies from city to city. Bangalore,
a highly industrialized city, has attracted workers from many States.
Only slightly over half of its population, 51.7%, have Kannada as
mother tongue, and there are significant numbers of Tamil, Telugu,
Urdu and Marathi-speaking people in that city.4 Figures for Madras
show that it has a high proportion of Tamil-speaking citizens (i.e.
72.3%), a relatively large number of Telugu speaking-people, and some
whose mother tongue is Urdu. Jaipur has the highest proportion of
residents, 83.4%, who speak the regional language, Hindi. Urdu is the

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 126 Aileen D. Ross and Suraj Bandyopadhyay

mother tongue of the second largest group. These two languages are so
basically alike that people speaking one of them can communicate rela-
tively easily with those speaking the other language. This means that
about 94% of the population of Jaipur can communicate without the
need of a common language. In the South, whereas Tamil, Kannada
and Telugu have the same roots, they are different enough to make
it impossible for people speaking say, Tamil, to be understood by a
Kannada-speaking citizen. Urdu is an even more ‘foreign’ language, so
there is much more need for a lingua franca for those living in Madras
and Bangalore than in Jaipur.
This linguistic composition of the population helps to explain the
Southern students’ greater use of English in public, and with friends.
For it is evident that students must share a mutual language if they
wish to have friends, and, as the medium of instruction in the colleges
is largely English, then it is the natural choice. In this way the desire to
have friends becomes another motivating factor to learn English. Its use
is also more practical in the affairs of daily life, for one may buy in the
market from a Tamil or Telugu-speaking Indian, or have neighbours
who speak these languages.
The climate of opinion towards English, however, is best seen in
the figures of Table 5, which show the extent to which the students
desire to retain English at three important levels, namely, as medium of
instruction in college, and as the official language of the Central and/
or State governments. Here we see that, whereas a very large majority of
the Madras and Bangalore students wish to retain English as medium
of instruction at college, only a quarter of the Jaipur students have that
desire. A slightly lower but still high proportion of the Madras students
wish to retain it as the official language of the Central government, and
fewer, but still a high proportion want to keep it as the official State
language.
The Bangalore students also show a strong preference for English
as medium of instruction and as the official language of the Central
government. However, there is a sharp drop in the proportion of those
wanting to retain it as the official State language.
The figures for Jaipur vary significantly from the other two cities
at each level. Only 25% want to keep it as the medium of instruction,
but the proportion drops to 17% for those who wish it as the official
language of the Centre, and this figure almost halves for those who want
it as the official State language.

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 THE ATTITUDES TO ENGLISH AND its USE 127

Table 5
Students’ Preference for English as Medium of Instruction at College and as the
Official Language of the Central and State Governments Compared to Their Sex,
Urban or Rural Background, Proficiency in English and College City

Percentage of Students Preferring English as

Background Medium of Instruction Official language

Characteristics at College of the Centre of the State
(1) (2) (3) (4)
Sex Male 74.8 70.4 44.3
(456) (456) (456)
Female 76.6 63.5 57.6
(222) (222) (456)
χ (at 1 df )
2
0.259(−) 3.257(−) 10.667(**)
According Urban 77.0 68.9 50.7
to where (540) (540) (540)
brought up
Rural 68.8 65.2 40.6
(138) (138) (138)
χ (at 1 df )
2
3.978(*) 0.682(−) 4.542(*)
Proficiency Very high 86.0 78.2 57.2
in English (460) (450) (458)
Moderate or 52.2 53.1 30.3
low (207) (207) (208)
χ (at 1 df )
2
88.296(**) 42.828(**) 44.197(**)
City where Madras 90.2 88.3 71.1
studying (315) (315) (315)
Bangalore 84.2 70.6 41.7
(278) (228) (228)
Jaipur 25.9 17.0 8.1
(135) (135) (135)
χ (at 2 df )
2
224.510(**) 221.682(**) 156.717(**)
Overall 75.4 68.1 48.7
(678) (678) (678)
[Figures in brackets indicate the number of students in each cell.]

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 128 Aileen D. Ross and Suraj Bandyopadhyay

It can thus be seen that the Madras students are much more strongly
in favour of maintaining English than students of the other two cities,
and the students of Bangalore are far ahead of Jaipur in this respect.
It appears, then, that our first hypothesis that the students in the
Southern capital cities would have a greater desire to maintain English than
the students in the Northern city, and the Madras students more than the
Bangalore students, is supported by our data. In this sense, the “Southern”
cities have their internal variations and should not be bracketed as such.
The second hypothesis, based on the expectation that those brought
up in cities would be more cosmopolitan in outlook than those who
had grown up in small towns, and would therefore have a greater desire
to keep English as medium of instruction at college, and as the offi-
cial language of the two governments, was borne out in the first two
instances. There was no significant difference, however, in their desire to
have English as the official language of the Central government.
The third hypothesis, that male students would prefer English at
these three levels more than female students was not maintained except
in respect to the State government, for the female students showed a
keener desire to have English at that level than the men.
Finally, very high proficiency in English was highly associated with
approval of retaining English in each city. Therefore, proficiency more
than any of the other variables tested becomes the common and the
most important factor in motivating students to retain English.
In summary, the extensive use of English as medium of instruction
in primary and/or high school was found to be the most important
factor in attaining proficiency in English. For it was an influential fac-
tor irrespective of the city in which the learning took place. Speaking
English at home when the students were young and/or at the present
time was found to be next in importance. However, speaking English
every day and most often with friends was not found to be highly asso-
ciated with proficiency in all of the cities. In other words, it was the
variable most affected by outside contingencies, and so not a constant
influence in learning English.
When we look at the way in which the different variables are associ-
ated with the students’ desire to retain English in three important areas
of life we find that proficiency in the language is more highly associ-
ated with the desire to retain English at these three levels (Table 6).
The conclusions drawn from these data are that, whereas the school and

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Chapter 07.indd 129
Table 6
Students’ Preference for English as Medium of Instruction at College and as the Official Language of the Central and State Governments
Compared to Their Proficiency in English5

Percentage of Students Preferring English as

Medium of Instruction Official Language Official Language
at College of the Centre of the State
Proficiency in English Madras Bangalore Jaipur Madras Bangalore Jaipur Madras Bangalore Jaipur
(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10)
Very high 91.5 89.8 41.7 91.2 74.7 41.7 74.5 46.0 12.5
(236) (176) (48) (228) (174) (48) (236) (174) (48)
Moderate or low 86.5 61.5 14.8 89.2 57.7 17.3 60.0 26.9 4.9
(74) (52) (81) (74) (52) (81) (75) (52) (81)
χ2 (at 1 df ) 1.636 23.552 11.650 0.061 5.610 9.232 5.580 6.075 2.410
(−) (**) (**) (−) (*) (**) (*) (*) (−)
χ2 (at 3 df ) in case χ2 at 3.753 2.327 7.832 13.589 15.377 5.979
1 df is not significant at (−) (−) (*) (**) (**) (−)
1% level

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 130 Aileen D. Ross and Suraj Bandyopadhyay

home are the main agencies that generate proficiency in English, it is the
mastery of the language which becomes the key factor in determining
the students’ attitudes towards English. In other words, proficiency in
English leads to a preference to retain it.

Notes
1. Roy (1962) gives a comprehensive account of the rise of Hindi in the different linguis-
tic States in India.
2. The original study is based on the answers of 1,254 fourth year college students in
the summer of 1965 to a questionnaire based on their language experiences at home,
school and college. Their Mother Tongues were Tamil, Kannada and Hindi. Data were
gathered from colleges in the capital cities of Madras, Bangalore and Jaipur, and from
two other non-capital cities and small towns in the Southern States. This enabled us
to compare the different ways in which the students wanted to maintain English in
cosmopolitan atmosphere of the city areas as compared to those attending colleges in
the more rural atmosphere of small towns.

Number of Students in Sample

State Sample Size Capital City City Town

Madras 531 Madras 320 Madurai 150 Vaniambadi 61
Mysore 577 Bangalore 236 Mysore 154 Tumkur 187
Rajasthan 146 Jaipur 146 − −
Total 1254 702 304 248

This paper, however, deals only with the data collected in the three capital cities.
3. Roy claims that some Indians want to maintain English because it was never regarded
as a “foreign imposition, associated with foreign rule and to be discarded like foreign
cloth. It was on the contrary taken as the one relieving feature of British rule, to be
carefully nursed, developed and used for the delectation of the mind. Hindi on the
other hand was regarded (in the South) as a North Indian imposition to be resisted
and discarded.”
This helps to explain the prestige of English in Southern India, and why it has
been used as a lingua franca instead of the regional languages, such as Tamil and
Kannada. The use of English was probably more important in Bangalore as it was a
cantonment during part of the British period.
4. Census of India, 1961. Vol. I, Part II-C(ii), Language Tables. Only the languages spo-
ken by 1% or more of the population in the city are shown.
Percentage of the population speaking different languages:
Madras-Tamil, 72.3%, Telugu 14.4%, Urdu 6.0%

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 THE ATTITUDES TO ENGLISH AND its USE 131

Bangalore-Kannada 51.7%, Telugu 17.5%, Tamil 16.2%, Urdu 9.7%,

Marathi 2.5%
Jaipur-Hindi 83.4%, Urdu 13.6%, Punjabi 2.7%.
5. For the purpose of this table all the codes of the item denoting the “below average”
and “average” proficiency were lumped into one category while the three other codes
representing the “above average” proficiency were treated exactly. Unlike Madras,
the (obtained) value of x2 for Jaipur led to a more sensitive test of significance as
follows:

Source df χ2
Linear regression 1 5.035 (*)
Deviation 3 1.028 (−)
Overall value 4 6.063 (−)

A test similar to that done for Jaipur becomes more effective:

Source df χ2
Linear regression 1 9.088 (**)
Deviation 3 1.257 (−)
Overall value 4 10.345 (**)

Since the overall obtained value of x2 for Madras would not be significant even at 1 df,
the splitting of overall obtained x2 would not provide any additional evidence.

References
Fishman, Joshua A. 1964. Language Loyalty in the United States the Maintenance and
Perpetuation of non-English Mother Tongues by American Ethnic and Religious Groups.
Stanford: United States Office of Education.
Roy, N. C. 1962. Federation and Linguistic States. 1962. Calcutta: Sri Gouranga Press Private Ltd.
Census of India, Vol. I, Part II-C (ii) Language Tables. 1961.

Chapter 07.indd 131 10/5/2013 3:04:57 AM

 8
Perception of the Female
Role by Indian College
Students
Khadlid Ahmed Kazi and Rehana Ghadially

Introduction

U
ntil recently the most widely accepted assumption concerning
sex-roles was that they were innate and by-products of a bio-
logical predisposition. This assumption has been questioned
by social scientists. The most recent research evidence1 indicates that
the sex role system is the result of socialization and therefore open to
change. The contemporary scene is characterized by a re-definition of
the female role accompanied by appropriate adjustments in the male
role. It has been found across several cultures, that females are more
egalitarian than males in their attitudes toward marriage roles (Arkoff
1964; Ghadially 1977).
Previous studies show that the female career role has become
increasingly accepted as the norm. However, the males reported diffi-
culty in acknowledging this ideal in their own behaviour (Dorn, 1970).
In a study done on Indian college women more than 50% of them
aspired for a career (Ghadially, 1977). As more and more women hope
to have a career, the conflict between home and work is inevitable.
Freedman (1965) found that most college women were not inclined

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 Perception of the Female Role 133

to value conventional feminine characteristics or behaviour. Almost

every student indicated she would like to many and over half the senior
students said they desired careers. Career-oriented interviewees foresaw
various amounts of conflict between the two aspirations.
In a longitudinal study Angrist (1972) labelled all women who
aspired to combine family life and career as careerist. A careerist usually
chooses a male-dominated occupation and views domesticity and child
care as matters to be delegated to others, if necessary. The non-careerist
intends to centre her life totally on her family and to work only in case
of financial need.
The purpose of the present study was to investigate empirically
whether college men and women with “traditional” and “non-traditional”
attitudes toward sex-roles, differ in terms of the importance they attach
to marriage and age of marital partner, the wife’s educational and career
aspirations.

Method

Subjects

Subjects consisted of 193 male and 286 female college students drawn
from the disciplines of arts, commerce, engineering, home science, law,
medicine and pure sciences. The mean age of the subjects was 22.0 years.
The mean number of years the subjects had received formal education
was 13.9 years. The mean family income of the subjects was Rs. 1989.

Procedure

The subjects were administered a questionnaire part of which dealt with

perception of sex-roles, importance of marriage, their educational and
career plans. The questionnaire was adopted from the one originally
developed and used in a cross-cultural study at Rutger’s University2.
Perception of sex-roles was measured by twenty-one Likert-type
items with a minimum score of 1 indicating a “traditional” position and
a maximum score of 4 indicating a “non-traditional” position. The items
covered the areas of personality traits and sex-role behaviour at work and

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 134 Khadlid Ahmed Kazi and Rehana Ghadially

home. In order to compare “traditional” and “non-traditional” subjects,

the sample was divided into three groups of approximately 160  each.
Those with scores above 2.63, were classified as “non-traditional” whereas
those below 2.38 were classified as “traditional”. The remaining subjects
(with scores between 2.33 and 2.63) were dropped in order to emphasize
the differences between the “traditional” and “non-traditional” subjects.
By this procedure, the final sample consisted of 326 students of which
49 males and 114 females constituted the “non-traditional” group, and
86 males and 77 females constituted the “traditional” group.

Results and Discussion

Marriage and Age of Marital Partner

In practically every society marriage is offered as a desirable goal for men and
more so for women. The importance of marriage was examined for both
the sexes. Though marriage was less important to non-traditional subjects,
compared to traditional subjects the trend did not approach significance.
It is interesting to observe that 21% of girls think marriage is of
little importance. More traditional girls than non-traditional ones think
that marriage is very important whereas more non-traditional girls feel
that marriage is of moderate importance. Non-traditional girls are look-
ing for sources of self-fulfillment and security other than marriage. It is a
step away from the binding influence of home and family and promises
an alternative life style for women.
A greater number of non-traditional boys (74%) and girls (21%)
as compared to traditional boys (28%) and girls (10%) were prepared
to marry older women and younger men respectively. The difference
between non-traditional and traditional subjects was stronger for males
than females. In general, men were more willing to marry older women
than women were willing to marry younger men. The reasons cited by
males for not wanting to marry older women, a significant difference was
obtained for only two viz. opposition by society and not having much
in common. 29.5% of traditional males as opposed to 6.5% of the non-
traditional males cited social reasons whereas 56.7% of non-traditional
males compared to only 35.9% of traditional males mentioned incom-
patibility as grounds for not wanting to marry older women. Coming
to girls, 41.9% of non-traditional girls as opposed to only 30.1% of

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 Perception of the Female Role 135

traditional girls mentioned insufficient maturity as a reason. 34.2% of

traditional women as opposed to 18.1% of non-traditional girls quoted
social reasons for not wanting to marry younger men.
The traditional subjects of both the sexes were more concerned about
conforming to the society’s present norms while the non-traditional
subjects did not consider societal pressure an important factor in mak-
ing personal decisions. Non-traditional male and female subjects did
not agree on their reasons for not conforming with the existing norms
regarding ages of partners. Female subjects thought insufficient maturity
of younger men to be crucial whereas males found incompatibility to be
important. This indicates a sex difference in the qualities emphasized by
objects in their marriage partners.

Education and Career

With new concepts in sex-roles, one expects a change in the educational

patterns and career commitments of women. It was found that 17.4% of
non-traditional girls aspired for doctoral studies compared to only 6.8%
of the traditional girls. Only 22.0% of non-traditional girls as compared
to 44.6% of traditional girls aspired for bachelors degree. This supports
the idea that a non-traditional girl wishes to pursue higher education
and views it as a means for career and greater economic independence
in the future. It has been shown that the higher the educational level
achieved the more likely a woman is to work (Ginzberg 1968). It may
be noted that college men in general aspire to higher educational levels
than non-traditional women. Similar findings were obtained by Coates
and Southern (1972) among American college students.
On the question why women attend universities, the reason most fre-
quently mentioned by “non-traditional” men was developing intellectual
capacities. The traditional men, on the other hand, mentioned ‘finding a
suitable marriage partner’—most frequently. More non-traditional girls
cited preparation for a career as a reason why women attend universi-
ties, whereas more traditional girls mentioned developing intellectual
capacities. This finding supports an earlier study (Ghadially, 1977) in
which 50% of the college girls said they would like to be remembered
as brilliant students. The above mentioned two reasons were cited by
nearly twice as many girls as boys. On this issue, the thinking of non-
traditional men and traditional women is alike. Probably education is

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 136 Khadlid Ahmed Kazi and Rehana Ghadially

viewed as helping a woman become an enlightened wife and mother.

Traditional men continue to think of a girl’s education as only a means
for finding a highly qualified and well-placed husband. They assess her
future status not in terms of her educational accomplishments per se,
but as some thing derived from the man she marries. It is only the non-
traditional woman who sees education as means of achieving economic
independence. This difference in their perception of the women’s inten-
tions and desires could lead to conflict in later years.
The male subjects were asked three questions concerning the career
of their wives. Firstly, the respondents imagined themselves 15 yrs.
from now, drawing an adequate salary. 57.6% of traditional males and
only 33.3% of non-traditional males imagined themselves married to
a woman who would be a full-time wife and mother. 14.3% of non-
traditional males as opposed to only 2.2% of traditional males imagined
themselves married with children and wife working full time (Table 1).
In the second question, the respondent was asked to assume that his
wife is trained in the occupation of her choice, they have children and he
earns enough so that she doesn’t really have to work unless she wants to.
All the situations where the wife was working, were acceptable to a greater
number of non-traditional men (approximately 50%) than traditional
men (approximately 28%). 73.89? of non-traditional men as compared

Table 1
Percentage of Male Subjects Imagining Themselves to Be in a Given Situation
15 Years Hence

Percentage of Percentage of
Situation Non-traditional Traditional
Married with wife being a full time 33.3 57.6
housewife
Married with children and wife 28.6 27.2
working part-time
Married with children and wife 14.2 2.2
working full-time
Married without children and wife 9.5 3.3
working full-time
Be a bachelor 14.3 9.8
Chi-Square: 9.42 (P 0.05).

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 Perception of the Female Role 137

to 89.4% of traditional men found it acceptable for a qualified wife to

look after home and family. The differences were significant (Table 2).
The third question concerned with various circumstances under
which they would be willing to let their wives work. In each of the cir-
cumstances, it was found that the percentage of non-traditional males
permitting their wives to work was significantly greater than the percent-
age of traditional males who did so (Table 3). In their study of college
men’s attitude towards motivation of women for seeking employment

Table 2
Percentage of Male Subjects Accepting a Wife Doing a Given Type of Work

Percentage Percentage
Type of Work of Non-traditional of Traditional Chi-Square
Part-time 68.2 47.6 4.13 (P 0.05)
Full-time 24.4 10.7 3.23 (NS)
Club and Volunteer work 43.2 23.3 4.60 (P 0.05)
Sports and other activities 48.8 20.9 9.30 (P 0.01)
Part-time until children are in 57.8 27.9 9.93 (P 0.01)
school, then full-time
Concentrate on home, family 73.8 89.4 4.05 (P 0.05)
and children

Table 3
Percentage of Male Subjects Accepting a Given Circumstance as a Reason for
Their Wife to Work

Percentage of Percentage
Circumstances Non-traditional of Traditional Chi-Square
Husband’s income insufficient 81.0 65.4 2.51 (NS)
To improve the standard of living 46.3 35.4 0.96 (NS)
To give her a change to make new friends 63.4 29.3 11.83 (P 0.01)
To fulfill her desire for financial 68.0 29.6 15.95 (P 0.01)
independence
To fulfill her desire to pursue a career 81.8 45.0 14.33 (P 0.01)
To work outside till they have children 57.5 35.4 4.51 (P 0.05)
Under any circumstances 22.6 6.2 5.21 (P 0.05)

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 138 Khadlid Ahmed Kazi and Rehana Ghadially

after marriage, Hewer and Neubeck (1972) found that those reasons,
which were related to the traditional and nurturant role of women, were
found to be most acceptable.
The responses to the above three questions indicate a greater will-
ingness on the part of the non-traditional males to accept an educated
wife working and participating in activities outside the home. Despite
her education, traditional boys preferred her to stay at home and look
after the family. Also the non-traditional males granted more freedom to
their wives in her career plans than the traditional males.
Similarly, female subjects were asked four questions regarding career.
In the first question they were asked to imagine them-selves fifteen years
hence. A greater number of non-traditional girls (77%) than traditional
girls (47%) saw themselves occupied with Part-time or full-time career,
with or without children. 40% of traditional girls and only 11% of non-
traditional girls thought they would be a full-time housewife (Table 4).
Epstein and Bronzaft (1972) found that nearly 48% of college
women anticipated having a career, marriage and children within 15 yrs.
and a very small percentage chose to be either unmarried career women
or married career women without children. Earlier in this study, it was
noted that approximately 21% of the women thought marriage was of
little importance. In the light of this observation, it is not surprising that
nearly 13% of all the women expect to be single and actively involved
in their jobs (Table 4)
In the second question, they were asked to place themselves in the
position of an educated and qualified wife with children and husband’s

Table 4
Percentage of Female Subjects Imagining Themselves in a Given Situation
15 Years Hence

Percentage of Percentage
Situation Non-traditional of Traditional
Being a full-time wife and mother 10.5 39.6
Married with children and working part-time 40.4 36.3
Married with children and working full-time 28.1 6.6
Married without children and working full-time 8.8 4.4
Unmarried and actively involved with a job 12.3 13.2
Chi-Square: 22.57 (P 0.001).

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 Perception of the Female Role 139

salary adequate. Nearly 67.5% of non-traditional girls, as opposed to

only 28.9% of non-traditional girls, opted for home and family. Whereas,
nearly 68.4% of non-traditional girls, as opposed to only 29.4% of tra-
ditional girls were inclined to pursue a full-time or a part-time career
(Table 5).
A similar trend was reported when women subjects were asked to
choose between a career or marrying a man of their choice who disap-
proves of a working wife. 27.1% of non-traditional girls and only 7.5%
of traditional girls opted for career; whereas 26.9% of traditional and
only 11.9% of non-traditional girls opted for marriage. Nearly two-
thirds of traditional and non-traditional girls opted for marriage but
hoped to change husband’s mind later (Table 6).

Table 5
Percentage of Female Subjects Choosing a Given Type of Work

Percentage of Percentage of
Type of Work Non-traditional Traditional Chi-Square
Part-time 22.8 15.9 0.66 (NS)
Full-time 8.8 2.6 2.02 (NS)
Club and Volunteer work 1.8 3.9 26.16 (0.01)
Sports and other activities 0.9 0.0 0.20 (NS)
Part-time until children are 36.8 12.0 0.03 (NS)
in school, then full time
Concentrate on home, 28.9 67.5 12.02 (P 0.01)
family and children

Table 6
Percentage of Female Subjects Opting for Marriage or Career

Percentage of Percentage of
Response Category Non-traditional Traditional
Chose marriage 11.9 26.9
Chose marriage now and hoped to change 61.0 65.6
husband’s mind later
Chose career 27.1 7.5
Chi-Square: 13.14 (P 0.01).

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 140 Khadlid Ahmed Kazi and Rehana Ghadially

Table 7
Percentage of Female Subjects Choosing a Given Reason to Work

Percentage of Percentage
Circumstances Non-traditional of Traditional Chi-Square
Husband’s income insufficient 10.6 29.9 10.05 (P 0.01)
To improve the Standard of living 19.5 29.9 2.20 (NS)
To make new friends 0.9 1.3 0.20 (NS)
To fulfill a desire for financial 15.9 14.3 0.01 (NS)
independence
To fulfill a desire to pursue a career 45.1 18.2 13.60 (P 0.01)
To work outside till they have children 7.1 11.7 0.69 (NS)
Under no circumstance 0.0 2.6 1.00 (NS)

When the female subjects were asked their reasons for working out-
side the home after marriage, 29.9% of traditional girls as opposed to only
10.6% of non-traditional girls, stated insufficient family income. 45.1%
of non-traditional girls and only 18.2% of traditional girls said they work
in order to pursue a career (Table 7). While the non-traditional girls aimed
at a career in future, the traditional girl wished to work only to supple-
ment her husband’s income, subordinating her interests to her family.
The responses to the, above four questions clearly indicate that while,
a non-traditional girl seeks economic independence and greater fulfillment
through a career, the traditional girl intends looking after home and family.
Comparing the expectations of men and women, it was observed
that the number of women intending to pursue a career, part-time or
full-time, is far greater than the number of men willing to accept work-
ing wives. In their study also, Entwisle and Greenberger (1972) found
that the attitudes of men towards women’s work-role were consistently
more conservative than those of women.

Summary

The overall picture that emerges from the findings is that a young college
student with non-traditional attitudes toward sex-roles considers mar-
riage to be less important, believes that women seek education to develop
intellectual capacities, is less concerned about society’s norms of age of

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 Perception of the Female Role 141

marriage partner, emphasizes compatibility between partners and con-

sistently more prone to accepting a working wife. The non-traditional
woman aspires to higher education, seeks education to develop intellec-
tual capacities and prepares for a career, is less concerned about society’s
norms of age of marriage partner and emphasizes maturity as an impor-
tant quality in her husband and wishes to combine career and family.

Notes
1. For a comprehensive analysis of the origins and maintenance of the sex-role system see
Writz, S. 1977. “Sex-Roles: Biological, Psychological and Sociological Foundations”
Oxford University Press, New York.
2. Personal Contact with Dr. (Mrs.) L. Murty.

References
Angrist, S. 1972 Variations in Women’s Adult Aspirations During College. Journal of
Marriage and the Family. 34(3): 465–468.
Arkoff, A. Meredith, G. and Iwhara, S. 1964 Male Dominant and Egalitarian Attitudes in
Japanese, Japanese-American and Caucasian Students, Journal of Social Psychology. 64:
225–229.
Coates, T. J. and Southern, M. L. 1972 Differential Educational Aspiration Levels of Men
and Women Undergraduate Students. Journal of Psychology. 81: 125–128.
Dorn, D 1970 Idealized Sex-Roles among Young People. Journal of Human Relations. 18(1):
789–797.
Entwisle, I. R. and Greenberger, E. 1972 Adolescents’ Views of Women’s Work Role.
American Journal of Orthopsychiatry. 42(4): 648–656.
Epstein, G. F. and Bronzaft, A. L. 1972 Female Fresh men View Their Roles as Women.
Journal of Marriage and the Family. 34(4): 671–672.
Freedman, M. B. 1965 The Role of the Educated Woman: An Empirical Study of the
Attitudes of a Group of College Women; Journal of College Student Personnel. 6(2):
145–155.
Ghadially, R. 1977 Career-Oriented and Non-Career Oriented College Women. Indian
Journal of Social Work. 38(1): 45–50.
Ghadially, R. 1977 Attitudes Toward Marriage-Roles among Indian College Students.
Unpublished.
Ginzberg, E. 1968 Paycheck and Apron Revolution in Woman-power, Industrial Relations.
7: 193–203.
Hewer, V. H. and Neubeck, G. 1964 Attitudes of College Students toward Employment
among Married Women. The Personnel and Guidance Journal. 42(6): 587–592.

Chapter 08.indd 141 10/4/2013 10:58:18 PM

 9
Social Class and
Occupational Aspirations
of College Students1
Ambarao T. Uplaonkar

Modernisation of Indian Society

(1) British Rule

T
he British conquest of India may be said to have been indirectly
responsible for the beginning of an era of modernisation in
terms of rationalism, liberalism, secularism and humanism.
Although the British colonised India and exploited Indian wealth for
their own advantage, they laid the infrastructure necessary for the social
change we regard as modernisation. For instance, the British established
a net-work of transport and communication links—roads, bridges,
railways and telephones—which facilitated spatial mobility. They estab-
lished mills and factories and thereby provided alternative avenues of
employment. The growth of industries, in turn, led to the growth of
towns and cities. The British also introduced a formal English educa-
tion based on principles of equal access for all sections of society. It was
through this system of education that liberal values—of equality and
secularism—were imparted to the Indian educated elite. Consequently,
it was for the first time that the traditional Indian society began to

Chapter 09.indd 142 2013-11-27 3:31:59 PM

 Social Class and Occupational Aspirations 143

experience changes under the impact of British rule. The new economic
forces, for instance, steadily eroded the traditional division of labour
based on caste. Similarly, English education questioned the very founda-
tions of traditional values of inequality based on birth, sex and colour.
In short. British rule paved the way for the emergence of a class structure
which was expected to be different from the traditional social structure
based on the caste system.

(2) India as a Welfare State

After Independence, the founding fathers of India’s Constitution defined

the goals of modernisation in terms of a welfare state. Democracy,
socialism and secularism became the guiding principles of the welfare
state. Individuals and groups came to be regarded as the human poten-
tial of the nation. The welfare state enjoined to conserve, protect and
improve the talents, abilities and capacities of individuals and groups,
especially the weaker sections and the under-privileged, such as the
Scheduled Castes and Tribes, minorities, women and children, by pro-
viding social services in such fields as education, health, housing and
employment. Under Article 38 of the Directive Principles, it is laid
down that the State shall strive to promote the welfare of the people by
securing and protecting, as effectively as it may, a social order in which
justice, social, economic and political, shall inform all the institutions
of national life. Article 16(1) guarantees “equality of opportunity” and
Article 16 (2) forbids discrimination in employment. The idea of a wel-
fare state is more fully defined in Article 41 of the Constitution, which
runs as follows:

“The State shall, within the limits of its economic capacity and development,
make effective provision for securing the right to work, to education, and
public assistance, in case of unemployment, old age, sickness, disablement
and other cases of underserved want”. In short, the welfare state that India is
envisaged to be, hopes to build a strong egalitarian and dynamic society by
drawing talent from all strata of society, not excluding the lower castes and
classes, women and minorities which hitherto were deprived of that oppor-
tunity and whose talent, therefore, remained untapped, undeveloped and
unharnessed for the general good of the people.

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 144Ambarao T. Uplaonkar

(3) Strategies of Modernisation

In pursuance of the goals of a welfare state as enshrined in the constitu-

tion, a number of welfare and developmental programmes were under-
taken by the government. To begin with, the process of modernisation
initiated by the British was strengthened and accelerated with a slant on
or bias towards social welfare.
The Five Year Plans (I, II and III) made a general attempt to raise
the standard of living of the people through increased production and
acceleration of the growth of the national economy by rapid industriali-
sation, with particular emphasis on the development of basic and heavy
industries. In 1952, the Government of India initiated a programme of
Community Development, the main objective of which was to improve
the economic conditions of the rural people by spreading the knowledge
of better farm techniques and by instilling in them the desire of self-help
and co-operation.
Further, to accomplish the stated objectives of education in the
Constitution viz., universal free elementary education and extension
of greater educational facilities to the backward castes and tribes,
rural people and women-folk, the government of India took steps
to establish, in towns and villages, schools and colleges which had
been hitherto confined only to the cities. Consequently, new criteria
of differentiation based on social class—income, occupation and
education—began to replace caste as a factor determining social
differentiation, and as such influenced the formulation of occupa-
tional aspirations and goals of people. It remains for us now to explore
the extent to which social class is acting as an agent of modernisation.
To be specific, we would like to know, whether or not social class
influences an individual’s or a group’s behaviour independent of tradi-
tional groups. Are there distinct class differentials in the occupational
aspirations of college students? Do low class students with low caste
status aspire for low occupations? Does class emerge as the main fac-
tor of influence on the occupational aspirations of college students
in a society where modernisation is largely an extension of colonial
heritage? It should be stressed that the role of social class in motivat-
ing social mobility in college students, by way of determining their
aspirations, should be viewed in the broader context of the traditional
groups—religion, caste and sex—on the one hand, and higher educa-
tion on the other.

Chapter 09.indd 144 2013-11-27 3:31:59 PM

 Social Class and Occupational Aspirations 145

Objective and Hypothesis

(a) The aim of this paper is to analyse the influence of social class on the
occupational aspirations of students in higher education. To be specific, the
aim is to analyse the extent to which social class vis-a-vis traditional groups,
such as religion, caste and sex, is adapting to the avowed goal of the Indian
Constitution, viz. equality of opportunity.
(b) Hypotheses of the Study
The hypotheses of the study are as follows:
(i) The higher the social class, the higher the level of occupational aspira-
tions when the effect of religion is controlled;
(ii) The higher the social class, the higher the level of occupational aspira-
tions, when the effect of caste is controlled;
(iii) The higher the social class, the higher the level of occupational aspira-
tions, when the effect of sex is controlled: and
(iv) The higher the social class, the higher the level of occupational aspira-
tions, when the effect of religion caste and sex is controlled at one point
of time.

II. Methodology

(1) Universe

The universe of the present study consisted of all the pre-university

second year students (1300) studying in all the colleges of Gulbarga
City (Karnataka) during the year 1979–80. The data for the present
study were collected by administering a printed semi-structured ques-
tionnaire in English and also in Kannada, the regional language of
Karnataka State, to the respondents.

(2) Social Class

The social class of the respondents was measured by constructing a

composite Index for Class Background (CICB). The index consisted
of the respondents’ Family Class Status (father’s education, occupation
and income), Kin’s Class Status (educational and occupational status of
kin-members such as grand parents, uncles and siblings), Peer’s Class
Status (intimate peer’s father’s occupational status), Neighbourhood
Class Status (educational and occupational status of the neighbours

Chapter 09.indd 145 2013-11-27 3:31:59 PM

 146Ambarao T. Uplaonkar

with whom the respondent interacted frequently), and Rural-Urban

Background (village, town and city). In order to construct the compos-
ite index for social class (CICB), first scores were given to education,
occupation, income and rural-urban background and then the total
scores of all individual indexes of each respondent were added together
and then percentiles were computed. Accordingly, each respondent was
divided into three status categories—high medium and low. The reli-
ability of the index was tested by applying the method of item analysis
(Edwards, 1969: 1952–54). First, all the respondents were arranged in
a descending order according to their CICB scores. Then 200 respon-
dents (about 20 per cent of the population—1300) with the highest
scores from the top, and the lowest scores from the bottom were sorted
out as high and low groups, respectively. The differences in the ranks of
the high and low groups in their individual dimensions of the CICB
viz., FGS, KCS, PCS, NCS and rural-urban background, were tested
for their significance by the student’s ‘T’ test which yielded high values
beyond .001 per cent level. Further the application of the Karl Pearson’s
Product Moment (R) also yielded a high measure of correlation between
different components of the index.
For measuring the association between independent and dependent
variables, the statistics Gamma was used. Further, to test the hypotheses
rigorously, statistics such as Karl Pearson’s Product Moment—simple
and partial correlation was used.

(3) Ranking of Religion and Sex

Religion per se refers to spiritual values which are neither high nor low.
Therefore, religions cannot be classified into high and low categories.
Hence, it is a nominal variable. However, sociologically, religion is a
ritual system, which also implies a secular dimension. Religion, as a
social system, has both ritual and secular dimensions. The former crys-
talises into the latter. Although religions are not hierarchically arranged
in any society, nevertheless they are perceived as high or low through
their class status. Muslims in India are a backward community. Their
socio-economic and educational status is low. Unlike the Hindus, the
Muslim response to introduce reform in their social institutions has
been discouraging. Thus taking into consideration their mobility orien-
tations towards modern education, they have been ranked low, although

Chapter 09.indd 146 2013-11-27 3:31:59 PM

 Social Class and Occupational Aspirations 147

such a ranking is arbitrary. Sex may be classified both nominally and

ordinally. Viewed in terms of their lower roles and status, women have
been ranked lower than men.

III. Social Background Characteristics

A large proportion of the respondents were in the age group of 16–20.

The mean age for the population was 18.98. Hindu and Muslim stu-
dents did not differ appreciably in their mean age. However, the upper
and middle caste students were younger than the lower caste students.
Boys were slightly older than girls.
A majority of the students in the population were Hindus. While
52 per cent of the Hindu students were from such castes as Lingayats,
Marathas, Reddys, Kurubas etc., 26 per cent were from lower castes
(S. Cs. and S.Ts) and 22 per cent were from upper castes (Brahmin).
The data further revealed that Hindu and Muslim students did not
differ considerably in their social class background. However, a majority
of the upper and middle caste students came from a higher social class
background. A majority of the women students also came from a higher
social class background. These findings show that a majority of college
students in our study were Hindu males and belonged to upper and
middle castes and upper class background.

IV. Social Class and Occupational Aspirations

(1) Religion

Religion as a social institution means a set of ritual values, pure and

impure; sacred and profane in varying degrees. The degree of combina-
tion of sacred and profane in a given religion is the result of its response
to the demands of environment in the process of social evolution. Thus
religions vary in their tradition-modernity make-up or mix or ability
to adapt to the changing demands of social life. Indeed Yinger (1970:
288) has shown how every aspect of religion can vary from class to class:
beliefs, rites, aesthetic expressions of religious emotion, the structure
and leadership of religious organisation and every other phase or process

Chapter 09.indd 147 2013-11-27 3:31:59 PM

 148Ambarao T. Uplaonkar

of being religious may be different from one class to another. Thus, reli-
gion has a significant bearing on the growth of social class in a society.
Muslims are, by and large, a poor community in India. Their socio-
economic and educational status is low. The Ministry of Home Affairs,
Government of India conducted an All India study in 1977. The study
revealed that a majority of Muslims belonged to low class status, while a
majority of non-Muslims belonged to middle class status. It is worth noting
that the representation of Muslims in modern education and white-collar
occupations is very low. Studies have revealed the comparatively low enrol-
ment of Muslims in schools and colleges (Sharma, 1978; Khan. 1978).
The share of Muslims in employment in public sectors is abnormally low.
For example, in the Indian Foreign Services, which is considered the most
prestigious of services, the number of Muslims in 1965 was reported to be
about a dozen out of a total of 270 officers. In the Administrative Services,
which is now the topmost grade of service inside India, out of a total of
more than 2,000 officers, there were only 111 Muslims; a disproportion-
ately low 5 per cent, when the Muslims constituted about 11 per cent of the
total population of (in 1971) India. Similar findings have been reported by
Khan (1970), Subramaniam (1971), Malhotra (1973) and Imam (1975).
However, there are differences of opinion about the reasons for the
low class status of Muslims in India. It has been pointed out that the chief
reason for the low class status of Muslims in India is rooted in the com-
munity’s conservative social and cultural ethos and the actual minority
complex of its members (Shah, 1968; Zakaria, 1971; Rahman, 1972;
Krishana, 1978; Baig 1974). On the other hand, Moin Shakir is of the view
that Muslim backwardness in India is largely due to the real or imputed
discrimination practised by Hindus against the Muslims: “The fact is that
there are highly organised vested interests belonging to the majority com-
munity. They exercise a powerful influence on the administration and suc-
ceed in pushing the minority interests to a subsidiary position (1971).
It is, however, difficult to ascertain the reality of discrimination, in
practice, by Hindus against the Muslims. It is also difficult to categori-
cally pronounce whether the tenets of Islam are “rigid”, for rigidity is
relative to models of modernisation, elite or mass. Instead of blaming a
given tradition as rigid, it is necessary to examine the very models and
strategies of modernisation. This only shows that elite models and strate-
gies borrowed from the western context as part of a planned social change
would not suit traditional societies. Observation of planned social change
in India has shown that the socio-economic and educational measures

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 Social Class and Occupational Aspirations 149

undertaken by the government after Independence have not facilitated

the growth of a middle class among Muslims. “For continuing prog-
ress in literacy and education there has to be a continuing formation
of middle and lower-middle class segments with literate and educated
occupations, with adequate facilities for the necessary education and also
adequate job opportunities” (Kamat, 1981). “The question whether they
(Muslims) are ultimately ready or willing to make the necessary invest-
ment of time, energy and resources in education is likely to depend upon
whether they see this investment as commensurate with what education
can give or gives them in return” (Ahmad, 1981: 1459). In short, the
response of social class to modern occupations depends not only on its
religious dimension, but also on the prevailing system of education which
is supposed to bring about social change. In the following paragraphs we
shall examine the part played by social class in influencing the occupa-
tional aspirations of Hindu and Muslim students.
From Table 1 it can be discerned that there was a positive corre-
lation between levels of occupational aspirations and levels of CICB
among both Hindus and Muslims. To substantiate, 68 per cent of those
of the low, 38 per cent of those of the middle and 65 per cent of those of
the high CICB Hindu students had low, middle and high occupational
aspirations, respectively.

Table 1
Percentage Distribution of the Students Occupational Aspirations by Religion and
by CICB

Religion
Hindu Muslim
Occupational Low Middle High Low Middle High
Aspiration CICB CICB CICB Total CICB CICB CICB Total
Low 68 31 13 39 95 63 17 54
Middle 26 38 28 28 3 23 13 11
High 6 31 33 33 2 14 70 32
Total % 100 100 100 100 100 100 100 32
Total No. 421 330 351 1102 57 64 100 100
% Total 38 30 32 100 29 32 77 198
√ = 0.699 √ = 0.867

Chapter 09.indd 149 2013-11-27 3:31:59 PM

 150Ambarao T. Uplaonkar

It may be further noted that the occupational aspirations of the

middle and high CICB Hindu students correspond to their respective
CICB proportions in the universe. Thus it could be said that, by and
large, there was a greater degree of differentiation on class axis among
Hindu students.
Data for the Muslim students reveal that a majority of the low (95
per cent) and middle (63 per cent) CICB had low occupational aspira-
tions, while a majority of the high CICB (77 per cent) had high occu-
pational aspirations. In other words, of the 198 Muslim students, only
77 (39 per cent) had high occupational aspirations. This shows that class
status by itself did not make an independentdent on the occupational
aspirations of Muslim students. It appears that low and middle class
Muslim students did not perceive higher education as an investment
for future white-collar jobs in the organised sector. Their reluctance and
unpreparedness may also be due to the real or imputed fear that they
would not be recruited in white-collar jobs however good their perfor-
mance night be.

(2) Caste

Caste per se refers to the ritual role and status that the individuals and
groups are supposed to acquire by birth. Thus individuals and groups
are ranked as high or low by virtue of their ritual (inherent) qualities
of superiority and inferiority. As a social institution, caste has a secular
or class dimension. A higher ritual status corresponds with higher class
status. Thus ritual and class dimensions constitute the caste system in
varying degrees.
In the traditional Indian society there was a high measure of asso-
ciation or linkage between caste and class. Members of higher caste had
also higher class status. Thus one’s ability to achieve status in society was
largely restricted to one’s ritual status. For instance, twice-born castes
such as Brahmins pursued ritually high and clean occupations which,
in turn, required a high level of formal education (Ghurye, 1961). The
other twice-born castes, namely Khastriyas and Vaishyas largely super-
vised land and engaged in trade and commerce. The non-twice-born
castes largely engaged in agriculture and/or allied occupations such as
carpentry, gold smithy, blacksmithy, oilpressing etc., which were ranked
low, both in class and ritual hierarchy, compared to those occupations
pursued by the twice-born castes. The untouchable castes pursued

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 Social Class and Occupational Aspirations 151

degraded (menial) occupations which were ranked very low in the class
and ritual hierarchy. In short, class status was largely influenced, if not
totally determined, by ritual status. Thus there was a close consistency
between caste and class status.2
British rule in India initiated a process of modernisation through
English education which was open to all and a limited measure of
industrialisation and urbanisation which opened new avenues of status
achievement for the non-Brahmin castes. However, the major benefits
of modernisation accrued mainly to Brahmins followed by the rich trad-
ing and peasant castes, especially in Karnataka (the Old Mysore State).
On the other hand, the poorer sections among the peasant castes and
the untouchable castes could not respond to English education. This
was due to the lack of a literary tradition combined with the short-
comings of poverty and rural residence which came in the way of these
castes in exploiting the new educational system. Besides, the immedi-
ate utility of the new system of education could not be perceived by
them, particularly by the lower castes, for the reason that they did not
sec in English education any direct expansion of their traditional work
or skills: the new system of education was as alien as the traditional
(Gurukula) system (Chauhan, 1967).
The available data with regard to the impact of modernisation, in
terms of socio-economic measures and educational facilities, on the
system of stratification after Independence, show that the upper castes
continue at the top of the class hierarchy while the lower castes, except a
small elite group, are found at the bottom of the hierarchy (Gist, 1954:
Savani, 1956: Driver, 1962: Subramanium, 1971). Sociologists have
argued that modernisation after Independence, whether in the field
of agriculture, industry or education, has not improved the lot of the
common masses, but helped the upper classes (Dube, 1958: 82–83:
Mandelbalm, 1960: 18). It is pertinent, therefore, to analyse the mod-
ernising effect of social class on the occupational aspirations of college
students with different caste statuses.
Data presented in Table 2 reveal that by an large, there was a cor-
relation between levels of occupational aspirations and levels of CICB
categories in the caste, except the middle CICB in the high caste. This
gives an impression that there were social class differences in the occu-
pational aspirations of the various caste groups. In other words, caste
hierarchy was beginning to become open. However, a deeper analysis
of the data reveals a different picture. For instance, of the low caste

Chapter 09.indd 151 2013-11-27 3:31:59 PM

Chapter 09.indd 152
Table 2
Percentage Distribution of the Students Occupational Aspirations by Caste and by CICB

Caste Status
Low Middle High
Occupational Low Middle High Total Low Middle High Total Low Middle High Total
Aspirations CICB CICB CICB CICB CICB CICB CICB CICB CICB CICB CICB CICB
Low 69 8 9 54 65 31 12 35 81 46 16 31
Middle 27 51 22 30 36 39 19 28 15 29 25 25
High 4 41 69 14 9 30 69 37 4 25 44 44
Total % 100 100 100 100 100 100 100 100 100 100 100 100
Total No. 216 49 23 288 179 212 180 371 26 69 148 243
% to Total 75 17 8 100 31 37 32 100 11 28 61 100
√ = 0.876 √ = 0.654 √ = 0.681
152Ambarao T. Uplaonkar

2013-11-27 3:31:59 PM
 Social Class and Occupational Aspirations 153

respondents (288). 216 or 75 per cent were from the low CICB, and of
the low CICB (216), 69 per cent had low occupational aspirations. In
other words, a majority of the SC students who came from a low class
status had low occupational aspirations. Notwithstanding the efforts of
the government of India to uplift the status of the SC students through
the policy of protective discrimination—reservation in education and
occupation, the SC students have not shown a significant upward rise
in their perception. The policy of protective discrimination, it is argued,
seems to have had an adverse effect on the process of upward mobility
of the SC students. Reservations conditioned the educated elites among
the untouchables to look upon the administration, bureaucracy as their
reference group. When they cannot get into it they can hardly take an
entrepreneurial role in trade, commerce and other areas (Roy-Burman,
1974). In an earlier study by the present author (Uplaonkar, 1977), it
was found that SC youths hardly took advantage of the opportunities
provided by the government for small scale industries. It is not enough if
mere educational, economic and occupational concessions are provided
to the SC students,’ what is needed is a purposeful and innovative plan-
ning of the educational system so as to prepare a large number of the SC
students for middle level vocations.
Data with regard to the middle castes show two extreme trends:
(i) of the middle castes students (571), 31 and 31 percent came from
low and high CICB, but their respective representation of aspirations in
the low (65 percent) and high (69 percent) were” far more than their
actual proportions in the universe. This means, lower class students of
the middle caste status had fewer chances of improving their status in
society, (ii) On the other hand, it was a small proportion of the upper
class middle caste students who were able to rise high in the occupa-
tional hierarchy.
An examination of the data for the uppercaste students reveals
interesting and important findings. For example, of the total (243) 11
and 28 per cent were drawn from the low and middle CICB, respec-
tively. However, a majority of them (81 and 46 per cent) in their respec-
tive CICB categories had low occupational aspirations. In other words,
about 40 per cent of the upper caste students were aspiring for low
occupations. It will be seen further that of the total upper caste students,
61 per cent came from a high CICB, but it was only 44 per cent of them
that had high occupational aspirations. This clearly indicates that the

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 154Ambarao T. Uplaonkar

Brahmin students are beginning to realise that prestigious posts in the

government are increasingly becoming difficult and beyond their reach.

(3) Sex

The roles and statuses of men and women are defined in terms of ritual
ideology. In India, the social status of women has been lower than that
of men. Women were, and are even now, considered ritually low, and
therefore were not entitled to certain privileges. Women were denied,
for instance, the right to formal education, especially among the caste
Hindus; they were also not supposed to take up occupations outside the
house. Their main role was conceived in terms of wife and mother and
not as earning members.
With the advent of science and technology industrialisation and
urbanisation, a process of secularisation has begun to take place in the
educational and occupational spheres. Further, the acceptance of a wel-
fare state after Independence ushered in a new era of modernisation
with respect to women’s education and occupation. Women’s role is no
longer restricted to the twin functions viz., of child bearing and rearing,
but stands extended to careers and gainful employment. In other words,
besides the role of bearing and rearing of children, exploitation, and
channelisation of women’s energies and skills into careers and gainful
employment has become the key-role of modernisation. This education
is supposed to provide different avenues of careers and gainful employ-
ment to women, depending on their social background-caste, class and
rural-urban background. Even so, the efforts of the government and
social agencies have not succeeded in improving the status of women
compared to that of men. To illustrate, the proportion of literate males
rose to 34 per cent in 1961 and 39 per cent in 1971. The proportion
of female literates, on the contrary, remained significantly low, a mere
13 per cent in 1961 and 19 per cent in 1971. According to the 1971
census, about 52.5 per cent of all men, as against only 12 per cent of all
women, were enumerated in the work force.
It needs to be pinpointed here that the whole process of planning
geared to raising the social status of women has been conceived and
attempted through formal education and white-collar jobs. The prevailing
system of education, especially that of higher and professional educa-
tion, facilitates women students mostly with the upper class background.

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 Social Class and Occupational Aspirations 155

A large proportion of women students in general education (Arts courses)

do not perceive any occupational opportunity. In short, the system of
education provides occupational mobility to only a small proportion
of upper class women with avenues for white-collar jobs in organised
sectors, while a large proportion of them with lower and middle class
background either do not find any access to the system or a majority of
those enrolled in higher education are left unprepared for any indepen-
dent occupational role or self-employment. As a result, the majority of
women have to be content with the traditional role viz., bearing and
rearing. Hence, their low social status. In the following paragraphs we
shall examine the part played by class status in relation to men and
women in influencing their occupational aspirations.
It will be seen from Table 3 that there was a correlation between
levels of occupational aspirations and levels of CICB among the men
students. For example, 69, 40, and 81 per cent of those of the low, middle
and high CICB men students respectively, had their corresponding
levels of occupational aspirations. However, the low CICB men
students seemed to have lower occupational aspirations compared to
their proportion (44 per cent) in the universe. On the other hand, the
middle and high CICB men students had higher occupational aspira-
tions compared to their proportions in the universe. This means, it was

Table 3
Percentage Distribution of the Students Occupational Aspirations by Sex and by
CICB

Sex
Male Female
Occupational Low Middle High Low Middle High
Aspirations CICB CICB CICB Total CICB CICB CICB Total
Low 69 25 4 37 96 65 29 51
Middle 25 40 15 27 4 25 29 24
High 6 35 81 36 − 10 42 25
Total % 100 100 100 100 100 100 100 100
Total No. 432 282 261 977 46 110 167 323
% Total 44 29 27 100 14 34 52 100
√ = 0.82 √ = 0.742

Chapter 09.indd 155 2013-11-27 3:32:00 PM

 156Ambarao T. Uplaonkar

the middle and upper class students among men who had opportunities
to rise in the social hierarchy.
Data for the women students reveal that about 48 per cent (14 and
34 per cent from low and middle CICB, respectively) of the women
students had low occupational aspirations. That means they had taken
to college education as a status symbol or just to keep themselves busy
until their parents found suitable bridegrooms. The data further reveal
that although 42 per cent of the high CICB women students had high
occupational aspirations, nevertheless, this proportion is lower than
their population in the universe (52 per cent). It means that, by and
large, women students had low occupational aspirations.

(4) Application of Simple and Partial Correlation Method

Finally, an attempt was made to explore rigorously which of the social

background variables-religion, caste, sex and social class (CICB)—had a
decisive and significant influence on the occupational aspirations of the
respondents by applying simple and partial correlation method.
(i) Zero Order Correlation: From Table 4 it will be seen that there
was less correlation between traditional groups such as religion, caste

Table 4
Social Background and Occupationl Aspirations (Coefficient of Simple and Partial
Correlation and Determination)

Occupational Aspirations
Variable Simple Corr. Partial Corr.
Religion .0512 1308
(0029) (017)
Caste .2339 .1964
(07) (038)
Sex 1481 4172
(0219) (174)
CICB 5984 6617
(.23) (4378)
Note:
1. The correlation values between social background and Occupational aspirations are sig-
nificant at .001 level.
2. Figures in brackets are R 2.

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 Social Class and Occupational Aspirations 157

and sex and occupational aspirations. For example, religion made only
0.29 per cent of contribution to the occupational aspirations of the
respondents. That means, Hindu students did not differ substantially
in their occupational aspirations from the Muslims. Similarly, the
contribution of sex to the occupational aspiration was low (2.19 per
cent). However, caste status seems to have had an important bearing
on the occupational aspirations of the respondents (7.00 per cent). This
indicates that upper castes have higher occupational aspirations than
lower. However, it is important to observe that social class (CICB) had
greater influence (25.00 per cent) on the occupational aspirations of the
respondents. These data show that class and caste status were making
significant contribution to the occupational aspirations of the respon-
dents. The application of the simple correlation method, however, does
not show which of the social background variables mainly influenced
the occupational aspirations of the respondents. This could be achieved
by applying the partial correlation method.
(ii) A partial correlation analysis of the influence of social background
variables in terms of religion, caste, sex and social class (CICB) showed
that social class played a larger part in determining the occupational
aspirations of the respondents (43.78 per cent), while the influence of
sex came next (17.4 per cent). It becomes clear that men respondents
from the upper class had higher occupational aspirations than the stu-
dents from the lower class and the women.

Summary and Conclusion

The aim of this paper was to find out the influence of social class vis-a-
vis traditional groups such as religion, caste and sex on the occupational
aspirations of students in higher education. An analysis of the influence
of class status on the occupational aspirations of college students, after
controlling for the effect of religion, caste and sex (separately), revealed
that class status by itself did not exercise any significant influence on the
occupational aspirations of the respondents. Traditional groups, on the
contrary, did influence the occupational aspirations of college students
through class status as an intervening variable or factor.
However, an analysis of the data by applying simple and partial
correlation method revealed that class status made a major contribu-
tion to the occupational aspirations of the students. Viewed in terms of

Chapter 09.indd 157 2013-11-27 3:32:00 PM

 158Ambarao T. Uplaonkar

statistical finding, it is the class status rather than the traditional groups
or ritual status, which is beginning to influence the occupational aspi-
rations of college students. It means that modern India is providing a
greater degree of scope to individuals for upward mobility on the basis of
their class status. Does this mean that modern Indian society is becom-
ing relatively open and thereby providing equality of opportunity?
Such a conclusion would be unwarranted. Although class is based
on the principle of achievement, it may, nevertheless, be considered an
ascribed status in as much as achievement itself is largely restricted to ritual
status. This is mainly because social planning initiated by the government
of India through elite models and strategies—socio-economic and
educational—has been in favour of the dominant community (Hindus),
upper castes and classes and men. In other words, the modernisation
process in India is a conservative force. It is a drag on the Indian society.
The equality of opportunity guaranteed by the Indian Constitution to
every citizen, regardless of religion, caste, or sex, has not become a real-
ity in practice. Or, it might be said that the modernisation that we have
been witnessing is only such as to contravene the principles of secularism
and social justice. “In societies where the nature of modernisation is par-
ticularistic, inequitable and discriminatory, it results in strengthening and
consolidating the position of the traditionally privileged and elite groups
and weakening the position of the expropriated, it thus increases the gulf
between the higher and lower strata. The indices of modernisation—
education, occupation, power and cultural styles of life—support the
view that modernisation . . . so far has been confined to the privileged
castes and class families. Consequently, modernisation does not result in
distributive justice, as the role differentiation is confined within the upper
segments of the (Indian) society” (Sharma, 1970: 1542).

Notes
1. This paper is based on findings, of the author’s thesis: “A Study of Occupational
Aspirations, as Related to Social Background of Students in Higher Education in a
Middle Sized City in Karnataka” which was submitted to the Tata Institute of Social
Sciences, Bombay. I am grateful to professor, MS. Gore, former Director, TISS,
Bombay, who supervised the thesis.
2. It should be pointed out that the lower castes which improved their class status (eco-
nomic or occupational) in course of time, staked then’ claim for a higher ritual status
by adopting the customs and traditions of the upper castes.

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 Social Class and Occupational Aspirations 159

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Baig, M. R. A. 1974 The Muslim Dilemma in India, Delhi: Vikas.
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Driver. T. 1963 “Caste and Occupational Structure in Central India”, Social Forces, Dec.
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Malhotra, I. 1981 “What Ails Indian Muslims”, The Illustrated Weekly of India, Bombay,
April, 22.
Rahman, H. 1972 “Muslim Education in 19th Century-Bengal”, Quest, No. 76, May-June.
Roy-Burman, B. K. 1977 “The Problem of Untouchables” Seminar (177), May, 1974,
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Sharma, K. L. 1969 “Modernisation and Rural Stratification”, EPW Vol. V, No. 37, Sept. 12.
Yinger, J. M. 1969 The Scientific Study of Religion, London: MacMillan.
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Chapter 09.indd 159 2013-11-27 3:32:00 PM

 10
Youth Aspirations vis-a-vis
National Development:
Participate or Emigrate?1
Narsi Patel

Emigration and Development

P
eople’s migratory impulse is older than their desire to settle in a
well-defined territory. Migrations are related to the uneven devel-
opment of resources. The strong migrate to extend their control
over resources. Their dominance turns a self-reliant economy into a
dependent one and the impoverished natives into nomads. The weak
migrate essentially to redress their grievance of underdevelopment. The
imbalance in development may occur between nations as well as within
the country, both spurring out-migration.
During the British colonial rule, the indenture system was instituted
in India to recruit labourers for sister colonies soon after the abolition
of slavery in 1833. This form of emigration mainly from Bihar and
Tamil Nadu hardly benefited the indentured labourers of India. This
system of semi-slavery created a national resentment and was eventu-
ally discontinued. The Indian communities so formed were constrained
through immigration and other laws to remain in labor force and rarely
reaped the fruits of their labor. The other stream of emigration of “free
passengers” flowed from Gujarat and Punjab generally toward the same
colonies (Patel, 1974). They fulfilled the British needs for lower admin-
istrative staff and retail business “in the bush”. If they were a little better

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 Youth Aspirations—National Development 161

off than their counterparts of indenture ancestry, it was because of their

“sojourner”’ status combining savings abroad with farm life in India
(Patel, 1972).
Emigration after independence continued from Gujarat and Punjab
in the form of chain migration. Once abroad, the emigrants proceeded
to attract others in an effort to complete their family and reconstruct
their community. But because of immigration restrictions almost every-
where. England was the only country open, and that too for factory labor
alone. In the late sixties and seventies, emigrants stemming from differ-
ent parts of India, were either professionals or relatives of Indian immi-
grants, heading for the shores of North America. The immigration law
reforms of 1965 in the United States gave such an impetus (Keely, 1971).
The relationship of emigration with national development may
be viewed in terms of economic gains through remittances and other
investments, sharing of scientific and technological expertise, and the
easing of the population pressure. It may also be viewed negatively as a
“brain-drain”. The experience with the system of indentured labor left a
permanent scar on the national psyche. The free passenger type emigra-
tion brought a significant but localized development to the two regions
but was inconsequential to the nation as a whole in view of the enormity
of population problems. In the post independence era the early Five-
Year Plans prompted the massive construction of heavy industries, high-
ways, bridges, dams, and canals placing a high demand for engineers,
scientists and administrators in the country. This was the time when
an emigrating professional was considered as betraying the mission of
nation-building. The labeling of “brain-drain” persisted even after the
developmental activities stabilized and the job market lagged behind the
ever increasing cadre of professionals.
A new awareness in the Third World places the onus of develop-
ment not entirely on the country. In this context of world polarization
between penury and plenty, emigration of the better educated is likely
to be taken as a resource to bargain with the developed nations for other
scarce resources.

The Research Problem and Setting

Sociological evidence suggests that migration proceeds toward the

area of greater opportunities. Micro level studies of rural migration
to urban areas point to uneven development in both developed and

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 162Narsi Patel

developing countries (DeJong and Gardner, 1981). Similarly, macro-

level models of emigration from developing nations to to the metropol-
itan countries of the West refer to differential opportunities (Bonacich
and Hirata, 1980).
Within this theoretical framework, one can hypothesize that changes
in the opportunity structure within the home community or society are
likely to slow down, if not entirely halt, out-migration. Changed con-
ditions such as perceived improvement in the national economy and
greater identification with national development are expected to affect
emigration aspirations.
My observations have led me to believe that conditions in India
have improved in the last decade. Almost every village is electrified,
has a school, and affords mechanical transportation to markets and
hospitals. The literacy rate is higher, infant mortality down, life expec-
tancy longer, and chronic diseases have almost disappeared. The Green
Revolution has brought abundance beyond the imagination of the
grandfather generation, although it is felt that its benefits have been less
than equitable.
While I proceeded to test the hypothesized negative correlation
between perceptions of national development and aspirations of emi-
gration, I was aware that the youth would perceive improvements in
India in relativistic terms. That is, in their assessment even if India made
tremendous strides, so had the Western countries; not only that, the gap
in differential opportunities had widened.
The present study formed a part of a project broader in scope
intended to provide a data base for my on-going research on the Gujarati
diaspora. For that reason it was not tight in design as it could have been.
The objective of this paper was to assess the youth’s identification with
national life, their perceptions of economic changes, the extent to which
they were caught up in chain migration (having close relatives living
abroad), their occupational background, and the relationship of these
factors with their aspirations to stay or go abroad.
The selection of youth in the final year of high school was based on
the rationale that this was the time in their life crucial for making career
decisions. Five high schools within, a 20-mile radius in Surat and Bulsar
districts of Gujarat were covered. These high schools and this area had
sent a great number of migrants for three generations. But they were not
atypical of the region and certainly not atypical in terms of emigration.
A structured questionnaire, printed in Gujarati, was administered to

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 Youth Aspirations—National Development 163

all the seniors present on the day of the survey in 1979 (n = 489). The
analysis was done on return to the United States.

Analysis

Completion of high school education is a turning point in the life of the

young. Asked about plans after the public examination for the Secondary
School Certificate, an overwhelming majority (three out of four) among
those answering (407 out of 489) mentioned further study in college;
of the remaining, half indicated going abroad and the other half seeking
jobs or joining father’s occupation. It was assumed that many did not
even enter high school or dropped out of it. These achievers realized that
higher education was the ladder of social mobility. But going abroad was
also eyed as guaranteed uplift.
A more crucial question, which became the basis for data analysis
reported here, pertained to whether the high school senior would seek
livelihood in the native land or go abroad. Of 489 students completing
the questionnaire, 3 did not answer this question and hence much of the
analysis was for n = 486. Those answering the former were 72.6%; those
answering the latter were 27.4%. In this paper their responses were used
to classify them into “Participate” and “Emigrate” groups.

Loss or Gain

The data left little doubt that there were two divergent views of emigra-
tion. The question as to whether leaving the country of one’s birth, growth,
and education is a loss for the country or a gain for the individual and
indirectly for the country, brought a clear-cut distinction between the two
groups. Over seven in ten of the Participate said leaving the country is a
loss for the country compared to only four in ten of the Emigrate. Again
far fewer Participate viewed emigration as a gain for both the individual
and the country than the Emigrate (27.2% vs. 58.6%. Chi Square =
45.61: d.f. = 3; significance = .0000).
The interpretation of emigration as “brain drain” has come about
for specific reasons. Educational opportunities in the Third World coun-
tries like India have expanded more dramatically than job opportunities.
“Western nations like England, the United States, and Canada practiced

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 164Narsi Patel

discrimination for long, and when they reformed their immigration

policy, they stood to gain mainly from surplus professionals of the Third
World. But the oversupply of talents working abroad is now considered
a “brain-loan”. A more cynical characterization of immigration from the
Third World as “reverse colonization” is at least amusing.
The negative valuation of emigration by the Participate reveals their
own ideological commitment to national wellbeing. They seem to convey
that the emigrants’ prospects of social mobility and the spill-over ben-
efits to the homeland do not necessarily translate into nation-building.
On the other hand, the Emigrate tend to defend their aspirations by
justifying the individual gain as identical to national gain. For them,
what is good for the emigrant is good for the country.

Economic Assessment

It was hypothesized that differential perceptions of economic improve-

ment would reflect on the high school seniors’ aspirations to make a
living in the country or emigrate. They were asked whether the eco-
nomic situation in the country after independence had deteriorated,
remained the same as before, improved somewhat, or greatly improved.
Surprisingly, the Participated evaluation of the situation was only a little
more positive than the Emigrate’s and the difference was not statistically
significant (Chi square = 3.35; d.f. = 5: significance = 6465). A large
majority (3 in 4) of both groups thought the economy had improved
somewhat.
What, according to them, would be the benefits of going abroad?
Economic advantages were cited more often by the Emigrate than by the
Participate (39.5% vs. 31.7%). For the Participate educational advantages
outweighed all others in contrast to the Emigrate (33.2% vs. 29%). The
other advantage ranked third by both groups similarly in this open-ended
question was getting to know other societies, learn from their way of
life, customs and traditions, and learn through travelling (the Participate
26.8% vs. 29% ). Besides these advantages, helping the country with
earnings and the introduction of science and technology was cited more
often by the Participate than by the Emigrate (8.2% vs. 3.3%). The
difference in their perceptions of advantages was significant (Chi square =
22.77; d.f. = 3; significance = .001.

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 Youth Aspirations—National Development 165

The length of time for which they might like to go abroad was sig-
nificantly shorter for the Participate, whereas the Emigrate were inclined
to go abroad permanently. Of the Participate 59.2% were inclined to
spend five years or less in contrast to only 21.8% of the Emigrate. Of the
latter 45.9% would want to go abroad permanently as against 12.2%
of the Participate (Chi square = 82.56; d.f. = 5; significance = .0000).

National Awareness

Are the young in tune with the national scene? Academic performance of
the high school seniors was not asked but a battery of questions regarding
their knowledge of political leadership gave a clue in the matter. They were
asked to name the President, the Prime Minister of India, the member
of Parliament from their region, and the Chief Minister of Gujarat
State. The Participate outscored the Emigrate : 86% vs 70% answer-
ing 3 to 4 names correctly. The difference was statistically significant
(Chi square = 22.22: d.f. = 4; significance = .0005). Perhaps the ref-
erence groups of close relatives and friends living abroad divided the
attention of the Emigrate from the immediate national focus, more so
than in the case of the Participate.

Reference Groups

It was expected that the aspirations of the young would be influ-

enced not only by near and dear ones but by others who might set an
example for a successful participation in national life. They were asked
how many persons they knew who could have gone abroad but did
not and achieved success in this country. There was a significant differ-
ence between the two groups. Of the Participate, 51.9% named 2 or
more such persons as against 35.4% of the Emigrate (Chi square = 30;
d.f. = 9: significance = .0004).
Having family members, relatives, and friends living abroad certainly
affected the aspirations of youth. Among the Participate, 74.5% did not
have any family members living abroad, 62% did not have any relatives,
and 85.3% did not have any friends in contrast to 52.6%, 37.6%, and
69.9% of the Emigrate respectively. By comparison, far more Emigrate
had family members, relatives, and friends living abroad (47.4% vs.

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 166Narsi Patel

25.5%; 62.4% vs. 36%; 30.1% vs. 14.7% respectively). The two groups
showed significant differences in all three matters. Obviously having
close relatives and friends abroad oriented the youngsters to follow in
their footsteps.

Occupational Background

Father’s occupation was viewed as having a bearing on the aspirations of

youth in that the prospects and problems of a specific occupation would
confer a positive or negative orientation toward participation in national
life. The distribution of students according to their father’s occupa-
tion showed agriculture as the largest (36%), non-government the
next largest (28.4%), followed by business (13.7%), para-professional
(7.6%), crafts (6%), government (4.9%), labour (2.5%), and finally
professional (4%). This distribution however, does not represent the size
of occupational groups in the region. Agriculture might very well be
over one-third also in the regional population, but labour, which is in
all likelihood more than half of the regional population, is underrepre-
sented by far in the student survey.
It was only in agriculture that the proportion of the Emigrate (33%)
superseded that of the total survey sample (27.4%). The only other cat-
egory in which this was found was government (29.2%). Seniors with
non-government background reflected the average inclination to emi-
grate (27.5%). The Emigrate fell below the average in all other occupa-
tional categories. In other words, if the Emigrate were one in three in
agriculture, followed by those in government, they were about one in
four in non-government and business, and one in six in para-professions,
crafts, and labor.
The findings tend to confirm the observation that neither the rich
and secure nor the dismally poor show a propensity to emigrate, for
different reasons; it is the people pressed in the middle who are mobile.
This region is a farm belt. Historically, there has been pressure on land;
surplus population is restive; efforts at land reform scare peasant pro-
prietors. These factors have conspired to encourage emigration, as is
evident in chain migration. People in unskilled labor are trapped in the
situation. They lack in knowledge, contacts, skills, and the means neces-
sary to break out. On the other hand, the lack of enthusiasm for going
abroad among persons in business and para-professional circles was

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 Youth Aspirations—National Development 167

most probably due to the feeling that they were well-placed and further
mobility would rock the boat.

Overview

An overwhelming majority of the young preferred seeking livelihood in the

country to going abroad. Their identification with national development
was more guided by their valuation of emigration as a loss to the country.
Those few who were inclined to go abroad considered emigration as a gain
for them as well as the country. However, the two groups were similar
in their assessment of the national economy. Population pressure on agri-
culture and immigrant reference groups provided the greatest stimulus to
the urge to emigrate. A consensus seemed to develop among the young
as regards the advantages of emigration that there was a world out there
to count on for education, cultural revitalization, and economic improve-
ment. The Participate emphasised the former, the Emigrate the latter.
The terms “participate” and “emigrate” are not used lightly. India
is the youngsters’ country of birth and cultural identity. No researcher
would want to raise the specter of “love it or leave it.” Youngsters take
for granted, as they do air and water, that India is where they live and
will work and die. For many, there is no question of choice. For some,
there is no other choice. A few have a choice and India is the country
in which they want to live. Choosing the country to make a living is,
sociologically speaking, participating in the nation’s life.
However, the youngsters are aware that a few of their country-
men have settled in East and South Africa, New Zealand, Fiji, Panama,
Trinidad, England, the United States, and Canada. Some have seen a
few of them returning from a lucrative stint abroad—the “sojourners,”
and also those settled abroad coming occasionally for a short visit—
the ‘“immigrants.” They are conscious of the fact that the school they
attend, the temple they worship in, the hospitals, the village waterworks
are built from the donations of the “cultivators abroad.” They tend to
view the emigrants, not as deserters or traitors, but as explorers in mak-
ing a successful career abroad and at the same time helping the home-
land. For them, emigrating is not the end of the world or breaking all
bonds with the national heritage. In this region known for steady emi-
gration, the issue : “participate or emigrate” represents the sentiment of
either live in it and love it or leave it and still love it.

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 168Narsi Patel

The findings indicate, in no uncertain terms, that the young minds

are no longer confined to the narrow bounds of the village world; they
no longer think of themselves or their country as isolated and perpetu-
ally stuck to the “situation.”’ They accept their life as intricately woven
in the national fabric. They have opened up to the possibilities that they
have nothing to lose but gain, and their country can gain, from the
intercourse with the outside world.
This study of youth aspirations reveal an underlying desire on the
part of the young to redefine national development, not entirely as a
task of toiling within the nation, but as the enrichment of national
heritage. In that sense, the distinction between the Participate and the
Emigrate, made for the expediency of an empirical analysis, fades. Both
groups express, perhaps unknowingly, a unity of effort : working from
within and outside. They point to the concern for the redistribution
of world resources—the same concern that was recently debated at the
North-South Cancun Conference held in Mexico and the 44 Third
World Nations’ South-South Conference held in India.
The hypothesized negative correlation between youth identifica-
tion with national development and emigration needs to be revised and
viewed in a wider context of unbalanced opportunities among nations.
In that perspective emigration would be redefined as a step toward
the redistribution of world resources, with positive connotations for
national development.

Note
1. Revised version of a paper presented at the Tenth World Congress of Sociology,
Section on Sociology of Youth, Mexico City, Mexico, August 14–21, 1982.
Acknowledgements; Research is partly supported by Faculty Research Committee and
data partly analyzed by the Computer Center, Indiana State University. Cooperation
of Dr. Harish C. Doshi of South Gujarat University, Surat, India and of teachers and
students of the five high schools surveyed is appreciated.

References
Bonacich, Edna and Lucie Cheng Hirata 1980 “The political economy of the new
immigration from Asia.” Paper presented at the American Sociological Association,
New York City.

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 Youth Aspirations—National Development 169

DeJong, Gordon F. and Robert W. Gardner (eds.) 1981 “Migration Decision Making:

Multidisciplinary Approaches to Micro level Studies in Developed and Develop­ing
Countries”, New York: Pergamon Press.
Keely, Charles B. 1971 “Effects of the Immigration Act of 1965 on selected population
characteristics of immigrants to the United Slates.” Demography, Vol. 8, No. 2.
Patel, Narsi 1972 “A passage from India”. Society, Vol. 9.
——— 1974 “Sociology of Indian minorities in the Third World”, International Review of
Modern Sociology, Vol. 4.

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 11
The Use Psychotropic Drugs
among College Youth in India:
An Appraisal
Prabha Unnithan, D.R. Singh and M.Z. Khan

Introduction

T
hrough time and space, the use of mood-altering substances
has been known to human societies (Taylor, 1966; Andrews,
1975). India, of course, has not remained untouched by this
phenomenon (Kumarappa, 1952; Wilson, 1973). At various points of
time, the drugs which have enjoyed a measure of popularity are alco-
hol, cannabis (including bhang, ganja and charas), opium and tobacco
(Kurien, 1949). This is not to say that the use of intoxicants has always
enjoyed social approbation. Buddhist, Jain, Muslim and even British
rulers had attempted to curb or contain the use of intoxicating drugs
(Kumarappa, 1952). In post-Independent India, the prohibition of
‘intoxicating drinks and drugs’ has been a national policy duly enshrined
in the Constitution; and, as is well known, several states in the coun-
try have experimented with ‘prohibition’. But all these attempts have
had a somewhat indifferent success. Perhaps, in order to deal with the
problem effectively, we need to look for alternative methods based on
systematic study of drugs and drug users.
In this context, certain sections of society have been regarded
Particularly vulnerable to “the bane of drug addiction” (Yost, 1954

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 Psychotropic Drugs Among College Youth in India 171

These mainly include industrial workers, slum-dwellers and youth,

particularly college-going boys and girls (Salmon and Salmon 1977).
In fact, it is the use of psychotropic drugs by the students which has
aroused much concern and alarm (Carey, 1968; Khan and Unnithan,
1979). This is not altogether without justification. The period of youth
is seen to be highly susceptible to deviations and aberrations including
the abuse of drugs (Hurlock, 1974). Coupled with this is the fact that
newer and more potent addictive substances, are making their appear-
ance day after day in the market which youthful curiosity would find
only too difficult to resist. Further, the youth are thought of to be the
carriers of future human life; and the students are regarded as form-
ing ‘the core from which leadership in all walks of life will eventually
emerge’. What affects them, therefore, should cause genuine concern
among all those who recognize the importance of the present for the
future.
It is, therefore, not surprising that the problem of drug abuse
amongst the college youth in India has not escaped the attention of
social researchers. Banerjee (1963) has studied the phenomenon of drug-
use among the students in Calcutta and has estimated a prevalence-rate
of 37.4 per cent (sample size, 1132). While studying the phenomenon
among the students from four colleges in Bombay, Chitnis (1974)
has disregarded the use of alcohol and tobacco, and has arrived at a
prevalence-rate of 19.7 per cent. Mohan and others (1977) have reported
a prevalence-rate of 34.2 per cent in a sample of 225 college students
in Delhi having English school background with tobacco and alcohol
ranking as the most popular substances. Dube (1972) has found, in
Agra, an overall prevalence-rate of 56.2 per cent. It may be noted that
his sample includes mainly the ‘fifth year students’, both medical and
non-medical. Focussing on the students in Chandigarh, Verma and oth-
ers (1977) have reported a prevalence-rate of 18.9 per cent.
It would be readily seen that the problem of drug use among col-
lege students has attracted much research attention and, as a result, a
considerable body of knowledge has accumulated. Side by side, it would
also be noticed that the studies referred to earlier have not only been
conducted at different points of time but they have also employed vary-
ing definitions of drug, drug-use and drug-users, and differing research
procedures. Quite a few of these studies have not included alcohol and
tobacco within their scope. Others have confined themselves to certain

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 172 Prabha Unnithan, D.R. Singh and M.Z. Khan

‘elitist’ sections of student population such as the boys and girls from
English medium schools, or medical students. From this stem three
methodological problems. Owing to differing criteria relating to habit-
forming drugs and their use, a dependable prevalence-rate becomes
difficult to work out. Closely related to this is the problem of compara-
bility: on the basis of such studies, probable regional differences cannot
be ascertained satisfactorily. Lastly, this kind of data-disparity does not
allow the building up of any sort of prevalence-rate of use of addictive
drugs in the country as a whole. These data-limitations have told in no
small way on the efforts directed at evolving a viable social policy regard-
ing the containment of the misuse of drugs.

Present Paper

The foregoing discussion brings out the need to develop a synchronised

and comparable database with respect to the use of psychotropic drugs
among college students. It is gratifying to note that the Department of
Social Welfare, Government of India, have responded to this need and,
consequently, have initiated a multi-centred research programme (GOI,
1977). In this, an attempt has been made to maintain uniformity in
approach, concepts, sampling strategy, methods of data collection and
analysis. Conducted at the colleges and/or universities in Bombay, Delhi
and Madras (metropolitan areas) as well as in Hyderabad, Jabalpur and
Jaipur (non-metropolitan areas), and the Banaras Hindu University,
Varanasi (a wholly residential university), these studies have focused on
a large body of students during the academic year 1976–77. The syn-
chronous nature of these studies should, to a great extent, eliminate the
problems which arise from the time-differential. Likewise, since they
follow a similar approach and research procedure, their findings are rela-
tively more amenable to a comparative analysis, and to the evolving of a
reasonably dependable profile of the nature of drug-use among college
youth in the country.
Exploratory in character, the present paper attempts to delineate
the nature and extent of drug use among the college youth. In other
words, it aims to develop an estimate of the prevalence-rate of drug-use
among the college students in the country as a whole. Towards this,
the data collected at the seven aforementioned urban centres have been

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 Psychotropic Drugs Among College Youth in India 173

utilised. Indeed, the prevalence of psychotropic drugs or certain drugs

varies as much in time as it does in space. Stated differently, a certain
drug is likely to be more popular in one region while another drug may
be dominant in another region. As such, efforts need to be made to
bring into focus all those habit-forming drugs which are found to have
a modicum of popularity with students in different study-centres—with
a view to identifying probable regional variations. Besides, many studies
underline significant sex-differences in relation to drug-dependence.
To be specific, males are reported to be given to alcoholism and other
addiction more than females (Marwell, 1966; Yates, 1970; McGlothlin,
1975). This has been found to be equally valid for the college youth.
For example, Hurton and Leslie (1960) emphasise sex-differences in
relation to the use of alcohol, and Bergersen (1968) and Clarke and
Levine (1971) arrive at similar findings in relation to the use of mari-
juana and hashish. It would, therefore, be of more than passing inter-
est to examine the phenomenon of drug use so as to outline probable
sex-differences. With these issues in view, the present paper attempts to
look into: (a) the regional differences in terms of drug-use amongst the
college students as reflected in the findings of the studies conducted at
the different study-centres; (b) the popularity of different habit-forming
drugs amongst the students; and (c) the sex-differences in relation to the
general prevalence-rate as well as the use of individual drugs.
At this stage, it may be clarified that these studies, as also the present
paper, regard drugs as those substances which are taken for their “psy-
chotropic or psychoactive properties as defined by their capacity to alter
sensation, mood, consciousness or other psychological or behavioural
functions” (Canadian Government Commission of Inquiry, 1970). In
keeping with this, these studies have focused themselves on eleven drugs
(see Table 2) which are commonly used by the students. In respect of the
term drug use/abuse, the definition given by the United Nations Social
Defence Research Institute has been followed: It refers to “all drug use
not indicated on generally accepted medical grounds” (1976). It may be
added that, in determining the general prevalence-rate, the frequency
of the use of the drug(s) has been taken into consideration disregarding
such variables as dose or occasion. Moreover, all the eleven drugs have
been assumed to be similar in implications for the present purposes.
As mentioned earlier, the present paper is based on the studies con-
ducted at seven urban centres (Government of India, 1977). In these

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 174 Prabha Unnithan, D.R. Singh and M.Z. Khan

studies, towards achieving a representative sample, the colleges in the

study-centre concerned have been stratified generally on the basis of
(1) the courses of study they offer (professional courses like Agriculture,
Medicine and Engineering; or non-professional courses like Arts,
Commerce and Science), (2) the level of courses (undergraduate and
postgraduate courses) and (3) sex-composition of the colleges (boys’,
girls’ or coeducational institutions). From each stratum one or more
institutions have been selected depending upon the number of students
in the stratum concerned. Next, from each selected institution, classes/
sections (clusters) have been randomly picked up. The students in these
clusters have been the principal informants for the study. This kind of
multi-stage cluster sampling (a total number of 24,937 students have
been covered) should give the data a measure of dependability.
For collecting information from the sampled students, a commonly-
agreed-upon questionnaire has been developed, initially in English and
subsequently rendered into the relevant regional language. Following
tryouts and modifications, this anonymous and confidential self-report
questionnaire has been administered in a group-setting interrupting
normal instruction-work in the class. The data thus collected have been
processed separately by each study-centre.
As the substantive concern has been the use of psychotropic drugs,
the students have been asked to indicate their position on either of the
eight categories as defined by the frequency of the use of individual
drugs: (i) never used, (ii) tried earlier but discontinued, (iii) using less
often than once a month, (iv) about once a month, (v) about once
a week, (vi) several times a week, (vii) daily, and (viii) addicted—
‘cannot do without the substance’. For reasons of simplicity and direct-
ness and in keeping with the present purposes, these user groups have
been merged to form three categories: (1) non-users, (2) former users,
and (3) current users. It may be further pointed out that, in estimat-
ing the general prevalence-rate, no distinction has been maintained
between the eleven drugs thus studied. Accordingly, if a given student
has been taking drug A and has never tried drug B, he has been clas-
sified as user. This has been done so as to secure an overall estimate of
the incidence of the use of psychotropic drugs by the students. Thus,
towards realising the objectives of the present paper, the findings of
the aforesaid seven study-centres have been relied upon. The relevant
data-components from these studies have been collated and, wherever
necessary, summed up.

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 Psychotropic Drugs Among College Youth in India 175

Findings

Prevalence rate: Constituting some kind of a ‘macrostruture’, the col-

lege youth are often thought of as having social norms and behav-
ioural patterns which transcend regional boundaries. In a way, they
are exposed to a socio-cultural environment which cuts across regions.
Furthermore, the curricula they pursue and the cocurricular activities
they usually engage in also act as yet another homogenising factor.
Besides, colleges and universities are open, at least theoretically, to
everyone; they do not cater to the educational needs only of the local
populace but also of the outsiders. In most of them, a sizable section of
the students is seen to have come from far off parts of the country. This
kind of spatial mobility further adds to the socio-political homogeneity.
There are some of the factors because of which the college youth in the
country may tend to be an identifiable or even a homogeneous group.
Are they also similar or homogeneous in terms of their drug behav-
iour? It may be noted that the laws discouraging the use of intoxicants
are more or less similar in the States throughout the country. So is
the case with the excise laws. A point of dissimilarity which may well
be kept in view relates to ‘prohibition’. As is well known, prohibition
has been experimented in the country but seldom on a uniform basis;
that is, only some States or, even within a State, some districts have
been brought under prohibition laws. In any case, during 1976–77,
non of the States in which the study-centres were located was under
prohibition. Keeping these considerations in view, the incidence of
the use of psychotropic drugs among the college students in different
study-centres may be looked into.
Table 1 presents the relevant data. It would be seen that the largest
proportion of students, including both boys and girls who had never
experimented, reportedly, with any psychotropic drug (non-users) is in
Hyderabad (77.8%). In this, Hyderabad is closely followed by Jaipur
and Madras. Apparently, the students in these urban centres are not
much given to habit-forming drugs; perhaps the socio-cultural milieu in
these centres is not favourable to the use of intoxicants. The proportion
of the students who had experimented earlier with drugs but have dis-
continued with no intention to resume (former users), is found to be the
highest in Jabalpur (14.1%), with Delhi and Varanasi taking the second
and the third places, respectively. At this juncture, it may be pointed out
that the dividing line between a former user and a current user is often

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 176 Prabha Unnithan, D.R. Singh and M.Z. Khan

Table 1
User—Types According to the Sex of the Respondents in the Study-Centres
(Percentages)

Centre Sex Non-users Former Users Current Users Total (N)

Male 51.5 8.1 40.4 2,334

Bombay Female 66.0 4.9 29.1 1,817

Total 57.8 6.7 35.4 4,151

Male 42.2 16.2 41.6 2,000

Delhi Female 62.9 9.6 27.5 1,991

Total 52.5 12.9 34.6 3,991

Male 67.6 6.0 26.4 414

Hyderabad Female 86.5 4.0 9.5 489

Total 77.8 4.9 17.1 903

Male 46.2 18.3 35.5 3,012

Jabalpur Female 78.0 5.2 16.8 1,403

Total 56.4 14.1 29.5 4,415

Male 73.3 4.5 22.2 3,092

Jaipur Female 91.1 2.2 6.7 989

Total 77.6 3.9 18.5 4,081

Male 66.1 4.1 29.8 2,157

Madras Female 92.9 3.2 3.8 1,423

Total 76.8 3.7 19.5 3,580

Male 51.5 12.5 36.0 3,391

Varanasi Female 77.8 6.9 15.2 461

Total 54.6 11.8 33.5 3,852

Male 55.8 10.6 33.6 16,400

Grand Total Female 76.4 5.5 18.1 8,573

Total 62.9 8.9 28.2 24,973

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 Psychotropic Drugs Among College Youth in India 177

seen to be very thin. The study centres which have a large proportion of
former users may be expected to have correspondingly a large propor-
tion of current users. But this is not what comes up when we examine
the category of current users. Bombay has the largest proportion of cur-
rent users (35.5%). In this, Delhi (34.6%) and Varanasi (33.5%) closely
followed Bombay. It is worth noticing that Jabalpur which has the larg-
est proportion of former users does not stand out in respect of current
users and, likewise, Bombay which has an insignificant proportion of
former users, comes to have the largest proportion of current users. This
suggests that the categories of former users and current users are not
necessarily inter-connected. Interestingly, Bombay and Delhi are the
urban conglomerations which are often described as highly cosmopoli-
tan in character and, in contrast, Varanasi is often regarded as a highly
traditional place. But Varanasi is also a residential educational centre
having a large segment of students who live on the campus.
In keeping with the objectives of the paper, an attempt may now
be made to look into the drug-scene which emerges when all the study-
centres are considered together. Towards this, attention may be turned
to the data presented at the bottom of Table 1. It would be observed that
more than half of the men-students and three-fourths of the women-
students are non-users of psychotropic drugs. In contrast, one-third of
the men-students and less than one-fifth of the women-students have
reported using one drug or the other. Thus, taken together, only 28.2%
of the students, including both males and females, have been using
intoxicants. Whether the prevalence-rate of the use of psychotropic
drugs has assumed alarming proportions, is a question which calls for a
few more details, and, as such, it would be dealt with later in the paper.
Prevalence of Drugs: It may be reiterated that the present paper is
concerned with a fairly diverse range of drugs. These include traditional
organic drugs and modern synthetic psychedelics; ‘soft’ drugs and ‘hard’
drugs; and depressants and stimulants. Besides, in order to have a close
look at the drug-scene outlined earlier, it is necessary that the prevalence-
rate of different drugs is brought under focus. At the outset, a refer-
ence may be made to the availability of the drugs under discussion.
Indeed, the supply of drugs in the study-centres, as elsewhere, is both
legal and illegal. As a matter of fact, the supplies syphoned in through
the illicit trade channels may often exceed those through legal trade and
may even cost the consumers less, as the traders manage to evade excise
duty and other taxes. Nonetheless, it is difficult to provide any estimate

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 178 Prabha Unnithan, D.R. Singh and M.Z. Khan

of the nature and extent of illicit drug traffic. Speaking of legal trade,
the distribution and sale of cocaine and raw opium are banned in the
country. The sale of country-liquor as well as factory-made liquor and of
cannabis drugs is controlled and regulated. So is the case with the syn-
thetic drugs: they are retailed by the licensed pharmacists and druggists.
However, the distribution or sale of products like heroin and lysergic
diethylamide acid (LSD), notwithstanding their prohibitory cost, is not
permissible.
With this backdrop, we proceed to examine the popularity of dif-
ferent drugs amongst the students. On going through Table 2, it would
be seen that the most popular intoxicant is alcohol (10.2%) which
is closely followed by tobacco (9.9%) and analgestics or painkillers
(9.2%). The other drugs which attract attention are cannabis drugs and
tranquillisers. The rest, including amphetamines, barbiturates, cocaine,
LSD, opiates and pethidine, have relatively insignificant prevalence.
Next, we may examine the pattern of popularity of drugs in dif-
ferent study-centres. A reference, again, to Table 2 would show that
alcohol, tobacco and painkillers are by far the most used drugs; and
in terms of popularity, they only change place in different study-
centres. For example, alcohol appears to be most popular in Bombay,
and painkillers, in Jabalpur. In the case of Varanasi, the cannabis Delhi,
Hyderabad and Jaipur; tobacco, in Madras and Varanasi; and painkillers,
in Jabalpur. In the case of Varanasi, the cannabis drugs rank among the
three most popular intoxicants among which alcohol does not figure.
It may be noted that the cannabis drugs, though not among the three
most popular drugs, have a large number of enthusiasts in Jabalpur. It
would be recalled that Bombay, Delhi and Varanasi have been found
to be in the fore in the use of habit-forming drugs. This factor may
be re-examined in the light of the data presented in Table 2. Indeed,
Bombay has the largest proportion of alcohol users. Yet if we take all
the drugs separately and concentrate on the three study-centres which
have their highest incidence, a somewhat different position emerges.
Varanasi occupies the first position in the use of amphetamines, barbitu-
rate, cannabis, cocaine, LSD, opium and pethidine; the second position
in the use of tobacco; and the third position in the use of alcohol and
tranquillisers. The largest proportion of the students who use painkillers
is in Delhi which also occupies the second position in the use of alco-
hol, opiates and pethidine; and the third position in the use of amphet-
amines. Similarly, Madras has the largest proportion of students who

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Chapter 11.indd 179
Table 2
The Prevalence Rate of Individual Drugs in the Study Centres (Percentage)

Bombay Delhi Hyderabad Jabalpur Jaipur Madras Varanasi Total

(N-4151) (N-3991) (N-903) (N-4415) (N-4081) (N-3580) (N-3852) (N-24973)
Alcohol 15.1 12.2 8.6 9.4 9.7 9.4 10.4 10.2
Amphetamines 0.2 0.3 0.05 0.2 0.05 0.4 1.3 0.5
Carbiturates 0.6 0.6 0.6 0.7 0.1 1.5 1.8 0.7
Cannabis 0.4 1.3 0.8 8.5 0.9 1.5 11.9 2.8
Cocaine 0.05 0.03 0.1 0.2 0.09 – 0.6 0.1
L. S. D. 0.07 0.2 – 0.2 0.2 0.4 0.9 0.3
Opium, Morphine, Heroin 0.4 0.5 0.2 0.3 0.2 0.4 0.9 0.1
Psychotropic Drugs Among College Youth in India

Painkillers 12.6 20.9 2.8 15.1 2.3 1.4 13.8 9.2

Pethidine 0.05 0.2 0.2 0.1 0.2 0.05 0.9 0.3
Tobacco 8.1 10.5 5.3 10.8 9.2 15.2 15.1 9.9
Tranquillisers 1.0 2.9 2.6 1.2 1.2 1.1 2.5 1.5
179

10/5/2013 2:33:24 AM
 180 Prabha Unnithan, D.R. Singh and M.Z. Khan

use tobacco; the second largest among those who use amphetamines,
barbiturates, LSD, and pethidine. Viewed from this standpoint, these
three study-centres, namely, Varanasi, Delhi and Madras, clearly surpass
Bombay.
Sex Differences: The present data abundantly support the findings
arrived at elsewhere that males outdo females insofar as the use of
psychotropic drugs is concerned. There are seen, however, wide varia-
tions over the study-centres (see Table 1). For example, in Bombay, the
female-male ratio of the students who are on drugs is 3:4. As against this,
in Madras, it is only a little over 3:23. It may be noted that Jabalpur,
after Bombay and Delhi, has a large number of women-students who
are given to drugs; in contrast, Varanasi has a very large proportion of
men-students. It would be thus justifiable to infer that the problem of
non-medical use of drugs is serious in Bombay, Delhi and Jabalpur in
relation to women-students; and in Delhi, Bombay and Varanasi, in
relation to men-students.
Nonetheless, the preference of female-users for individual drugs
needs to be looked into for possible variations. Table 3 brings out that

Table 3
Prevalence Rates of Individual Drugs According to the Sex of the Respondents
(Percentages)

Substance Males (N = 16400) Females (N = 8573) Total (N = 24973)

Alcohol 13.3 3.4 10.2
Amphetamines 0.6 0.2 0.5
Barbiturates 1.0 0.2 0.7
Cannabis 4.1 0.3 2.8
Cocaine 0.2 – 0.1
L. S. D. 0.4 0.05 0.3
Opium, Morphine, 0.6 0.1 0.4
Heroin
Painkillers 8.6 9.9 9.2
Pethidine 0.4 0.1 0.3
Tobacco 14.4 1.3 9.9
Tranquillisers 1.8 0.9 1.5

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 Psychotropic Drugs Among College Youth in India 181

alcohol, painkillers and tobacco are the drugs most commonly used by
both males and females. But the order of preference differs among the
sexes. In relation to males, the preference-order is found to be tobacco,
alcohol and painkillers; and in relation to females, painkillers, alcohol
and tobacco. Conversely, the drugs which find least preference among
males include cocaine, LSD and pethidine, and among females, cocaine,
opiates and pethidine. Are there any drugs in the use of which females
compare with males? There is only one conspicuous instance: in the use of
analgesics or painkillers, the women-students do not only compare well
with their male-counterparts but, as a matter of fact, surpass them. It may
not be a digression to point out that the non-medical use of the painkill-
ers, particularly, by women may not be always unjustifiable: they may
use the painkillers to relieve a variety of psychosomatic symptoms, albeit
without medical advice. This apart, in the use of intoxicants as a whole,
womenfolk are outnumbered by men by one to two. Apparently, the use
of psychotropic drugs has not percolated among women-students to the
extent it has in men-students.

Conclusions

For long, quite a few psychotropic drugs have been in use in India. Not
too infrequently, they have been used during the celebration of festivals
and special occasions. This is beside the convenient ‘escape door’ which
their use provides to the disillusioned, frustrated and dejected. As a
product of their social milieu, the college youth are bound to have some
truck with intoxicating drinks and drugs. This is what is brought out by
the present multicentred study: about 28 per cent of the students cov-
ered by the study are given to psychotropic drugs. This prevalence-rate
differs as much between males and females as it does between regions.
For example, the college youth in Hyderabad, Jaipur and Madras do not
appear to be very favourably disposed, towards drugs; as compared to
this, those in Bombay, Delhi and Varanasi are much involved in drugs.
Incidentally, the study-centres which have a large proportion of ‘non-
users’ also have a large proportion of ‘former users’ and, as a logical
corollary, a small proportion of ‘current users’. The seeming proxim-
ity of the categories of former users and current users of psychotropic
drugs is not supported by the data: the study-centres that have a large
proportion of former users are not having a corresponding proportion

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 182 Prabha Unnithan, D.R. Singh and M.Z. Khan

of current users. Besides, the data suggest that the cosmopolitan atmo-
sphere of a city like Bombay or Delhi, and the residential character of
an educational centre like Varanasi, may have something to do with the
use of habit-forming drugs by the students.
Apparently, traditional drugs like alcohol, tobacco and cannabis
enjoy considerable popularity with the college youth. The so-called
modern drugs like barbiturates, heroin or LSD are seen to have only
negligible prevalence. Perhaps, traditional drugs are firmly entrenched;
or else, the modern psychedelics are too expensive to be within the
reach of college youth. The only exception to this is the instance of anal-
gesics or painkillers which have been in use by a sizable section of the
students, mostly by girls.
Apart from this, the data bring into focus some significant regional
variations in the incidence of various psychotropic drugs. Although
alcohol and painkillers are found to be almost uniformly popular, there
are quite a few variations which deserve to be highlighted. Alcoholic
beverages are very popular in Bombay and Delhi; tobacco, in Madras
and Varanasi, Painkillers, in Jabalpur; and cannabis drugs, in Varanasi
and Jabalpur. A mild trend is thus in evidence that tobacco is popular
more or less, in all the study-centres; alcohol in southern and western
India (Bombay, Hyderabad and Madras); and cannabis drugs like bhang,
ganja and charas in northern India (Varanasi and Jabalpur).
When attention is paid on the overall prevalence of psychotropic
drugs, the study-centres of Bombay, Delhi and Varanasi are seen to
184 be in the front line. This order, however, undergoes a change when
the maximum use of all the eleven drugs thus studied is considered:
Varanasi, Delhi and Madras have been indicating the maximum use
of various drugs. Viewed from this angle, the study-centre of Bombay
loses its ‘prominence’. Incidentally, this also underscores the widespread
popularity of alcohol among the college youth in Bombay. This has a
pointed significance in view of the fact that in recent years Bombay has
seen much of prohibition.
Corroborating the findings of the studies conducted in India and
elsewhere, the present analysis also shows that the incidence of psychotro-
pic drugs among men-students is far more than among women-students:
for every two men-students on drugs there is only one women-student.
In part, this may be attributed to the differential role-expectations in
society which discourage the use of intoxicants by women more than

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 Psychotropic Drugs Among College Youth in India 183

that by men. However, the female-male ratio noticeably varies with the
study-centres. The difference is least in Bombay (3:4) and the highest in
Madras (3:23). Moreover, the drug-preference also varies: it is tobacco,
alcohol and painkillers for men; and painkillers, alcohol and tobacco for
women. Notwithstanding this, the womenfolk are ahead of men in the
use of painkillers.
To recapitulate, the incidence of the use of psychotropic drugs
among the college youth in the country does not appear to be so large as
to cause alarm—at least at present. It is mostly the traditional substances
like alcohol and cannabis that dominate the drug-scene. To a good
extent, these drugs may have linkages with several socio-cultural prac-
tices. Therefore, towards containing the problem of the non-medical use
of psychotropic drugs, whatever its extent, a viable social intervention
programme would do well to direct its thrust on restructuring social
norms and practices.

References
Andrews, G. (ed.) 1975 Drugs and magic. Panther.
Bannerjee, R. N. 1963 “Prevalence of habit forming drug and smoking among college
students—a survey”. Indian Medical Journal, 193.
Bergersen, B. 1968 “Oslo-ogdum brack Av marihuana og hasgist”. (The use of mahi-
huana and hashish among youth in Oslo) Tidsskrifts Fo Samfunns for skining 9,
pp. 208–232.
Canadian Government Commission of Inquiry. 1970 The Non-medical Use of Drugs. Penguin.
Carey, J. T. 1968 The College Drug Scene. Englewood Cliffs: Prentice-Hall.
Chitnis, S. 1974 “Drug on college campus” Bombay: TISS, MS.
Clarke, J. W. and Levine, E. L. 1971 “Marijuama use, social discontent and political discon-
tent: A study of high school youth”. American Political Science Review, 65, pp. 120–130.
Dube, K. C. 1972 “Drug abuse in northern India”. Bulletin on Narcotics, 24, 49.
Government of India 1977 Drug Abuse in India. New Delhi, Ministry of Health and Family
Welfare.
Harwell, G. 1966 “Adolescent powerlessness and delinquent behaviour”. Social Problems,
14, pp. 32–47.
Hurlock, E. B. 1974 Developmental Psychology. New Delhi: Tata-McGraw-Hill.
Hurton, P. B. and Leslie, G. R. 1960 The Sociology of Social Problems. New York: Appleton—
Century Crafts.
Khan, M. Z. and Unnithan, N. P. 1979 “Association of socio-economic factors with drug
use among college students in an Indian town”. Bulletin on Narcotics.
Kumarappa, B. 1952 Why Prohibition? Ahmedabad, Navjivan.
Kurien, T. 1949 Towards Better India or a Study in Prohibition Madras, Vardachary.

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 184 Prabha Unnithan, D.R. Singh and M.Z. Khan

McGlothlin, W. H. 1975 “Drug use and abuse: A paper”. National Institute of Mental Health,
U.S.A. (unpublished).
Mohan, D. et. al. 1977 “Prevalence and pattern of drug abuse among Delhi University
students”. Indian Journal of Medical Research, 66, 627.
Salmon, R. and Salmon, S. 1977 “The causes of heroin addiction: A review of the literature”.
International Journal of the Addictions, 12, pp. 937–952.
Taylor, N. 1966 Nature’s Dangerous Gifts, Dell.
United Nations Social Defence Research Institute 1976 Investigating Drug Abuse. Rome:
UNSDRI.
Verma, V. K. et. al. 1977 “Drug abuse amongst college students in India”, Indian J. of
Psychiatry, 19, 1.
Yates, A. J. Alcoholism and Drug Addiction: Behaviour Therapy. New York, Macmillan.
Yost, O. R. 1954 The Bane of Drug Addiction. New York, Macmillan.

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 12
Problems of the Youth
of North-East India:
A Sociological Inquiry
A.K. Nongkynrih

Introduction

T
his paper seeks to understand the problems of the youth of North-
East India beyond the confines of students’ movements or youth
movements. It has two objectives: (i) to analyse the discourse on
the problems of the youth, and (ii) to examine the sources of these prob-
lems. Given the limited availability of information on the subject, I have
consulted and used the available secondary materials and my field notes
on the views and opinions of the youth, women, and male elders.
The field notes are drawn from the preliminary study of the Current
Status of Services/Programmes for HIV/AIDS Prevention and Care for
the Young People of Four States of the North-Eastern Region (Manipur,
Meghalaya, Mizoram, and Nagaland) conducted in 2001. The par-
ticipants of the group discussions were youth (both male and female).
The second source of field notes was an assessment study of the North-
Eastern Region Community Resource Management Project for Upland
Areas conducted in two districts of Karbi Anglong and Ukhrul of the
states of Assam and Manipur respectively in 2004. This latter study
examines the project implementation and the challenges faced by the
youth in general. The participants of the focus group discussions here
were youth (male and female), women, and male elders.

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 186 A.K. Nongkynrih

Background of the North-East India

Generally, the term North-East India or North-Eastern Region is used

by writers, media persons, academics, the government and the public.
According to M.N. Karna (1999: 90), the term region has two broad
facets: the physical and the social. The North-East India fits in the
description of region in terms of the physical facet as it is a particular
geographical territory of the nation-state and is rich in natural resources.
As regards the social facet, it includes diverse ethno-linguistic groups;
diverse customs, beliefs and practices; and, politically, it is divided into
seven states (namely, Arunachal Pradesh, Assam, Manipur, Meghalaya,
Mizoram, Nagaland, and Tripura). Each state comes under specific
provisions of the Constitution of India. By the national standards of
economic measurement, the region has been considered economically
less developed. When using or applying the term North-East India or
North-Eastern Region the physical and the social meanings are implied.
The British colonialists became politically interested in the region
and entered it after 1826. Gradually, part by part, they annexed and
colonised the region and its population. The entry of new forces—
organised religions and the modern bureaucratic organisation of the
nation-state—introduced new policies, programmes and activities such
as the modern system of political administration and the political mod-
ernisation of societies; modern education and higher learning, which
contributed to the creation of educated persons; the market economy
and the commercialisation of natural resources; the modern institutions,
which created new type of occupations; and the idea of modern associa-
tion, which, in turn, led to the formation of new types of organisations
in the region. The new forces implanted and created a complex process
of social transformation in the region, producing different outcomes for
different groups of the region.

Definitions of Youth

Youths are like sign-posts because they reflect the situation of the society,
the region, and the nation. Who is a youth or how do we define youth?
According to UNESCO (United Nations Educational, Scientific, and
Cultural Organisation), the youth constitutes people between 15 and

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 Problems of the Youth of North-East India 187

24 years of age. The Government of India defines youth as persons in the

age group of 15 to 35 years of age (Ministry of Youth and Sport Affairs
2003: 1; see also Amarjeet Singh 2002: 11). The age-set in both these
definitions of youth is based on the principle of age and it is counted
with the date of birth as the point of reference. It is a modern construc-
tion, because a person is a youth on the basis of the birth certificate
issued by the authorised bodies of the nation-state. It is observed that
the definition of youth by the UNESCO and the Government of India
is common as both take into account the age as the factor; the variation
is only in the age-set.
There are societies where the age is not the basis for defining youth.
Generally, in such societies, for example, the societies of the North-East
India, the generational principle is taken into account. In such societies,
social actors are placed according to the generational principle; the
members of the society are addressed to by specific social terms, and
such terms denote their generation. By knowing the term, one knows
the generation of the person and her or his place in the society. One of
the generations of the society is the young people or the youth, and a
specific term is used for this particular population group: the Khasi-
Jaintia society addresses the youth as Samla or Khynraw, the Sumi-Naga
as Lhotimi, the Ao-Naga as Lanor, the Rongmei-Naga as Chabuan; the
Garo as Chadambe, the Mizo as Tleirawl, the Hrangkhawl as Ratlai,
the Paite as Taulai, and the Adi as Yaming. These terms denote that
the social actors referred to are unmarried persons with little burden of
domestic and social responsibility; their physical strength is recognised
and utilised in collective activities. The generational principle catego-
rises persons in general and the youth in particular and such practices
continue till date. However, because of modern education in the region,
the birth certificate has become a compulsory document for the indi-
vidual to possess as a proof of one’s age.
Thus, the definition of youth can be separated into two groups: the
rational-legal and the social. The former focuses on the youth as an indi-
vidual in terms of specific age-set and the latter takes the youth as one
of the collective categories of the population based on the generational
principle. In the context of the societies of the North-East India, both
the rational-legal and social definitions apply; the former is used when
engaging with modern institutions and the latter is used in the social
life of persons.

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 188 A.K. Nongkynrih

The Public Discourse on the Problems

of the Youth

According to Peter Worsley (1970: 380), behaviour in human societies

is governed by rules and norms: there are appropriate and inappropriate
ways of acting whether one is talking about a classroom during a lesson,
running a marathon, or dancing at a disco. It is observed that cases of
‘inappropriate’ action of social actors get attention in the public domain
through newspapers or television channels. In the opinion of F. James
Davis (cited in Hubbard et al. 1975: 23), newspapers often influence
public opinion regarding crime trends by increasing coverage of cer-
tain types of crime. Whether we agree or disagree with such reports or
the way in which newspapers or television channels present and narrate
stories of ‘inappropriate’ behaviour of some social actors of the society
is not the issue. The issue is newspapers or television channels are the
medium through which the public are informed. The North-East India
is one of the examples where the media feed information to the public
domain and generate public discourse on varied issues.
One of the issues which the media has been paying attention in the
North-East India is the problems of the youth. The media in general and
the local and vernacular newspapers in particular are the major source of
information. Various problems of the youth are reflected in such news-
papers, and problems such as dropping out of school education, drug
abuse, alcohol abuse, smoking, theft, crime, suicide, unemployment,
and violent behaviours are few examples. Members of the public are
informed and in most cases public opinion is formed on the basis of
such information. It is observed that the public discourse usually per-
ceives and accepts that problems at the local level or state or region are
associated with the youth. Through the media and in various public fora
the public discourse has been stressing the followings:

i. the youth face many problems,

ii. ‘problems’ are related with the youth, and
iii. the youth of the North-East India themselves are a ‘problem’ to the state
and the society.

To illustrate the point, on various occasions statements are made in

public that young people joined the underground movements or that the

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 Problems of the Youth of North-East India 189

youth are ruining their lives by engaging in unproductive and unhealthy

lifestyles because either they are poor or they are unemployed. Therefore,
the central government should provide more funds to the state govern-
ments to create more employment opportunities. The public thinks that
by solving the problem of unemployment of the youth other related
problems would be automatically solved. If one examines this kind of
assertion and deduction one finds that it is based on common sense and
not on objective or systematic analysis. Commonsense seems to take
precedence over scientific understanding in public discourse.
The other expression of the public discourse on the problems of the
youth deals with the public feelings towards problems. Based on media
information or commonsense discussions on the problems of the youth,
the public shows two kinds of feelings: one, the sympathy-empathy
expression to the youth with problems such as unemployment or drop-
ping out of school or disability, and two, ‘labelling and stigmatisation of
persons’ in the case of youth with problems such as drug-dependency or
HIV/AIDS or alcoholism or deviant behaviour.
It seems that the public can handle the first type of problems, but
it finds it difficult to handle the second type of problems. To the public,
the only way to overcome the difficulty in handling problems of the
second type is labelling: terms such as ‘misguided youth’ or ‘anti-social
elements’ are used in the public discourse. Labelling is accepted because
the state can take legal action: action in the form of punishment or
inflicting injury and harm on the labelled youths. Punishment is seen
and accepted socially as the ultimate mechanism of controlling prob-
lems, ensuring the maintenance of social order and for setting examples
to the rest. The public defines what is socially acceptable and what is
not; what is not acceptable is punished. The position taken by the public
on some of the problems has precluded serious attempts to understand
such problems objectively.

The Academic Discourse on Problems

of the Youth

The academic discourse on the problems of the youth is drawn from

a wide range of writings and examples from the field. These writings
reflected the varied issues concerning youth. For a pointed discussion,

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 190 A.K. Nongkynrih

here I have selected the relevant aspects and arranged them in groups.
However, such groupings are in no way to be treated as isolated units;
the problems discussed are interrelated.

Education, Employment and the Youth

Modern education and educational institutions are producing large

numbers of graduates and technically skilled humanpower every year.
As a result, the North-Eastern region is experiencing a high growth rate
of educated youth. Amarjeet M. Singh (2002) narrates the problem of
unemployment faced by the educated youth of Manipur. He identifies
limited employment opportunities as the key issue. He further elabo-
rates that even when employment opportunities are available, the youth
have to practice nepotism to get a job, and one of the youths he inter-
viewed said, ‘to get a job or such facilities is like being in an auction
market. Only the highest bidder gets the job, and those who cannot
afford are out of the job market’ (ibid.: 110).
Similarly, when I interviewed the educated youth from the four states
(namely, Manipur, Meghalaya, Mizoram, and Nagaland), their refrain was

we have completed our graduation and are unsuccessful in finding employ-

ment. Being unemployed we have to depend on and live with our parents.
Many of us in our localities are in similar situation and we do not know what
to do. Over the years we have seen many of our friends who could not bear
the boredom and anxiety started substance–abuse or consumption of alcohol
and some have lost their lives.

The number of educated youth in the region is increasing, but the

growth in employment opportunities is commensurate to absorb them.
The issue of education and employment was placed before the village
elders from the Karbi Anglong and, in general, they said,

It is important to send our children to schools and colleges so that they can be
educated. On the other hand these young people who have completed higher
education or those who dropped out half way are not interested to work on
the farm like we did when we were young. They are interested in govern-
ment jobs or other kinds of job. This is becoming a problem because modern
education has changed them and few young people are interested to work on
the farms, after our generation what is going to happen to food production.

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 Problems of the Youth of North-East India 191

One adult added that

I sent my son to school with the intention that after his education he will be a
better farmer since he will have more knowledge than me. It is the other way
round because of his education he does not participate in farming activities
but sits at home applying and waiting for a government job. He is useless
right now to the family. I should not have sent him to school because he
could have been more useful to himself and to us by engaging in farming of
the land.

If being educated does not guarantee productive and gainful employ-

ment, what is the situation of the youth with only basic education or
those without any formal education? Irabot N. Singh (1995: 113) brings
out the challenges faced by the youth in the urban and the rural areas of
Manipur. He narrates that most of such youth are not engaged in pro-
ductive activities on a full-time basis. Such youth have enough time to
loiter around in the localities without doing anything. In the rural areas,
occasionally, such youth are a problem and especially in the post-harvest
period. They would spend the whole day drinking and gambling, and
would end up quarrelling and fighting. Their urban counterparts too,
because of limited employment opportunities, have enough time to
waste. Some of them are addicted to alcohol and they steal bicycles
to make money.
There is another group of youth, those who have dropped out
of education. There are many factors for dropping out of education.
Mothers of school dropout youth in the districts of Ukhrul and Karbi
Anglong said that they were economically poor and illiterate and could
not support the education of their children. There are also cases where
the children themselves have refused to continue their education. The
women and youth from Ukhrul district further elaborated that the
dropout youth are living in the villages without any alternative or guid-
ance, and many of them are drifting to bad habits and this is becoming
a nightmare for the elders to handle.
P. Tado (2006) in his assessment of youth who dropped out of
education narrates the situation in Arunachal Pradesh. He points out
that local politicians have, without any hesitation, made use of youth
by providing them with cash to carryout assigned tasks. Once the task
is accomplished, the youth are left to fend for themselves. In the pro-
cess, such youth lose interest in their studies and drop out. Such youth
become unfit for any white-collar jobs. While discussing with another

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 192 A.K. Nongkynrih

group of youth from the four states mentioned earlier, I found that they
had to discontinue their studies because their parents could no longer
afford to support them. After discontinuing their studies half-way, they
said, ‘neither do we possess any skills nor productively engaging in work.
We feel rejected, bored, frustrated and depressed’.
Unemployment is seen as a major issue by persons I interacted
with. The way the government is responding to the issue is paradoxical:
on the one hand, there is a section of the youth looking for produc-
tive and gainful employment and, on the other hand, the government
has created ‘employment packages’ for rehabilitating those youth who
had ‘surrendered before the authority’ after being in the insurgent
movements. One community leader opined that, ‘does it not make
other youth to think and act differently to enjoy the benefits of such
“employment packages”?’ This kind of government policy is viewed as
faulty because, under normal circumstances, employment opportunities
are not provided to other youth.
Broadly, one can argue that not all young people have equal access
to education. There are those who have completed their higher educa-
tion and there are those who had to drop out at various levels due to lack
of resources or because of other social factors. However, both groups of
youth are equally affected by limited employment opportunities and are
not able to be gainfully productive in their lives. The central and state
governments’ policy of providing easy access to employment to some
youth and not to all is a poor reflection of the political responsibility of
the government. The added dimension is modern education, which has
not only been the agency in educating the youth, but it has also injected
new set of values among the youth. The declining interest among youth,
especially educated ones, in farming as a gainful and productive employ-
ment is fraught with danger.

The Family and Youth

Some articles and views from the field highlight the family as a factor
in relation to the problems of the youth. Jerry Thomas (1997: 306) has
observed that there are two sections of youth: those who are hindered
in their growth by the over-protective parents, and those who have been
neglected by their parents. In both cases the process of growing up is

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 Problems of the Youth of North-East India 193

adversely affected. He does not elaborate on this, but one can cite the
example from A.H. Khaund’s narration:

Jug (pseudonym) was 21 years old and the eldest child of the family. He comes
from a low income group. He passed his school education with a second divi-
sion and subsequently got a job in the intelligence branch. Once he started
earning he gradually changed his life styles and got into the habits of con-
sumption of locally made alcohol, smoking ganja and drugs. In the month of
May 1977 he was put in jail and released the same year. He could not over-
come his problems and the psychopathic ailment infected his life (1995: 58).

According to Khaund (ibid.: 56–59), Jug’s parents did not pay

much attention to him. They recognised the condition of their son when
it was too late to correct and too late for any help. There could be many
such cases where the youth deviated from the normal life due to lack
of care and attention from the family or parents. G.S. Aurora (1995),
a sociologist who had worked in the Khasi-Jaintia hills, expresses simi-
lar views. He argues that the Khasi-Jaintia society is being affected by
broken families and the number of such families is larger in this society
than other societies of the region. It is the phenomenon of broken fami-
lies that has produced juvenile delinquency and emotional disturbance
among the youth (ibid.: 28). Aurora does not provide any data to show
the magnitude of the problem he has identified. However, his point can
hardly be disputed.
In the focus group discussions with the youth from four states they
complained about their parents. According to them,

there is hardly any one who we can turn to and share our feelings. Our parents
are always busy and have very little time to spend with us and so we had to
take care of ourselves. In the process we spent time by roaming with friends or
watching movies. Sometimes because of frustration we did things which are
detrimental to our own lives.

The relation of family and youth can be captured from the case history
of a youth which tells about his family relationships and the challenges
faced by him (see Case 1). This young man is today a youth leader in his
area and works with youth groups and associations.
It is difficult to argue that the problems of the youth stemmed only
from the family. This is because the information available is insufficient
to generalise. However, one can point out that the family as a social

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 194 A.K. Nongkynrih

Case 1: The Problem and Challenges as a Youth

In my early childhood, I suffered from the fear of watching my mom and dad
quarrelling most of the time. I was still very young when my parents kept me in
a privately run school and hostel nearby my home. I never wanted to live there
and yet had to spend my childhood and adolescence, that is, from class one to
class ten. Maybe, my parents felt that it is the best choice for me. They did not
realise that I needed them and that I felt neglected. Gradually, I dealt with my
feelings of being neglected by spending time with hostel friends.
The hostel has many kids of all ages and those in class nine and ten are
considered as ‘seniors’ among students. In class nine, I became part of the senior
group and that was when I learned about drugs, and as a youth I too was
curious and wanted to try [the drug]. Many seniors of the hostel glamorised
drugs and the joy one gets out of drugs. The school management or the hostel
wardens did not have any knowledge that senior students of the hostel were
abusing drugs.
We were twenty of us residing in the same hostel, attending the same
school and belonging to the same religious organisation. As part of the group, I
too started abusing drugs. The abuse of drugs was to such an extent that out of
twenty of us, ten of my friends died due to drug overdose, and I too became drug
dependent by mid-term of class ten.
I left the hostel and, for the next two years, I could not survive without
abusing drugs. The village community and my family came to know about my
habits; and the community leaders visited me and warned me to stop or face the
consequences. I did not listen to the warnings and continued with the abuse of
drugs, and I avoided public places.
My lifestyle strained my relations with my parents and sometimes my dad
was so angry with me that he would beat me up. This sort of relation created all
kinds of commotion between my dad and mom and they blamed each other.
The locality too blamed my parents for not disciplining me enough. In such a
situation even my close kin-group shunned me from their homes and lives. I had
no one to turn to and no one came forward to help me overcome my problem
of drug-abuse. That is not all. Leaders of my church too avoided me and it also
affected my parents’ social status.
Despite my drug-dependency problem I did not give up my studies and
appeared three times for the state-level matriculation examination and it was
in the third attempt that I passed in the third division. My father was always
in a state of anger with me, but he was also searching and looking for ways and
means to get me out of the problem. It was luck, maybe, because one of our fam-
ily friends lived in another city and I was taken there to live and study.
The family friend that I lived with gave me love, care, and hope. It was the
first time in my life I felt emotionally moved. However, I could not overcome

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 Problems of the Youth of North-East India 195

my problem and felt so frustrated that I wanted to give up life. There were times
when I stopped abusing drugs and the body reacted differently and my nose
would bleed. It was a very painful experience; occasionally, I even thought of
committing suicide.
Luckily, the family that I lived with was so tolerant and would not give up
on me. Every day the members encouraged me to fight by praying and believ-
ing in oneself. It gave me hope and one day during the family prayer, the father
prayed with such emotion that it moved me. Following that day, I stopped abus-
ing drugs and suffered terribly from the withdrawal symptoms and it took cou-
ple of months for full recovery. Gradually, I got back into studies and completed
my honours degree and masters degree in sociology.

institution plays a key role in the life of the youth; and, as observed
from the discussion, some of the problems of the youth can be asso-
ciated with parenting. To draw more insightful understanding on the
subject of parenting and the youth further sociological investigation is
required.

The Socialising Institution and Youth

Emile Durkheim said, when societies undergo transition from the

mechanical stage to the organic stage, traditional norms and values
become disrupted and uprooted. People become restless and dissatisfied
and a new moral consensus about what people can reasonably expect
from life would be needed (cited in Slattery 2006: 72–76). Durkheim’s
point is significant to explain the problems of the youth in the region.
Scholars from the region have highlighted that the problems of the
youth are due to the loss of one of the socialising institutions, namely,
the ‘youth dormitory’.
The youth dormitory is designated by a specific term. The Zawlbuk
of the Mizo was once an important institution of socialising the youth.
It imparted and trained the youth on varied aspects of life-skills and
inculcated in them social values. The Morung of the Naga, the Pa
of the Wancho, the Nokpante of the Garo, and the Nodrang of the
Dimasa Kachari (Aier 1995; Gassah 1995; Kapmawia 1995; Zathang
1995; Riba 2006) are a few other examples of the institution of youth
dormitory. The youth dormitory prepares the youth for their future role
as adults of the society, it rains them in shaping and handling of personal

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 196 A.K. Nongkynrih

development through the system of group work and activities, and it

is a mechanism of social control and avoidance of conflict with adult
members.
Caroline R. Marak (2006) discusses the importance of Nokpante
and the impact of its loss on the Garo society. In the Nokpante, boys
were trained in martial arts, sports and games, music and dance, oral lit-
erature and poetry, ceremonies, traditions, customary beliefs and prac-
tices, and the skills that a boy ought to know (such as farming, basketry,
house construction, and wood carving). The process of modernisation
of the Garo society led to the gradual loss of the institution and that
affected the training and education of the boys under the supervision
and care of the elders. Marak further elaborates that modern educational
institutions (that is, the school system) have replaced the Nokpante, but
are not as effective in socialising the young. Similar are the views of
M. Riba (2006) about the impact of the gradual loss of the Pa among
the Wancho of Arunachal Pradesh. He says that, due to acculturation
processes and substitution of the Pa by schools and other modern insti-
tutions, the Pa is on the decline. In the state of Arunachal Pradesh many
societies continue to practise the youth dormitory, but their continuity
is being challenged by the entry and activities of modern organisations.
Analysing the impact of social transformation on the Naga society,
Anthony Patton (1995) argues that the Morung has become defunct.
Children are educated in modern schools and they miss the educa-
tion of their own society, and have gradually become alienated from
their village. He also points out that young people no longer imbibe
the teachings and values of their own people and as a result they have
become strangers in their own land. A group of post-graduate students
(males and females) I interviewed said,

We agree that most of us have very little knowledge about the society we
belonged to because we have been educated only about the modern world.
There is a gap in the way we think and the way our parents would like us to be.
We want to preserve the knowledge and social values of our society and also
to incorporate the new. We feel that we are caught in between and it confuses
us as young people.

The discussion highlights that many societies have lost the youth
dormitory; the survival of the few that remain is at stake. The youth
dormitory is one of the most important social institutions that trained

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 Problems of the Youth of North-East India 197

the youth and ensured collective control on youth behaviour. In some

societies, the youth dormitory has been replaced by educational institu-
tions, religious organisations or youth clubs. The new institutions are
re-socialising the youth with new set of values and norms. Such insti-
tutions, as expressed by some writers, are not able to provide the kind
of supervision, guidance, and control as youth dormitories did. They
are too preoccupied with providing modern information or their thrust
is more on the organisational activities. As one youth who became
addicted to substance-abuse said,

in the school environment or in the village or in the organisational environ-

ment I am only told what I should do or how I should conduct and behave. As
a young person I have many problems and some of the problems I had wanted
to talk to someone but there was no one to listen to me.

In those societies where socialisation of the young used to be a col-

lective activity of the village the family plays a secondary role. With the
loss of the youth dormitory the responsibility of socialising the young
has shifted from the community to family. Families have to socialise
their children without the support of the youth dormitory and the tra-
ditional ways. This perhaps explains why families in the North-East are
facing difficulties in socialising the young.

The Politics of Identity and Youth

The colonial system of political administration and the modern bureau-

cratic organisation of the nation-state introduced the societies of the
region into a new type of political modernisation. The new type of polit-
ical modernisation created political consciousness in the society and led
to the formation of local or ethnic-based pressure groups and regional
political parties. Such groups and parties articulate their political posi-
tion by taking the issue of ‘political identity’ as the main demand. The
politics of identity becomes a political agenda and, over generations and
cutting across diverse groups, this issue has been the most influential
social agenda. In pursuit of such an agenda, many protest movements
or students’ movements or regional movements have been organised.
Such movements have produced different kinds of results in the region.
Some movements have brought direct conflict between ethnic groups

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 198 A.K. Nongkynrih

and the nation-state. Some movements have resulted in ethnic-group

conflicts (the Naga versus the Kuki, the Karbi versus the Khasi-Jaintia,
and the Karbi versus the Dimasa) and conflicts between ethnic groups
of the region and the ‘illegal migrants’. The region has witnessed many
turbulent political struggles and conflicts (Sharma 1997; Baruah 2005;
Dutta 2005; Kumar 2005; Das 2006; Mawthoh 2006; Tado 2006). By
being part of the society and because of social expectations many youths
have been actively participating in such movements.
Scholars of the region have been observing these movements and
noted their impact on the youth. Lanu I. Aier (1995) states that politi-
cal disturbance in the Naga society has caused anguish, restlessness, and
uncertainty among its youth. U. Misra (2006) is of the opinion that
those who kill or get killed each year are young people, people whose
energy and enthusiasm could have contributed so much towards build-
ing a better nation. According to him, the main reason for the youth of
the region to have taken onus upon themselves is the crisis of leadership.
Older generations lack commitment and have created social vacuum
which has been sought to be filled by the youth leadership. According
to J. Thomas,

if at times the youth present the picture of aggression is because they are not
independent nor are they isolated from the society they belonged to. They are
affected by what is happening in their societies and the dynamics therein. In
most cases the youth are victims of forces far beyond their control and the
entire blame is put on them (1997: 302–03).

The politics of identity is rooted in the social aspirations of the eth-

nic groups of the region. It is being pursued in the form of demands for
autonomy, protection and includes many other issues. At the same time,
political identity is such a sensitive issue and, at the level of the social life
of these ethnic groups, it is intense. The issue is also very pervasive and
every member of the group is equally affected by it. Over generations
it has not only influenced the perception of the people, but also the
political culture of the youth to the point that the degree of intolerance
and violent behaviour among the youth population is rising. It should
be noted that the collective interests of the ethnic group and the collec-
tive acceptance to pursue the political agenda subsume the youth in the
political process. This is because, in many of the north-eastern societies,
the youth is seen as and expected to perform the role of vanguards.

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 Problems of the Youth of North-East India 199

The Youth with Disability

There is another section of the youth which deserves special mention,

namely, the youth falling under the category of Persons with Disability
(PWDs). Information on this category of youth is limited and it is dif-
ficult to provide any hard data. At the state level, the report on a sample
survey on disability in Meghalaya is available. Based on this report, I
present the specific problems of the youth with disability.
According to the report, the total number of PWDs in the state of
Meghalaya is 2,123, and of this, 1,111 are male and 1,012 are female.
Out of the total, 656 (31%) are in the age-group of 16–30 years—
376 male and 280 female. The report showed that majority of them
were born with disability and others became disabled in the later stages
of their lives. Problems of this particular category of youth are many:
(a) very low access to education, (b) very low employment opportuni-
ties, particularly for those in the rural areas, (c) very low access to health
care facilities and support; and (d) their families have little knowledge
and skills to care for them (Bethany 2007). There are many case histories
on PWDs and the challenges they encounter throughout their lives and
Case 2 is but one illustration.
With regard to the support for PWDs, the report cited that there are
only about a dozen NGOs offer services to such persons and only two
organisations are provide community-based rehabilitation programmes.
Most parts of the state are without any support and the vulnerability

Case 2: Not Born but Made

Bahbah (a kinship term used in addressing the eldest male of the family among
the Khasi-Jaintia society) is 20 years old and suffers from severe mental retarda-
tion. His father separated from his mother when Bahbah was still a child. His
mother is a petty betel-nut seller and, with the meagre income she earns, she
supports the family. When Bahbah was 3 years old (that is, in 1987), he had
fits and fever; he was taken to hospital for treatment and medication only in
1991. From 1992 onwards his condition deteriorated and it is very difficult for
him to be on his own. His mother cannot provide constant care and attention
since she has to work and earn to meet two square meals a day. During the day
he is left on his own and only in the evenings the mother is able to attend to
his needs.

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 200 A.K. Nongkynrih

of PWDs increases with every passing day. The state government has
been addressing the varied problems of PWDs by implementing various
schemes through the department of social welfare and NGOs. At the
level of the society, families, or villages they find it difficult to support,
as they have neither the infrastructure nor the skills for taking care of
such persons.

Summary

Based on the foregoing analysis a few points can be summarised. There

are two ways of understanding the definition of youth: (i) the ratio-
nal-legal definition of the nation-state and (ii) the social definition of
the society. The former is based on the age counted from the date of
birth of persons and the latter is based on the generational principle.
These two definitions may or may not complement each other. On
the problems of the youth, the public discourse focuses on two points:
(i) sympathising with the youth on some problems and (ii) labelling
the youth as the problem. The academic discourse tries to understand
the problems of the youth by highlighting various factors that impact
on the lives of the youth. There is a difference between the public
discourse and the academic discourse. Both these discourses highlight
that the youth of the region are facing varied problems. Irrespective
of the nature of the discourse, the problems of the youth emanate
both from the structure of the society and from the process of social
transformation.

Acknowledgements

The author is grateful to Professors V. Xaxa, C.L. Imchen, N. Jayaram,

and Dr. D.V. Kumar for their comments and suggestions.

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Singh, N, Irabot. 1995. ‘Youth organisations in Manipur’, in A.C. Sinha (ed.): Youth move-
ment in North-East India (110–13). New Delhi: Har-Anand Publications.
Singh, M, Amarjeet. 2002. A sociological study of educated unemployed youth of Imphal East
and West districts of Manipur (Unpublished PhD theses). Shillong: North-Eastern Hill
University.

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Tado, P. 2006. ‘Youth unrest in North-East India: With special reference to Arunachal
Pradesh’, in Sheila Bora and S.D. Goswami (eds.): Youth at the crossroads: A study of
North-East India (165–73). Guwahati: DVS Publishers.
Thomas, Jerry. 1997. ‘Youth work in North-East India’, The administrator, 42 (3): 301–14.
Wosley, Peter. 1970. Introducing sociology. Harmondsworth, Middlesex: Penguin Books.
Zathang, V. 1995. ‘Youth organisations and movements in Mizoram’, in A.C. Sinha (ed.):
Youth movement in North-East India (92–100). New Delhi: Har-Anand Publications.

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 13
Youth in Techno Global World:
Predicaments and Choices
Rajesh Gill

T
he criticality of the theme of this paper is evident from the fact
that it focuses upon youth, primarily a transitional stage in life-
cycle, under impact of globalisation, again a transitional phase,
in transitional societies. It is for this reason that it has not been easy to
formulate an argument on this theme. However, this challenge made me
scan through diverse writings on the subject and I could lay my hands
on some very interesting and revealing literature, which, apart from
enlightening me on the contemporary challenges haunting the youth of
today, also offered valuable conceptual tools to handle the subject with
a greater clarity.
In this paper, I shall be building upon the following argument.
Globalisation has served on a platter a whole lot of choices to the people, in
terms of career opportunities, educational options, accessories, consumer
items, etc., greener pastures, to be precise; yet, the capabilities to exercise
choices remain extremely skewed among the youth. Globalisation, on the
one hand, has substantially expanded the horizons of the youth in terms
of a craving for a western lifestyle, consumerist culture, and an eagerness
to put everything at stake to reach out to the world; while, on the other,
the enhanced choices thrown open by global world have left the youth
baffled, often resulting in a wide cleavage between those capable to sail
through the strides and those finding themselves incapable of exercising
these choices due to physical, material, cultural, and political barriers.

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 204 Rajesh Gill

On scanning the literature on the subject one finds that, although

the interface between globalisation and youth has been theorised quite
methodically, with a rich conceptual apparatus to address the issue, yet
only a part of these conceptual tools are fit to explain the predicaments
of youth in the non-western societies. Being a highly differentiated
population segment, its engagement with globalisation is bound to get
mediated by the territorial, cultural, economic, and political identities
of the young people, as experience has already shown, to whom glo-
balisation manifests through qualitatively different encounters. Finally,
I would like to argue that these differentiations notwithstanding, the
youth in transitional societies aspires for greener pastures in the glo-
balised world, though what these greener pastures mean to them may
again be very different.

Youth as a Distinct Population Segment

Deliberately, I have not used the word ‘group’ for youth, because by no
stretch of imagination can it be called a group, in view of the immense
diversity and heterogeneity lying within in terms of biography, access,
skills, gender, and competence to grab the opportunities thrown by glo-
balised world. As a sociologist, I take ‘youth’ as a sociological, rather than
as a biological concept. The question is: why must the youth be studied
as a distinct category? The answer comes in the form of interesting con-
ceptualisations offered by philosophers and scholars. For instance, youth
has been conceived as ‘the age of natural inebriation without the need of
intoxicants’ which made Plato conceptualise it as ‘spiritual drunkenness’
(quoted in Hall 1904: 74–75). Countering the biological and scientific
approaches, the social constructionist approach views youth in terms
of ‘everyday social practice’, perpetually in the process of change, as the
young keep making sense of the world in everyday life. Conventional
approaches conceptualised youth in terms of ‘youth subculture’, charac-
terised by deviant and non-conformist attitudes (Gordon 1947). Youth
has been projected full of turmoil in the ‘storm and stress’ model of
C. Griffin (1993) and that of ‘moral panics’ of J. Springhall (1998),
who treats youth as a social group with a patterned history, with a great
anxiety out of its engagement with popular culture and adult fears of
corruption. The state of ‘moral panics’ evolves out of the disjuncture

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 Youth in Techno Global World 205

between reactions to social or cultural phenomena appearing out of pro-

portion to the actual threat posed. The concept of ‘subculture’ is impor-
tant in understanding the social lives of young people. In simple terms,
a subculture can be seen as a group within a group. The social group
frequently referred to as ‘youth’ has thrown up many subgroups over
the years which come to be regarded as subcultures. Over time, these
subcultures acquire names and identities such as teddy boys, skinheads,
punks, and so on (Kehily 2007).
However, recent postmodernist approaches to youth culture have
rejected subculture theories. Instead, these argue that, with globalisation
and commercialisation, youth have been mainstreamed, paving way to
global and fluid youth formations, called ‘club cultures’ based on media
and niche marketing of dance music as a youth culture for all (Redhead
1997). Instead, it is argued that we are all being mainstreamed now with
an increased commodification and commercialisation of all aspects of
social life closing down the separate space occupied by the youth in con-
ventional societies. S. Thornton (1995), in a complementary approach
to S. Redhead’s, suggests that, through engagement with different styles
of dance music, young people define themselves in relation to their peers.
Drawing on the work of Pierre Bourdieu (1984), Thornton develops the
idea of ‘subculture capital’ to analyse the forms of taste and distinction
that characterise the club scene. Later works have rejected the concept of
subculture, trying to replace it with new terms such as ‘scenes’, ‘tribes’,
and ‘neo-tribes’ (Maffesoli 1995). Recent studies of youth formations,
however, emphasise that definitions of subculture cannot be fixed and,
like other sociological concepts, are subject to change and redefinition.
However, youth in transitional societies has to be understood in the
light of many variations within this segment, making it impossible to
treat it in terms of either youth subculture as a homogenous reality. While
youth in such societies tends to be very actively engaged with the popular
culture, this engagement varies substantially on the basis of a highly differ-
entiated, rather an unequal access to the channels connecting the young
people to the globalised world. For instance, the nature of the encoun-
ter these young people in transitional societies, namely, India, have with
globalisation tends to vary substantially, depending upon whether they
are from (a) rural or urban background, (b) metropolitan or small cities,
(c) middle class, poor, or rich households, (d) English-speaking/westernised
or vernacular/localised linguistic groups, and (e) a part of techno savvy,

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 206 Rajesh Gill

globally connected virtual communities or marginalised entities, com-

pletely strangers to the global mainstream. In fact, this reality makes an
understanding of the youth extremely difficult because the points of refer-
ence in each of these cases are extremely divergent, the choices available
to each one of them highly varied, and the ways in which they trans-
form their encounters with globalised world into an opportunity, being
extremely diverse.
Yes, one thing that is uniformly shared by the youth in a transitional
society, stuck by the glare of globalisation, primarily understood by them
as carrying greater choices, more money, multiple alternatives, freedom
from shackles of tradition, etc., is that all of them are looking for greener
pastures. However, it is an altogether different question as to what these
greener pastures mean to these different segments within the youth. For
some, these may be closer, while for others, far from home. For some,
these are achievable with a greater ease, given a better economic, cultural
and political standing apart from the parental support, while for others,
it may be a lone battle. In the context of India, for example, a young boy
or a girl born in a poor family in a remote backward village may cherish
the dream of moving to a city, as the ultimate destination, while for the
other with greater fortune, the cherished destination may be in Australia
or USA. The fact remains that globalisation has definitely tempted the
young, rich and poor, rural and urban, illiterate and literate, equally,
to make choices and liberate themselves from traditional identities and
create new individualised identities. It is on this premise that I develop
my arguments in the following discussion.

Predicaments Faced by Youth

in the Techno Global World

The Information and Communication Technology (ICT) has revolu-

tionised the societies in a major way, with a special impact upon the
social communications, resulting in altogether novel kinds of interac-
tive situations. As with all new technologies in the past, Internet has
been invested with utopian hopes for a radically new communicative
age as well as dystopic warnings of an electronic anomic ‘lonely crowd’
(Ray 2007). In the most captive depiction of the emergent imperson-
alised society by Georg Simmel, ‘stranger’ is a person who is ‘not passing
through’ but ‘comes today and stays tomorrow’ within a particular spatial

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 Youth in Techno Global World 207

group but without belonging or rootedness. The stranger is someone

who is potentially in transit but within a group and who confronts the
dispositions of the group with an ‘objective attitude’ of both remoteness
and nearness. Elaborating the invasion of money in contemporary city
life, Simmel writes ‘Money, with all its colorlessness and indifference,
becomes the common denominator of all values; irreparably it hollows
out the core of things, their individuality, their specific value and their
comparability’ (Simmel 1950: 414). These relations become even more
apparent with the Internet user, who is a stranger, both spatially dis-
tant and also near through a combination of distance and proximity
characteristic of global sociality, where space is both intimacy and the
blasé attitude of detachment that, for Simmel, epitomised life in the
modern metropolis. Internet intensifies this process since virtual com-
munities offer windows for multiple selves, a ‘distributed self ’ that exists
in many worlds and plays many roles at the same time (Turkle 1999).
It is in this manner that the ICT has made space, especially the
social space, totally different in its operation. Socially organised spaces
characteristic of the conventional societies are gone and in their place
have come telecommunicating, tele-shopping, e-shopping, computer
dating, electronic job markets, automatic teller machines, and desktop
publishing, mediating between local and the global. This raises the ques-
tion, has space lost its meaning altogether? Do social relations today
exist independent of organised social space?
The answer to these questions is not that simple, especially in the
context of societies like India, where one finds both the pre-industrial
and the post-industrial realities co-existing. One would easily find here
people surviving with their ‘distributed self ’ as well as those with their
‘intact selves’, well placed in the conventional set-up. It is established
by now that globalisation means different things to different people.
While the process has been hailed by some for making ‘sky as the limit’,
the rise of individualism, secularisation of tradition and culture, or, to
be more specific, de-traditionalisation, unlimited choices in life, and so
on, it has, at the same time, invited severe protests, making a case for
anti-globalisation. In Globalisation from Below, J. Brecher et al. (2000)
propose building a world structured by human values other than greed
and domination, in order to get rid of the extreme disparities caused
by a consumerist culture. Apart from the economic disparities between
West and the rest and the North and the South, and the global-local
cultural conflict, terrorism, fanaticism, etc., generally projected as the

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 208 Rajesh Gill

consequences of globalisation, I consider the following economic and

cultural challenges to be posing a still greater crisis, especially for the
young people:

(i) great uncertainties accompanying opportunities in globalised world,

(ii) vicious circle of poverty dominating over technology and communication,
(iii) a loss of community, coupled with the question, can virtual commu-nities
replace the traditional community?, and
(iv) multiplicity of choices to all, with unequal capacities to exercise these
choices.

All these issues are interconnected and need to be understood simul-

taneously. Very interesting literature produced by Ulrich Beck (1992),
Zygmunt Bauman (2001) and Anthony Giddens (1991) underlines the
difference globalisation has made for an individual whose biography has
to be self created by himself or herself and has to be self reflexive.

Individuation means that each person’s biography is removed from given

determinations and placed in his or her hands, open and dependent on deci-
sions. The proportion of life opportunities which are fundamentally closed to
decision making is decreasing and the proportion of the biography which is
open and must be constructed personally is increasing. Individualisation of
life situations and processes thus means that biographies become self reflex-
ive; socially prescribed biography is transformed into biography that is self
produced and continues to be produced. Decisions on education, profession,
job, place of residence, spouse, number of children and so forth, with all the
secondary decisions implied, no longer can be, they must be made. . . . . . .
In the individualised society the individual must learn, on pain of per-
manent disadvantage, to conceive of himself or herself as the centre of action,
as the planning office with respect to his/her own biography, abilities, orienta-
tions, relationships and so on (Beck 1992: 135).

As individuals, thus, the young men and women cannot afford to

simply drift along in life, failing to identify and realise opportunities,
putting themselves and those dependent to disadvantage. Beck calls it
the “Risk Society” (ibid.), while Bauman and K. Tester point to the dan-
gers of ‘social deskilling’ (2001: 114), signifying the loss of social sup-
port in decision making. Giddens moves on to argue that each one of us
is responsible for our own ‘reflexive project of self ’ (1991: 244), in the
process of formation of self-identity. Contemporary culture, therefore,

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 Youth in Techno Global World 209

increasingly demands an active building of self-identity. Whereas in the

past this may have been part of the life phase understood as adoles-
cence, increasingly it is a demand also made of adults. In a flexible
and uncertain employment market, those without secure resources are
expected to engage in lifelong learning, re-skilling and re-invention of
self (Kehily 2007).
In the process of individualisation, there is a distancing of the
individual from tradition, apart from local and familial ties, that is, de-
traditionalisation (Heelas et al. 1996), resulting in a loss of traditional
security. To use it in the present context of youth, it is meaningful to
argue that while the ‘normal biographies’ defined by convention and
birth continue to persist the young would create their ‘choice bio-
graphies’, which are entirely determined by them. Tariq Modood, a
prominent commentator on South Asian communities in the United
Kingdom, writes,

Compared to their elders, the young are less likely to speak to family members
in a South Asian language, or to regularly attend a place of worship, or to have
an arranged marriage. Yet they do not cease to identify with their ethnic or
racial or religious group, though they may redefine what that group is, say,
from Pakistani to Muslim. . . . For identity has moved on from a time when
it was largely unconscious and taken for granted . . . it is now more likely to
be based on conscious and public projections. . . . Shaped through intellec-
tual, cultural and political debates, such identities are fluid and susceptible
to change with the political climate. However, to think of them as weak is to
overlook the pride with which they may be asserted . . . and their capacity to
generate community activism and political campaigns (Modood 2005: 69).

These interpretations of the youth in a globalised world trace the

transformation from identity as a thing to identification as a process.
Thus, surrounded by intense competition and uncertainties, the young
have to make choices, with a constant pressure to make the right kind
of choices, owning the responsibility for their self-created identities.
This is bound to make youth in globalised world an extremely stressful
and challenging stage of life, in contrast to the ‘taken for granted’ and
‘settled’ self-identity, lying out there. Thus, choice biography refers to
a life pattern in which much more appears to be within the orbit of
individual determination: things happen because we make them happen
and if we do not exert agency, they may not happen at all.

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 210 Rajesh Gill

Critics of globalisation have often conceptualised the process anti-

human and defaced due to the uneven benefits it is likely to spread
within societies. No doubt, people in India talk on mobile phones,
use Japanese cameras, drive Korean cars, drink foreign scotch, eat
American pizza, and communicate through Internet. Many Indian
call centres sell their services to American companies. But they are
very few! What about the million who are totally faceless, dying out
of starvation, who sell their blood and body for a day’s meal, live in
slum pockets, and are victims of filth, illiteracy, and environmental
hazards. To them, globalisation has no face. Protests against globalisa-
tion begin from the dilemma of rising expectations followed by rising
frustrations.
For today’s young men and women, globalisation has left a global
economy that is out of control and is certainly against any political
vision of a just world. We are consuming more than we are producing.
And what we are producing are predominantly financial assets, that is,
bubbles as we have seen in the Asia crisis and now in the global meltdown.
When the bubble bursts, liabilities remain and a crisis starts (Dasgupta
and Kiely 2006). The Third World countries have been destabilised as a
consequence of the debt burden, of the collapse of national currencies,
often resulting in the outbreak of social strife, ethnic conflict, and civil
war. Today, the trans-national corporations own 50 per cent share of
the world’s largest economic sales units. The giant companies entirely or
partly control national economies all over the globe. We inhabit a global
theatre of the absurd, a winner-takes-all world in which the wealthiest
billionaires own as much as approximately half of the world population
(Pieterse 2004).
The greatest challenge facing the youth today as a result of anti
human and neo liberal globalisation, therefore, lies in the fact that 40 per
cent of the world’s economically active population is subjected to unem-
ployment and underemployment. The conventional project of liberation
attached as a corollary of globalisation is already under scanner. Has
globalisation brought young people a new freedom to act or does it por-
tend an uninvited, unwanted, and cruel fate for the deprived majorities?
For, the clash continues between fear, anxiety, and uncertainty for the
dejected majority, and freedom, comfort, and happiness for the few
elites (Dasgupta 2004).
Viewed thus, youth confront a situation where they are supposed to
turn difficulties into opportunities, using their ‘head’ instead of ‘heart’,

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 Youth in Techno Global World 211

reacting less to emotional responses and more to money economy,

flaunting a ‘don’t care’ attitude. In short, what one generates is a com-
mercial interaction not only with professional rivals and colleagues, but
even within family and peers. This commercialisation geared by a strong
profit motive is more than visible in the health sector, with the slogan
‘Millions for Viagra, Pennies for Diseases of the Poor’. Multinational
companies sell Viagra across the world because they save people
addicted to sexual pleasure. Many people in the Third World depend
on selling sex to satisfy pangs of absolute hunger. Western manufactur-
ers sell their branded products by persuasive and misleading advertising
and promotions, causing the poor to divert money away from essential
items to expensive patented and branded items. Following observations
noted in a WHO (World Health Organisation) Report underlines the
predicament:

Major depression is now the leading cause of disability globally and ranks
4th in ten leading causes of global burden of disease. . . . Globally, 70  mil-
lion people suffer from alcohol dependence. About 50 million have epilepsy,
another 24 million have schizophrenia. . . . One million people commit sui-
cide every year while between ten to twenty million of them attempt it. Rare
is the family that will be free from an encounter with mental disorders (WHO
2001: 1–45).

The more technology advances towards a virtual world the more

touch and emotional health becomes important. Lesson of history is
that the more affluent we become, the more stressed and emotionally
vulnerable we feel. The virtual reality thus created through media leads
to a crisis involving an identity fragmentation. Bauman has argued that
the ethical paradox of the post-modern condition is that it ‘restores to
agents the fullness of moral choice and responsibility while simultane-
ously depriving them of the comfort that modern self confidence once
promised’ (1992: xxii). The more we crave belonging, the less satisfac-
tion belonging provides. So, as western societies become increasingly
secular, there is also a rise in the number of people converting to ortho-
dox religions and a proliferation of new forms of belief that may or may
not be religious, but which do involve a search for meaning. The term
‘belief without belonging’ has been coined by the British sociologist
Grace Davie (1994) to capture the paradoxical process through which
religious institutions lose their grip at the level of the social, while faith
continues to be a feature of individuals’ identities. For minority ethnic

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 212 Rajesh Gill

and religious groupings, the same processes are in operation, yet ‘choice’
is complicated by ongoing practices of discrimination.
Loss of community and rise of mass society is another major chal-
lenge posed by globalisation to the young people in transitional societies.
George Ritzer (2000) addresses this issue in terms of ‘McDonaldisation’,
with its dehumanising effects, resulting into loss of human interaction
and loss of community. In view of the virtual society taking shape as
a consequence of the IT revolution, new bases for social relationships
have come up. Ferdinand Tönnies, Georg Simmel, Louis Wirth, Karl
Marx, Max Weber, and Emile Durkheim had concluded long back that,
as a society became more global, it would have lesser quantity and qual-
ity of community, best conceptualised by Simmel (1950) who noted
that the individual is never more lost than when he or she is in the
metropolitan crowd.
Ritzer’s critique of the globalisation is a very interesting disposition
equating the process with ‘globalisation of nothing’ (2003). He equates
the process of globalisation with the rise in ‘non-places’, ‘non-persons’,
and ‘non-things’, by which he means places, persons, and things sans the
uniqueness, specificity, and substance. What dominates is characterised
by a huge similarity that can be easily and effortlessly imitated into mul-
tiple images, like the credit cards, malls, food chains, the smiling recep-
tionists, and so on. The irony is that there is a longing, especially among
the youth, for these non-things and non-places, while the possession of
‘something’ coupled by an inability to access the former results into an
acute deprivation.

Indian Youth and the Dilemma of Globalisation

The task has become easier having understood the impulsive young
people surrounded by a cruel competition and multiplicity of choices,
with a pressure to make right kind of choices and without the protective
cover of community and familial ties. Let us analyse as to how the young
people in transitional societies like India react to such a globalised world.
I would once again begin by reiterating that all these processes of
change in the wake of globalisation tend to affect different sections
among youth quite differently. In a society like India, the loss of commu-
nity may not be experienced by rich and poor, or rural and urban youth
in a similar manner. Similarly, de-traditionalisation and secularisation

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 Youth in Techno Global World 213

would not affect different categories of young people uniformly. Both

ascribed and achieved identities co-exist for the individual, with varying
relevance in different situation. In case of the rural, the poor and not so
westernised youth, normal biographies may continue to be operational
whereas in case of the rich, the mobile and the urban youth, choice
biographies may be more relevant, providing them with new identities
and social relationships. Freed from the constraints of collective habit,
we have no choice but to choose, although Giddens concedes that many
areas of life are governed by decisions, and who takes these and how, are
matters of power (1994: 76).
Young people—western and non-western, rural and urban, rich and
poor, literate and illiterate—have definitely been engulfed by the mass
culture. Hyper-consumerism has particularly enhanced the engagement
of young men and women all around the globe with the popular culture.
To use Ritzer’s (2003) terminology, this has, to a large extent, brought
the non things and non places to the core, while the ‘some-thing’
(denoting the unique, the local, and the peculiar) stands abandoned.
This often occurs as a result of a conscious choice on the part of young
people, for whom it is extremely important to be a part of the popular
culture. However, the manifestation of this encounter with the popular
culture is mediated through the differential access to resources. As a
consequence, while a rich young guy would get into the KFC (Kentucky
Fired Chicken) and spend lavishly on enjoying the chicken (himself and
with his friends), a poor young man from a city slum may visit the KFC,
sit there for hours, without eating anything; and both would come out
declaring themselves a part of the mass culture.
I feel most uncomfortable with the western theorising on the theme
of ‘virtual sociality’ that is based upon the premise that social relation-
ships based on face to face and personal interaction have been largely
substituted by the de-territorialised social networks through Internet.
While this may be true of the western reality, it fails to explain the scene
prevailing in less developed societies where the computer literate popula-
tions comprise only a small fraction of the total population. At the turn
of the millennium, more than a quarter of the American population used
the World Wide Web compared with one hundredth of one per cent of
the population of South Asia (Keohane and Nye 2000). Although the
number of Internet users increased globally from 16 million in 1995
to 360 million by 2000, yet South Asia represents only 5 per cent of
the world’s population. Its use is concentrated in the developed world

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 214 Rajesh Gill

where 97 per cent of Internet host computers are located (DiMaggio

et al. 2001). Even in the case of those middle class households own-
ing personal computers, as in India, a large number possess them just
like other electronic gadgets as status symbols, to be displayed in the
drawing rooms, or at the most for playing games. Of the world’s total
online community 84 per cent live in developed countries and the 35
countries with lowest levels of development have around 1 per cent of
the world’s online population (Norris 2001). Only 20 per cent of the
world’s population have access to telephones; although access to mobile
phones is expanding rapidly, illiteracy in many parts of the world is an
obstacle to Internet use (Misztal 2000). Most e-commerce is within the
OECD countries and between 75 and 80 per cent of e-transactions are
between businesses rather than with private customers (Perrons 2004).
Disparities both within and between societies at different levels of
development will persist; though it is argued that these would gradu-
ally perish as societies rise on the level of development. Experience in
societies like India indicates a contrary picture in that development,
particularly in the garb of privatisation and liberalisation, has, instead
of reducing, enhanced inequalities of all kinds. Large populations at the
bottom are still struggling hard to gain access to the basic necessities
such as potable water, electricity, housing, and work, thus making ICT
still a prerogative of a small section of the population.
Globalisation and rise of mass culture have, no doubt, led to the
loss of community, in that the young individual today has to build
his own identity, taking his own decisions; yet, this is not uniformly
true. The process of creation of identity of the self, which is depicted by
Giddens (1991) as a more or less direct consequence of individualisa-
tion, actually means altogether different things to different categories of
young people. For instance, while it may be very rewarding for an urban
educated middle class young person to create his own biography, given
the necessary access to the globalised world, a poor low caste young man
from a remote village would find it nearly impossible to get rid of his
ascribed identity and create a de-traditionalised identity, given a total
lack of access to the globalised world, except the tempting images of it
on the television screen. Hence, the very process of identity creation and
decision making varies substantially within the youth.
Globalisation has multiplied the choices for the youth in one more
very significant area and that is related to gender identity. While born
in a particular locale, traditionally, an individual obtained a gender

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 Youth in Techno Global World 215

identity and the cumulative effects of such an identity with life long
repercussions, in a taken-for-granted manner, with a sanctity attached
to it, globalised world today offers her/him choice biographies between
heterosexual and homosexual identities. What was socially impossible,
illegitimate, and immoral has been granted legitimacy mainly due to
globalisation and the ICT revolution. The gay and lesbian movements,
which were aberrations some time back, have gained the patronage of
global human rights agenda, thus gaining legitimacy. It is no longer
necessary today to seek legitimacy for a same sex marriage in one’s own
society, because such a practice has been institutionalised by the glob-
ally respected organisations. The conflicts thus produced between the
local and global cultures are most discomforting for the young men and
women of transitional societies, thus adding to the existing confusions
with regard to newly conceived relationships and identities.
The limited application of the theoretical formulation of choice
biographies on Indian youth, particularly the rural, is evident in view
of the recent spurt in cases in which the caste (khap) panchayats have
issued dictates against the individual choices made by young boys and
girls in marriage. The frequent cases of honour killings in northern states
of India, which otherwise happen to be very progressive in terms of eco-
nomic prosperity, point out that choices still remain a prerogative of not
only families but communities, while the individual must bow before
them. Such has been the extent of community fury against individual
choices that, in some cases, married couples with or without children
have been ordered to treat each other as brother and sister under the dis-
pensation of caste panchayats. Of course, the fact remains that resilience
of caste and community remains the main lifeline of such violation
of human rights and free choices. Again, more than the men, it is the
young girls who are killed for having exercised their choice against the
community norms, giving the phenomenon a complete gender twist.
Scholars writing on the virtual community in the developed soci-
eties have been emphasising the transformative effects of Internet on
the face-to-face and personalised relationships. They have been preoc-
cupied with the question as to whether the emergent virtual sociabil-
ity would successfully replace the community of the yesteryears. While
these anxieties are justified in the context of developed societies, rightly
called ‘wired societies’, there is another side to the story that needs to be
explored. In countries like India, where the ICT revolution has raised
the level of expectations of the young, more importantly of those on

Chapter 13.indd 215 10/5/2013 11:50:42 AM

 216 Rajesh Gill

the margins of society, by whom I mean not only those who are poor,
illiterate, and deprived, but even those with a low self esteem due to low
IQ, unacceptable physical appearance, lack of ability for effective pre-
sentation, and so on, Internet has been performing another interesting
function. In the garb of anonymity granted by the virtual identity cre-
ated on Internet for a particular purpose, it has become possible for the
young to hide their true identity and interact in the virtual world on the
basis of fictitious identity, which gives them appreciation, compliments,
sensual gratification, and social acceptability for which they had been
starving and which could not have been possible otherwise. Internet has
come as a blessing to millions of young in such transitional societies,
who had been scared of socialising in person, for the fear of an outright
rejection, squeezed between the constant pressures of outstanding per-
formance, on the one hand, and the perpetual incapability, on the other.
By presenting a false bio-data, pasting somebody else’s picture, and cre-
ating a virtual identity, these young people can be very often seen glued
to computers, having successfully distanced themselves both physically
and socially from the immediate, but a hostile social and physical reality.

***
To conclude, while globalisation has intensely tempted the youth towards
greener pastures, these destinations vary considerably due to the differ-
ential competence, both ascribed and achieved, among young men and
women to grab the opportunities. Next, though globalisation has accel-
erated the process of individualisation, providing the young with huge
choices in life, the exercise of choice is marked by existential limitations
in the capacities of young people, often resulting in anxieties over the
uncertainties that follow. While traditional identities continue, though
having weakened, new identities have to be created by young men and
women, reconciling the two, not only different but conflicting, too.
Finally, as experience has shown, the patterns of reconciliation
of the youth are going to be dictated to them by the culture indus-
try. This may not, however, happen if the young men and women
bring in human agency in the exercise of the enormous choices glo-
balisation has placed before them. They may go on choosing some and
rejecting others on the platter, as intelligent and thinking human beings,
instead of mechanically submitting to the globalised agenda dictating
not only the economic, but even their cultural, political, and personal

Chapter 13.indd 216 10/5/2013 11:50:42 AM

 Youth in Techno Global World 217

preferences. The signs of human agency, especially among the youth,

are clearly visible in the shape of civil society that is bulging primarily
due to the strong intervention of electronic media. Persistently, though
very gradually, Internet is proving to be the primary medium of com-
munication, extremely inexpensive and fast, most suited in developing
countries, and youth constitute its major beneficiary.

Acknowledgements

The author is extremely grateful to the anonymous referee for her/his

valuable suggestions, Prof. N. Jayaram for his feedback, and Shri Y.K.
Singh for his inputs.

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Dasgupta, S. (ed.). 2004. The changing face of globalisation. New Delhi: Sage Publications.
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Kehily, M.J. (ed.). 2007. Understanding youth: Perspectives, identities and practices. London:
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Chapter 13.indd 218 10/5/2013 11:50:42 AM

 Index
adolescent property offenders, xxxv.
See also criminal behaviour,
study of
African American boys, xxix
Alpha Community, 24
attitudes toward sex-roles, study of
accepting a given circumstance,
percentage of females, 138
accepting a given circumstance,
percentage of males, 136–37
choosing a given type of work,
percentage of females, 139
education and female career role,
135–40
marriage and age of marital partner,
134–35
non-traditional vs traditional
youngsters, 134–40
reasons to work, percentage of
females, 140
subjects, 133–34
willing to let their wives work,
percentage, 137
Beta Community, 24
bounded agency, xxxiii
Brahmanic traditions, 40
child and childhood in sociological
discourses, xxxiv–xl
Index.indd 219
childhood, sociology of, xxii
child rights, xxiv–xxv
criminal behaviour, study of
age factor in comparison affiliation,
62–63
assumptions, 46
category of offenders, 47
compulsive thievery, 47
condition for participation in
deviant activities, 50–54
family, influence of, 54–56
friendship associations, factors
behind, 49–50
group participation, influence of,
53–54
habitual vs professional, 65n3
homogeneity in conduct norms,
58–59
house-breakers, 54
intimacy of relationship, effect of,
59–60
intimate personal groups, role of,
52–53
method of study, 47–48
nature of environmental forces/
factors, 49–50
peer groups, influence of, 56–62
pressure to participate as a defence
mechanism, 60–61
primary delinquency, 53
10/8/2013 8:12:07 PM
 220
criminal behaviour, study of (Contd.)
primary delinquency stage, 64
priority aspect and, 48–49
secondary delinquency stage, 64
types of delinquents, 50–54
daughter discrimination, study of
fertility decline and adverse sex
ratio, 94–98
Mandya district, 98–106
regional disparities, 93
‘Declaration of Geneva’, xxiv
differential association
structure of, 48–49
theory of, 46
emerging adulthood, xxi
fertility decline and adverse sex ratio,
94–98
folk traditions of Manipur, 80–81
functionalist model of socialisation, xxii
Gamma Community, 24
Gandhi, Rahul, xxi
globalisation and youth, 203–4
dilemmas, 212–16
ICT revolution, impact of, 215
rise of mass culture, 214
Information and Communication
Technologies (ICTs), xlvi
intimate personal groups, 48
Islamic tradition, 40
Kukis, 80–82
language and youth identity, relation
between, xl–xli
Bangalore students, English usage,
122–26
English as medium of instruction,
126–27
English as the official language, 129
Index.indd 220
Sociology of Childhood and Youth
English language, use and
proficiency in, 119–25
influence of cities in promoting
English, 125
Jaipur students, English usage, 122–26
Madras students, English usage,
122–25
percentage speaking different
languages, 125–26, 130n4
regional languages, use of, 125–26
Mandya district
abortion, practice of, 104
agricultural activity, 99–100
dowry practices, 100–102
fertility transition experienced
in, 103
parental perception about sons and
daughters, 106
population and economy, 98–99
sex-determination test, conduct of,
104
son preference and desire to limit
the number of children, 104–6
women, rights of, 103
Manipur, study of sex preferences in
Arnold’s index, 82–83
contraceptive use, effect on sex
preference, 89
data collection and methodology,
82–83
district of residence, pattern of
contraceptive use by, 85–86
literacy, pattern of contraceptive use
by, 88
preferred sex combination of
children, 85
rural and urban distribution of
contraceptive use, 83–85
sex composition, pattern of
contraceptive use by, 83–88
socioeconomic and residence
backgrounds, pattern of
contraceptive use by, 89
10/8/2013 8:12:07 PM
 index
tribal communities of Manipur,
80–82
two-stage sampling design, 82
Manipuri women, xxxviii–xxxix
marginalisation of children, xxv–xxvi
Meiteis, 80–82
modernisation of Indian society
British rule, 142–43
India as welfare state, 143–44
Naga society, 80–82
new sociology of childhood, xxvi–xxvii
political role of education, 23
political socialization in India, 23
politicization in schools, study of,
25–26
“Articulate-Moderate” (HPA-MPP),
38–40
class-politics, 39
government schools, 25
home conditions of children and,
25–26, 42
“Inarticulate-Militant” (LPA-HPP),
38–40
mass-media, role of, 36–37
negative consequences, 41
non-public schools, 25–26
participatory behaviour of parents,
impact of, 35–36
political awareness, 37
political orientations among
boys, 30
political values, 30
sample, 26–28
school boys, political orientations
of, 37
school textbooks, role of, 30–32
sources of data, 28–30
street-politics, 39
teachers and parents, influence of,
33–35
psychotropic drugs usage among
youths, study, xli–xlii
Index.indd 221
221
distribution or sale of drugs, 178
findings, 175–81
popularity of drugs, 178–80
prevalence rate, 175–77
sex-differences, 173, 180–81
study sample, 173–74
type of drugs, 177–80
vulnerable sections of society,
170–71
Salem district, prevalence of female
infanticide in, 107–10
schooling system in India, 40–41.
See also politicization in
schools, study of
sex preference
among Manipuri women, xxxviii–
xxxix, 80–89
village studies in South India,
xxxix. See also son preference
and reproductive behaviour,
study of
sex ratio in India, 112n1
social class on occupational
aspirations, study of, xliii–xliv
caste, influence of, 150–54
findings, 156–57
objective and hypotheses of
study, 145
ranking of religion and sex,
146–47
religion, influence of, 147–50
sample for study, 145
sex, influence of, 154–56
social background characteristics of
respondents, 147
social class of respondents, 145–46
statistical analysis, 156–57
social constructionism, xxvii–xxviii
social construction of childhood,
xxiii
socialisation theory, xxii
socio-economic conditions and
education aspiration, study of
10/8/2013 8:12:07 PM
 222
academic performance, defined, 7
in Ahmedabad, 16, 19n4, 20n5
aspiration to college graduation,
8–9
data collection, 5–6
educational aspiration, defined, 7–8
education as a temporary activity, 9
of female students, 10
low socio-economic status vs high
socio-economic status, 10–11
measurement of variables, 6–7
path coefficient for relationship
between intelligence and
college plans, 17–18, 19n3
percentage distribution with high
level of academic performance,
12–13
percentages of S.S.C. students,
10–13
post-high school educational
aspirations, 7–8, 15
purposes of study, 4–5
results and discussion, 7–18
sample, 5
social class differences in
educational aspirations, 14
socio-economic status, defined, 6
statistical procedures, 5
vocational or technical school
training, 9
Wisconsin study, 16–18, 21n9
son preference and reproductive
behaviour, study of
among Christian, 71–72
among Hindus, 69–70
among Muslims, 71
among Sikhs, 73–74
background, 67–68
findings, 69–74
gender bias and ‘get rid of girls’,
xxxix
‘higher’ son preference (HSP)
category, 69–74
Index.indd 222
Sociology of Childhood and Youth
hypotheses, 67–68
‘lower’ son preference (LSP)
category, 69–74
in Manipur. See Manipur, study of
sex preferences in
no preference for son (NSP),
69–74
in patriarchal societies, 79
perception of sex-roles, xlii–xliii
policy implications, 74–75
sample, 69
site of study, 68–69
Son Preference Scale, 69, 76n3
structured individualisation, xxxiii
techno global world, predicaments of
youth in, 206–12, xlv–xlvi
ICT revolution and, 215
transformative effects of Internet,
215
transition, notion of, xxxiv
tribes of Manipur, 80–82
UN Convention on the Rights of the
Child (UNCRC), xxiv–xxv
young and youth
as a distinct population segment,
204–6
identification with national life,
xliv–xlv
problems in North-East India, xlv,
185–200
relation between language and
youth identity, xl–xli,
119–27, 129
social class and occupational
aspirations of college students,
xliii–xliv, 145–57
in sociological discourses, xl–xlvi
studies of, xxx–xxxiv
in techno global world, xlv–xlvi,
206–212
10/8/2013 8:12:07 PM
 index
use of psychotropic drugs among,
xli–xlii, 170–81
young and youth identification with
national life, study of, xliv–xlv
analysis, 163
economic improvement,
perceptions of, 164–65
India, as a choice for livelihood,
167–68
interpretation of emigration, 163
migration and emigration impulse,
160–61
negative valuation of emigration,
164
occupational background, 166–67
reference groups, 165–66
youth, sociology of, xxii
youth of North-East India, problems of
academic discourse on, 189–200
data sources, 185
Index.indd 223
223
disability issues, 199–200
education level and unemployment
issues, 189–92
family as a factor for problems,
192–95
importance of Nokpante, 196
North-East region, background,
186
political consciousness and protest
movements, 197–98
public discourse on, 188–89
socialisation, issues related to,
195–97
youth, definition of, 186–87
youth dormitory, 195–96
10/8/2013 8:12:08 PM
 About the Editor and
Contributors

The Editor

Bula Bhadra is Professor at the Department of Sociology, University

of Calcutta, where she has been a faculty for last 24 years. She did her
MA and PhD in sociology from McMaster University, Canada. Her
most significant pathbreaking contribution is Materialist Orientalism:
Marx, ‘Asiatic Mode of Production and India.  She has extensively writ-
ten in the area of Sociology of Gender in both vernacular and English.
Her forthcoming book is on Bengali feminist writer Ashapurna Devi
entitled Ashapurnar Tritoy: Ekti Naribadi Samajtattik Parjalochana
(Ashapurna’s Triology: A Feminist Sociological Analysis. Lately, she is
engaged in researches on sociology of children and childhood in India.
At the moment she is engaged in a major research project of UGC on
‘The Impact of New Technologies in Children’s Everyday Lives’. She has
been a visiting faculty in India and abroad.  

The Contributors

Suraj Bandyopadhyay is from Indian Statistical Institute, Calcutta.

N. Minita Devi is from Thambal Marik College, Mayai Lambi, Manipur.

Rehana Ghadially is from Indian Institute of Technology, Mumbai.

Rajesh Gill is Professor, Department of Sociology, Pun jab University,

Chandigarh.

About the Editor and Contributors.indd 224 2013-11-27 3:38:03 PM

 About the Editor and Contributors 225

Ashesh Das Gupta is Professor of Sociology at Patna University.

Neelambar Hatti is Professor Emeritus, Department of Economic

History, Lund University, Sweden.

Khadlid Ahmed Kazi is from Indian Institute of Technology, Mumbai.

M.Z. Khan is from Institute of Criminology & Forensic sciences, New

Delhi.

L. Ladusingh is Reader, Lecturer, International Institute for Population

Sciences, Deonar, Mumbai.

A.K. Nongkynrih is Associate Professor, Department of Sociology,

North-Eastern Hill University, Shillong.

Tara Patel is from Gujarat University.

Aileen D. Ross is from McGill University, Canada.

T.V. Sekher is Associate Professor, International Institute for Population

Sciences, Deonar, Mumbai.

William H. Sewell is from University of Wisconsin.

Vimal P. Shah is from Gujarat University.

K.S. Shukla is from Institute of Criminology and Forensic Science,

New Delhi.

D.R. Singh is from Indian Institute of Public Administration, New Delhi.

Kh. Jitenkumar Singh is Research Officer, RCH Project, International

Institute for Population Sciences, Deonar, Mumbai.

Ehsanul Haq Not known

Narsi Patel Not known

Prabha Unnithan is from University of Nebraska (the United States of
America).

Ambarao T. Uplaonkar is Research Scholar, Tata Institute of Social

Sciences, Mumbai.

About the Editor and Contributors.indd 225 2013-11-27 3:38:03 PM

 Appendix of Sources

All articles and chapters have been reproduced exactly as they were first published.
All cross-references can be found in the original source of publication.

Grateful acknowledgement is made to the following sources for permission to

reproduce material for this volume.

1. “Social Class and Educational Aspirations in an Indian Metropolis,”

Vimal P. Shah, Tara Patel, and William H. Sewell
Vol. 20, No. 2 (March), 1971: 113–133.

2. “Education and the Emerging Patterns of Political Orientations:

A Sociological Analysis,” Ehsanul Haq
Vol. 32, No. 1 (March), 1983: 35–59.

3. “Adolescent Thieves and Differential Association,” K.S. Shukla

Vol. 25, No. 1 (March), 1976: 74–94.

4. “Culture and Fertility: Son Preference and Reproductive Behaviour,”

Ashesh Das Gupta
Vol. 52, No. 2 (September), 2003: 186–197.

5. “Sex Preference and Contraceptive Use in Manipur,” L. Ladusingh,

N. Minita Devi and Kh. Jitenkumar Singh
Vol. 55, No. 1 (January–April), 2006: 67–77.

Appendix of Sources.indd 226 2013-11-27 3:39:41 PM

 Appendix of Sources 227

6. “Disappearing Daughters and Intensification of Gender Bias: Evidence

from Two Village Studies in South India,” T.V. Sekher and Neelambar Hatti
Vol. 59, No. 1 (January–April), 2010: 111–133.

7. “The Attitudes to English and Use of It by Students of Three Different

Mother Tongues: Hindi, Kannada and Tamil,” Aileen D. Ross and
Suraj Bandyopadhyay
Vol. 23, No. 2 (September), 1974: 224–235.

8. “Perception of the Female Role by Indian College Students,” Khadlid

Ahmed Kazi and Rehana Ghadially
Vol. 28, No. 1&2 (March and September), 1979: 59–70.

9. “Social Class and Occupational Aspirations of College Students,”

Ambarao T. Uplaonkar
Vol. 34, No. 1&2 (March and September), 1985: 49–68.

10. “Youth Aspirations vis-a-vis National Development: Participate or
Emigrate?” Narsi Patel
Vol. 34, No. 1&2 (March and September), 1985: 39–48.

11. “The Use of Psychotropic Drugs Among College Youth in India: An

Appraisal,” Prabha Unnithan, D.R. Singh and M.Z. Khan
Vol. 29, No. 2 (September), 1980: 171–186.

12. “Problems of the Youth of North-East India: A Sociological Inquiry,”

A.K. Nongkynrih
Vol. 58, No. 3 (September–December), 2009: 367–382.

13. “Youth in Techno Global World: Predicaments and Choices,” Rajesh Gill
Vol. 61, No.1 (January–April), 2012: 129–143.

Appendix of Sources.indd 227 2013-11-27 3:39:41 PM

Appendix of Sources.indd 228 2013-11-27 3:39:41 PM
 Sociology of Health

Prelims Vol IV.indd 1 2013-11-27 6:50:07 PM

 Readings in Indian Sociology
Series Editor: Ishwar Modi

Titles and Editors of the Volumes

Volume 1
Towards Sociology of Dalits
Editor: Paramjit S. Judge

Volume 2
Sociological Probings in Rural Society
Editor: K.L. Sharma

Volume 3
Sociology of Childhood and Youth
Editor: Bula Bhadra

Volume 4
Sociology of Health
Editor: Madhu Nagla

Volume 5
Contributions to Sociological Theory
Editor: Vinay Kumar Srivastava

Volume 6
Sociology of Science and Technology in India
Editor: Binay Kumar Pattnaik

Volume 7
Sociology of Environment
Editor: Sukant K. Chaudhury

Volume 8
Political Sociology of India
Editor: Anand Kumar

Volume 9
Culture and Society
Editor: Susan Visvanathan

Volume 10
Pioneers of Sociology in India
Editor: Ishwar Modi

Prelims Vol IV.indd 2 2013-11-27 6:50:07 PM

 READINGS IN INDIAN SOCIOLOGY
VOLUME 4

Sociology of Health

Edited by
Madhu Nagla

Prelims Vol IV.indd 3 2013-11-27 6:50:08 PM

 Copyright © Indian Sociological Society, 2013

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or utilised in any form
or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or
by any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from
the publisher.

First published in 2013 by

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Prelims Vol IV.indd 4 2013-11-27 6:50:08 PM

 Dedicated to my Teacher Professor Yogendra Singh

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 Contents

List of Tables ix
List of Figures xi
Series Note xiii
Foreword by Yogendera Singh xvii
Preface and Acknowledgements xix
Introduction by Madhu Nagla xxi

1. Sociological Inroads into Medicine: A Tribute to Aneeta

A. Minocha (1943–2007) 1
Ruby Bhardwaj
2. Food: The Immanent Cause from Outside—Medical
Lore on Food and Health in Village Tamil Nadu 13
V. Sujatha
3. State Sponsored Health Care in Rural Uttar Pradesh:
Grassroots Encounters of a Survey Researcher 34
Rajiv Balakrishnan
4. Gram Panchayat and Health Care Delivery
in Himachal Pradesh 43
Sthitapragyan Ray
5. Occupational Attitudes of Physicians 60
A. Ramanamma and Usha Bambawale
6. The System of Hope: The Constitution of Identity
in Medical Institutions 78
Roma Chatterji
7. Voice of Illness and Voice of Medicine in
Doctor-Patient Interaction 95
Mathew George
8. Narratives of Sickness and Suffering: A Study of
Malaria in South Gujarat 116
Purendra Prasad

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 viii Sociology of Health

9. Caste Variations in Reproductive Health Status

of Women: A Study of Three Eastern States 138
Papia Raj and Aditya Raj
10. Informal Social Networks, Sonography and Female
Foeticide in India 156
Tulsi Patel
11. Perception and Work Ethos of Medical Experts Dealing
with Infertile Couples: A Study in Medical Sociology 177
Bela Kothari
12. ‘Correcting’ the Reproductive ‘Impairment’: Infertility
Treatment Seeking Experiences of Low Income Group
Women in Mumbai Slums 192
Meghana Joshi
13. Risk Culture, Propertied Classes, and Dynamics
of a Region: A Study of HIV/AIDS in East Godavari
District (Andhra Pradesh) 211
Asima Jena and N. Purendra Prasad
14. Prison Inmate Awareness of HIV and AIDS in Durban,
South Africa 232
Shanta Singh
15. Medicalisation of Mental Disorder: Shifting
Epistemologies and Beyond 251
Tina Chakravarty
16. ‘Indigenisation’ Not ‘Indianisation’ of Psychiatry:
An Anthropological Perspective 273
Renu Addlakha

Index 297
About the Editor and Contributors 307
Appendix of Sources309

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 List of Tables

Chapter 4
Table 1 Socio-demographic Profile of Sample Districts 47
Table 2 Socio-demographic Profile of Sample Blocks 48
Table 4 District-wise Distribution of Sample Respondents 50

Chapter 5
Table 1 Age Group of the Doctors 66
Table 2 The Number of Children and Professional Situation 67
Table 3 Total Income of the Physicians per Month (as Declared in
Their Income-Tax Returns) 68
Table 4 Hours of Work Put in by the Physicians  69
Table 5 Number of Patients Examined per Day 70

Chapter 9
Table 2a Caste-Group and RHI—Bihar, 1992–93 147
Table 2b Caste-Group and RHI—Orissa, 1992–93 147
Table 2c Caste-Group and RHI—West Bengal, 1992–93 148

Chapter 10
Table 1 Trends in Female–Male Ratio (FMR) and 0–6 Year Sex
Ratios in Selected States of India 157
Table 2 Infant Mortality Rates and Death Rates (0–4 Years) by
Gender165
Table 3 Sex Ratio by Birth Order in Haryana and Punjab 165

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 x Sociology of Health

Chapter 13
Table 1 Caste-wise Ownership of Cinema Halls and Lodges in
Rajamundry226

Chapter 15
Table 1 Ontological and Epistemological Shifts in Understanding
Mental Illness and the Corresponding Practices 265

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 List of Figures

Chapter 9
Figure 1 Schematic Framework for Analysing the Influence of Caste
on Reproductive Health of Women 140

Chapter 12
Figure 1 Pathway of Initiation of Treatment-Seeking 196
Figure 2 Treatment-Seeking Process 203

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Prelims Vol IV.indd 12 2013-11-27 6:50:08 PM
 Series Note

The Indian Sociological Society (ISS), established in December 1951,

under the leadership of Professor G. S. Ghurye at the University of Bombay
celebrated its Diamond Jubilee in 2011. Soon after its foundation, the
ISS launched its biannual journal Sociological Bulletin in March 1952. It
has been published regularly since then. The ISS took cognisance of the
growing aspirations of the community of sociologists both in India and
abroad to publish their contributions in Sociological Bulletin, and raised its
frequency to three issues a year in 2004. Its print order now exceeds 3,000
copies. It speaks volumes about the popularity of both the ISS and the
Sociological Bulletin.
The various issues of Sociological Bulletin are a treasure trove of the most
profound and authentic sociological writings and research in India and else-
where. As such it is no surprise that it has acquired the status of an interna-
tionally acclaimed reputed journal of sociology. The very fact that several of
its previous issues are no more available, being out of print, is indicative not
only of its popularity both among sociologists and other social scientists but
also of its high scholarly reputation, acceptance and relevance. Although
two series of volumes have already been published by the ISS during 2001
and 2005 and in 2011 having seven volumes each on a large number of
themes, yet a very large number of themes remain untouched. Such a situ-
ation necessitated that a new series of thematic volumes be brought out.
Realising this necessity and in order to continue to celebrate the Diamond
Decade of the Indian Sociological Society, the Managing Committee of
the ISS and a subcommittee constituted for this purpose decided to bring
out a series of 10 more thematic volumes in such areas of importance and
relevance both for the sociological and the academic communities at large as
Sociological Theory, Untouchability and Dalits, Rural Society, Science and
Technology, Childhood and Youth, Health, Environment, Culture, Politics
and the Pioneers of Sociology in India.

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 xiv Sociology of Health

Well-known scholars and experts in the areas of the chosen themes

were identified and requested to edit these thematic volumes under the
series title Readings in Indian Sociology. Each one of them has put in a lot
of effort in the shortest possible time not only in selecting and identifying
the papers to be included in their respective volumes but also in arranging
these in a relevant and meaningful manner. More than this, it was no easy
task for them to write comprehensive ‘introductions’ of the respective vol-
umes in the face of time constraints so that the volumes could be brought
out in time on the occasion of the 39th All India Sociological Conference
scheduled to take place in Mysore under the auspices of the Karnataka
State Open University during 27–29 December 2013. The editors enjoyed
freedom not only in choosing the papers of their choice from Sociological
Bulletin published during 1952 and 2012, but they were also free to request
scholars of their choice to write forewords for their particular volumes.
The volumes covered under this series include: Towards Sociology of Dalits
(Editor: Paramjit S. Judge); Sociological Probings in Rural Society (Editor:
K. L. Sharma); Sociology of Childhood and Youth (Editor: Bula Bhadra);
Sociology of Health (Editor: Madhu Nagla); Contributions to Sociological
Theory (Editor: Vinay Kumar Srivastava); Sociology of Science and Technology
in India (Editor: Binay Kumar Pattnaik); Sociology of Environment (Editor:
Sukant K. Chaudhury); Political Sociology of India (Editor: Anand Kumar);
Culture and Society (Editor: Susan Visvanathan); and Pioneers of Sociology in
India (Editor: Ishwar Modi).
Sociology of Health (edited by Madhu Nagla with Foreword by Yogendra
Singh) is the fourth volume of the series titled Readings in Indian Sociology.
This volume contains empirical and theoretical articles that apply sociologi-
cal concepts and methods to the understanding of health and illness and
the organisation of medicine and health care. The articles included in this
volume have also tried to explore the understanding of the process by which
social practices and human health are related. Health and illness are central
to our lives and are major areas of work, policy and debate in society. This
volume explores key topics including the experiences of health and illness;
sociology of the healing professions: doctors as professionals; sociology of
food and health; mental health; sociology of illness: illness behaviour and
narratives of sickness and sufferings; medical institutions and health service
organisations: the system of hope; reproductive health care, HIV and AIDS:
social factors in fertility and mortality; sociology of physician–patient rela-
tionship; health delivery system: rural–urban health care, private and public
provision of health care and so on.

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 Series Notexv

It can hardly be overemphasised and can be said for sure that this
volume as well as all the other volumes of the series Readings in Indian
Sociology, as they pertain to the most important aspects of society and soci-
ology in India, will be of immense importance and relevance to students,
teachers and researchers both of sociology and other social sciences. It is also
hoped that these volumes will be received well by the overseas scholars inter-
ested in the study of Indian society. Besides this, policy-makers, administra-
tors, activists, NGOs and so on may also find these volumes of immense
value. Having gone through these volumes, the students and researchers of
sociology would probably be able to feel and say that now ‘We will be able
to look much farther away as we are standing on the shoulders of the giants’
(in the spirit of paraphrasing the famous quote by Isaac Newton).
I would like to place on record my thanks to Shambhu Sahu, Sutapa
Ghosh and R. Chandra Sekhar of SAGE Publications for all their efforts,
support and patience to complete this huge project well in time against
all the time constraints. I also express my gratefulness to the Managing
Committee Members of the ISS and also the members of the subcommittee
constituted for this purpose. I am also thankful to all the editors and all the
scholars who have written the forewords. I would also like to thank Uday
Singh, my assistant at the India International Institute of Social Sciences,
Jaipur for all his secretarial assistance and hard work put in by him towards
the completion of these volumes.

Ishwar Modi
Series Editor
Readings in Indian Sociology

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Prelims Vol IV.indd 16 2013-11-27 6:50:08 PM
 Foreword

S
ociology of health has assumed a major significance in the paradigm of
development studies. It constitutes a vital measure in its success. The
volume on ‘Sociology of Health’ by Professor Madhu Nagla reviews
the literature in this field with a sharp eye not only on how researchers in
this field have grown over time but also on the extent to which these have
contributed to the development of new conceptual and methodological cat-
egories. Her survey is comprehensive and competent. I am sure this volume
would impact positively on the direction and nature of future researchers
in this field.

Yogendra Singh
Professor
Emeritus J.N.U.,
New Delhi.

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Prelims Vol IV.indd 18 2013-11-27 6:50:08 PM
 Preface and
Acknowledgements

H
ealth and illness are part of the innermost complexities of social
existence, permeating the domains of social existence, national
policies, economy of the society and faith and religion. Sociologists
have been interested in the social roots and consequences of health and ill-
ness in their sociocultural-ethos.
Sociological Bulletin, the journal of Indian Sociological Society (ISS),
has published 16 articles on the varied themes of sociology of health. The
texts of these articles have been reproduced as they were originally pub-
lished by the Sociological Bulletin.
The perspective on health and medicine bring together individual and
collective realities in the way they are organised, narrated, contested and
in every sense lived as social trajectories. The section in the present volume
deals with the health and health care which revolves around the relationship
between food and health care and how people utilised health care in differ-
ent settings. The ethics and normative standard of the health professionals
is an important part of the health delivery system. It brings the patient
into the process of communication and interaction which in turn affect the
doctor–patient relationship which has been discussed in the volume. The
patient as the receiver of the health care is in an altogether different situa-
tion; therefore, the narratives of the patient are important in analysing the
delivery of the health care in the given set-up. The sick person is surrounded
by his family, social network and communities. The health problems of
the women, particularly related with the reproductive system, have a direct
bearing on the gender equality in the society. HIV/AIDS is regarded as the
global miseries of human being and need explanation in terms of its causa-
tion and treatment. The section deals with the mental illness as an impor-
tant facet of the bio-psycho-social outcome of illness, which is not limited

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 xx Sociology of Health

to biological disequilibrium; rather, it emerges within the individuals who

are a part of the whole system.
It was very kind of Professor I. P. Modi, President of the ISS, who trusted
me to undertake this academic endeavour and I owe special thanks to him
for the same. My teacher, who constantly encouraged and inspired me to
take up issues on the theme of health and medicine, deserves lots of thanks
and I am grateful to him for writing the forward to the present volume.
An important milestone or a life event takes place when you fulfil the
dreams of life partner; Bhupendra Kumar, my husband, who made all this
possible with all his love, understanding and academic support, helping me
in completing this task. My Bauji has always inspired me to engage in aca-
demic pursuit and that gives me the strength for completing this volume.
My parents’ blessings are always with me.
My children, Gaurav–Archana and Rohit–Radhika always encouraged
me to take up the academic challenges and are trouble shooters for my
computer-related problems. My dearest Abhigyan who is an energy pro-
vider by simply giving a sweet smile makes my day full of commitment for
the present volume.

Madhu Nagla
Professor
Department of Sociology,
M.D. University, Rohtak
Haryana

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 Introduction
Madhu Nagla

S
ociology of health emerged late in the 1950s as a specialised area of
sociology; it has subsequently developed rapidly, because the medical
profession has recognised the importance of sociology in the educa-
tion of medical students. It is important to distinguish between sociology
in health and sociology of health as perspectives in research. The former
involves the use of sociology to clarify health-related problems and diag-
nosis, such as the nature of compliance to medical regimens. Hence, sociol-
ogy in health refers to studies that help to solve problems in health science
or to provide knowledge about practical problem in health practice, the
allocation of health resources, operation of health facilities and services.
By contrast, the sociology of health has been more concerned with issues of
power between doctors and patients, and between health and the state. It
encompasses the use of medical settings, and health and illness to study
such sociological phenomena as organisational role relationships, attitudes
and values of persons involved in medicine (Coe 1970: 3). The institutional
setting in which professional socialisation of the young recruits to the pro-
fession takes place, is also covered under the field ‘sociology of health’.
The importance of this seemingly trivial distinction is understood, and
is in fact a pantheon of subject matters; it includes far-reaching conceptual
issues that relate social phenomena to health and illness matters. However,
here we are using interchangeably the terms sociology of health, sociology of
health and medicine. In fact, sociology of health has remained a neglected
field of study and not much thought was given to explore the links between
health and society. Health and illness cannot be separated from the normal
social life and they are in fact part of the wider social system; therefore, like
other aspect of life, the health aspects should also be studied with the same
rigour and sincerity. It is for this reason we are including some collection of
articles in this volume of sociology of health.

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 xxii Madhu Nagla

The present volume intended to be an outlet for ongoing research in

health and medicine in India. This volume is thematic, addressing the sta-
tus of the field, providing possible prognosis and, at least, integrating fresh
areas of research. The title of this volume itself speaks of its contents. It is
intended of medicine to share its ideas and perhaps put them to use for the
future health and welfare of the people.
The past two decades have seen marked shifts in health paradigms and
institutions. First, changes in welfare systems of health care in India are
under transformation from the policy of globalisation which has turned
health care into industry. Second, the voices of illness and medicine on
treatment schedules is interacting in such a way with the demand for evi-
dence based treatment and social support. There has been a corresponding
shift in theoretical paradigms from symbolic interactionism and functional-
ism, which neglected the politics of medicine, to various Marxist paradigms
which adopt a far more critical perspective on health service organisations
and healing professions. Another radical perspective on medicine has come
from feminism which regards inequalities in health provision and differ-
ences in illness behaviour as the products of patriarchy and gender. These
critical perspectives in contemporary medical sociology argue that the
health of human population is not a consequence of medical intervention
but of the socio-political environment (Illich 1977, Navarro 1977). For
all of these developments, it seems obvious that sociology presents itself as
an important tool for understanding the complex interaction between dif-
ferent actors in the development of paradigms and the institutional struc-
ture of health services. Articles dealing with these issues on the macro- and
micro-sociological levels in relation to health care are included in the pres-
ent volume.
In the above context, we feel that the need to untangle the literature
on sociology of health that has accumulated over a period of 60 years in
Sociological Bulletin and to provide a text at one place so that in some way
student can glance over past and current trends in sociology of health. After
screening the Sociological Bulletin since inception, that is, the 1950s, till
present, we found 16 articles which are on the varied themes related with
the sociology of health and medicine.
We do not pretend to ‘cover all of the literature’ in the volume. Instead,
these articles have limited themselves to the relevant issues of health and ill-
ness in the modern Indian society. Therefore, the volume covers a variety of
topics: namely, sociology of the healing professions: doctors as profession-
als; sociology of food and health; mental health; sociology of illness: illness
behaviour and narratives of sickness and sufferings; medical institutions and

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 Introductionxxiii

health service organisations: the system of hope; reproductive health care;

HIV/AIDS; social factors in fertility and infertility; sociology of physician–
patient relationship; health delivery system: rural–urban health care, private
and public provision of health care and so on. We could not find articles
related with the important issues of health policies and planning, social
constraints of health delivery systems, medical pluralism, ethnic differentia-
tion and health belief and behaviour pattern and off course current issues in
medicine and social change.
The volume is divided into eight sections: These are:

I. Medical Sociology and Its Significance,

II. Health and Health Care,
III. Doctors as Professionals,
IV. Physician–Patient Relationship,
V. Patients Narratives on Health,
VI. Reproductive Health Care,
VII. HIV/AIDS and
VIII. Mental Health.

I.  Medical Sociology: Its Significance

A simple layperson is not specialised in everything and it applies to the doc-

tors also who are not experts in social sciences or in social policy. This dual-
ity between the medical doctors and social philosophies concerning health
and medicine ultimately constitutes the scope of this book. This book is
not a textbook on medical sociology as it does not deal with the concepts
of health, illness or theoretical formulation for explaining the health behav-
iour of community or society at large. Instead, it deals with the sociology
of health, which is particularly related with the varied themes ranging from
food and health to delivery of health-care services and in between that their
understanding of illness, interaction with doctors, reproductive health sta-
tus of women and also mental illness and HIV/AIDS.
Sociology of health and medicine is one of the important areas of
special sociology. In the first Indian Council of Social Science Research
(ICSSR) trend report of sociology of medicine, Anita Ahluwalia begins
with a discussion of the importance of the sociology of medicine and then
proceeds to bring out the significance of the study of conditions in which
the modern system of medicine was introduced into India and the factors

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 xxiv Madhu Nagla

responsible for giving it an important place. The second ICSSR survey of

research in sociology and social anthropology (1969–79) contains one of
the trend reports on professions which covers a section on medical profes-
sion rather than being an independent trend report on health and medicine
like the first one. In this second ICSSR trend report on professions, Sharma
(1985) provides an overview of the field which highlights two sorts of stud-
ies, that is, of medical professionals and professional organisation.
Taken as a whole, the research on the medical profession reflects two
main theoretical orientations, namely role analysis and dialectical analysis.
While the studies of professionals are informed by the role perspective,
those of organisational aspects of medical profession are preoccupied with
the Marxian perspective. Methodologically, most studies of the first cat-
egory can best be characterised as descriptive surveys of the background and
role of doctors with little attempt at the analysis of professional content,
while most studies of the second category are largely of a speculative variety.
There is not a single study in the ethno-methodological tradition which is
hardly surprising considering that such a trend has not yet got going even
in the West. Madhu Nagla presents ICSSR trend report on Sociology of
Health and Medicine which represents the fifth round of the surveys cover-
ing the period since 2002 to 2010. She identifies the emerging issues in the
development of sociology of health and medicine with the anticipation of
future challenges and how they find their relevance in the healthy develop-
ment of society.
Most of the researches in India, during the early phase and confined
to the caste, joint family and the village community and even in the later
period were related to the other sociological issues baring medical sociology.
In 1974, Ahluwalia conducted her first of its kind study in the hospital set-
ting for her doctoral work. Aneeta Minocha has made original and insightful
contribution in the area of medical sociology as quoted by Bhardwaj (2008)
in her article on ‘Sociological Inroads into Medicine: A Tribute to Aneeta A.
Minocha (1943–2007)’. Ruby has given the tributes to her in this article by
putting her whole contribution in the field of medical sociology and ben-
efitted the discipline of medical sociology as well as to the researchers and
academicians. Mincoha strives relentlessly to highlight the significance of
sociology in the understanding of health and disease. She emphasises force-
fully for teaching of medical sociology. She views that the doctor and the
patient interact not simply as diseased entity and curative agent, but also
as social beings belonging to different cultural milieu. The understanding
of patient as a social entity sensitises the doctor to a gamut of intervening
social variables that impinge on the former’s health or sickness. The doctor’s

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 Introductionxxv

training in sociology would enable him to not only learn about the impact
of the cultural milieu on the behaviour of the patients but also have close
look at himself in his own milieu. Minocha advocates conceptual and ter-
minological rigour in academic research. The concepts of health, disease and
medicine attained precision from her critical inputs and holistic perspective.
The concept of medical pluralism in India is pioneered and popularised by
Minocha. She analyses the multifarious dimensions of medical pluralism and
its role in the availability of health services. In the light of limited knowledge
and familiarity with the multifarious therapies, the real bases of choice are
the availability, accessibility and the quality of medical care provided by the
diverse systems. People are interested in an efficient curative system, and
very often it is found that indigenous practitioners administer strong allo-
pathic drugs for fast relief to the patients. Minocha is foremost in taking up
a systematic and extensive study of the modern medicine, its institutions
and its profession in India. She approaches even hardcore concerns of medi-
cal sociology, such as the study of the institutions and professions associated
with modern medicine, from women’s perspective. Minocha never fails to
express her views on the moral and ethical dilemmas of the medical world
and their sociological world and also their sociological relevance. Her writ-
ings on various issues and concerns ranging from social fallout of trauma,
organ transplantation and euthanasia to the consumer protection, informed
consent are very much part of the field of medicine.

II.  Health and Health Care

Sociology of health and health care is emerging as a more substantial area

of research in sociology today. Such trends often have multiple causes. One
influence may be the increasing awareness of nutritional problems both
worldwide: on the one hand, it is a problem of under nutrition and on the
other it is obesity which is rarely off in our television screens and within
the developed and developing and underdeveloped societies. In the highly
developed societies, the incidence of eating disorders including anorexia
nervosa, bulimia and obesity is attracting more and more attention.
A second influence may be the professionalisation of health and health-
care specialists, and the increasing concern with preventive medicine, which
has involved sociologists teaching health-related courses to students train-
ing in these fields in the past. This particular rise is probably bolstered by
social respectability afforded by a shift in analytic and empirical attention
from the sociologies of industrialised production to those of industrialised

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 xxvi Madhu Nagla

consumption. In turn, this has reflected a great openness to other neigh-

bouring disciplines, notably psychology and anthropology. This section
deals two types of studies which reflect above two influences. First: Food
and Health (Sujatha 2002) and second: Health Care (Balkrishnan 1996,
Ray 2007).

II (a)  Food and Health

A vaguely functionalist orientation also unconsciously underlies much

collaboration between sociologists and nutritionists, a common form of
research in recent decades, in which current nutritional science is used to
evaluate the results of questionnaire or interview surveys of why people
eat particular things, the resulting explanations often have a somewhat ad
hock character. For instance, Yudkin and Mckenzie (1964: 15–19) con-
tend that on the whole there is a direct relationship between palatability
and good nutritional value; for example, protein-rich animal foods are in
general tastier than starch-rich vegetables foods. But they admit that the
activities of modern food manufacturers now permitted a very significant
degree of dissociation between palatability and nutritional values. Besides,
the correlation is plausible only if the standards of palatability which prevail
in the familiar world of Europe, North America and similar countries are
taken as yardstick. In fact, there are not only different ideas of palatability
in other cultures but European-type standards are equally culturally condi-
tioned and by no means unchanging.
The great virtue of the structuralist approach is that it clearly recognises
that ‘taste’ is culturally shaped and socially controlled. It, thus, avoids the
adhockery, biological reductionism and implicit ethnocentrism found in
some of the work. Its weakness, arguably, is that in avoiding any suspicion
of ethnocentrism. It moves so far to the role of extreme cultural relativ-
ism that it overlooks any possibility of explaining differing food habits—
particularly their origins—in terms of purpose, function or utility.
Structuralism has made itself felt in the sociology of food and eating
via the influence of anthropologists like Claude Lévi-Strauss and Mary
Douglas, and the semiologist Roland Barthes. In contrast to the some utili-
tarian slant of the social nutritionists and the functionalist, the structuralists
have always focused more on the aesthetic aspects of food and eating: in
Fischler’s phrase, ‘while the functionalists look at food, the structural-
ists examined cuisine’ (1990: 17). Douglas defines the aesthetic as dis-
tinct from the nutritional aspects of food as ‘that part which is subject to

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 Introductionxxvii

pattern-making rules, like the rules of poetry, music or dance’, adding that
‘the explanation of any one such rule will only be found in its contribution
to the pattern it helps to create’ (1974: 84). Structuralism since Lévi-Strauss
has concerned itself more with variability and much less with universality,
‘no doubt retreating from the notion of “human nature” which was suspect
in its eyes’, and it was ‘thus that cultural relativism gained its ascendancy in
the study of human eating’ (Fischler 1990: 17). Lévi-Strauss’s structuralism
has had less direct influence on the sociology of food and eating than that
of Mary Douglas.
All over the world food consumption is currently a public health issue.
How much, and exactly what people eat, have become matters of concern
to all governments. In richer countries there is concern that too many
people are eating too much of the wrong things (health-wise). In poorer
countries the concern is whether people are eating enough, regularly, and
whether their diets are optimal (health-wise) given the foodstuffs that are
available and affordable locally. De-traditionalisation (see Giddens 1991)
may be contributing to nutritional problems in richer countries. Old beliefs
and the related practices are being lost and replaced, for practical purposes,
not by science, but by eating as much as you like of whatever you like
and whenever you like. In the less-developed world traditional beliefs about
food remain strong and influential, but despite these differences there may
well be lessons of wider relevance that can be gleaned from a country such
as India. These lessons concern the difficulties of using a combination of
science, education and information campaigns to change people’s everyday
behaviour. Everywhere, up to now, whether the aim has been to persuade
people to eat or drink less, or differently, or to take more exercise, the cam-
paigns have had limited success.
In her article, ‘Food: The Immanent Cause from Outside Medical
Lore on Food and Health in Village Tamil Nadu’, Sujatha (2002) analyses
the ideas and practices about food in village Tamil Nadu and discusses the
village-folk’s knowledge of health. The article is divided into three parts: the
first part outlines the content of the villagers’ diet. For example, people in
the studied village generally take rice. Among other items in the diet, maize,
ragi, millet are taken with a vegetable or spicy gravy. Milk and milk prod-
ucts are conspicuous by their absence. The second part examines their ideas
relating to food and its significance, and the norms governing food and
eating. The people accord great importance to food; however, they do not
seem to perceive its importance in terms of its basic need for existence. The
conceptions of food are corporal and they seem to conceive the significance
of food in terms of its vital functions for the body. Their conceptions are

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 xxviii Madhu Nagla

also wide in scope, encompassing the idea of intake of food. The third part
highlights the features of medical lore as a knowledge system. The medical
lore of the people consists of both inherited knowledge and incorporated
knowledge. The entire process of reckoning with the available resources and
making them compatible with needs yields a lot of knowledge and expe-
rience. There is constant interaction between the two components of the
lore, namely what is inherited and what is incorporated, each reinforcing
and modifying the other. The most crucial source of the villager’s incorpo-
rated knowledge is practice. The lore or which means health tradition is
an ongoing process in which the confluence of inherited and incorporated
knowledge is affected through the crystallisation of experience. Continued
living in a habitat for several generations, and the conscious experience of
the body, disease and the remedies have built up a knowledge tradition. By
incorporating the food elements outside the body system, by inducing vari-
ety in food intake, by adapting to the ecological conditions, the body–food
dialectic yields a health tradition, whose continuity is ensured by its orienta-
tion to informed practice.

II (b)  Health Care

There are many evaluative studies on the efficacy of the public health sys-
tems in improving the health outcomes of different settings and the rela-
tive performance of various states in India. Relative efficiencies differ across
states and this is due to differences not only in the health sector endowment,
but also in its efficient use. It shows that states should not only increase their
investment in health sector, but also manage it efficiently to achieve better
health outcomes.
It is time to recognise that the utter neglect of primary care and pri-
mary health care institutions has influenced the utilisation of health services
and contributed to the worsening epidemiological profile in the country in
recent years. In the present form, the proposed mission adds to the confu-
sion about the approach to health care in the country. Cost-effective inter-
ventions such as the rational distribution of financial and medical resources,
including drugs, effective manpower distribution and primary health-care
approaches, should be a part of the vision. These are often brushed aside
for ushering in the privatisation logic (Nayar 2004). In this section, we are
discussing two studies on rural health care only since there is not a single
study on urban health care reported in Sociological Bulletin.
In his article, ‘State Sponsored Health Care in Rural Uttar Pradesh:
Grassroots Encounters of a Survey Researcher’, Balkrishnan (1996) presents

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his field work experiences in the primary health centres and sub-centres of
Uttar Pradesh. Auxiliary nurse midwives (ANM) are the backbone of the
sub-centres. During the intensive interaction with the ANMs attached to
the sub-centres, it is found that because of the targeted approach of family
planning method, the entry of the acceptors in the records are often cooked
up. The problems afflicting the public health services are by no means con-
fined solely to infrastructural bottlenecks or derelict personnel. Medical
officers are involved in the graft and malfeasances that plagues the public
health service. The ANMs are often victim of this for offering bribe from
recruitment to the transfers. It is not just that defaulters get away scot-free
by giving bribes, but the system also harasses the dedicated and innocent
as well. The public health system is also plagued by factionalism among its
staff. The public health system not only requires the efficiency and compe-
tence but equally important is the accountability to the people. Thus, the
public health care system is a failure in reaching out to the masses.
In his article, ‘Gram Panchayat and Health Care Delivery in Himachal
Pradesh’, Ray (2007) examines the role of gram panchayat in the delivery of
health-care services in Himachal Pradesh. The gram panchayats are not per-
forming well in the health delivery mechanism. They failed to translate the
information advantage into an efficiency advantage. The passing of laws, for-
mulation of policies and issuance of notifications have not served the purpose.
There is a gap between the decentralised approach to health service delivery at
theoretical level and action level. Lack of effective devolution of powers and
resources on the panchayat; inadequate capacity building of gram panchayat
members and poor involvement of active civil society groups are the main
factors for the poor performance. However, the study calls attention to the
political economy of decentralisation and the need for a high degree of politi-
cal commitment or interest-group support for the success of any initiatives.
Functional effectiveness of panchayats is quite low, particularly in the crucial
area of primary health care. Therefore, new measures have to be taken up
to redress the situation. The paradox of successful decentralisation involves,
among other things, top-down initiatives for bottom-up implementation.
We may view here that health-care delivery system broadly depends upon
functioning of health institutions and role of doctors as professionals.

III.  Doctors as Professionals

Health-care providers are the main actor in the therapeutic process of

health-care delivery and solely responsible for the protection of the health
of people in order to fulfil their rights and obligations as normal members

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of society who are a part and parcel of the larger social structure. These men
are educated and trained as professionals by the society to take care of the
sick and cure illness. As common man of society he bears, and influenced
several social factors which directly or indirectly affect his behaviour. In
short, socio-economic, political and religious behaviour of the people affects
the making of ethical professional. Hence, any professional might have not
freed himself completely from certain pre-professional attitudes and values
which he acquired during the period of primary socialisation before enter-
ing the professional training. The sociologist in medicine often has to take
the role of an applied scientist to solve certain problems of the medical sci-
entists, like to help in finding out the social causes for an endemic spread of
a disease in a locality or to find out why people of a community resist taking
immunisations. His help may also be sought to explain why patients refuse
certain treatment procedures in the hospital or run away from the hospital
during the course of treatment.
The article, ‘Occupational Attitudes of Physicians’ written by
Ramanamma and Bambawale (1978) reveals that doctors are most respected
persons in the society and that is why rewards are generally much more
than in any other profession. They receive a great deal of importance and
wielding a great deal of influence. Doctors also get psychological satisfac-
tion while curing the sick, which could be much more than perceived in
other jobs. Ramanamma and Bambawale draw some clear conclusions from
their exploratory study:

1. The general practitioners (GPs) combine physical cure along with the
psychological and emotional care of their patients.
2. Paid physicians (PPs) even though have less monetary gains are
compensated by curing patients who have abnormal complications.
3. Usually the consultants (CPs) get patients with a case history from GPs
or govern hospitals, so they start treatment sometime in the middle of
a sickness.

The article depicts that occupational hazards seem to make or mar the
career of a professional and yet none of the three categories of doctors have
felt the need to stress on this part of their life. The maximum degree of
interaction between the physician and patient is between the GP and his
patient and on a lesser degree between the CP, PP and their patients.
In her article, ‘The System of Hope: The Constitution of Identity in
Medical Institutions’, Chatterji (1993) discusses about three documented
monographs which deal with the medical institutions in Netherlands. The
author basically addresses two questions that why should doctors actively

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involved in medical practice choose to write sociological accounts of institu-

tions in which they work. And the second is why the report on the cancer
research institute was withdrawn. The work in these monographs is not
merely ethnographic but critically evaluated the increasing professionalisa-
tion of care in Dutch society which leads to the diminution of personal
responsibility and initiative in the management of problems. In the nursing
home situation the relations are characterised by conflict or equilibrium
and by an experience of disjunction between the past and present. The three
major areas in which this disjunction is perceived is in terms of the body
(health versus sickness), mental status (autonomy versus dependence) and
social state (home versus institution). It suggests that institutions should
structure their work routine so as to be able to handle this disjunction thera-
peutically. In the report on cancer hospital, it is believed that the ‘system
of hope’ may be the only mode of care available in the medical context.
It looks that their critique of medical institution as being part of a larger
critique of the professionalisation of care in society in which experiences
of suffering and death have been removed from the familial domain and
placed within the regime of experts. The reports like to see more openness
in medical institutions and a more personalised approach to medicine in
which the patient is central not merely in terms of his or her disease but in
terms of his/her whole life experiences. Medical personnel are not as mere
technicians for the treatment of the body but also as spiritual advisors and
sympathetic witness to the patient’s suffering. Chatterji laments that the all
three reports are exclusively on verbal communication for their research.
If they had been more sensitive to non-verbal communication they would
have realised that it is characterised by a tentativeness that cannot be struc-
tured in the manner in which the work routine can be bureaucratically
structured. The ideal that stands behind the critiques of these reports must
be understood in terms of moral value that the medical institutions has
in this society. Individual personality could not only be articulated in the
cracks of bureaucratic organisations.

IV.  Physician–Patient Relationship

Physician–patient relationship is an important theme of sociological inter-

est. In every social system, the interaction and interrelationship between its
members in accordance with the goals and the institutional sanctions is the
basis for the functioning of the system. The hospital is considered as a social
system and the physicians and patients are the sole occupants who mutually
interact to form relationships directed by their specific goals and the general

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goals of the system. The entire organisation and instrumentality within this
system has its concern with the social aspects of human behaviour. In fact,
the forms, patterns and directions of the relationship with their bearing
on the goals and the norms of this collectivity have to be ascertained in
relation to the functioning of the system with reference to the physicians,
patients and their satisfaction in a given situation, existing in a hospital at
a particular time.
Physician–patient relationship is of utmost significance in medical
science. In this context the first and foremost requirement is that the doctor
need to develop a good rapport with the patients, which would enable him
to know about him. There are large number of questions in the mind of the
patient, which are creating problems and bad health. Physician can improve
many of patients doubt through communication. It is of great significance
for the physician to take the patient in confidence. Physician and patients
are intimately connected as the existence of one without the other is not
possible.
The harmonious relationship depends on the sincerity, earnestness and
co-operation between the physician and the patient. The achievement of
good relations between the physician and the patient is a matter that does
not depend by any means solely on the conduct of physicians. It equally
depends on the attitude of patients and thus their relations. People must
behave well towards physicians. If loose and unsubstantiated allegations
are made about their incompetence, dishonesty, laziness and indifference
to the public interests, it is unlikely that physicians will develop or dis-
play qualities of integrity, industry and public spirit. Both the physicians
and the public must exhibit harmonious relationship between them. This
would promote good rapport between the two, which would prove good
relationship. Physician–patient relationship means the development of cor-
dial, equitable and therefore, mutually profitable relations between the two
which depends upon doctor–patient interaction.
Medical care achieves its silence through the process of diagnosis, treat-
ment and follow-up. These are usually accomplished by the active group
effort of doctors, patients and other paramedical staff through health insti-
tutions. The role played by doctors and patients become pivotal in the pro-
cess of medical care. In his article, ‘Voice of Illness and Voice of Medicine
in Doctor-Patient Interaction’, Mathew (2010) examines the interaction
between doctors and patients in the process of fever care rendered by the
allopathic hospitals of Kerala. The article is based on Mathew’s PhD thesis
on the various facets of the problem of fever in Kerala of which ethnog-
raphy of bio-medical clinics was one component. Mathew uses narrative

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 Introductionxxxiii

analysis for presenting the meanings given by doctors and patient to the
common illness by taking three cases. There can be different voices that
are in constant interaction in doctor–patient interaction like voices of ill-
ness and voices of medicine. Voices of illness are again divided into life-
world voice of illness and musicalised voice of illness. Voice of medicine is
divided into voice of science and voice of experiences. Most of these voices
get articulated in a clinical interaction. Ultimately the dynamics of these
various voices depend on the context of interaction and the actors involved.
Mathew argues that clinical interaction is not merely a two-way communi-
cation desired for exchange of information; rather it is an outcome of the
socialisation of doctors and patients about an illness within their respec-
tive contexts. However, it is not possible to draw a general pattern from
these interactions, but the meaning of illness/disease or in turn outcome
of medical care will be determined depending on the institutions prevalent
in which clinical interactions occur and the actors involved. In the ensuing
section, we would like to present the narratives of patients which reflect
their sickness and sufferings.

V.  Patients Narratives on Health

The patient is helpless and needs help in terms of technical competence and
emotional involvement. Parsons (1951) suggests that the patient’s expecta-
tions apply to a greater or lesser degree, depending on the severity of his ill-
ness: that he avoids obligations with many exacerbate his condition; that he
accepts the idea that he needs help; that he desires to get ‘well’ and that he
seeks technically competitive help in getting well. An adequate sociological
definition of illness must go beyond the capacity in normal relationship and
include all the four components listed by Parsons as necessary for a system
of action—the organism, personality, social system and culture. Further,
Parson’s inclusion of the expectation to seek professional care as a compo-
nent of the sick role is merely an indication of a possible social response to
the deviant nature of illness. The legitimisation of the patient status-role is
itself a tension-management device for the patient. Considering the needs
of the patient Loomis points out that although the relationship between
physician and patient tends to be functionally specific the medical peo-
ple usually must take into account factors about the patient besides his
sickness—need to return to work, the kind of care he is likely to receive
after discharge and so on. The goal of the sick person is recovery—a goal
to be obtained not only by the patient but by all the relevant collectivities.

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Implicit is his relation to the patient is the physician’s goal of facilitating the
latter’s recovery to the best of his ability. Great physicians in every age have
recognised that patient must be seen as a whole, that is, in terms of his inter-
personal relations and his social environment. Although the conception of
the patient as a person is long established and generally acknowledged in
medical circles, it is also said to be conception more honoured in the breach
than observance. Many physicians continue to regard the patient as a case
of sickness rather than a person’s collaborative health care as a process which
is integrated with the people and society.
In his article, ‘Narratives of Sickness and Suffering: A Study of Malaria
in South Gujarat’, Prasad (2005) tries to understand why Malaria has
remained alarming in India even to this day. He has used the conceptual
framework of sickness to study malaria. Sickness identification and pro-
longation of sickness are major concerns for policy-makers. However, the
whole discourse of preventive and curative models fixes the blame on indi-
viduals and prescribes several health-education and behaviour-change pro-
grammes as remedies, instead of understanding and addressing the social
conditions of disease production. Pursuing this line of argument, Prasad
explores human suffering from Malaria and its various intervention strate-
gies. The narratives of people are taken and analysed in terms of semantics
in the local context. The article concludes that despite significant scientific
and technological advancements and interventions by both state and non-
state agencies, malaria is still alarming. It argues that the conceptualisation
of sickness and suffering, or for that matter of health, varies greatly between
groups of sufferers and groups of healthcare providers, including the policy-
makers. Moreover, in addition to the inaccessible health services, unequal
resource availability, lack of education and so on the very process of identifi-
cation of sickness—in this case malaria—also contributes to the worsening
of disease situation leading to high morbidity and mortality in rural India
as substantiated from this study of Surat District of Gujarat.

VI.  Reproductive Health Care

The role of socio-economic and demographic factors in influencing demand

for and utilisation of several reproductive health services in India is clearly
brought about by earlier studies. Most of the studies reveal that besides
education of the woman, other socio-economic factors affecting the pro-
cess of reproductive health care, particularly the factors such as living stan-
dard of the household (Ghosh et al. 2007) and quality of care (IIPS:2000).

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Additionally, accessibility to services has also been found as an important

factor determining the utilisation of health services (Ghosh et al. 2007). The
frequency of contact with health provider is more among the women hav-
ing problems (Matthew et al. 2001). However, past studies lack consensus
over the association of Antenatal Care (ANC) with maternal health. Ram
and Singh (2006) have found ANC as a strong predictor of safe delivery in
the rural areas. Women bear their health problems in a ‘culture of silence’
and do not seek timely health care. They often cannot travel beyond the area
of their normal activities to obtain services. They usually cannot approach
male health providers. In general, families, including the women them-
selves, spend less time, effort, and money seeking health care for women
and girls than for men. In this section, we would like to discuss four stud-
ies of Raj and Raj (2004), Patel (2007), Kothari (2012) and Joshi (2008).
These studies highlight four major issues of reproductive health care.
In India, caste plays a major role in the life of the people, influencing
their socio-economic activities, and in turn regulating their health status. In
their article, ‘Caste Variations in Reproductive Health Status of Women: A
Study of Three Eastern States’. Raj and Raj (2004) analyse the reproductive
health status of women across various caste groups in three eastern states of
India: Bihar, Orissa and West Bengal. The data are compiled from National
Family Health Survey (NFHS)-I (1992–93). Women and child health
received a major impetus after the International Conference on Population
and Development (IPCD) in Cairo in 1994. In the IPCD, reproductive
health was defined as the state of complete physical, mental, and social well-
being, and not merely the absence of disease infirmity, in all matters relating
to reproductive system and to its functions and processes. In the continu-
ation of this, the Government of India has introduced the Reproductive
and Child Health (RCH) Approach. This approach includes the abil-
ity (of couples) to reproduce and regulate their fertility. Women can go
through pregnancy and childbirth safely, the outcome of pregnancy is suc-
cessful as for maternal and infant survival and well-being, and couples can
have sexual relations free of fear of pregnancy and of contracting diseases.
Indian women, by and large, have a poor reproductive health status. The
study concludes that, despite government programmes and intervention,
the reproductive health status of women in India presents a sorry scenario,
mainly because of the socio-economic forces that influence reproductive
health. Caste is one social institution whose impact on the life of her people
cannot be exaggerated. Raj and Raj developed a framework to understand
caste influences on the lives of people. This framework represent that caste
influences socio-economic variables that includes educational status, work

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status and standard of living. These variables, in turn, have an impact on

knowledge and utilisation of contraception and reproductive health care
services, ultimately affecting the reproductive health of women.
The late 20th-century advances in New Reproductive Technologies
(NRTs) have generated a great deal of interest in social anthropology. In this
context, the article by Patel (2007) on ‘Informal Social Networks, Sonography
and Female Foeticide in India’ explores the manner and processes of the rela-
tionship between NRTs, particularly the ultrasound technology, and the
culture of reproduction mediated by informal social networks. Multilayered
relationship between community members and their relationships in organis-
ing social and biological reproduction is looked into the study. Gender and
family size issues bring about a convergence of culturally imbued interest
and socio-economic purpose among different categories of people in the soci-
ety with respect to provision, acceptance and accessing of sex-determination
technology, and aborting undesired foetuses. The social ties among medical
practitioners and the state officials are such that law enforcement officials and
medical practitioners are friends if not relatives. The combination of legal
abortions (also possible in government hospitals at government cost) with the
illegal foetal sex test (done privately) is managed in ways other than mediated
through local health functionaries, that is, through relatives or friends. It has
brought about a unity of purpose between the Family Welfare Programme
and the people’s aim. The family obtains the desirable sex composition of
children, government health staff posted locally fulfils their targets, and pri-
vate medical practitioners make money, while the female foetus disappears.
The article by Bela Kothari (2012), ‘Perception and Work Ethos of
Medical Experts Dealing with Infertile Couples: A Study in Medical
Sociology’ examines the influence of social perceptions of medical spe-
cialists in the management of infertility and the extent to which they find
infertility to be a social rather than a purely medical problem. Infertility is
a unique social problem and regarded as more of a life style disease. It is a
unique medical problem in which the ‘patient’ is a unit of two dissimilar
individuals—the husband and wife. Kothari concludes that infertility prob-
lem can be managed by the couple itself. She emphasises on education in
reproductive health, gender-neutral doctor–patient relationship, checking
unfair competition and malpractices in the medical practice at different
levels and advocacy for adoption.
Infertility remains a major gynaecological problem, particularly in the
Indian context. In this context, in her article ‘Correcting the Reproductive
Impairment: Infertility Treatment Seeking Experiences of Low Income Group
Women in Mumbai Slums’, Joshi (2008) tries to look into the infertility

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in the context of reproductive health services. The study assess the experi-
ences of women who are unable to bear children in their personal, social
and cultural contexts and to suggest interventions which will in turn help
in reducing the physical, psychological and social burden associated with
childlessness. Joshi concludes that women’s health is usually the last pri-
ority; however, in case of resolving the problem of infertility; women are
rushed to the hospital for treatment. In this study, women accessed different
forms of treatment at different points in time depending on the accessibility
to that resource. Within a hospital, it is observed that there is no simple,
smooth procedure of diagnosis and treatment that follows the woman’s visit
to the doctor. Several factors aid or decelerate or put a break to or change
the course of treatment for women. The complex interaction of personal
and family perceptions, community consequences, doctor–woman inter-
action, women’s interaction with other medical staff, women’s access to
information, nature of treatment and financial resources available to the
woman, which play a role in determining the treatment-seeking process and
experiences for women. Recognition of problem also depends upon several
psycho-socio-cultural factors besides the biological evidence of a medical
condition and which in turn determine the decision to seek treatment.

VII. HIV/AIDS

The broad-brush examination of the past, present and future of research

opportunities germane to the interests of medical sociologists would be
incomplete without at least a mention of the sociological ramifications of
the Acquired Immunodeficiency Syndrome (AIDS) epidemic. No other
single health problem in this century is likely to have comparable conse-
quences for our social structure, for interpersonal relations, and for health
resource allocation. Every aspect of the AIDS phenomenon has sociologi-
cal import, from its aetiology (Kaplan et al. 1987) to provider’s behaviour
and patient care (Lewis and Freeman 1987)—indeed to the possible resort
to authoritarian means to identify and contain AIDS cases, the advent of
massive discrimination against homosexuals and persons with ‘pre-AIDS’
symptoms and tests results, and restricted access to care and third-party
insurance of high-risk groups. In this context, this section deals with the
three articles by Jena and Prasad (2009), and Singh (2008) related to the
problems of HIV/AIDS.
In their article ‘Risk Culture, Propertied Classes, and Dynamics of a
Region: A Study of HIV/AIDS in East Godavari District (Andhra Pradesh)’,

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Jena and Prasad (2009) attempt to understand the politics of defining the
boundary between risk and non-risk groups in the discourse on HIV/AIDS.
Sketching the intricacies in demarcating these groups, through historical
accounts of the propertied classes have played an active role in perpetuat-
ing the ‘risk culture’ and institutionalising an ‘entertainment culture’. It
traces the links among agrarian surplus, entrepreneurship, popular culture
industry, religious tradition, caste alliances and political system that have
contributed to the shifting identities of the sex workers and risk culture. A
popular mode of understanding risk zones within HIV/AIDS discourse is
to categorise them in terms of social actors such as sex workers, truck driv-
ers or migrants and poor. This discourse presumes that the identity of the
woman as a sex worker is fixed, coherent, and essential rather than as man-
aged and constructed. The article explores the different categories of social
capital which show the connection between the risk and non-risk zones
with reference to HIV/AIDS.
The article titled ‘Prison Inmate Awareness of HIV and AIDS in
Durban, South Africa’ written by Singh (2008) is based on group discussion
with male inmates at the Westville Prison in Durban. It aims to record the
voices and ascertain the knowledge that prison inmates have of the Human
Immunodeficiency Virus (HIV) and to identify the predictors of HIV and
AIDS-related risk behaviour during incarceration. The relationship between
sexual behaviour, disease transmission, sexual violence and correctional
operations issues are explored. Although in theory prisoners have access
to medical care, but in reality there is clear shortage of medical staff, and
the problem is compounded by the overcrowding in the prison. Prisons are
also a breeding ground for opportunistic diseases, which lead to shorten the
progression from initial HIV infection to full-blown AIDS. Thus, condi-
tions in prison are such that HIV easily takes advantage of its victim. The
evidence in this article compliments the existing body of literature about
the desperate conditions in South African prison. But, Singh highlights the
need for more research to be done on health-care policies within the pris-
ons, the dynamics and manifestations of overcrowding and for researchers’
easier access into prisons.

VIII. Mental Health

Today mental disorders stand among the leading cause of disease and dis-
ability in the world. One in four people in the world are affected by mental
or neurological disorder at some point in their lives. World Health Report

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 Introductionxxxix

(2001) which was dedicated to the theme of mental health shows that these
disorders are estimated for about 12 per cent of global burden of disease
and also represent four of the ten leading causes of disability worldwide. It
is estimated that 6.7 per cent of population suffers from mental disorders,
together these disorders account for 12 per cent of global burden of disease
and an analysis of trends indicates that this will increase 15 per cent by
2020. One in four families is likely to have at least one member with a
behavioural or mental disorder.
Demographic projections suggests that mental illness along with heart
diseases, AIDS and cancer will account for the top four illnesses around the
globe very soon (Davar 1995). The National Institute of Mental Health
and Neuro Sciences (NIMHANS) in Bangalore estimated that two crore
Indian need help for serious mental disorder, while a further five crore suf-
fer from mental illness not considered very serious. These figures do not
include neurological age–related progressive disorders such as Alzheimer’s
and Parkinson’s. It also estimated that at least 35 lakh Indians need hos-
pitalisation on account of mental illnesses. But the country has only
40 institutions that are equipped to treat patients suffering from mental dis-
orders. Moreover, many of them are medieval-era, asylum-style institutions
with high boundary walls, artificial barriers and patients kept in solitary
confinement (India Today 2011). India needs at least 12,000 psychiatrists,
and in actual position, there are only 3,500 registered psychiatrists in the
country, which means approximately one psychiatrist per 300,000 people.
In this context, we would like to discuss here five major writings which have
been published in Sociological Bulletin. These are: Chakravatry (2011) and
Addalkha (2010).
The aetiology of mental disorder has been significant in determin-
ing the corresponding paradigms of treatment. The historical shift from
madness to mental illness involved paradigmatic changes along with the
emergence of distinct conceptual categories have been highlighted by Tina
Chakravatry (2011) in her article ‘Medicalization of Mental disorder:
Shifting Epistemologies and Beyond’. She examines the historical conditions
that facilitated these shifts but also ontological and epistemological. It shows
that these shifts are not of a lineal order, rather they involve a precarious co-
existence of differing ontologies and epistemologies, and these shifts, while
distinct, are not or rather have not been complete or absolute. The interface
between differing ontologies and epistemologies, on the one hand, and the
corresponding treatment practices, on the other, has given rise to multiple
approaches to the treatment of mental disorder. This has important implica-
tions not just for the treatment and practices concerned with mental disorder,

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but also for sociology of knowledge as a sub-discipline. Within sociology of

knowledge perspective, what this article has attempted to do is to underline
that the relationship between the passage of time and growth of knowledge
is not random. Historicity is an important facet of any knowledge system.
In her article ‘Indigenization not Indianisation of Psychiatry: An
Anthropological Perspective’, Addalkha (2010) presents indigenisation of
psychiatry which is based on the content analysis of the Indian Journal of
Psychiatry over the past four decades. It has highlighted the multiple levels
of engagement between psychiatry, culture and the political economy in
the Indian context. The first part of the article is a short overview of the
development of psychiatry in India from the colonial period to the present.
The second part focuses on the interface between culture and psychiatric
practice at the micro level. This is not to say that there was no interface
between psychiatric practice and cultural imperatives during the colonial
era. Indeed, there is always an ineluctable interpenetration between cul-
ture and discourse. But the difference lies in the degree of interpenetration.
Maintenance of law and order and political control in the colonial period
dominated the practice of psychiatry. With the attainment of Independence,
the psychiatrists engaged more actively with the local context. Furthermore,
the development of newer generation of psychoactive drugs leading to com-
munity psychiatry and the international human rights movement not only
undermined the traditional segregation of the mentally ill but also com-
pelled practitioners to question the social, cultural, and economic under-
pinnings of their own practice. However, distinctive Indian tradition of
psychiatry with explanatory validity and therapeutic force to replace key
constructs of the Western discourse could not take place. In addition, the
forces of globalisation and the proliferation of the internet have resulted in
the circulation of knowledge systems making explicit enculturation even
more difficult. So, while indigenisation is an inevitable process, especially
in disciplines dealing with human behaviour like psychiatry, the possibility
of a unique culturally embedded Indian school of psychiatry may not be a
realisable goal.
We may infer here that until quite recently, few sociologists have given
much attention to health and illness as topics of serious intellectual interest
in the discipline of medical sociology. Perhaps the sheer biological neces-
sity for human beings to stay away from illness and even the care taken
for health in life of most human societies, were so obvious that they were
simply taken for granted—part of the background of ‘what everyone knows
already’. However, sociologists have traditionally studied mainly their
own societies, but later on they become interested in knowing the health,

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 Introductionxli

health-care distribution in other societies too. At any rate, anthropologists

have in the past shown more curiosity about these questions, though soci-
ologists have now begun to follow their lead.
Research by sociologists into health and illness has been predomi-
nantly empiricist, usually motivated by a concern with social welfare and
the unequal distribution of health-care facilities. This concern with health
and illness has more recently been transported on to the global level, and
given new impetus by saying that there should be right to universal access to
public health care. Amratya Sen contends that the state has a role in deliver-
ing basic health care and that recognition is lacking in India. Over-reliance
on the private sector in health-care has led to the situation in which quite
often poor people get marginalised and deprived of basic health care. India
has prematurely entered into the private health-care sector.

References
Ahluwalia, Anita. 1974. ‘Sociology of medicine: a trend report’, A Survey of Research in
Sociology and Social Anthropology, Vol. II. Bombay: Popular Prakashan.
Coe, Rodney M. 1970. Sociology of medicine (p. 3). New York: McGraw-Hill.
Davar, B. 1995. ‘Mental illness among Indian women’, Economic and political weekly,
30: 2879–86.
Fischler, Calude. 1990. L’Homnivore. Paris: Edition Odile Jacob.
Ghosh, S. et al. 2007. ‘Maternal health care seeking among tribal adolescent girls in
Jharkhand’, Economic and political weekly, 42(48): 48–55.
Giddens, Anthony. 1991. The consequences of modernity. Cambridge: Polity Press.
IIPS. 2000. Heath survey-2. Mumbai: International Institute of Population Sciences
and ORG. Macro.
Illich, I. 1977. Limits to medicine. Harmondsworth: Penguin Books.
India Today. 2011. India Today, 11 July 2011.
Kaplan, Mark H. et al. 1987. ‘Dermatologic findings and manifestations of acquired
immunodeficiency syndrome (AIDS)’, Journal of the American academy of derma-
tology, 1(3, Part I, march): 485–506.
Lewis, C. E. and H. E. Freeman. 1987. ‘The Sexual history of-taking and counseling
practices of primary care physicians’, Western journal of medicine, 147(2, August):
165–67.
Matthew et al. 2001. ‘Antenatal care, care seeking and morbidity in rural Karnataka,
India: results of prospective study’, Asia-Pacific population journal (June): 11–28.
Nagla, Madhu. 2013. ICSSR trend report on ‘sociology of health and medicine’ (in
Press).
Navarro, V. 1977. Medicine under capitalism. London: Croom Helms.
Nayar, K. R. 2004. ‘Rural health: absence or vision’, Economic and political weekly,
XXXIX(45, November 6).

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 xlii Madhu Nagla

Parsons, Talcott. 1951. The Social System. Glencoe, III: The Press.
Ram, F. and A. Singh. 2006. ‘Is antenatal care effective in improving maternal health
in rural Uttar Pradesh? evidence from a district level household survey’, Journal
of biosocial science, 38(4): 433–48.
Rosengren, William R. 1980. Sociology of medicine: diversity, conflict and change. New
York: Harper and Row.
Sharma, S. L. 1985. ‘Sociology of profession in India’, Survey of research in sociology
and social anthropology, 1969-1979. New Delhi: Satvahan Publications.
Sigerist, Henry. 1962. Civilization and disease. Chicago: University of Chicago press.
World Health Report. 2001. Mental health: new understanding, new hope. Geneva: WHO.
Yudkin, John and J. C. Mckenzie. 1964. Changing food habits. London: MacGibbon
and Kee.

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 1
Sociological Inroads into
Medicine: A Tribute to Aneeta
A. Minocha (1943–2007)
Ruby Bhardwaj

M
edical sociology stands enriched by the original and insightful
contributions of Aneeta A. Minocha (née Aneeta Ahluwalia)
who passed away on 5 October 2007. For over four decades
she contributed to the enhancement and enrichment of medical sociol-
ogy in India, and it would not be incorrect to say that her research,
reports, debates, discussions and critical inputs helped nurture and
fortify the discipline when it was still budding. In the early 1970s, she
prepared a trend report on ‘Sociology of Medicine in India’ in which
she identified several key areas of research, which were later taken up by
scholars as research themes. This helped stimulate and shape the emer-
gence of medical sociology in India.
Minocha (b. 9 September 1943) was associated with the Department
of Sociology, Delhi School of Economics, University of Delhi for over
four decades. She joined the Department as a Master’s student in 1963
and later pursued her doctoral research under the supervision of A.M.
Shah. As a PhD candidate, she brought laurels to the Department.
Charles Leslie, an eminent medical sociologist, who was one of the exam-
iners of her doctoral thesis, rated her work as first class. In an encourag-
ing gesture he offered the honorarium that he was to receive from the

Chapter 01.indd 1 10/7/2013 5:17:51 pm

 2 Ruby Bhardwaj

University of Delhi for evaluating her thesis as a reward for her com-
mendable work. He requested Shah to ‘give the money to Dr Minocha
as a little surprise reward for work well done, and return gift to her for
her gift of pleasure to me in reading her research’.1 Leslie recommended
her thesis for publication in the monograph series, ‘Comparative Studies
of Medical Systems and Health Care’, at the University of California
Press. She joined the Department, where she was a student, as a faculty
member in 1968 and also served as the Director of the Delhi School of
Economics for a short while before her illness. In addition to teaching
the masters’ course at the Department, she supervised the research of
twenty-one MPhil and eleven PhD candidates. As an eminent medical
sociologist, she was a member of a large number of advisory commit-
tees at the World Health Organisation, the Indian Council of Medical
Research, and the Indian Council of Social Science Research.
Minocha had a wide range of interests besides medical sociology.
She wrote on population studies, sociology of professions and sociology
of education. The endeavour in this paper, however, is to highlight her
contributions to medical sociology.
Minocha strived relentlessly to highlight the significance of soci-
ology in the understanding of health and disease. In her first paper,
published in 1967 in Economic and Political Weekly (Ahluwalia 1967),
she lamented the fact that sociology of medicine was a neglected field
of study and that not much thought was given to explore the links
between medicine and society. In this paper, she systematically estab-
lished that health and sickness are not isolated from the general social
life and that they are an aspect of the wider social system of which they
are a part: ‘the sphere of medicine has been subject to social processes
similar to those which characterise the society at large’ (ibid.: 1009).
She explained the heterogeneity in the medical field by subjecting it
to the same scheme of analysis that is used to analyse the larger society
and culture. The co-existence of the allopathic system introduced by the
British in India with other indigenous systems, she explained through
M.N. Srinivas’s concepts of ‘spread’ and ‘sanskritisation’ (ibid.: 1008).
Having established the case for a sociological approach to medicine
in India, she emphasised, along with Shah, the need for teaching sociol-
ogy to medical students who, on graduation, have to take up the social
role of a doctor. She argued that the doctor and the patient interact
not simply as a diseased entity and curative agent, but also as social

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 Sociological Inroads into Medicine 3

beings belonging to different cultural milieu. The understanding of the

patient as a social entity sensitises the doctor to a gamut of interven-
ing social variables that impinge on the former’s health or sickness.
The ‘doctor’s training in sociology would enable him not only to learn
about the impact of the cultural milieu on the behaviour of patients but
also have close look at himself in his own milieu’ (Shah and Ahluwalia
1970: 2). Sociology taught to doctors should include comparative
studies of social aspects of health, and disease and its cure in different
countries. Knowledge of the sociology of organisations, in particular of
hospitals, can also equip the doctors better. Department of social and
preventive medicine in medical colleges can play a significant role in
teaching this social science component. In this mutual give and take,
sociologists also benefit immensely in advancing the frontiers of their
discipline.
On account of her efforts in the form of seminars and workshops
and research papers highlighting the crucial role that sociology could
play in strengthening health and medicine, several medical scientists
evinced interest to interact with social scientists. In an endeavour to
establish institutional inroads into medical sciences, as early as 1970,
Minocha requested the Vice-Chancellor of Delhi University to make
arrangements for inter-faculty collaboration for the training of medical
personnel interested in sociology. The concern for the teaching of social
sciences was also expressed in an article, where she vehemently opposed
the tendency to underplay the study of humanities and social sciences
because they are not as lucrative in the job market as compared to sub-
jects like commerce and trade (Minocha 1995).
She advocated conceptual and terminological rigour in academic
research. The concepts of health, disease and medicine attained pre-
cision from her critical inputs and holistic perspective. She and her
husband, who is a doctor, jointly reviewed The World Development
Report 1993 (see Minocha and Minocha 1993). This Report received
a negative assessment from the Minochas mainly because it overlooked
the analytical distinction between medical interventions and health-
promoting non-medical interventions. Her arguments stemmed from
her keen observation of empirical facts. This is evident in her critique
of the government policies, plans and projects that failed to take
cognisance of ethnographic realities. She criticised the Health for All
Report, prepared jointly by ICSSR and ICMR (see Minocha 1987)

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 4 Ruby Bhardwaj

for its unrealistic and impractical proposals incompatible with the

Indian context.
Minocha pioneered and popularised the concept of medical plural-
ism in India. In her paper entitled ‘Medical Pluralism and Health Services
in India’, published in Social Science and Medicine (1980), she analysed
the multifarious dimensions of medical pluralism and its role in the avail-
ability of health services. Medical pluralism denotes (i) the co-existence
of multiple systems that may range from the folk, popular and traditional
professionalised systems such as Ayurveda, Siddha and Unani to those
borrowed from the west such as homeopathy and allopathy, and (ii) the
choices within a particular system. It follows, therefore, that the patient
has the option to select any of the available options, that is, seeking the
services of a Vaid, a Hakim, a homeopath or an allopath, and then further
option is made in terms of what kind of practitioner is to be consulted.
For example, if the decision is made to consult an allopath, there are
multiple settings within which the patient can meet the practitioner—in
the village clinic, or in a government-run hospital or dispensary or a pri-
vate clinic in the city. Within the state-funded health services there are
multiple bodies engaged in providing health services—Central and State
Health Services, Central Government Health Scheme, Railway Medical
Service, Army Medical Corps, Employees State Insurance Scheme, the
Rural Health Scheme and so on.
Pluralism characterises even the types of practitioners and other
personnel associated with Allopathy. Besides the hierarchy between
the specialists and generalists, the doctors may have different qualifica-
tions; they may hold an MBBS degree, or may just be Licentiates and
Registered Medical Practitioners without any qualification. In addition
to these, there are para-medical personnel, including nurses, dispensers,
pharmacists, physiotherapists and other technicians.
Besides the above mentioned formal and technical dimensions of
pluralism, Minocha drew attention to the adaptations made by the
individual practitioners to make their practice more appealing to their
clientele. For example, a traditional medicine practitioner incorporates
in his practice a stethoscope, ophthalmoscope or other instruments asso-
ciated with modern medicine to impress the patients of his adeptness
with modern technology. Similarly, a practitioner of modern medicine
subscribes to the dietary prescriptions based on hot-cold dichotomy
of the Ayurveda to appeal to the patient’s mindset attuned to such
proscriptions.

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 Sociological Inroads into Medicine 5

Looking through the lens of pluralism, Minocha detected funda-

mental anomalies in the assumptions regarding distribution of medical
facilities. As she wrote,

Much ink has been spilled repeating that 80 per cent of the population lives
in the rural areas and 20 per cent in the urban areas, and that the distribu-
tion of doctors is in the reverse order. Therefore, it is concluded, urban areas
and the ‘elite’ are far better served than the rural areas and ‘underprivileged’
people. However, these figures are about the distribution of doctors trained
in modern medicine, and not about medical men in general. If one were to
consider the figures on traditional and other practitioners of various sorts,
one would see that, after all, rural areas are not so badly provided for, at least
as far as the number of persons engaged in some sort of medical practice is
concerned (1980: 218).

Minocha explained the concentration of medical facilities in the cities

by drawing attention to the better infrastructural facilities in the cities
to run clinics and hospitals. She argued further that medical profession-
als are drawn to the cities not because of their disdain for villages, as is
generally assumed, but, like other entrepreneurs, they are also guided
by forces of market that operate in the cities. She urged that, for under-
standing medical pluralism, proper statistics about the distribution of
various medical resources and humanpower are essential. Moreover, it
is not enough to know how many practitioners are available, but also in
what capacities and institutions they are available.
Pluralism has extensive ramifications on the patients, confronted as
they are with a multiplicity of therapeutic choices. It is generally, and
simplistically, assumed that people prefer traditional systems of medi-
cine because they are in sync with their cognitive categories, and that
they are sceptical about modern medicine because it is alien to their
mindset. On the contrary, Minocha observed that, in light of limited
knowledge and familiarity with the multifarious therapies, the real bases
of choice are the availability, accessibility and the quality of medical care
provided by the diverse systems. People are interested in an efficient
curative system, and very often it was found that indigenous practitio-
ners administer strong allopathic drugs for fast relief to the patients.
People’s responses to multiple systems have far-reaching implica-
tions on the state policy. In this context, Minocha raised important
questions: (a) Is it possible to integrate various medical systems despite
their contradictory principles? (b) Does integration imply a combination

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 6 Ruby Bhardwaj

of all successful remedies from all systems? (c) Should the state provide
parallel medical services in each system? (d) What costs do these services
entail?
Besides providing fresh insights into the concept and understand-
ing of pluralism, Minocha was foremost in taking up a systematic and
extensive study of the modern medicine, its institutions and its pro-
fession in India. She approached the study of the modern hospital
through the gender-centric perspective. In an intensively researched
article, ‘Women in Modern Medicine and Indian Tradition’ (1996c),
she traced the history of modern medicine in India. Here, she busted the
popular misconception that accused the British of forcing on Indians
their colonial medical system and of providing medical care to their
own personnel while depriving the Indians of the same. She illustrated,
through historical data, the growing demand for these medical ser-
vices from Indians, especially for women. The accounts of missionaries
and administrators made it evident that Indian women had no access
to the services of trained doctors even when they needed them most.
This was because of the traditional restrictions on women seeing male
doctors. The British tried to redress this problem by making modern
medicine available to women through women doctors. In an attempt
to alleviate the suffering of sick women, Lady Dufferin, at the behest
of Queen Victoria, initiated a fund that was to be utilised to establish
hospitals and maternity homes for women, to train women as nurses
and midwives, and to provide scholarships to attain medical education.
As a consequence of consistent efforts of the British, Lady Hardinge
Medical College for Women was set up in Delhi in 1916. It was meant
exclusively for women medical students with an attached hospital and
nurses’ training school. In the design and running of this institution,
the British took care to address women’s need for seclusion. The college
hostel also had separate blocks, kitchens and dining area for Hindu,
Muslim, Christian, and Sikh women.
It was in one of the wards of this hospital that Minocha con-
ducted intensive fieldwork for her doctoral dissertation. Completed
in 1975, this study was the first of its kind to be conducted in India.
It was conducted at a time when most researchers in sociology were
focussing on three fundamental structures: caste, joint family and the
village community. As matter of conscious and far-sighted strategy by
her supervisor, she was encouraged to study the hospital setting. This
was in consonance with Srinivas’s objective to open new arenas of study

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 Sociological Inroads into Medicine 7

through the fieldwork method. Her doctoral research was published later
as a book—Perceptions and Interactions in Medical Setting: A Sociological
Study of  Women’s Hospital (1996b). The study ‘demonstrates essentially
the dovetailing of medicine into other aspects of social life’ (ibid.: vii).
It focused on the process of construction of medical reality by women in
all women medical spaces: as patients, professionals, semi-professionals,
administrators and lower-level workers. It is a study in interpretative
sociology that, as the title suggests, examined the societal forces and
their role in shaping the perceptions and interactions of the patients in
the hospital ward. It narrates how the social and cultural orientations
towards the caste system, that the patients are socialised into, help recre-
ate in the hospital, a microcosm of the society at large. This is not to say
that the hospital as a modern institution had no role to play in bringing
about change in the attitudes of the people. Patients also used their stay
in the hospital to try out new food items that were tabooed at home.
However, their attitudes towards interaction with others were couched
in caste prescriptions. Patients were seen to interact more freely and in
a friendly manner with their own caste mates. They even tried to guess
each other’s caste from their manner of dressing and other habits. Most
of them were disgruntled about the common uniform for the ayahs who
dealt with food and other items and for those performing defiling jobs,
and wanted a clear segregation between the two.
This multi-faceted research also revealed Minocha’s skills as a par-
ticipant observer in the hospital and her ‘varied roles in the field’ that
elicited the rich and extensive data (Minocha 1979). Since most of the
doctors and patients were not conversant with the role of a sociologist,
the patients took to her easily and identified her as a doctor; the doc-
tors regarded her as a social worker, while the nurses treated her more
as a friend whom they could allow to participate in their cliques and
get-togethers. The patients soon came to realise that she was a ‘different’
kind of a doctor who was concerned not just with their disease, but was
also there to enquire about their welfare. They, therefore, referred to her
as a ‘doctor who comes to talk to patients’. Her rapport with the patients
and identification with the doctors helped her to mediate between the
two. The informal roles helped her in grasping the extent and intensity
of information which would not have been otherwise possible.
Although better known as a medical sociologist, Minocha was par-
ticularly interested in women’s issues. Her views on the issues of sex-
ratio and sex-selective abortions were out of the ordinary. It is generally

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 8 Ruby Bhardwaj

assumed that a sex-ratio that disfavours women is generally associated

with female neglect and their low status, and conversely a sex-ratio that
favours women is indicative of their high status and lesser son preference.
But Minocha’s study of the quality of life of women in Uttaranchal2
falsifies this popular assumption. She found that, despite women out-
numbering men in eight out of the thirteen districts, the women’s lot in
Uttaranchal is onerous and burdensome. In her report, she advised that
the women’s’ lot would improve only if the number of men gainfully
employed in the local area in relation to women increases in districts
where they outnumber men. The sex-ratio is analysed holistically in the
light of larger developmental and employment facilities. Similarly, in the
case of sex-selective abortions, she not only concentrated on the adverse
effects of the skewed sex-ratio, but also drew attention to their implica-
tions for the women’s health which is depleted and endangered because
of recurrent pregnancies and abortions.
Minocha approached even hardcore concerns of medical sociol-
ogy, such as the study of the institutions and professions associated with
modern medicine, from women’s perspective. This is evident not only
in the choice of the women’s hospital for her doctoral research, but also
in the large number of papers she presented and published on women
medical professionals—both doctors and nurses. In a paper entitled
‘Triumphs and Travails of Indian Women Professionals: A Sociological
Perspective on the Glass Wall and Ceiling,’3 she identified the hurdles
women professionals face in entering professional careers pertaining to
science, medicine and technology, on account of the traditional atti-
tudes of the family that, for women, accord primacy to marriage and
raising of family. Furthermore, she notes that a few lucky women, who
did manage to enter the professions and persisted despite family pres-
sures, have generated a series of societal changes that have impacted the
division of labour and interpersonal roles within the family.
Minocha’s interest in medical sociology was grounded in realistic
and practical contemporary concerns. Writing on the medical profes-
sion in India, she argued that, in recent times, there is a growing hia-
tus between the societal expectation from doctors who are expected to
devote their life to selfless service to humanity, on the one hand, and
their own aspirations governed by monetary considerations, on the
other. This, together with the changing nature of the profession, greater
‘politicisation’ and bureaucratic intervention, has resulted in erosion of

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 Sociological Inroads into Medicine 9

the doctors’ esteem as well as power and authority enjoyed by them. The
case of medical professionals is that of an

elite group whose traditional basis for elite position, which lay in its tradition
of nobility in character and work, has gradually shifted to monetary rewards its
members can accrue. It is an elite group whose power to influence and give shape
to public policy has been eroded . . . (Minocha 1989: 84).

According to Minocha, the doctrine of ‘informed consent’ and

the Consumer Protection Act4 served to further wear away the doctor’s
position. She noted that the doctor-patient relationship in the western
countries is being altered from the traditional and paternalistic position,
where the patient was a passive and submissive recipient of the doctors’
orders, to a more egalitarian one, where the patient is informed, empow-
ered discerning and having the right to know about the doctor’s line of
treatment. In the latter position, the patient should be informed about
the diagnosis, the therapy in use and its effect on prognosis.
This doctrine of informed consent is gaining popularity in India,
but Minocha is not too convinced about its appropriateness without
qualifications in the Indian context. On the basis of ethnographic evi-
dence, she argued that the patient and his well-wishers are not inter-
ested in the technical details of the treatment process for which they
repose full faith in the doctor’s acumen. Indians, by and large, adhere to
the classical fiduciary doctor-patient relationship where faith and trust
in the doctor is the hallmark of the relationship. The average Indian
patient is involved in the psychological and social dimension of illness,
leaving the doctor to deal with the medical concerns. Furthermore, her
observations revealed that many patients are unable to comprehend or
handle the information, and having learnt about bad prognosis, they
give up the treatment altogether. It is on account of this that the doc-
tor’s job becomes even more challenging; she has to decide how much
information to give and to which patient, so that the exercise does not
prove counterproductive. The doctrine of informed consent, therefore,
has to be analysed in the cultural context. In a similar vein, in the con-
text of the Consumer Protection Act, Minocha (1998) disapproves
of the doctor-patient relationship being reduced to that of trader and
consumer, for the two belong to diverse discourses and the equation
between them will prove detrimental and counterproductive in the
therapeutic process.

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 10 Ruby Bhardwaj

Minocha never failed to express her views on the moral and ethical
dilemmas of the medical world and their sociological relevance. Her
writings on various issues and concerns ranging from social fallout of
trauma, organ transplantation and euthanasia to the consumer protec-
tion bill, reveal her anxiety and, hence, her participation in the contem-
porary debates in the field of medicine. Her perspective is shaped by her
keen observation of empirical facts and her deep sensitivity to the Indian
reality. In a cogently argued paper,4 she debated on euthanasia, one of
the most contentious medico-social issues in recent times. With increas-
ing emphasis on the doctrine of informed consent, the individual’s right
to die is being upheld as a human right. Besides the greater interven-
tion of medicine and technology in health and illness, attitudinal and
ideological outcomes of modernism that uphold individualism together
with the inability of the family to support vegetative members are all
forces that are conducive to the trend. However, Minocha argued that
a terminally ill person is not in a state to take an appropriate decision
with respect to life and death. More importantly, the individual is also a
member of a family, a community and the society at large, and therefore
the decision to end one’s life cannot be absolutely personal. Euthanasia
has to be contextualised with reference to religion, and the moral and
cultural traditions. It is an emotive issue with controversial and irrecon-
cilable ideological stances.
Recently, the police and the media have unearthed numerous rackets
of illicit organ trade involving doctors. In a book co-authored with Shikha
Batra, Minocha examined in depth the sociological and ethical concerns
pertaining to organ transplantation (see Batra and Minocha 2002). The
ideological notions prevalent in different countries with respect to organ
donation have been illustrated here. The most significant is the attempt
to highlight the controversy between gift and market paradigms, that
is, the dilemma between altruism and commercial incentives in organ
exchange. Should organs be treated as commodities or should they be
governed with more humanitarian obligations? What are the implica-
tions of cultural controversy between altruism and market forces on
social policy and transplant legislation? What are the preconditions for
launching cadaver transplantation? These are some of the core issues to
which the reader is sensitised. In this book, Batra and Minocha have suc-
ceeded in establishing that organ transplantation is a cultural, ethical and
medico-legal issue that has serious socio-cultural ramifications.

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 Sociological Inroads into Medicine 11

Minocha’s contributions to the field of medical sociology have

benefited the discipline of sociology in many ways. Not only have her
writings enriched the discipline, but have also kindled the interest of
other researchers—both medical and social scientists—to it. Her ability
to approach the issues in a holistic manner has helped to sensitise the
academia to issues and concerns that have long been overlooked, and
to shatter some conventional misconceptions. For example, contrary to
the popular view that visitors to the hospital are an unnecessary nui-
sance, in her article published in The Hindustan Times (1983), Minocha
illustrated how the relatives and friends visiting the patient in the hos-
pital serve to boost the patient’s morale and help speed up the recupera-
tion process. Her research on the hospital setting and the ramifications
of the cultural norms through which the medical spaces are created is
the first and best of its kind in India. The sociological analysis of the
medical profession and a perceptive understanding of the doctor-patient
relationship in the light of the on-going ethical debates on euthanasia,
informed consent, the consumer protection act and organ transplanta-
tion demonstrate her ability to engage with the discipline in intensive
and holistic manner. Her arguments were backed by profound observa-
tion and understanding of the context that is distinctively Indian.

Notes
1. Quoted from a letter written to Prof A.M Shah by Charles Leslie.
2. ‘Environment, Society and Population Stabilisation in Uttaranchal’, Report prepared
for the Population Foundation of India, presented at the state level conference on
‘Health, Development and Population Stabilization issues in Uttaranchal’ in May 2001.
3. Paper accepted by the National Institute of Science, Technology and Development
Studies, New Delhi for publication in a forthcoming volume.
4. ‘Euthanasia: A Sociological Perspective’, Manuscript accepted for publication by
Vidyasagar Institute of Mental Health and Neuro Sciences, New Delhi.

References and Select Works of Aneeta Minocha

Ahluwalia, Aneeta. 1967. ‘Sociology of medicine in India: An approach’, Economic and
political weekly, 1 (42): 1007–12.
———. 1974. ‘Sociology of medicine’, in M.N. Srinivas, M.S.A. Rao and A.M. Shah (eds.):
A survey of research in sociology and social anthropology—Vol. II (401–30). Bombay:
Popular Prakashan.

Chapter 01.indd 11 10/7/2013 5:17:52 pm

 12 Ruby Bhardwaj

Batra, Shikha and Aneeta A. Minocha. 2002. From one body to another: Sociological issues on
transplantation of human organs. New Delhi: Rajat Publications.
Minocha, Aneeta A. 1979. ‘Varied roles in the field: A hospital in Delhi’, in M.N. Srinivas,
A.M. Shah and E.A. Ramaswamy (eds.): The field worker and the field (201–15). New
Delhi: Oxford University Press.
———. 1980. ‘Medical pluralism and health services in India’, Social science and medicine,
14B: 217–24.
———. 1983. ‘How pain visits a patient’, Hindustan Times (New Delhi), 24 April: 5–14.
———. 1984. ‘Mother’s position in child feeding and nutrition: Some sociological consid-
erations’, Economic and political weekly, 19 (48): 2045–48.
———. 1985. ‘Spiritualism as a component of health: Some considerations’, in D.B. Bisht
(ed.): The spiritual dimension of health (38–41). New Delhi: Directorate General of Health
Services, Government of India.
———. 1986. ‘Social science perspectives on the health care delivery system’, Journal of
social and economic studies, 3 (4): 339–44.
———. 1987. ‘Health for all: An appraisal’, in Sheo Kumar Lal and Ambika Chandani
(eds.): Medical care: Readings in medical sociology (43–59). New Delhi: Jainsons.
———. 1989. ‘The medical profession in India: Elite without power’, in Khadija Ansari
Gupta (ed.): Power elite in India (76–85). New Delhi: Vikas.
———. 1991. ‘Socio-economic equity and health: Examination of a few key concepts’, in
T.M. Dak (ed.): Sociology of health in India (173–76). New Delhi: Rawat.
———. 1995. ‘Universities and the vocationalizing of education’, Journal of higher educa-
tion, 18 (3): 409–14.
———. 1996a. ‘Managing social fallouts of trauma’, in A. Bhattacharya, R. Chawla and
A. Gurnami (eds.): Trauma, anaesthesia and critical care (191–99). Delhi: University
College of Medical Science.
———. 1996b. Perceptions and interactions in a medical setting. New Delhi: Hindustan
Publishing House.
———. 1996c. ‘Women in modern medicine and Indian tradition’, in A.M. Shah, B.S.
Baviskar and E.A Ramaswamy (eds.): Social structure and change—Vol. 2: Women in
Indian society (149–77). New Delhi: Sage.
———. 1998. ‘The Consumer Protection Act and the medical profession: From doctor-
patient to trader-consumer relationship’, in J.S. Gandhi and Arun P. Bali (eds.): The
prime movers of Indian society: A Focus on the sociology of professions (139–56). New
Delhi: National Book Organization.
———. (forthcoming). ‘The socio-cultural context of informed consent in medical prac-
tice’, in B.S Baviskar and Tulsi Patel (eds.): Understanding Indian society—Past and
present: Essays in the honour of A.M Shah. Delhi: Orient Longman.
Minocha, Aneeta A. and V.R. Minocha. 1993. ‘Investing in health: A review South Asian
regional group’, World development report—Occasional papers Vol. 1: 7–16.
Shah, A.M. and Aneeta Ahluwalia. 1970. ‘Role of sociology in medical education and
research’, Economic and political weekly, 5 (17): 705–10.

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 2
Food: The Immanent Cause
from Outside—Medical
Lore on Food and Health
in Village Tamil Nadu1
V. Sujatha

M
  edical lore, denoting the medical knowledge and health prac-
tices of the village folk, is an important aspect of indigenous
medicine in India. It is a body of knowledge emerging from
the living experience of the people and is not necessarily a diluted ver-
sion of the medical systems such as Ayurveda and Siddha. The common
people in Indian villages have immanent necessity and greater opportu-
nity to address their own health problems, and have thereby acquired
considerable knowledge of health and disease. Their health concepts are
constantly validated in practice in their quotidian life. At the same time,
they coexist with the centuries old textual traditions which have elabo-
rate formulations in the same domain (Radhika and Balasubramanian
1989 and 1990). It is, therefore, necessary to view the medical knowl-
edge of the people in its own right without negating its relation to the
formal, textual medical traditions.
A brief look at the important studies on the subject—in anthro-
pology, policy studies and the modern sociology of knowledge—would
help appreciate this point. Ethnographic accounts of shamans and rural
medicine men have been a favourite subject for the anthropologists:

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 14 V. Sujatha

Elwin (1955) has given an account of male and female shamans among
the Saora tribe of Orissa. In his study of folk medicine in a north Indian
village, Carstairs (1955) has argued that traditional medicine persists
because it establishes ‘faith’ and ‘assurance’ in the patient; lacking this
‘aura of conviction’, modern medicine is required to justify itself in
these terms. Marriott (1955) has also argued that it is not so much the
technical skill that gives prestige to the healer, but his spiritual power
gained through piety. Jaggi (1973) highlights the role of religious belief,
superstition and ritual in village medicine. The changes in traditional
medicine caused by the coexistence of allopathy have also been studied
(see Hasan 1967 and Leslie 1968). These and similar studies point to the
social, emotional and religious functions of folk medicine; the success
of folk medicine, if acknowledged, is attributed to factors other than
medical efficacy.
Policy studies (see Banerji 1974 and 1976; Djurfeldt and Lindberg
1976; Kakar 1977; Priya 1990; Qadeer 1985 and 1990), which aim at
identifying the health needs of the population and evaluating existing
policy measures on health, tend to view the common people as ‘poor
and ignorant masses’ needing policy attention. In these studies medical
lore is characterised as ‘layperson’s perception or belief ’, whose knowl-
edge ‘can play an important role in orienting social marketing strategy
around key cultural concerns and associations’ (Nichter 1980: 232).
This is understandable as these studies ‘assume the supreme efficacy of
western medicine’ and their main aim is ‘to make it more available to the
villagers’ (Leslie 1988: 1–2).
Furthermore, the word ‘layperson’ projects the villager as incapable
of any discrimination. While in some villages many systems of cure may
coexist, a villager’s choice of an appropriate system will be conditioned
by her/his analysis of the role that medicine plays in altering the bal-
ance within her/his system and between her/him and the environment.
In this the villager draws on her/his ‘knowledge capital’.
Influenced by the developments in sociology of knowledge,
a new class of social scientists trained in Indian systems of medicine
has analysed the content and form of medical texts and the man-
ner in which these are interpreted in practice by professional vaidyas:
Francis Zimmerman (1978, 1980 and 1988), an apprentice under Shri
Vayaskara N.S. Mooss, a hereditary practitioner of Astavaidyar caste in
the Kerala School of Ayurveda, working in the academic traditions of

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 Food: The Immanent Cause from Outside 15

Gaston Bachelard and Michael Foucault; Margaret Trawick Egnor (1983

and 1987), who studied with Shri Mahadeva Iyer, a master practitioner
in a village near Kanyakumari in Tamil Nadu; and Daniel Tabor (1981),
a student of Shri Bapalal Vaitya, the retired principal of an Ayurvedic
college in Surat. Studies of this genre, which focus on the textual and
formal dimensions of Ayurveda and Siddha, have considerably enhanced
the epistemological status of Indian medicine. However, studies on the
medical lore of the village folk as a system of knowledge in its own right
are hard to come by.
This paper explores the folk-health tradition in Tamil Nadu where
food is conceived of, as in other rural areas in the country, as the primary
cause of health and disease. It is part of a larger effort to understand
the medical knowledge and practices of the village folk in Pasumpon
Thevar Thirumagan District of Tamil Nadu (see Sujatha 1994). The
locus of field work was a group of villages of Thirukolakudi Panchayat
situated north-west of Tirupatur town, in the foot of a hill locally
called Suramalai. All villages in this panchayat suffer from economic
handicaps endemic to the area caused by small land holdings, infrequent
and unreliable rains, lack of a permanent source of irrigation and poor
productivity of the soil. Dry-land farming and coolie labour are the
main sources of livelihood for the majority of the inhabitants, though a
few cultivate paddy in their well-irrigated lands.
In this area, extremes in social (caste) and economic (class) differ-
ences are less; powerful lobbies of Brahmin and Chettiyar castes are
absent. The area is populated by caste groups like the Maravars, Kallars,
Valayars, Paraiyars and Pallars. The Valayars are a numerically large caste
group in the villages of Thirukolakudi panchayat, and they form about
50 percent of our informants. There seems to be no distinct upper class
in the area.

Diet Content

It is well known that the staple food of most south Indian villagers con-
sists of rice, ragi, maize and millet cooked and taken with a vegetable
side dish or sambar (spicy gravy). Underlying this apparently simple diet

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 16 V. Sujatha

are certain principles which have largely remained uncodified. Variety,

for instance, seems to be the most fundamental of such principles.
Variety in diet, however, is limited to whatever is available in the habitat
according to seasonal changes. Moreover, variety is sought more in those
foods that are consumed in large quantities and frequently, and less in
those foods that are consumed in lesser quantities and infrequently.
The villages are in a drought-prone area where dry-land farming is
the only major source of sustenance, and wetland farming, particularly
rice cultivation, is very less. Finger millet, pearl millet, kodo millet, little
millet, maize and sorghum are the food grains cultivated on dry land;
besides, pulses like cowpea, green gram, carpet legume, etc. are culti-
vated side by side. These are the only reliable and perennial sources of
food for the people here. Rice and vegetables grow only during specific
seasons. With such constraints imposed by ecology and the seasons, how
can the variety principle operate?
The dry-land food grains are processed, pounded and cooked. Every
day a different food grain is cooked; sometimes two are cooked in one
day, separately for the day and the night. Somehow, a rotation of all the
available food grains is achieved during the week. A similar, if not more
intensive, drive for variety could be found in the consumption of greens:
in most households four to 10 varieties of greens are cooked together in
the water with which the food grain has been washed. Often, the villagers
collect the leaves of any plant that they know is edible and add it to their
collection of greens. The greens may not all be tasty; some are quite bit-
ter, while some have a strong smell. Adults and children alike consume a
variety of greens of different tastes as often as once a day or at least thrice a
week. An exclusive vegetable side dish is not a regular feature in their daily
fare. The vegetables grown in their farms, if any, or bought from the weekly
village market are cooked along with a spicy gravy made of tamarind juice,
known as sambar. The sambar may consist of two or three pulses.
The non vegetarian food that the Valayars (originally hunters) living
in Thirukolakudi consume consists of what they get from hunting—
rabbits, squirrels, bandicoots, and cranes and some other birds. The
others at times buy some kinds of meat from the Valayars. Thus, the
people see to consume a variety of meats.
Some variation from the set pattern of diet in response to seasonal
changes was observed: With the onset of rains, many plants grow on the
foot of the hill (Suramalai) lending a lush green colour to the landscape.

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 Food: The Immanent Cause from Outside 17

During this time, several herbs and mushrooms are collected and used
in daily cooking.
Most villagers cannot afford to buy fruits from the market. They
consume the locally available palm fruit, cashew fruit, ripe cucumbers,
and other local fruits. They eat fruits like bananas, oranges, etc. only
when they get it cheaply or in case of illness, especially those that require
hospitalisation. Groundnut, tamarind seed with jaggery and roasted
green gram are consumed as small eats. Eesal (winged termites) is the
choicest of all small eats.
Foods cooked for festive occasions have perhaps the least variety.
Most of the special food is cooked and not deep fried. A majority of
Valayars and certain scheduled caste groups in the area observe a reli-
gious taboo about deep frying in the household; they have to go to the
‘forests’ to prepare fried foods.
Omissions in the diet have as much to say as inclusions. Milk and
milk products are conspicuous by their absence. This does not mean
that they are never consumed; it only means that they do not form a
part of the regular fare of most of the villagers. They may be used for
medicinal purposes or in special cases, such as a nursing mother. The
villagers are not particularly fond of milk, curds and ghee: some people
are averse to milk products, others simply avoid them. Many people
nauseate at the smell of curds and buttermilk. It is difficult to ascertain
whether this aversion has a physiological or socio-cultural basis. Perhaps
an insight into their ideas about food-body relationship could throw
some light on this matter.

II

The Significance of Food

While the people of Thirukolakudi accord great importance to food,

they do not seem to perceive its importance in terms of its basic need
for existence. That is, their ideas about the significance of food are not
built around the assertions about its absolute necessity for survival. They
do not say, for example, that food is primary because there can be no
life without it; rather, their conceptions of food are corporal: they seem
to conceive the significance of food in terms of its vital functions for the

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 18 V. Sujatha

body. Furthermore, their conceptions are wide in scope, encompassing

the idea of ‘intake’ in general.
The villagers assert, ‘For all living beings, food is the source of health
and disease’.2 This seemingly general and an ordinary statement gives an
important clue to their ideas of health and disease. It implies that other
causes of health and disease, namely, heredity, climate, environment,
habits, etc. are only of secondary importance; in the final analysis, food
is the determinant of health and disease. While the villagers would be
open to discuss other factors related to health and disease, they would
inevitably end the discussion by drawing attention to the primacy of
food over other causes: ‘What are all these? Our intake is the cause for
every thing. Disease does not come from body constitution or heredity;
it comes from what we eat’.
Proverbs quoted by the informants also signify how ‘intake’ is vital
not only for human beings, animals and plants, but also for the earth
and even for mechanical objects like, e.g., petrol for a car. So pervasive
is the notion of the primacy of food that it figures as analogy even in
discussions not directly concerning food. For instance, on the necessity
of manure in agriculture it was said: ‘You should have eaten well to lift
more weight. Can you eat little and lift more? So is the earth. Only if
you feed it with manure will it lift the yield high?’
From various accounts and comments of the villagers, we may
delineate two dominant lines of explanation for this overwhelming
importance attached to food. Of the various factors that could be asso-
ciated with health, such as living conditions, hygiene, environment and
the like, food alone goes directly into the body, interacts with the body
system, and becomes ‘internal’ to the body system itself. The others do
have an effect, but their effect is restricted in comparison with food
which, though originating ‘outside’, gets right into the body metabolism
and is later assimilated into it. In other words, it is food which establishes
a link between what is external to the body system and what is internal
to it. Food gets transformed from being an external input to an internal
feature of the body. As an informant remarked: ‘Everything germinates
from the chemicals we use. We add them to the very seeds we sow on
earth. The baby has it when it is born. All we eat; where else will it go?’
The ‘seeds’ that go to make the foetus contain the chemical inputs used
in cultivating the food grain consumed. To be able to affect the semen
from which the foetus originates, the chemicals in food should them-
selves have become an innate feature of the body system.

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 Food: The Immanent Cause from Outside 19

Another line of explanation stems from the recognition of the for-

mative role of food in the very genesis of the foetus. The dietary habits
of the parents are said to determine the properties of their reproductive
fluids directly, and the diet pattern of the mother is regarded as having
tremendous impact on the body constitution of the foetus. A cryptic
comment made by an old man about the older generation paraphrases
this idea: ‘We are not made of coffee and snacks. Our parents ate food
grains and porridge and from it we were made’. In brief, the relation
between body and food is considered so profound and far-reaching as to
be able to mould the calibre of an entire generation.
Considering the cardinal importance assigned to food as a cause
for health/illness, one would expect a meticulous classification and well-
formulated prescriptions about foods to be eaten or avoided, etc. However,
our informants did not have much to say on types of food to be eaten or
avoided, that would be applicable to all. One would tend to attribute this
relative absence of universalistic norms to poverty, which could have forced
them to accept any food as fit for eating. However, the relative absence of
norms concerning food seemed to be compensated by the firm insistence
on norms regarding eating. The type and nutritive value of food, which are
a matter of quality, vary from culture to culture, depending on a number
of local conditions like climate, ecology and lifestyle. It would, therefore,
not be wise to have norms that would be applicable to all. On the other
hand, it would be necessary to have fixed norms about eating as an activity.
Accordingly, we find that norms that are categorically stated and said to
hold good for all are those that relate to the latter; the more conditional
ones, to the former. Conceptions on the quantity of food to be consumed,
however, intersect both—the universal and local conditions.

Eating: The Universal and Mechanical Dimensions

The most fundamental norm according to the villagers, is regularity in

eating. Eating at fixed hours of the day is regarded as essential. What is
eaten is secondary; that something is eaten in time so that the stomach
is not left empty is primary. This norm invokes a mechanical conception
of the digestive system as the informants stressed the necessity of eating
something at the ‘eating time’ even when no hunger is felt.
The digestive system is likened to a machine and the most basic
requirements for its functioning are highlighted. While there could be

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 20 V. Sujatha

exceptions to some health norms, the violation of which may not be

very harmful, no exception is provided for the norm ‘eat at regular and
fixed timings’:

Without food you cannot do a thing. If your stomach is empty, the digestive
fluids that are secreted will cause burning sensation inside the stomach, the
digestive organs would contract, and from these disease would start. If you
go and have food later, you will feel the stomach churning and aching. So
whatever happens, you must take food in time, at least a little to give some
input to the stomach and keep it cool. Three meals a day for all living beings
[sic]. From food comes life, disease, and everything (Azhagammai, a female
informant).

That food must be taken at least thrice a day, is the second norm; though
a fourth meal is said to be necessary when work is heavy. This does not
mean that overeating is generally encouraged. One is to eat only after
the previous meal is fully digested. Overeating and eating between meals
are strongly discouraged. That is, moderation in eating is stressed.
These norms are regarded as important and the villagers claimed
to take great care to follow them. They, no doubt, adjust the timing of
their meals to suit their convenience and habit. Yet there was constancy
in the meal-timings and the basic norm of ‘eating thrice a day at fixed
hours’ remained unchanged. Regularity, moderation and constancy are
thus highlighted as the fundamental principles underlying the cultiva-
tion of eating habits.
The term constancy suggests something about the quantity of food
to be taken. Can this quantity be specified (similar to the minimum
and maximum calorie intake specified in biomedicine)? The villager’s
conception of the food-body relationship initially leads us to think that
the quantity of food to be taken is based on the amount of work done.
While it is held that people who do more physical work have to and do
eat ‘more’ and that one cannot work if one does not eat ‘enough’, the vil-
lagers pointed out that the actual amount of food consumed by a person
is not determined by the amount of work done by her/him: there are
persons who eat less always and yet do as much work as anybody, and
vice versa.
What is important in this regard is the ‘capacity of the stomach to
hold’, that is, the requirement of the stomach is considered to be the cri-
terion for the quantity of food to be eaten. The term kannaku (measure)

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 Food: The Immanent Cause from Outside 21

used frequently in this regard connotes the capacity of the stomach as a

standard measure of the quantity of food to be consumed:

You can eat only as much as your body system can assimilate. That is
the measure. A big tank can hold more water; a small one cannot. If you
forcibly fill more into the tank, it will break. So if you consume more than
your stomach can hold, you would vomit. Everything is indeed measured
(Chinnakaruppan, a male informant).

This criterion is stated in unequivocal terms. Even if the question is

twisted—‘Do we have to eat less when we work less, or vice versa?’—the
answer is straight: ‘Do we have two stomachs, one when you work and
one when you don’t? You eat the same amount always, don’t you?’ (Ibid.).
While the injunction that one should eat as much as the stomach holds
may appear to be a universal prescription, subjecting the capacity of the
stomach to some specific conditions ‘localises’ the criterion.

Quality of Food: The Local Dimension

Initially, the digestive system is perceived as an entity per se and the

purely mechanical aspects of its functioning are spelt out. However,
the machine (digestive system) is inside a larger system (body system),
it receives inputs (food) from outside (ecology and environment), and
its functioning depends on many other factors—the operations of the
larger system (work done by the person), the capacity of the larger sys-
tem (body constitution of the person), and the availability of inputs
from outside (economic, geographic and seasonal conditions). These
conditions having a bearing on the ‘machine’ are local’ in nature; local
to a group of people living in similar conditions. These are highly vari-
able and dynamic conditions experienced, comprehended and handled
by the group of people living under them. These are conditions relating
to the quality of food.
The variety principle and body constitution: Questions like ‘What
foods are good?’, ‘What foods are nutritious?’, ‘What foods are harmful
to health?’ and so on, evoke responses like: ‘Everything is edible, man
eats even mud and stone with food, even that goes inside, what is not
edible?’ (Pothichi, a female informant). ‘What is not eaten? Snakes are
not eaten. But they say that the white man eats that; what is left that
man does not eat?’ (Kaari, a male informant).

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 22 V. Sujatha

The argument that all foods are good apparently implies that there
is nothing inherently wrong about a foodstuff. Each foodstuff possesses
certain properties and it becomes good or bad when these properties
agree or disagree with the eater’s body constitution. Since what is agree-
able to one may not for another, each person has to decide what is good
for herself/himself.
It is considered better to eat as many kinds of food as possible to
acquire the ‘goodness’ of all of them. Thereby the body gets used to the
various properties, good and bad alike, that any further dose of those
properties may not cause harm. Thus, the harmful elements can also
give strength to the body by conditioning it against further doses of the
same. In this way, the variety principle paves the way for the control of
diseases carried by food. This is particularly true of foods which are part
of the daily diet, because it is necessary to familiarise the body to foods
that will constitute the bulk of the daily consumption. It is said that
people who eat variety of foods are healthier than those who are very
choosy. So, for one month after delivery the mother is given all kinds of
vegetables and foodstuffs (though in limited quantities) to accustom her
breastfed baby to variety in the early stages of its life.
The increase in skin diseases in the past 10 years, which the allopathic
doctors attribute to the ‘unhygienic lifestyle’ of the villagers, is held by the
villagers to be the consequence of violation of the variety principle. The
depletion of the traditional food grains and loss of many dry-land pulses
(due to commercial cropping) have forced them to eat only some variet-
ies of pulses and vegetables (like the red pumpkin, brinjal, etc.) which are
available, and which are all karrapan (foods that cause skin problems).
These are said to vitiate neer (water) in the body system and in the absence
of neutralising properties, lead to skin infections of various kinds.
The variety principle when carried to its extreme represents an ideal
for the villagers. ‘Indiscriminate diet’, as we may call it, would mean eating
the maximum possible kinds of foods. ‘A man who eats anything, almost
everything without feeling any aversion to smells and tastes becomes the
strongest. Nobody can beat him’ (Kottaiyan, a male informant). As a rule,
informants referring to this ideal inevitably cite the diet of the goat as
being typical of the condition of indiscriminate diet: The goat, of all ani-
mals, is known to eat all kinds of leaves including the poisonous Kancarai
(Strychnine tree). It is said that excepting the plant locally known as aadu
todaa ilai (Adathoda Vasaka), there is no plant that the goat does not eat.
The goat is so adaptive, the villagers add, that during times of drought,

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 Food: The Immanent Cause from Outside 23

when pastures are scarce, it eats leeches and even bits of paper, though
basically it is a vegetarian. It is enriched by the properties of all those vari-
ous substances it eats, and the noxious elements, if any, neutralise each
other. The goat’s milk is, therefore, said to be ‘free from disease’.
Despite being a pervasive ideal, ‘indiscriminate diet’ is not fully
achieved in practice, as is evident from the fact that the villagers avoid
certain foods and are averse to some. The villagers acknowledge that
lifestyle, kind and amount of work done, time available, availability of
foods and their compatibility with the body constitution, and so on
have a crucial role to play in the realisation of this ideal.
While the villagers say that all food items are good, they would not
take milk, curds, ghee and some vegetables, even if they are available. A
closer scrutiny reveals that these rich foods are said to be good for the
body and its shine and glow, but they do not seem to be regarded as
strengthening the body system. The term caturam (body frame), con-
noting the outer appearance of the body, as opposed to the terms tiregam
and mel used to characterise the body system and its inner metabolism,
provides the clue to this implicit distinction: milk, curds and the like
contribute to the frame only. Growth of the frame (body size) is consid-
ered harmful to health and especially antithetical to their lifestyle based
on hard work.
The villagers, however, are not negating the nutritive value of the
foods like milk; ‘it is inadequate for us’ is what they say. For the kind
and amount of physical work they do, they require foods that are bulky
enough to keep their stomachs full during work. Foods like milk, fruits,
egg, etc. do not meet their requirement for bulk foods, that is, they are
not filling, it is said. All the food grains, cereals, pulses and greens that
they eat regularly are said to supply the needful at low cost. ‘We eat
all the nine kinds of grains, all available varieties of cereals and pulses;
moreover, we eat “mixed greens” at least twice a week and so our blood
would be as good and bright as the sparrow’s blood’ (Raasu, a specialist
in treating snake and insect bites).

The Nexus of Food, Body, Work, Ecology and Lifestyle

The villagers do not seem to view the body in terms of anatomy and
physiology. They talk about processes and entities, the crucial ones
among them being body constitution and quality of blood. Blood, here,

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 24 V. Sujatha

does not have a literal meaning; it is used as an umbrella concept to

subsume several body constituents—reproductive fluids, fat, bone mar-
row, hormones, besides blood proper. Thus, blood is regarded as virtu-
ally constituting the important fluid contents of the body system, and
hence, a vital force in its functioning. Body constitution, on the other
hand, is said to include heredity and genetic factors. Basically, it refers
to certain tendencies in the body system which give a person her/his
physical, physiological and mental traits and ‘proneness’ to some kinds
of ailments. The relation between blood and body constitution is not
made clear to us by the informants, except that the tendencies of the
body system are generally manifest in blood.
A thing, before it becomes food to us, is part of nature and, hence,
an entity external to our body. All substances in nature and, thereby,
food also, are considered to possess some properties like heat, water and
so on, which are regarded as neither good nor bad. The contact between
food and body is first established physically when the food is consumed
and digested. Later, food assimilates with the body system; more pre-
cisely, it is said to combine with blood and rejuvenate it. It is as though
the blood and the body constituents get constituted by the food con-
sumed. In this sense, the body itself is conceived of as being constituted
by food, and the relation between food and body is established in the
most fundamental way.
Both food and the body constitution seem to be governed by a
common classification system whose main elements are heat producing,
watery and wind producing. So wise eating calls for a compensatory eat-
ing principle to avoid vitiation of the prone tendency. Since the goodness/
badness of foods is ascertained only in their relation to the body (of per-
sons), universalistic criteria for classifying good and bad foods are not
applied. However, by relating food consumed to body constitution, the
food-body relation is not reduced to the level of individual bodies. There
are patterns in body constitution (‘hot bodies’, ‘cool bodies’ and so on)
which raise the food-body relation to the level of interaction of properties.
Furthermore, the body constitution and food eaten are not individual
entities but they are themselves a function of larger forces in the ecology,
heredity and social background.
Thus, food which seems an innocuous entity from outside, becomes
the source of health and disease when it gets into the body and inter-
acts with it. However, the relation between food and body is said to be

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 Food: The Immanent Cause from Outside 25

incomplete without incorporating the functions of the body (that is,

work). Food consumed has to be in proportion to the work done, and
this is regarded as an important physiological requirement of any body
system. Physical work is said to perform the indispensable catalytic role
in the assimilation of food and the expulsion of wastes from the body.
Any excesses in the foods consumed are said to be expelled from the sys-
tem through sweat, thus avoiding the possibility of vitiation of constitu-
tional tendencies resulting from food intake: ‘The more you sweat, the
better, the body will eject the unwanted fluids through sweat. To bring
these fluids out, some amount of hard work is absolutely essentially for
anybody’ (Chinnakaruppan, a male informant). Thus, physical work is
another neutralising mechanism in the complex relationship between
food and the body (the others being the variety principle and indiscrim-
inate diet, discussed earlier) which is considered to reinforce continually
the capacity to work by processing the food in the appropriate manner.
There is more to this interaction between food and work. We know
that various food grains are included in the villagers’ diet by rotation.
These food grains are allocated for the day and the night: finger millet,
kodo millet and little millet are consumed during the day; maize and
rice are consumed at night. Similarly, a greater combination of food
grains is consumed during the latter half of the year (i.e., during the
agricultural season), and lesser combination is found in their diets in the
first half. The villagers acknowledge these adjustments and explain that
heavier and bulkier foods that could withstand ‘the absorbing power’
of hard physical work will have to be consumed when there is more
work. However, the food intake is not necessarily reduced when work is
less: ‘What we eat in the day is burnt up in work. What is eaten in the
night only “stays” and assimilates with the body. So we can eat heavily,
as much as we want in the night’ (Konamuzhichi, a female informant).
As we have seen, the amount of food eaten is said to be determined
by the capacity of the stomach, irrespective of work done. Nevertheless,
this does not seem to be put into practice, because the foods consumed
during the day are ‘heavy’ and those consumed in the night are ‘light’. It
was clarified that the phrase, ‘we can eat heavily in the night’ means ‘we
can eat more of the light foods in the night’. The quality of food eaten,
namely, whether it is heavy or light is what is to be synchronised with
the work done. Adjustments in the quantity of food taken need not be
made according to work done, it is felt.

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 26 V. Sujatha

Apparently, the amount of work done has nothing to do with the

quantity of food taken. After all, the quantity of food that a person can
eat is said to be related to the capacity of her/his stomach. But, there is
a subtle twist here: the capacity of the stomach is itself said to be deter-
mined by the amount of work done. Instead of postulating a direct and
simple relation between work and food, thereby reducing it to the level
of the individual, it is conceived at a much higher level of generality.
The capacity of the stomach, according to the villagers, does not seem to
refer to the capacity of individual stomachs. It is subject to the propor-
tion of work in one’s lifestyle as a whole. Thus, a group of people leading
a similar lifestyle and doing the work of similar intensity is likely to have
stomachs with similar capacity to hold food.
This idea is almost reduced to an equation by our informants: Less
or more work seems to activate the digestive system accordingly, and
the food eaten is balanced with the amount of work done. If this is so,
why should such great importance be attached to physical work? For an
answer, we are taken back to the initial statements about the catalytic
role of physical work. The absence of physical work in one’s lifestyle, it is
said, cannot be compensated by any improvements in nutrition, hygiene,
etc.: ‘The more you work the more healthy you are. Even if you eat the
best and the most nutritious of foods, but do not work enough, the
foods eaten will themselves become sources of disease’ (Fatima Bheevi, a
female informant). Thus, a lifestyle of more work, more food, is always
considered preferable.
The food-body relation mediated by work is to be understood in
the context of their common existence in ecology. It is said that human
beings and the food they consume are of the same order in that they
are both living things. Food comes from plants and animals, which are
living things. At this level, the body and the food to be consumed are
affected individually and collectively by any stimulus to the ecology of
which they are a part. It may even be said that they react similarly to
such stimuli, and that the reaction to the stimuli by one of them could
be a basis for understanding and explaining the same in another.3 The
following comment illustrates this point: ‘If the chemicals can be so
powerful as to raise the yield from five bags to eight, will its potency not
act on the delicate digestive organs at least with half its force, when the
food so cultivated is eaten regularly?’ (Nalli, a female informant).
The earth is here a metaphor for the body. The effect of chemical
inputs on earth becomes a means of comprehending the effect of food

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 Food: The Immanent Cause from Outside 27

‘infested’ with chemicals on the body. The similarity in the reactions

of the human body and other elements in ecology (such as the earth,
plants and animals) to stimuli signifies the ‘internalisation’ of ecol-
ogy by the body. Food is the vehicle of this internalisation: originating
in ecology, or rather, itself being ecology, food takes ecology into the
body. This internalisation is established and sustained over a period. In
other words, a process of conditioning the body system to the food and
thereby to the ecology has to precede internalisation. By eating the foods
prevalent in one’s ecology over a period, the body gets conditioned to
them and becomes immune to the effects of minor imbalances that may
be caused by the foods so consumed.
The conditioning to the inputs coming from their ecology, the vil-
lagers say, enables them to identify the sources of new ailments. For
instance, when they say that chemical fertilisers and pesticides cause par-
ticular kinds of illnesses, it is not out of sheer resistance to change, but
because of the fact that they produce reactions within the body which
they have hitherto not experienced. That is, they know the reactions
produced by the foods to which they are conditioned. Thus, experience
and the logic of elimination have helped them conclude that the food
‘infested’ with chemical inputs causes a host of ‘heat-related’ disorders
which their organic foods never did. The following remark of Azhagi, a
female informant, illustrates this:

The crops, greens and grains cultivated with chemical fertilisers and pesticides
cause excessive production of wind inside the system. It never used to be like
this those days. Nowadays poisonous medicines are used in agriculture. We
eat the food thinking, after all it comes from our land, what harm can it do?
To our surprise the food from our land has itself become a source of disease!

Conditioning to ecology through food can thus keep one perfectly at

ease with their ecology. A remark such as, ‘we eat it thinking it comes
from the earth, after all, what harm can it cause?’ brings out the rapport
that the villagers have established with the ecology. This conditioning
seems to have a crucial function in the occurrence or otherwise of dis-
ease. When asked why they continue to drink the unprotected water
from the tanks, which the medical personnel in the area consider as the
main cause of infections, the villagers would reply: ‘They say that there
are germs in our tank water; true, but drinking this tank water for years
together, we have ourselves become germs’ (Meyyan, a male informant).

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 28 V. Sujatha

In other words, conditioning can internalise the disease causing agents

themselves; by acquainting, or rather, befriending itself with the poten-
tial sources of disease, the body controls them.
There is yet another dimension to the nexus in which the condi-
tioning process acquires a wider and profound meaning than before.
The body is said to secure a relation to the ecology not only through
food (in the sense of meal); the air inhaled, the water used for drinking
and bathing, and the herbal medicines taken are also forms of ecology
going into the body, reinforcing the internalisation of the ecology. A
whole generation of people being so intensely conditioned to the ecol-
ogy can be expected to pass on the conditioning, to an extent, to their
offspring: ‘We are not born out of coffee and snacks. Our parents ate
food grains and porridge and from it we were made’ (Ambalam, a male
informant). Thus, the conditioning process is said to thrust its roots into
the formative stages itself, presetting the rudiments of a whole genera-
tion to come.
Not only do the body and food get conditioned, the water and
medicines consumed and the air inhaled by a person get conditioned to
each other. Living in a habitat for several generations moulds the body
system of the inhabitants, conditions them to its ecology and binds
together the various inputs from the ecology consumed by them, thus
creating a nexus of interpenetrating relations. At a specific level, the
implications of the nexus would be like this: the kinds of food eaten
(for example, organically grown) and the kinds of medicines taken (for
example, herbal) would be so conditioned to each other that if a new
type of medicine is taken, the medicine may not work well. A whole life-
style evolves in this nexus of compatible relations between one’s body,
the foods eaten, the water drunk, the medicines taken, the work done,
and the ecology in which these exist and operate. Any radical change
in any one of these, not accompanied by proportionate modifications
in others, is said to result in incompatibility. The cumulative effect of
incompatibilities, in the villager’s view, could spell disaster to a whole
community by distorting the very rudiments of their life.
We can, thus, understand why the villagers so intensely abhor foods
‘infested’ with chemical fertilisers and pesticides. The chemical inputs
in the foods consumed are said to vitiate constitutional tendencies of
heat and wind. Over a period there is an accumulation of the effects of
that vitiation. Usually foods consumed over a period ought to get condi-
tioned to the body. Despite taking ‘chemicalised’ foods for more than 15

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 Food: The Immanent Cause from Outside 29

years, no conditioning seems to have taken place, the villagers complain.

This is because of the gross distortions in relations among food, body,
work and ecology that have taken place.
The villagers explain that ‘chemicalised’ foods are immensely heat
producing; they further heat up their bodies already exposed to the sun
during the day. The heat so generated could perhaps be offset by con-
suming more of the ‘cooling’ foods like milk, curds, ghee, fruit-juice,
etc. However, as we know, these foods are compatible neither with their
lifestyle of hard work nor with their financial resources. Also, these
‘chemicalised’ foods are not compatible with their herbal medicines,
which are ‘cool’ in nature. Consumption of such foods requires resort
to hospital medicines which are again heat producing and costly. The
net effect of all this is that their diet becomes incompatible with their
way of life which involves working in the hot sun. The informants thus
establish that the chemical inputs in food violate the very nexus of food,
body, work and ecology.
As always, the villagers do not reject anything saying it is absolutely
bad. They point out that the ‘chemicalised’ foods could perhaps be less
harmful to the middle-class urbanites, who need not have to work in the
hot sun, and who can consume ‘cooling’ foods such as milk, curds, etc.,
and who can manage with and afford hospital medicines. According to
the villagers, compatibility is thus the crucial condition of health and
disease.

III

Inherited and Incorporated Knowledge

At any particular point in time, the medical lore of the people consists
of both inherited knowledge and incorporated knowledge. The knowl-
edge that is already there, handed over or acquired, is what is inherited:
Medical texts and other reading material on the subject, the teachings
of saints and sadhus who are well versed in medical texts, and the fund
of knowledge transmitted from one generation to another constitute
knowledge that is inherited. On the other hand, incorporated knowl-
edge is what is created, modified and transformed in the ongoing pro-
cess of life. The entire process of reckoning with the available resources
and making them compatible with needs yields a lot of knowledge and

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 30 V. Sujatha

experience. There is constant interaction between the two components

of the lore, namely, what is inherited and what is incorporated, each
reinforcing and modifying the other.
The most crucial source of the villager’s incorporated knowledge is
practice. Conventional sociology of knowledge distinguishes between
‘theory’ and ‘practice’ (see Merton 1972; Parsons 1970). However, the
medical lore is not a diluted version of the texts, nor is it the mere appli-
cation of textual tenets in actual practice. It is a system of knowledge
that has evolved from practice and living experience. This practice is not
antithetical to theory, but is itself its source and its end, like Bourdieu’s
(1990) ‘habitus’, Marglin’s (1990) ‘techne’, and Lévi-Strauss’s (1962)
‘bricolage’.
The concept of compatibility discussed above is central to other
local health traditions (Nichter 1980) and the textual traditions
(Dasgupta 1975; Dwarakanath 1967; Dwarakanath and Vaidyanathan
1977; Govindananda 1989;4 Pillai 1929; Shanmugavelu 1987). There
are many more basic principles on which the different health traditions
in India converge. The medical lore of a particular region, however, is an
independent working out of concepts and practices by its people, within
a broad framework of basic common principles. The villagers constantly
try to comprehend and solve their health problems; their health concepts
are a by-product of this very experience of living. For instance, physical
work which is assigned such great importance in health in the folk tradi-
tion of Thirukolakudi, does not seem to find equivalent emphasis in the
conceptions of the Ayurveda and Siddha practitioners in the locality.
Each villager can discuss for hours how his body responds to changes
in seasons, food and habitat with analogies drawn from nature and
other human beings. The older women can distinguish about 12 types
of effects of indigestion in infants by feeling and patting the stomach
and hearing its sound, by observing the stools and by the sound of
the infant’s cry. The knowledge so gained is constantly reinforced and
refined by use in daily life. By virtue of its validation in living experi-
ence, it renews itself through adaptation. Edible oils, beverages, and
chemical fertilisers and pesticides introduced in the region have been
analysed and incorporated into their ‘materia medica’. Their diet pat-
terns have helped them survive 10 years of drought in the past without
problems of malnutrition and deficiency (see Sujatha 1993). This adap-
tation seems to be built into their health culture as in the case of many
other village communities in India (Jodha 1991).

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 Food: The Immanent Cause from Outside 31

The lore is a health tradition in the sense of Lath’s (1988 a and b)

Parampara, an ongoing process in which the confluence of inherited and
incorporated knowledge is effected through the crystallisation of experi-
ence. Continued living in a habitat for several generations, and the con-
scious experience of the body, disease, and the remedies have built up
a knowledge tradition. By ‘befriending’ food elements outside the body
system, by inducing variety in food intake, by adapting to the ecologi-
cal conditions, the body-food dialectic has yielded a health Parampara,
whose continuity is ensured by its orientation to informed practice.

Notes
1. I am grateful to Prof. G. Sivaramakrishnan, Department of Sociology, Bangalore
University, for his comments on an earlier draft of this paper. The people of
Thirukolakudi village, where the fieldwork for this study was conducted, are among
the most important contributors to this paper. Their knowledge and skills provide
information for this work; their sense of values gives valuable insights into life.
I am also thankful to the anonymous referee for his/her valuable comments and
suggestions.
2. The interviews on which the present study is based were conducted in Tamil.
Informants’ statements reproduced here are free translations into English rendered by
the author.
3. If the effect of chemical fertilisers and pesticides on the soil is translatable into the
effect of a similar intake on the body, it connotes a fundamental unity underlying
the functions of intakes for the various ecological systems—human body, plants and
animals.
4. Personal communication in 1989 by Vaidyar Govindananda, Head, Sri Narayana
Guru Ayurveda Hospital, Pillayar Patti, Tamil Nadu.

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Dwarakanath, C. 1967. Digestion and metabolism in Ayurveda. Calcutta: Baidyanath.

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Elwin, V. 1955. The religion of an Indian tribe. London: Oxford University Press.
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Kakar, D.N. 1977. Folk and modern medicine. New Delhi: New Asian Publishers.
Lath, Mukund. 1988a. ‘The “modern”, the “traditional” and criticism in the Indian musical
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Leslie, Charles. 1968. ‘Professionalisation of Ayurvedic and Unani medicine’, Transactions
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Marglin, Stephen. 1990. ‘Losing touch: The cultural conditions of worker accommodation
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Marriott, McKim. 1955. ‘Western medicine in a village of north India’, in B.D. Paul (ed.):
Health, culture and community (239–68). New York: Russell Sage Foundation.
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 3
State Sponsored Health Care
in Rural Uttar Pradesh:
Grassroots Encounters of a
Survey Researcher
Rajiv Balakrishnan

O
n a mercilessly hot summer afternoon in Bah, Agra, a pipal
tree outside the Community Health Centre provides merci-
ful shade to a confabulating group of tired people. It is a
motley group, made up of lower level staff of the Centre who have in
their midst a group of newcomers—members of a team conducting
a baseline survey of the state of health and family planning in rural
Uttar Pradesh. The newcomers’ agenda, sponsored jointly by the India
branch of the New York based Population Council and by the Council
for Social Development, a Delhi based quasi-governmental NGO,
is two-pronged, gathering of data from the staff of the public health
system, and from the rural recipients of health and family planning
services. As regards the latter task, the Centre has promised to assist
the team in locating the village beneficiaries. The team’s members,
gossiping under the pipal tree, are in fact awaiting a health worker
assigned to accompany them to the field. Presently, the health worker
arrives and everyone piles into a jeep to begin the search for beneficiary
households.

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 State Sponsored Health Care in Rural Ut tar Pradesh 35

Assuring the team’s coordinators of cooperation at their rural des-

tinations, the health worker points out, his voice reeking of an urban-
ite’s condescension towards rural folk, that the team would be received
with the reverence villagers habitually extend to government func-
tionaries. The group’s mode of transport—the jeep, he says by way of
explanation—is inevitably seen as a symbol of governmental authority.
As a member of the team and one of its coordinators, I discover in
due course that this indeed is true. I also encounter the other side of
the coin; I was, on many occasions, approached with folded palms and
beseeched to do something about such problems as the inadequacy of
water, erratic electricity supply, and about the crimes of omission and
commission of public health service staff.
Like the villagers we met, Agra’s public health staff suspected us of
being representatives of the government in Delhi, and we were received
with utmost courtesy and solicitousness at the PHCs (Primary Health
Centres). Our field strategy had centered around visits to PHCs, partly
with a view to canvassing schedules among the medical staff there, and
partly with the intention of examining records so as to obtain informa-
tion that would enable us locate and interview the acceptors of family
planning services. Names and addresses of acceptors, obtained from
records maintained by a PHC official known as a ‘Computer’, were
based on information periodically received from the Auxiliary Nurse
and Midwife, who bears by far the greater part of the responsibility for
initiating and sustaining contact with the intended beneficiaries. The
Auxiliary Nurse and Midwife, or ANM, operating typically from far
flung health outposts known as sub-centres is, theoretically at least, the
backbone of this health outreach system. We relied heavily upon her
rather for the actual identification of acceptor households in the villages.
Our modus operandi, as all this suggests, entailed considerable
dependence on public health staff. As we had obtained permission for
our survey from the state government and were armed with a letter
from Agra’s Chief Medical Officer which directed the district’s public
health staff to assist us, we assumed that we would get a good deal of
cooperation. And cooperation we did get in abundant measure. The
team’s presence also evoked a different type of reaction, however—one
of palpable unease, as is vividly illustrated by events of May 30, 1995.
That morning, I proceeded to a PHC with a team of investigators.
Even as some of the team’s members obtained acceptor’s names and
addresses from the PHCs computer, three ANMs, each attached to a

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 36Rajiv Balakrishnan

sub-centre of the PHC, made their appearance. Though instructed to

accompany us to the villages falling under their jurisdictions to help
us locate beneficiary households they clandestinely made off, leaving
us high and dry. They had, it was subsequently discovered, gone into
hiding in the nearby residence of their colleague, a fellow PHC worker.
This we learnt when a member of our team spotted the missing ANMs
moving about furtively near the colleague’s residence. The matter was
brought to the attention of the PHC staff, whereupon the abscond-
ing ANMs were apprehended. Somewhat abashedly, one of them, an
elderly lady, confessed to being afflicted by ‘gabrahat’ (anxiety). Why
did these ANMs panic? The colleague in whose residence they had con-
cealed themselves, a lady with whom I unwittingly established rapport
on the basis of common cultural roots in Kerala, informed me that there
was in fact nothing mysterious about the missing ANMs. They did not
maintain proper records and were also derelict in the discharge of their
duties, she explained, adding that as they feared that their lapses might
come to light they took to such a bizarre game of hide-and-seek.

Dereliction of Duty

What, then, are the lapses the ANMs were so anxious to conceal? Our
fieldwork experience has given us some idea of the skeletons in their
cupboards. One such, a common one, is that under the pressure to
enlist targeted numbers of sterilization, oral pill and IUD acceptors,
many ANMs have cooked-up records. The ANMs are however not to be
entirely blamed, as is illustrated by this story of an ANM attached to a
sub-centre which I visited during the course of our survey on the May 5,
1995. It took a good ten minutes of struggle before the lock to the
sub-centre’s premises, rusty due to disuse, could be wrenched open. The
floor inside was unswept, and the room cobweb infested. Sparse pieces
of furniture were littered about. The ANM attached to the centre had,
by her own admission, last visited it on January 15, 1995, when her son
met with an accident and had to be hospitalised. The financial liability
involved, she says, had been a source of great anxiety which prevented
her from meeting her target of eligible candidates for a family planning
method. This, coupled with the fear of losing her job and income for not
fulfilling those targets made her take recourse to the stratagem of cook-
ing up the records. There were other attenuating circumstances as Well.

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 State Sponsored Health Care in Rural Ut tar Pradesh 37

The ANM’s fear of losing her job had been exacerbated by her suspen-
sion in April 1994. She stated that no reason had been given for her
suspension, but a team member later informed that it happened after
a child she had treated had died. The ANM said that after she was sus-
pended, she was asked to pay a bribe of Rs 4,000 for getting reinstated.
She maintained that she refused to pay but was eventually reinstated
only in January 1995. From April 1994 till the time of her reinstate-
ment, she received no salary.
Consider also this tale involving an ANM who, for several years,
lived with her family in the village where her sub-centre was located and
served the inhabitants there with dedication. She was, in her professional
capacity, available around the clock to the people of the village. But on
more than one occasion, she was harassed by some bad elements while
outdoors procuring water for her household from the village well. These
bad elements reacted to the ANM’s protests and complaints against
them by accusing her of being immoral and lodging a complaint against
her with the powers that be. It resulted in the ANM’s transfer to another
posting. On the intervention of the village headman (the father of this
informant) the ANM was subsequently brought back to the village. But
she decided she would no longer reside there, choosing instead to live
elsewhere and commute to work. Given the difficulties that commuting
involves, she now visits her village constituents only once or twice a
week. This is apparently one instance in which availability of efficient
and time saving transportation could go a long way in ensuring the
availability of services.

Graft and Malfeasance

The problems afflicting the public health service are by no means

confined solely to infrastructural bottlenecks or derelict personnel.
This story of a truant ANM who rarely visited the sub-centre to
which she was assigned, as narrated by an agitated and belligerent
informant, illustrates what is involved. Residents of the village in
which the sub-centre was located, who rarely saw the ANM, brought
the matter to the attention of the Medical Officer of the appropriate
PHC. The administrative machinery whirred, and in due course
she was transferred. Within a few months, she was posted back, after
she reportedly greased the right palms in the upper reaches of the

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 38Rajiv Balakrishnan

public health hierarchy. She allegedly continues to be derelict, and as

before, rarely makes an appearance at her sub-centre or the villages
falling under its jurisdiction.
A medical officer informant talks more generally of the graft and
malfeasance that plagues the public health service. It is, he says, focused
around the centralization of authority in the system, which empowers
the incumbents at the rarefied heights of the health services hierarchy
to extract enormous bribes. These notables allegedly pay bribes to those
above them, and so are driven to extract ‘tribute’ from those below. This
misuse of public office hinges upon the unconditional power of transfer
enjoyed by senior medical officers. The idea, he says, was a good one,
intended to facilitate the appropriate utilization of manpower resources.
But the power of transfer, the doctor goes on to add, has been misused
to an unimaginable extent, with those in high places using its threat,
and the prospect of disorientation that transfers bring to settled ways—
or the inducement of transfers to postings aspired for—as instruments
for the extraction of bribes.
In these circumstances, even well intentioned officials are unable to
enforce their writ against erring ANMs, as seems to be the case with a
medical officer I met, whose uprightness and probity are such that his
subordinates fondly criticize him for being ‘too good a man’—the impli-
cation being that such an individual cannot effectively function in the
system. The ANMs for their part—not counting laudable exceptions—
lack even a rudimentary allegiance to the work ethic. The recruitment
process itself militates against that. I am told by a PHC informant that
recruitment as an ANM nowadays means having to shell out a bribe
of Rs 20,000. It is evidently paying power that counts, not merit and
dedication. And if an ANM can draw a salary of Rs 3,000 or so a month
without being accountable for the responsibilities of her posting, the
‘recruitment bribe’ of Rs. 20,000 becomes little more than an invest-
ment on which lucrative returns can be expected.

Staff Morale

It is not just that defaulters get away scotfree by ‘greasing’ the right
palms, or that public office becomes a lucrative and purchaseable com-
modity; the system works to squeeze the innocent and the dedicated as
well. A source, apprehensive of reprisals if his identity be known, fills me

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 State Sponsored Health Care in Rural Ut tar Pradesh 39

in on some of the sordid details. He tells me that TA (travel allowance)

grants are released at the last moment, towards the completion of the
financial year on the last day of March. As TA should should be claimed
before March 31 or else it lapses, those who wish to claim TA are under
pressure to pay bribes. Delay in the release of salaries is another way
in which karmacharis (workers) can be harassed. Salary arrears can be
claimed only after the annual budget is passed, so delays in salary pay-
ments can be a source of great inconvenience, and the promise of official
intervention to expedite the matter a lever for extracting bribes. All this
demoralises the health services staff to the point where they lose interest
in work.

Factionalism among Medical Staff

As if malfeasance, endemic graft and poor staff morale were not enough,
the system is, I am informed, plagued also by factionalism among its
staff. My medical officer informant tells me that within a PHC, factions
coalesce around the Medical Officer-in-Charge (MO1), and his imme-
diate subordinate, MO2. This has deleterious consequences for the
provision and quality of health services. By way of illustration my infor-
mant mentions that if MO1 wishes to take punitive action against an
indifferent or errant ANM, the other faction supports her just in order
to oppose MO1. Thus MO1 cannot improve the quality of services—an
endeavour that carries the potential of enhancing his professional repu-
tation. What fuels all this, my informant adds, is the fact that the MO2’s
confidential report is not written by MO1, but by a senior officer of the
health services bureaucracy.

Provision of Services: Accountability

and Affordability

Reforming the ailing public health system, it becomes clear, is not a

just a matter of better management to ensure efficiency and compe-
tence in the provision of services; it is, more importantly, one of mak-
ing the system accountable to the people. The system currently lacks
credibility to the point where, latent demand notwithstanding, people
are not forthcoming in demanding services. This comes through quite

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 40Rajiv Balakrishnan

forcefully during the course of a conversation I had with the son of the
aged pradhan (headman) of Digner village. Having taken the respon-
sibilities of the pradhanship upon himself, the pradhan’s son was well
informed of village affairs. He informed me that a number of Digner’s
residents wanted to go in for sterilization, but were holding back for
lack of faith in the public health system. The pradhan’s son cited two
instances of why faith in the system has been eroded. The first involved
a woman in a nearby village who had given birth to a child after she
underwent sterilization. In the second case, a woman who underwent
sterilization at a government hospital developed medical complications
had to be hospitalised for several days, and was required to incur medi-
cal expenses to the tune of Rs. 6,000—a formidable sum for the average
villager.
One might ask why these potential seekers of services did not go
elsewhere. Conversations with the pradhan’s son in Digner lead me to
believe that adequate knowledge of alternatives to the public health sys-
tem may well tilt the balance. The potential for that certainly seemed
to exist in Digner village. I cited to my informant a well known and
reputed private agency actively catering to family planning needs in the
rural and urban areas of Agra district—the Marie Stopes Clinic. On my
mentioning the name the pradhan’s son and other hangers on evinced an
immediate and keen interest. They had heard about Marie Stopes, but,
were under the impression that it only performs abortions. They did not
know that it also carried out sterilizations and IUD insertions.
The regard in which the Marie stopes Clinic is held was first brought
to my attention during my conversations with a Computer who had on
his records cases of family planning acceptors routed through it with
ANMs performing a referral function. Marie Stopes, I was subsequently
given to believe, enjoys the people’s confidence because of its profession-
alism and the high success rate of the operations it carried out. The fact
of the agency’s existence also suggests that it can be worthwhile for health
professionals in the private sector to bring affordable medical technolo-
gies to the masses. ‘Affordable’ is however a subjective term, and it is not
clear as to how it relates in this context to a policy framework wherein
access to health services is envisaged as a fundamental right rather than
a matter of purchasing power. Marie Stopes’ success may also to a sig-
nificant extent be made possible by a disguised government ‘subsidy’.
The costs Marie Stopes incurs for a sterilization operation are defrayed
by the monetary ‘incentives’ acceptors of sterilization are entitled to

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 State Sponsored Health Care in Rural Ut tar Pradesh 41

receive from the government; the agency collects these ‘incentive pay-
ments’ directly from the concerned governmental department on behalf
of clients, who are required to pay only the balance. Moreover, the clinic
draws upon the outreach resources of the public health service as well,
in that some of its clients are referred by ANMs operating in far away
villages. Persist as they do, this is to a great extent due to the absence
of institutional mechanisms to channelize popular resentment and hold
the system accountable as is the case in Kerala. The new powers given
to the panchayats however, and particularly the involvement of women
in panchayati bodies, would appear to augur well for such beginnings.

Transport Facilities for Health

Outreach Functionaries

One of the major deficiencies of the health outreach system, as men-

tioned earlier, is that many of the ANMs face a formidable commuting
problem. Providing them with a means of transport, such as mopeds
will go a long way in improving their effectiveness, particularly as far
as the dedicated among them are concerned. As for the less motivated,
it would perhaps improve their efficiency too. A health worker I chat-
ted with makes this point when he tells me that it is possible for him
to shirk his clerical duties by making the excuse that he has not been
given a pen to write with, but that if he is officially provided with a
pen, he would thereby be deprived of an excuse. While acknowledging
my contention that official transport, generally speaking, tends to be
notoriously misused for personal trips, my informant argues that ‘if it is
misused properly to the extent of 60 per cent, at least it will be used to
the extent of 40 per cent’.
The importance of transport for the ANMs is indeed crucial to the
functioning of the health outreach system. Transport carries the poten-
tial of making the ANMs more effective. This is underscored by the
fact that ANMs who reside in their sub-centre villages, and who are
consequently accessible to their flock, can be a great boon to the local
populace, as the case of the ANM of Doki vividly illustrates. This ANM,
who has won honours for her dedication, places herself at the beck and
call of the local community at all hours of the day and night. But that
cannot always be the case, as village residence cannot be imposed on the
ANMs without it attracting some form of evasive action.

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 42Rajiv Balakrishnan

Role of the Health Professional

While stressing institutional and infrastructural factors for reform, one

must also acknowledge the devotion to duty demonstrated by some of
the unsung heroes of the public health service staff. The example of an
Etmadpur ANM may be cited here. Accompanied by three investigators,
I arrived at the ANMs sub-centre village, after having been informed
that the ANM had been instructed by her PHC doctor to await us there.
Initially unable to find her, we proceeded to the village pradhan’s resi-
dence to seek his assistance in locating acceptor households. On a veran-
dah outside the pradhan’s residence, we were extended the hospitality of
being seated on a charpoy (stringed cot) and having our thirst quenched.
In the course of the ensuing introductory conversation with the pradhan
and the other village folk who had gathered around, the impression that
we were on a ‘checking’ tour gained ground. Responding to this, the
pradhan and others spoke in defense of their ANM, praising her for her
dedication and devotion to work.
At this point, the ANM herself arrived on the scene. Later, She
escorted us to her sub-centre, housed in a neat and tidy room in the
village. There we had an opportunity to observe the premises, a stipu-
lated requirement for canvassing ‘sub-centre schedules’. Subsequently,
the ANM trudged village lanes with the team to locate houses of family
planning acceptors. The group proceeded also to a second village falling
under the sub-centre’s jurisdiction, to canvas acceptor and other sched-
ules there. In both villages, the local people spoke highly of this ANM
of Etmadpur and were even somewhat protective and defensive when
the impression went around that the team was there for ‘checking’ her
activities.
The ANM, for her part, did not seem unduly deterred by the diffi-
culties of her situation, such as the necessity of trudging weary miles on
foot in inhospitable weather and over rough terrain and combining her
official responsibilities with those of caring for her toddler son. She had
brought him along to the field on the day of team’s visit, as there was no
one at home to care for him. The testimony of the locals suggests that
difficulties notwithstanding, she sees to it that she honorably discharges
her duties, and that rather than being cowed by difficult circumstances,
she strives to carry on despite them. It is a case which suggests that even
when the system is deficient, the people who run it do matter.

Chapter 03.indd 42 10/7/2013 12:08:10 AM

 4
Gram Panchayat and
Health Care Delivery
in Himachal Pradesh
Sthitapragyan Ray

T
he right to health is generally seen as the state’s obligation
to deliver affordable and accessible health services to all
(Cornwall et al. 2002). Under the Constitution of India, public
health care is a responsibility shared by the central, state and local
governments, although effectively it is a state responsibility in terms of
delivery. Increasing people’s voice and influence in the health sector is
believed to be an effective way of improving the performance of health
system to meet the right to health—by increasing access to services to
the most vulnerable and disadvantaged groups, by improving health
outcomes generally, and by reducing health inequities. Active com-
munity participation through ownership and implementation of local
health services is now gaining ground as a way of ensuring such influ-
ence (Das Gupta et al. 2000). The Alma Ata Declaration of 1978 and
the 1994 International Conference on Population and Development
(ICPD) have been key motivating factors for public health service
decentralisation.
The importance of decentralised health care delivery systems oper-
ating through elected local governments (Gram Panchayats) in which
the rural people are not only enfranchised but also empowered has
been well recognised in the Constitution 73rd Amendment Act, 1992.

Chapter 04.indd 43 2013-11-27 7:04:32 PM

 44 Sthitapragyan Ray

This Act, which paved the way for the creation of statutory institutional
structures at the village level—Gram Sabha (GS) and Gram Panchayat
(GP)—basically aims at initiating a process of democratic decentra-
lisation of governance and accelerating the socioeconomic development
of rural areas within a participatory framework. With the insertion of
Part IX in the Constitution of India, the GP is empowered to manage
health and sanitation, including hospitals, primary health centres and
family welfare, which are among the twenty-nine vital ingredients of
rural development, listed out in the Eleventh Schedule (Article 243 G)
of the Constitution (GOI 1992).
Other policy initiatives in this direction include the National Popu-
lation Policy (NPP) 2000 and the National Health Policy (NHP) 2002.
The NPP, 2000 emphasises decentralised planning and programme
implementation with high involvement of the panchayati raj institu-
tions (PRIs), community groups and NGOs. The NHP 2002 lays great
stress on the implementation of public health programmes through
local self-government institutions (GOI 2002a).

The Himachal Pradesh Scenario

Himachal Pradesh (HP) is predominantly a rural state—about 91 per cent

of the state’s population lives in rural areas. The achievement of the state on
a number of social indicators, including that of health, is quite impressive.
The infant mortality rate (IMR) of HP, at 54.2, is lower than the national
average of 72.0; the crude birth rate, at 21.2, is lower than the all-
India average of 28; the crude death rate, at 7.0, is lower than the national
average of 9.0; women with anaemia, at 40.5, is lower than the national
figure of 51.8; and children receiving vaccination, at 83.4, is higher than
the all-India average of 42.0 (GOHP 2002a). The rural literacy rate of
HP, at 74.38 per cent, is much higher than the all-India rural average of
59.21 per cent. Only 7.94 per cent of the rural population of the state lives
below the poverty line, as against the national average of 27.09 per cent
(GOI 2002b).
In HP, statutory local governments (PRIs) were established in
1954 under the HP Panchayat Raj Act, 1952. With a view to bring-
ing about uniformity by establishing the two-tier panchayat system,
the HP Panchayat Act, 1968 was enacted, and it became effective in
1970. The HP Panchayat Raj Act, 1994, enacted in the light of the

Chapter 04.indd 44 2013-11-27 7:04:32 PM

 Gram Panchayat and Health Care Delivery 45

73rd Constitutional Amendment Act, 1992, came into effect from April
1994. With this, the existing two-tier system, with GP and Panchayat
Samiti, gave way to the three-tier system, with the addition of the Zilla
Parishad (ZP). Accordingly, the State Election Commission, State
Finance Commission and the District Planning Committees have been
constituted; the District Rural Development Agencies have been merged
with the ZPs, headed by the President of the latter and the panchayat
elections were been held in 2000 (GOI 2001; GOHP 2002a).
The GP as the executive committee of the GS consists of a mini-
mum of seven and maximum of fifteen members, including the Pradhan
and Up-Pradhan. Seats have been reserved for women, Scheduled Castes
(SCs) and Scheduled Tribes (STs) in the GP. A GP consists of a village
or a group of contiguous villages with a population of not less than one
thousand and not more than five thousand.
Under the HP Panchayat Raj Act, 1994 the GPs have been
empowered to enquire and make report on the physical attendance
and misconduct of certain public personnel, including male and
female health workers. The GPs have to keep a tab on the function-
ing of sub-centres, including their regular opening and immunisation
programmes. Since July 1996, the HP government has devolved certain
health functions and powers to PRIs, since July 1996. These powers
relate mainly to execution and monitoring of rural health and sanitation
programmes. The GPs have been made the appointing authority in
respect of certain village-level staff, like anganwadi workers, swasthaya
sahayaks, panchayat sahayaks, etc. and their honorarium is to be paid
by the GP. The GPs have to prepare development micro plans, includ-
ing Annual Health Micro Plans, based on the felt needs of the people
for improving rural health and sanitation. The GPs can also decide on
the location of health institutions, anganwadi centres, etc. and take care
of their maintenance and improvement. They are also expected to help
in awareness-generation about reproductive and child health; main-
tenance of village population records, including that of births, deaths
and marriages; maintenance of village sanitation and drinking water
sources; and provide assistance in prevention of contagious diseases
(GOHP 2002a).
The Standing Committee on Health and Family Welfare of the GP
is expected to take a special interest and play a key role in the health
sector activities of the panchayat. To enhance the effectiveness of this
Committee, necessary amendments in the State Panchayat Raj Act,

Chapter 04.indd 45 2013-11-27 7:04:33 PM

 46 Sthitapragyan Ray

1994 have been carried out. The functions of the Standing Committee
depend on the extent of power delegated to it by the GP.
The Parivar Kalayan Salahakar Samiti (PARIKAS)—the Health and
Family Welfare Advisory Committee—created by a HP Government
Notification (No. HFW-B(F) 7-2/2001, dated 10 December 2001) in
December 2001 is expected to further boost the health and family welfare
activities of village panchayats. The sincerity of the state government to
give powers to local bodies in health matters is evident from the fact that
it has issued notifications instead of executive orders, which do not have
the legal validity that notifications have. That makes it more difficult for
the bureaucracy to ignore them. At the panchayat level, the PARIKAS
is headed by the pradhan, with the health worker, male or female, as the
secretary, and the membership includes the GP ward members, local
NGO representatives, village opinion leaders, local social workers, office
bearers of mahila mandals/women SHGs, local school teachers, forest
guards, anganwadi workers and Ayurvedic doctor. The Notification pro-
vides for the meeting of the PARIKAS once in a month. Its functions
broadly include the monitoring of rural health and family welfare pro-
grammes and supervision of the sub-centre. Thus, by institutionalising
community monitoring of health care delivery, the PARIKAS seeks to
enforce social rather than mere bureaucratic accountability.
Thus, the policy of the government on paper reflects a definite move
away from the top-down, target-oriented approach to a more participa-
tory, process-oriented approach. But to what extent changes in policy
conceptualisation are reflected in implementation? The GPs have appar-
ently been empowered to plan, implement and monitor certain key
rural health activities. The crux of the matter that needs to be examined
is the actual and effective role of the GPs in carrying out the assigned
functions. The social capital argument in explaining the success of local
democracy (Putnam 1993; Woolcock 2000; World Bank 2001), particu-
larly in the context of the rural health care initiatives of the panchayats in
HP, is also sought to be looked at in this paper using the fieldwork data.
The following were the objectives of the study:

(i) Analysing the extent of devolution of health care functions and powers on
the GPs.
(ii) Examining the rural health care contributions of the GPs.
(iii) Identifying the GPs’ constraints in managing rural health care.

Chapter 04.indd 46 2013-11-27 7:04:33 PM

 Gram Panchayat and Health Care Delivery 47

The Research Context and Methodology

Four districts in the non-tribal lower areas of HP, which constitute

60 per cent of the state’s area and account for 96 per cent of its population
(Sharma 1999: 2465) were identified for the study. Two of these
districts—Kangra and Una—are relatively developed (in terms of indica-
tors like literacy rate, percentage of SC population, sex ratio, etc.) and the
other two districts—Sirmaur and Solan—are comparatively backward.
One block from each of the four districts was randomly selected for the
study.
Kangra, the most populous district in HP, accounts for 22 per cent
of the state’s population and about 10.3 per cent of its area. The district
has the second highest sex ratio of 1027 in the state. It has a literacy rate
of 80.68 per cent and the SCs constitute 21.17 per cent of its popula-
tion (Table 1). Baijnath, a backward block of the district, consists of
51 panchayats. The sex ratio and the literacy rate (for both sexes) of the
block are much lower than the district average (Table 2).
Sirmaur is one of the most backward non-tribal districts in HP; in
fact, it figures in the list of 150 most backward districts identified by the
Planning Commission, Government of India. It consists of 5 per cent of
the state’s area and has witnessed a high decadal population growth rate.
It has a literacy rate of 70.85 per cent. The district has one of the lowest
female literacy rates (60.93%), just above the tribal district of Kinnaur.

Table 1
Socio-demographic Profile of Sample Districts

Sex Literacy Rate* Percentage Percentage

District Ratio* Female Male Total of SC* of ST**
Kangra 1027 73.57 88.19 80.68 21.17 0.14
Una 977 73.85 88.49 81.09 22.47 0.01
Sirmaur 901 60.93 79.73 70.85 30.17 1.16
Solan 853 67.48 85.35 77.16 31.27 0.64
HP 970 67.08 84.57 75.91 25.34 4.22
Note: * Data pertaining to 2001 Census; ** Data pertaining to 1991 Census; Sex Ratio = No.
of females per 1000 males; SC = Scheduled Caste; ST = Scheduled Tribe.
Source: Census of India 2001, 1991.

Chapter 04.indd 47 2013-11-27 7:04:33 PM

 48 Sthitapragyan Ray

Table 2
Socio-demographic Profile of Sample Blocks

Baijnath/ Shilai/ Dharampur/ Gagret/

Block/District Kangra Sirmaur Solan Una
Panchayats 51 28 39 41
Population 82917 32923 71173 106893
Female 40411 15341 31692 53917
(48.74) (46.60) (44.53) (50.44)
Male 42506 17582 39481 52976
(51.26) (53.40) (55.47) (49.56)
Sex Ratio 950 872 802 1017
Scheduled Caste 15263 NA NA 23516
(18.4) (22)
Scheduled Tribe 536 NA NA NA
(0.65)
Infant Mortality Rate 22.2 NA 4
Institutional Deliveries NA NA NA 24
Literacy Rate (%) 56.85 56.74 79.71 NA
Male Literacy (%) 69.33 66.85 86.83 NA
Female Literacy (%) 44.99 44.81 71.04 NA
Note: Percentage in parenthesis; NA—Not Available; Infant Mortality Rate = Number of
deaths per thousand live births.
Source: BMO/BDO Offices, Baijnath, Shilai, Dharampur, Gagret.

It has also very low reproductive and child health indicators. It has also
one of the largest concentrations of the SC population (30.17%) in
the state (Table 1). Shilai block of this district has very low literacy
levels, for both males and females, and a sex ratio lower than the district
average (Table 2).
Solan constitutes about 3.5 per cent of the state’s area and has
witnessed one of the highest population-growth rates. With a combined
literacy rate of 77.16 per cent and female literacy rate of 67.5 per cent,
the district has experienced a steep decline in sex ratio from 909 in 1991
to 853 in 2001. This is despite the higher-than-average level of urbanisa-
tion and work-participation rate in the district. It has a large percentage
of the SC population (31.27%) of the state and the gap between male
and female literacy rates is one of the highest in the state (Table 1). The

Chapter 04.indd 48 2013-11-27 7:04:33 PM

 Gram Panchayat and Health Care Delivery 49

literacy rate in Dharampur block of this district is higher, but the sex
ratio is lower than the district average (Table 2).
Una district, having a decadal growth rate of 18.43 per cent, con-
stitutes about 2.76 per cent of the state’s area. It has a combined literacy
rate of 81.09 per cent and has seen a sharp decline in sex ratio from
1017 in 1991 to 977 in 2001. The SCs constitute 22.47 per cent of the
district population (Table 1). Gagret block of this district has a sex ratio
higher than the district average, but the crucial 0–6 age-group sex ratio
in the block is a matter of concern (Table 2).
From each of the sample blocks, six GPs were selected for detailed
study, taking the total number of GPs to twenty-four in the four dis-
tricts. The socio-demographic indicators of the selected GPs, including
the presence of CBOs (as indicative of social capital are presented in
Tables 3.1, 3.2, 3.3 and 3.4*).
All the stakeholders associated with the functioning of panchayats
and delivery of health services were included in the study. An attempt
was made to include one GP headed by a woman pradhan and one by
a SC pradhan in every district. In each GP, the following categories of
respondents were covered: six villagers from each ward or up-gram sabha
(UGS), including three males and three females, were selected. Out of
these, one male and one female belonged to the below poverty line (BPL)
category and one each to the SC category. Apart from the GP pradhan,
the ward panch and the GP secretary formed part of the study. Among the
health functionaries, the Anganwadi worker, the Auxiliary Nurse Midwife
(ANM), the Male Health Worker (MPW) and the Ayurvedic doctor,
where available, were included in the survey. After making allowance for
field-level constraints, the final sample consisted of 144 villagers, 24 GP
pradhans, 23 ward panchs, 23 GP secretaries, 23 Anganwadi workers,
18 ANMs, 12 MPWs and 6 Ayurvedic doctors (Table 4).
A set of both conventional and participatory tools was used for col-
lection of data:
(i) Information on various aspects of the functioning of rural health
programmes and services, and the role and performance of GPs in it, as
perceived by the villagers, was obtained by canvassing a specially designed
schedule among the sample villagers. Focus group discussions were also
held with villagers to generate desired information. Information on local
mahila mandals, kisan sabhas, youth clubs, etc. (as indicative of social
capital) across the panchayats was collected.

* Due to archaic nature of the articles some tables in this chapter are not available
and could not be reproduced.

Chapter 04.indd 49 2013-11-28 5:33:41 PM

 50 Sthitapragyan Ray

Table 4
District-wise Distribution of Sample Respondents

Category of Respondents Kangra Sirmaur Solan Una Total

Villagers 36 36 36 36 144
GP Pradhans 6 6 6 6 24
Ward Panchs 6 6 5 6 23
GP Secretaries 6 5 6 6 23
Anganwadi Workers 6 5 6 6 23
ANMs 5 3 4 6 18
MPWs 1 3 3 5 12
Ayurvedic Doctors 2 1 2 1 6
Total 68 65 68 72 273
Source: Field Survey.

(ii) Data relating to the role played and constraints faced by the GP in the
implementation of health programmes were collected from elected GP
members at the panchayat and ward level and from the panchayat secretary
also, with the help of specific schedules and informal discussions.
(iii) The views and perceptions of health functionaries at the GP/sub-centre
level were also gathered through schedules and discussions with the help of
appropriate checklists prepared for the purpose.

While primary data had been collected from stakeholders by

administration of structured schedules and holding of discussions on
above lines, secondary data and information were obtained from various
offices and reports of the state and central governments and other pub-
lished sources and websites, wherever feasible, with due acknowledge-
ment. The study was carried out during June–November 2003.

Background Characteristics of Sample Respondents

There were equal number of men and women among the sample villagers.
More than half of them (53%) were SCs, about 8 per cent were OBCs
and the rest (39%) belonged to general categories. About 42 per cent of
the respondent villagers were in the official BPL category. A large majority

Chapter 04.indd 50 2013-11-27 7:04:33 PM

 Gram Panchayat and Health Care Delivery 51

(88%) of them were literate. Many of the sample villagers (64%) were
having membership in or association with civil society groups like mahila
mandals, youth clubs, kisan sabhas, NGOs, SHGs, etc. (Table 5).
Out of the twenty-four GP Pradhans interviewed, fifteen (62.5%)
were men and nine (37.5%) were women; 29 per cent of them belonged
to the SCs and 8.3 per cent to the OBC categories; and 12.5 per cent of
them were from the BPL families. A large number of them (62.5%) were
having membership in or association with civil society groups. While a
majority of them were educated up to higher secondary or higher level,
only one was found to be illiterate.
Of the twenty-three ward panchs, thirteen (56.5%) were male and
ten (43.5%) were female, and 43.5 per cent belonged to the SC and
13 per cent to the OBC categories. While 22 per cent of them came
from BPL families, 44.34 per cent reported membership in or asso-
ciation with local civil society groups. Of the twenty-three anganwadi
workers (all women), 26 per cent were SCs and others belonged to the
general category. A majority of them (78.3%) have studied up to higher
secondary level. Of the six Ayurvedic doctors, four were men, two
belonged to the OBC category and none of them had been provided
with official residence at the place of work.
Out of the sample of twenty-three GP Secretaries, twenty-one
(91.3%) were men. While about 29 per cent of them were SCs, the rest
belonged to the general category. Out of the total of 18 ANMs covered,
about 21 per cent belonged to the SCs, 12 per cent to the OBC and
the rest (about 67%) to the general category. While the majority (61%)
was given official residence near the sub-centre, just about 17 per cent
were making use of it. Of the twelve MMWs interviewed, one-fourth
belonged to the SC category, half to the OBC category and the rest
to the general category. None of them had been provided with official
accommodation.

Findings of the Study

Role of Gram Panchayat

Only about 6 per cent of the sample villagers said that they had gone to
the GP with a health issue and just about 3 per cent reported lodging a
complaint against the health staff with the GP. But just about 1 per cent

Chapter 04.indd 51 2013-11-27 7:04:33 PM

 52 Sthitapragyan Ray

of the villagers interviewed replied in the affirmative about some action

being initiated by the GP on their complaints.
About 60 per cent of the GP pradhans reported having discussed
health issues in the GP/GS meetings. Potable water and sanitation
seemed to be the most discussed issue. Even so, in most cases, villagers
had looked after their own sanitation without much assistance from the
GP and its role in drinking water was limited to purifying water sources.
Just about 45 per cent of the ANMs and MPWs reported getting
GP assistance in community mobilisation and related health activities.
While about 90 per cent of MPWs reported attending GS meetings
during the last one year, about 60 per cent of the ANMs reported so.
More than 90 per cent of the villagers interviewed denied having any
knowledge about organisation of health camps or community mobilisa-
tion efforts by GP. Panchayat swasth sahayak, a grass roots level health
worker—appointed by and accountable to the GP—had not been
appointed in most of the study panchayats. More than 90 per cent of
sample villagers, 80 per cent of GP pradhans and 75 per cent of sub-
centre level health staff said that there was no appointment of a swasth
sahayaks in their panchayats. GP’s role in resource generation for health
and related activities is negligible. The role of GP in the registration
of births, deaths and marriages seemed to be up to mark. But, here
also, the lack of co-ordination between GPs and the grass roots level
functionaries of sectoral departments involved in the registration pro-
cess, like the ANMs and the anganwadi workers, is quite palpable. Only
about 28 per cent of GP pradhans and ward panchs reported discussing
infant- and child-mortality matters in GP and ward meetings. As far as
family planning is concerned, GP’s role was negligible. Even in matters
of information dissemination, the anganwadi workers and ANMs are
the primary sources for villagers.
Nevertheless, a large majority of villagers (69%), ward panchs
(75%) and GP pradhans (85%) still believed that effective involvement
of GPs would improve health service delivery in terms of greater par-
ticipation of people in health programmes, more people friendly service
delivery and greater accountability at the cutting edge level, and better
maintenance of sub-centre facilities, including medicine availability and
greater popular willingness to pay user fees. But, typically, public health
functionaries had low expectations from panchayats, as just 9 per cent of
Ayurvedic doctors and less than half of the MPWs, ANMs and angan-
wadi workers believed so.

Chapter 04.indd 52 2013-11-27 7:04:33 PM

 Gram Panchayat and Health Care Delivery 53

Role of Standing and Advisory Committees

As many as half the GP pradhans interviewed reported that there was no

standing committee on health in their panchayats. While just about one-
third of the ANMs and MPWs reported having a standing committee
in their areas, more than half of them said that the committee had not
involved them in any discussion or programme.
As far as the constitution and functioning of the health advisory
committee (PARIKAS) is concerned, there is considerable variation in
the responses of sample villagers and public functionaries at the grass
roots level. While just 16 out of 144 villagers (about 11%) were aware
of PARIKAS, 44 out of 59 public functionaries (about 75%), including
panchayat secretaries, ANMs, MPWs and Ayuvedic doctors were aware
of the same. This is natural considering the fact that PARIKAS has been
created by a notification of the Government of HP. Hence, the public
functionaries, even at the grass roots level, were more aware of its exis-
tence than the villagers. Thus, the high degree of ignorance about the
PARIKAS among the sample villagers is particularly telling because it is
designed as a civil society watchdog body to make health service provid-
ers accountable to their clients.

Role of Civil Society

There is a significant presence of civil society groups in the study villages in

the form of mahila mandals, SHGs, kisan sabhas, youth clubs, etc. All the
interviewed villagers, panchayat pradhans, ward panchs, ANMs, MPWs,
Ayurvedic doctors and anganwadi workers acknowledged the existence of
these community-based organisations in the study villages. A large major-
ity of the sample villagers, panchayat pradhans and ward panchs (about
60%) confirmed their association with or membership in these organisa-
tions. However, no concerted effort has been made by the panchayats to
involve the community-based organisations in their health efforts.

Annual Health Micro Plans

In a decentralised system of health service delivery, the GPs are expected

to play a key role in planning for the health needs of the villagers, based
on a participatory community needs assessment (CNA) approach. With

Chapter 04.indd 53 2013-11-27 7:04:33 PM

 54 Sthitapragyan Ray

a shift from the target-oriented to a more process-oriented approach,

there is greater premium on it. However, over 75 per cent of villag-
ers had no idea of the CNA, as their health needs had not at all been
assessed by the GPs. Interestingly, a little less than half the GP pradhans
and about half the GP secretaries and ward panchs claimed that the
CNA had been carried out. A majority of the ANMs and MPWs (85%)
claimed so.

Capacity Building

Training and capacity building of panchayat members or at least of the

members of the GP health committees can go a long way in empower-
ing them and in enhancing the accountability of local public service
providers. However, this emerged as a highly neglected area, notwith-
standing claims to the contrary. Only about 15 per cent of panchayat
pradhans and ward panchs reported having received any training on the
role of panchayats in the rural health sector. About 58 per cent of ANMs
and MPWs received training on the role of panchayats in the health
sector. None of the panchayat secretaries and Ayurvedic doctors inter-
viewed had undergone any training in this field. Among other factors,
the neglect of capacity building of the key stakeholders had taken its
toll in terms of non-preparation of CNA, low awareness levels, defunct
health committees, etc.

Anganwadi Centre

A large majority of the villagers (94%) expressed satisfaction with the

performance of anganwadi workers. They had not only ensured ade-
quate nutrition to children, but also played a key role in immunisa-
tion programmes and in awareness-generation about antenatal services.
While there is adequate coordination between the anganwadi workers
and the ANMs, the same was conspicuous by its absence between the
panchayats and the anganwadi workers. None of the sample anganwadi
workers bothered to inform the GP about cases of malnutrition, while
the ANM concerned was informed about the same. About 48 per cent
of panchayat pradhans had no clear idea of the role of anganwadi centre
and its workers.

Chapter 04.indd 54 2013-11-27 7:04:33 PM

 Gram Panchayat and Health Care Delivery 55

Discussion

C. Collins rightly points out that ‘decentralisation is a complex pro-

cess and can’t be recommended across the board, without taking into
account historical, political, social and geographical realities’ (1989:
170). Unlike the north Indian states such as Bihar, Madhya Pradesh,
Rajasthan and Uttar Pradesh, HP has a relatively less polarised social
structure and a well-developed primary education and health infrastruc-
ture which compares favourably with that of Kerala. While HP villages
are far from egalitarian, the divisions of caste, class and gender that have
been so pervasive elsewhere in North India are not so sharp here (L.R.
Sharma 1987: 68; Singh 1998: 207; PROBE Team 1999; Dreze and
Sen 2002: 107). The positive features of HP rural social structure, like
the less hierarchical and divisive caste relations, very low incidence of
landlessness, relatively equal access to productive resources like common
property resources, and progressive gender relations, have not only cre-
ated favourable conditions for collective local action and village democ-
racy, but also reduced the danger of ‘local capture’ by local elites and the
consequent derailing of positive public interventions by social divisions
and privileged local interests (L.R. Sharma 1987: 158; Singh 1998: 207;
Dreze and Sen 2002: 109). The sense of village community in HP has
also facilitated the emergence of consensual social norms on local village
institutions and public services, including health centres, panchayats,
mahila mandals, etc. (Sarkar 1999).
Here the notion of ‘social capital’ assumes significance in explain-
ing the success of local governments (Putnam 1993: 182; Evans 1997;
Sundaram 1997: 48; Woolcock 2000; World Bank 2001). Social capital
refers to the relations of trust and co-operation and networks and organ-
isations which can promote co-operative actions (Putnam 1993: 167;
Woolcock 2000). Social capital, it is argued, promotes development
by making local governance and public service delivery more effective
in terms of enhancing popular participation, accountability and trans-
parency (Putnam 1993:182; Fukuyama 1995: 356; Krishna 2000: 72;
Uphoff 2000: 215; World Bank 2001). In the case of rural HP, as Jean
Dreze and Amartya Sen put it succinctly, ‘the general concern with social
capital can be extended . . . to more precise links between co-operative
action and development and also to the historical and material roots of
social co-operation’ (2002: 108).

Chapter 04.indd 55 2013-11-27 7:04:33 PM

 56 Sthitapragyan Ray

Our findings also attest to the rich social capital base of the study
villages, as all the sample respondents confirmed the existence of and
a large majority (about 60%) acknowledged their membership in or
asso-ciation with mahila mandals, SHGs, kisan sabhas, youth clubs,
etc. To use the language of social capital advocates like the World Bank
(2001), we find the existence of two types of social capital, namely,
the ‘bonding’ and the ‘bridging’, in the civil society of the study vil-
lages. The bonding social capital that is, the relations of trust, based
on neighbourhood, kin and gender having been transformed into the
bridging social capital, that is, the relations of trust across the differ-
ent socio-demographic groups (like the SHGs, mahila mandals, etc.)
in the rural areas. The bridging social capital is expected to provide the
basis for what the World Bank (2001) calls the ‘linking social capital’,
which links the rural people to the state apparatus, including the pub-
lic service providers. That linkage was conspicuous by its absence in
the rural health care sector of the study areas. The panchayats could
have provided the platform for building up of relations of trust and co-
operation between villagers and the local public health personnel and
thereby could have enhanced the embeddedness of the public health
functionaries among their client groups. The potential of the local
SHGs, mahila mandals, youth clubs and the specially designed bodies
within the panchayat framework to ensure civil society participation in
its health activities, like PARIKAS, could have been utilised for deriving
synergy and ensuring complementarity between their actions. There is
a need to recognise that social capital inheres not just in civil society,
but also in an enduring set of relationships that spans the public-private
divide (Evans 1996: 1122).
The proponents of social capital would have us believe that the HP
villages provide the perfect setting, with their rich social capital base,
relatively egalitarian social relations, popular participation in local body
elections (more than 75% voter turnout in the 2000 panchayat elections),
functioning of a grass-roots level non-party democratic system and non-
political electoral mobilisation in panchayat elections, in which candi-
dates are judged primarily on the basis of their merit, performance and
also caste factors (Sud 2001: 2126–27), for a certain magic to work—
enhancing local government (GP) performance through higher levels
of accountability and participation. However, that magic had failed
mainly because of a failure to derive synergy from a three-way dynamics
between local government (GP), civil society and the state government.

Chapter 04.indd 56 2013-11-27 7:04:33 PM

 Gram Panchayat and Health Care Delivery 57

While the synergy between state initiative and co-operative action has
been one of the cornerstones of the schooling revolution in HP (PROBE
Team 1999; Dreze and Sen 2002: 109), the absence of these elements,
has led to very disappointing results in the case of health care delivery.
The synergy between state initiative and co-operative action has also
been one of the key factors underlying the success of decentralised rural
health care initiatives in Kerala, with which HP shares the common
asset of ‘social preparedness’ (Dreze and Sen 2002: 110; see also Harriss
2001: 123–24). This thesis is also very convincingly demonstrated in
another developing-country context by Judith Tendler (1997): in the
Ceara province of northeast Brazil, one form of strategic state interven-
tion in the primary health sector involved deliberate efforts at building
up of relations of trust (or linking social capital) between officials and
people, which was earlier lacking. Once established, these trust relations
led to productive and mutually beneficial interactions between them,
resulting in better performance of public health programmes and reduc-
tion in infant mortality.
All this highlights the fact that the realisation of the potential of
participatory grass roots democracy, even under otherwise favourable
conditions, depends crucially upon the establishment of a positive polit-
ical context and external linkages or what is called the linking social
capital. There is no short cut to successful decentralisation initiatives,
particularly in the health sector. Successful and sustainable decentralisa-
tion cannot be achieved by administrative fiat, for it involves a political
process, which ironically has to be initiated and, if necessary, sustained
from the above. Romantic communitarian visions to the contrary repre-
sent a gross political misjudgement.

Conclusion

In terms of the criteria for assessing local government (GP) performance—

formulation of local (health) plans based on community needs assess-
ment; mobilisation and management of resources (financial, human,
material and ‘social capital’); communication and awareness generation
and (health) programme implementation—the GPs in the study areas
have performed poorly. They have failed to translate the information
advantage into an efficiency advantage. The passing of laws, formulation
of policies and issuance of notifications have not served the purpose.

Chapter 04.indd 57 2013-11-27 7:04:33 PM

 58 Sthitapragyan Ray

Thus, there is a gap between the decentralised approach to health service

delivery on paper and the form it has taken on the ground. Three distinct
yet related sets of explanatory factors have been identified: lack of effec-
tive devolution of powers and resources on the panchayats; inadequate
capacity building of GP members, and poor involvement of active civil
society groups. However, more important than all this, the study calls
attention to the political economy of decentralisation and the need for
a high degree of political commitment or interest-group support for the
success of these initiatives. Further studies might attempt to understand
better the mechanisms that link such support, or lack of it, to the imple-
mentation of decentralised health care initiatives in rural HP.

Acknowledgements

Data used in this article are part of a larger study commissioned by the
National Institute of Rural Development (NIRD), Hyderabad. I am
grateful to the Director General, NIRD for giving me the opportunity
to work on this project. The study was carried out under the supervi-
sion of S.K. Alok. I thank him for his support and encouragement.
Helpful and detailed comments on earlier drafts of this paper from the
anonymous referee and P. Durga Prasad are gratefully acknowledged.
The usual disclaimers apply.

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———. 2002b. Human development report, 2002. Shimla: GOHP.
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———. 2002b. National human development report. New Delhi: Oxford University Press.
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 5
Occupational Attitudes
of Physicians
A. Ramanamma and
Usha Bambawale

Introduction

A
physician’s role, as a healer is considered all important in
society. In the most general terms medical practice may be said
to be oriented to coping with disturbances to the health of the
individual. We may say that illness is a state of disturbance to the nor-
mal functioning of the total human individual. This includes the indis-
position of the state of the organism as a biological system and of the
patient’s personal and social adjustment. Yet the two—medicine and
sociology, have come together only in recent years, and now depend on
each other to some extent. Both the sciences deal with man, one with his
anatomy and the other with his environment, interactions and actions.
A physician himself is a social being with role sets that enable him to
interact with individuals in the correct perspective.
When we view a physician’s training, we find that he has a long-
standing directional education programme. The medical subculture
covers a wide range—from matters of relations to patients, colleagues
and the community—and it is the function of the medical school to
transmit this subculture to successive generations of neophytes (Merton
1976: 65). A student of medicine has to put in a minimum of 51/2 years
of channelized study before he takes the ‘Hypocratis oath’ to serve ailing

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 OCCUPATIONAL AT TITUDES OF PHYSICIANS 61

humanity. The medical student in the hospital environment has his

attention drawn to the important interaction between social conditions,
disease and health. Caring for the sick is thus not an incidental activity,
but this professional training is essentially occupation-oriented and the
individual is expected to fulfil a particular role, for he has functionally
specialized in this full-time job.
It would be well worth mentioning that in India, the amount
spent on each practitioner of medicine by the government is approxi-
mately Rs. 80,000/- along with the private expenditure of the students.
Therefore, there are restrictions on admission and hence only those who
are high-achievers make the grade. Indeed the process of learning to be
a physician can be conceived as largely, the learning of blending—the
seeming or actual, incompatibilities into consistent and stable patterns
of behaviour.
“Like other occupations, the profession of medicine has its own
normative subculture, a body of shared and transmitted ideas, values and
standards towards which the members of the profession are expected to
orient their behaviour. The norms and standards define technically and
morally allowable patterns of behaviour, indicating what is prescribed,
preferred, permitted or proscribed.” (Merton 1976: 65). Merton further
feels that the composition of values involved in the medical subculture
probably varies somewhat in detail and emphasis among medical schools,
but there nevertheless appears to be substantial agreement among them.
The years of education no doubt bring in interaction at various
levels—those between students, between students and teachers, between
the individual and hospital authorities and between individual and
patients. Thus the total outcome is a sound theoretical and practical
training of the basic necessities in treating an ‘all-human’ being. Deodhar
(1971: 8) has pointed out that “the practice of medicine has evolved
since ancient times, and has been greatly influenced by scientific prog-
ress and thinking. During the last 25 years there has been an appreciable
change. With the increased specialization the practice of medicine has
become more impersonal and patients are liable to be regarded as ‘cases’
rather than human beings.” But this, we feel, could easily be explained.
Parsons (1952: 435) feels that effective neutrality is also involved in the
physicians’ role as an applied scientist. The physician is expected to treat
an objective problem in objective, scientifically justifiable terms. The
values and norms are defined by the profession in terms of how they are
put into effect. Since many physicians will find themselves in situations

Chapter 05.indd 61 2013-11-27 5:35:54 PM

 62 A. Ramanamma and Usha Bambawale

where it is difficult to live up to the role requirements from the stand-

point of the profession, it becomes even more important that they thor-
oughly acquire the values and norms that are to regulate their behaviour.
Four and a half years of education and an year of internship quali-
fies the physician to set up his general practice, but a few prefer to go
for higher qualifications and specialize in any of the several branches
of medical studies. This specialization may even be concerned with a
detailed study of one organ. Specialists set up consultancy practice—a
type of practice wherein the general practitioners refer their cases for
prognosis to an authority. Thus we find, there is a broad division of these
consultants into physicians and surgeons. We have devoted this study
to practitioners of medicine and not included the other branches of the
medical field essentially because, these physicians have an important role
to perform in the healing process of the total individual that includes
physical, psychological and social aspects. In terms of the relation of the
physician’s occupational role to the total instrumental complex, there
is an important distinction between the two types of physicians. One,
the ‘Private Practitioner’ and the other who works within the context of
an organization. The important thing about the former is that he must
not only care for sick people in a technical sense, but also settle the
terms of exchange with them because of his direct dependence on them
for payment for his services. The physician in this case must, to a high
degree, also employ his own infrastructural facilities for carrying out
this function. With this background in mind it would be worthwhile
mentioning the purpose of this work.
We have not come across any prior studies in India which deal
with this particular aspect in medical sociology. But we could mention
a few studies made outside India that help to throw some light on these
aspects of medical sociology. Peterson and associates (1956, Ed.) in their
study of 94 North Carolina General Practitioners have examined physi-
cian’s training in medical schools, training in hospitals, age, office-care
arrangements, type of medical school attended and many other charac-
teristics to determine their relationships to the quality of patient care.
Morehead, Donaldson and Burt (1964) in their Teamster Family study
have explored impact of physicians’ training and type of affiliated hospi-
tals and their performance in patient care. Roemer and Friedman (1971)
in their study of ‘Doctors in Hospitals’, have determined the relation-
ship between the level of medical staff organization and the quality of
hospital care. Thus all these studies concern themselves with patient care.

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 OCCUPATIONAL AT TITUDES OF PHYSICIANS 63

Friedson (1972) has concluded that too much attention has been
paid to the personal characteristics and attitudes of individual workers
and too little attention has been given to work setting factors. As far
back as in 1935, Henderson traced the physician and patient as a social
system. Weswager (1952) tried to measure job satisfaction of profes-
sional nurses, but a similar study has escaped notice in connection with
medical practitioners.
This background leads us to clarify the nature of this study.

Aim of This Study

It is the aim of this paper to study the occupational attitudes of the

physicians. It examines:

(i) Whether the amount of time spent per patient by doctors is in relation to
(a) patient’s illness, (b) doctor’s rewards;
(ii) the degree of interaction between the physician and the patient in order to
perform the role obligations of a physician;
(iii) whether the physicians are able to attain effective neutrality in their interac-
tion with their patients, in order to fulfil their role obligations.

Before we analyse the data, the methodology applied in this study

would be explained.

Methodology

This is essentially a comparative study. It has included three types of

physicians: (1) The general practitioners (G.P.), (2) the paid physicians
(P.P.) attached to hospitals on a salary basis, and (3) Consultants (C.P.),
who have one or more hospital attachments—whether paid or honor-
ary, or a private consultant practice. In the Parsonian sense, the first and
third categories are those of ‘Private Practitioners.’
It would be in order to define what we mean by these terms: gen-
eral practice, paid physicians and consultants. General practice has been
defined by John Hunt as

“that field of medicine in which a doctor accepts the continuing responsibility

of providing or arranging for the patients total medical care, which includes
prevention and treatment of any illness or injury affecting the mind or any part

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 64 A. Ramanamma and Usha Bambawale

of the body. Continuous care, and the comprehensiveness or totality of cover-

age and the direct access to the doctor are the chief characteristics of general
practice. A general practitioner is often known as the doctor of first contact as
the sick go to him first for treatment. The patients are generally suffering from
simpler ailments and from early disease compared with the patients attending
the hospitals or specialists clinics.”

Hospital practice is run by Government or social organisations

and physicians function as a group of specialists assisted by a group of
other doctors, paramedicals and auxiliary staff. To a large extent this is
necessitated by the technological development of medicine itself and
above all the need for technical facilities beyond the reach of individual
practitioners. General hospitals include consulting rooms, clinics and
nursing home often involving complex cooperation of several different
kinds of physicians.
Consultant practice belongs to a specialist doctor, who limits his
practice either wholy or partially to particular disease entities or age
groups. Patients come either directly or are referred by G.Ps.

Size and Selection of the Sample

The sample size consists of 25 doctors in each category, who practice allo-
pathic medicine and have a minimum of an MBBS degree. Therefore,
this study emphasises the results of 75 doctors’ opinions and attitudes.
The local medical council was approached to give us the correct
figures of registered medical practitioners. They provided a total list of
doctors practicing medicine and that was more than 7000 doctors. But
this consists of RMPs, LCPs, LMS, Ayurvedic and Homeopathic practi-
tioners. A list of the total consultants was obtained from the same body
and every 8th quote was approached as there is a total of 200 physi-
cians. Similarly a list of doctors working as paid physicians was made
by acquiring the list from various hospitals. There are a total of 50 paid
physicians. Every 2nd quote was approached from a total of 8 hospitals.
As for the general practitioners an areawise list was obtained from
the medical council and every 30th quote was enlisted as a respon-
dent, from Poona City only. Every care was taken to omit, LPs, LCPs
and those who were Ayurvedic aud homeopathic medicine graduates.
Similarly every care was taken to omit, Surgeons, Gynaecologists, ENTs,

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 OCCUPATIONAL AT TITUDES OF PHYSICIANS 65

Paediatricians, Radiologists and those who practice other branches of

medicine.
The entire sample is drawn from Poona city. This city has two medi-
cal colleges and several large hospitals. There are also a few hospitals of
medium size that are run by trusts. There are paid physicians and con-
sultants working in these hospitals.

The Questionnaire

Though Marathi is the regional language, for uniformity in interpreting

the data, it was decided to collect the data through an English language
questionnaire. As all the respondents were well educated it was easy to
do so.
In all, there were twentyone questions with one or two sub-questions.
The whole questionnaire comprised of three broad sections—bio-data,
professional data and need gratification. It was hoped that the details
obtained would give us a conclusive and cohesive picture of the trends in
the occupational attitudes of physicians.

Analysis

The collected data was analysed under six broad categories and each
finding was compared and correlated with the different groups: General
Practitioners (G.P.), Paid Physicians (P.P.) and Consultants (C.P.). We,
therefore, present—first and foremost, the data regarding the socio-
economic background of our respondents. We believe this to be impor-
tant as it bears direct relation to need gratification and occupational
attitudes of the doctors.

Socio-Economic Data

The age group of these 75 physicians ranged from 26–60 years. When
segregated in their respective categories, we find the highest number of
G.Ps. (40%) were in the 26–35 years age group. The P.Ps. were found to be
in two age groups, i.e., 80% in 26–35 years and 20% in the 36–45 years
group. The C.Ps. were in the largest numbers (48%) in 36–45 age group.
Table 1 clarifies the position about the various age groups.

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 66 A. Ramanamma and Usha Bambawale

Table 1
Age Group of the Doctors

G.P. P.P. C.P.

Age No. Percentage No. Percentage No. Percentage
26–35 10 40 20 80 2 8
36–45 9 36 5 20 12 48
46–55 4 16 − − 9 36
56–60 2 8 − − 2 8
Total 25 100 25 100 25 100

This particular age group demarcation is evidently so, because the

G.Ps. set up practice soon after they are awarded the MBBS degree. The
consultants take a little longer to specialize, gain some experience in a
hospital or under a senior well-established C.P and set up a consultant’s
practice. The P.P take up jobs in hospitals as soon as they finish their
graduation/post-graduate study and many a time leave these posts to set
up independent practice by the time they are 40 years old.
There were 76% males among G.Ps. and P.Ps, while 24% females
were found each among G.Ps. and P.Ps. As against this, all the consultants
in our sample were males. The reason for this dearth of women among
consultants was due to the fact that women practitioners of medicine
chose other branches: Paediatrics, Gynaecology, Obstetrics, Anasthesia,
Pathology and many went in for teaching posts in the colleges.
All our G.Ps. and consultants were married, while 76% of P.Ps. were
married and 24% were unmarried. When we examine the pattern with
regard to the number of children these doctors have, we find it varies
to some extent according to their situation. Table 2 shows these trends.
There were 6 G.Ps. who had no children but the rest together
had 39 children, which meant a mean of 1.7 per family of the doctor.
Six P.Ps. did not have children and the rest had a total of 34; thus the
mean was 1.6 per couple. All the consultants had children and had a
total of 63, thus having a mean of 2.5 per couple. This trend of a greater
number of children among C.Ps. could be said to be due to the fact that
they were in an older age group. Therefore, they had completed the stage
of family procreation.
When we glance at the educational level of these doctors, 76% of
G.Ps. had only an MBBS degree, while 16.00% had a diploma along with

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 OCCUPATIONAL AT TITUDES OF PHYSICIANS 67

Table 2
The Number of Children and Professional Situation

G.P. P.P. C.P.

No. Children No. % No. % No. %
No. children 6 24 − − − −
1 only 9 36 9 36 − −
2–3 10 40 7 28 21 84
4 and above − − 3 12 4 16
Not married − − 6 24 − −
Total 25 100 25 100 25 100

the basic degree, and 8.00% had a foreign degree along with their MBBS.
Among the P. Ps. 56.00% had an M.D. degree, 8.00% had foreign degree
along with an M.D. and only 36.00% had an MBBS degree. (They were
all appearing for a higher degree examination). All consultants had M.D.
degree and 20.00% had foreign degree along with their M.D.

Occupational Rewards

The type of work and hours of practice were dependent on the degree. It
was found that among G.Ps. 52% had their own private practice, while
24% had an attachment to a factory along with the practice and another
24% had the added advantage of the E.S.I.S. Registration practice. The
paid physicians were all working in hospitals as employees and did not
pursue any private practice. The consultants (72.00%) were honoraries
in some general hospital, and devoted their full time to practice. Besides
this attachment to a general hospital, 14.00% had attachments to other
hospitals and another 14% had attachments to factories also.
The amenities that are considered important for medical practice
and some luxuries for recreation were found to be available to the con-
sultants in the greatest numbers and minimum to the paid physicians.
Thus all the consultants had telephones, cars, scooters, 76% own con-
sulting rooms, houses and television sets. Of the paid physicians, on the
other hand, 32% had a telephone, 24% had a car, 76% had a scooter,
32% had their own house and 44% a television. Among G.Ps. 68%
had a telephone, scooter, a house and a television, while 40% of the

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 68 A. Ramanamma and Usha Bambawale

Table 3
Total Income of the Physicians per Month (as Declared in Their Income-Tax Returns)

G.P. P.P. C.P.

Total Income Per Month No. % No. % No. %
Below Rs. 1000, but 8 32 12 48 − −
more than Rs. 800/-
Rs. 1,000–1,500 4 16 6 24 − −
Rs. 1,501–2,000 3 12 5 20 − −
Rs. 2,001–3,000 6 24 2 8 − −
Rs. 3,001–4,000 4 16 − − − −
Rs. 4,001–5,000 − − − − 2 8
Rs. 10,000 only − − − − 3 12
Rs. 10,001–15,000 − − − − 2 8
Rs. 15,001–20,000 − − − − 3 12
Rs. 20,001–30,000 − − − − 8 32
Rs. 30,001–40,000 − − − − 5 20
Rs. 40,001–50,000 − − − − 2 8
25 100 25 100 25 100

G.Ps. also had a car. These amenities are directly related to the income
of these groups.
Table 3 gives the income of the respondents. It is seen therefrom
that the income picture makes it clear that the consultants earn the max-
imum income amongst professionals, who practice medicine. It may be
pointed out in this connection that education and income are not cor-
related in the case of P.Ps. because many a time the P.Ps. earn less money
than the G.Ps. who are less qualified.

Total Output of Work

When we look at the professional data we find that all these doctors
work from 6 to 14 hours a day. Table 4 gives the number of hours
of work done by the doctors.
This work ratio is to a great extent in proportion to the num-
ber of patients handled and income earned by these physicians. This

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 OCCUPATIONAL AT TITUDES OF PHYSICIANS 69

Table 4
Hours of Work Put in by the Physicians

G.P. P.P. C.P.

Hours of Work Per Day No. % No. % No. %
Less than 5 hours 2 8 − − − −
6 to 8 hours 13 52 9 36 3 12
9 to 10 hours 8 32 16 64 10 40
11 to 12 hours 2 8 − − 6 24
13 to 14 hours − − − − 4 16
15 hours a day − − − − 2 8
Total 25 100 25 100 25 100

incidentally is also in keeping with the number of places these doctors

work. We find that 52% of the G.Ps. work in only one place, that is,
their own clinic while 48% work in two places. All the P.Ps. work in one
place only as they are not allowed to work elsewhere and they receive a
compensation in the form of a non-practicing allowance. The consul-
tants on the other hand work at minimum two places. As many as 60%
of our sample said they worked in two places, but 20% worked in three
places and 20% worked in four or more places.
The number of patients examined per day were also in direct ratio
to the number of hours devoted to work and the place of work. Thus a
greater number of patients were examined by those physicians who went
to more than one place of duty. When we look at Table 5 this position
is fairly clear.
Incidentally those physicians, who said that they worked for 15 hours
a day and attended 4 or more than 4 places of work, spent on an aver-
age with each patient 6 minutes i.e., 10 patients an hour. Thus the time
devoted to each patient is less. No doubt that Merton (1976) while
remarking on the ambivalence of physicians, feels that the physicians must
be emotionally detached in their attitude towards patients thus keeping
“emotions on ice” and not becoming overtly identified with patients. But
Merton also says that they must avoid becoming callous through exces-
sive detachment and should have compassionate concern for the patient.
This little contact time, has put to rest another theory of self image put
forward by Merton (1976: 67–69) who felt that physicians must provide

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 70 A. Ramanamma and Usha Bambawale

Table 5
Number of Patients Examined per Day

G.P. P.P. C.P.

Number of Patients No. % No. % No. %
10 to 20 2 8 3 12 − −
21 to 30 4 16 13 52 − −
31 to 40 − − 7 28 − −
41 to 50 13 52 2 8 − −
51 to 60 − − − − 2 8
61 to 70 4 16 − − − −
71 to 80 2 8 − − 9 36
81 to 90 − − − − − −
91 to 100 − − − − 9 36
About 150 − − − − 5 20
Total 25 100 25 100 25 100

adequate and unhurried medical care for each patient—but they should
not allow any patient to usurp so much of their limited time as to have
this at the expense of other patients. No doubt, the C.Ps. are in no way
spending more time with the patients, to dislodge the Mertonian theory
of self image. On the other hand, they have no time for unhurried medical
care for each patient.

Inter-personal Relations

This would bring us to the focal point of physician-patient interac-

tion. We find that a greater number of G.Ps. (68%) know all their
patients very well, 16% of G.Ps. said they know 70% to 80% of their
patients personally. Approximately half the patients were known to 8%
of the G.Ps. and only 8% of G.Ps. said that they knew very few of
their patients well. The emphasis here was on a more personal relation-
ship. As on many occasions a physician becomes a confidant, it is to be
expected that he knows the financial conditions, family composition
and the emotional state of the patient. The patient and his family have

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 OCCUPATIONAL AT TITUDES OF PHYSICIANS 71

the deepest emotional involvements in what the physician can and can-
not do, and in a way his diagnosis and prognosis will define the situ-
ation for the patients. The doctor himself carries the responsibility for
the outcome and cannot help but be exposed to important emotional
strains by these facts. Similar considerations apply to physician’s need
of access to confidential information about his patients’ private life. For
reasons among which their place in the system of expressive symbol-
ism is prominent, many facts, which are relevant to people’s problems
of health fall into the realm of the private or confidential, about which
people are unwilling to talk to an ordinary friend or acquaintance. These
problems may concern the privacies of intimate personal relationships,
particularly those with sexual partners. This situation inevitably involves
the physicians in the psychologically significant private affairs of the
patient. For this very reason, a G.P. was known as a family physician.
On the other hand all the consultants said that they know only a
very few of their patients well. The paid physicians (72%) said that they
knew 70% to 80% of their patients while 28% felt that they knew only
a few patients well. The consultants felt they had no time to ‘cultivate’
social rapport with the patients. The P.Ps, came in contact with patients
as ‘ill human beings’ and did not attend to the same patient every time.
This is essentially because an increasing proportion of medical prac-
tice is now taking place within the context of some organization. To
a large extent this is necessitated by the technological development of
medicine itself, above all the need for technical facilities beyond the
reach of the individual practitioner, and the fact that treating the same
case often involves the complex cooperation of several different kinds of
physicians as well as of auxiliary personnel. This greatly alters the rela-
tion of the physician to the rest of the instrumental complex. He tends
to be relieved of much responsibility and hence necessarily of freedom,
in relation to his patients other than that in his technical role. Thus the
total image that emerges, is that of the G.P. being more aware of social
interaction with the patient than the other two groups. With this in
view, we will examine the data collected in response to questions aimed
to elicit information about doctor-patient social contact.
Of the G.Ps. 48% said that patients were now family friends.
Further 40% of G.Ps. said none of the patients were friends of the fam-
ily and 12% said that very few of the patients were on friendly terms
with their families. Amongst the P.Ps. 88% said a few of their patients
were family friends, the rest (12%) said a few patients were now known

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 72 A. Ramanamma and Usha Bambawale

to their families. The consultants (44%) declared that a limited number

of patients were family friends while a greater number of consultants
(56%) said none of their patients were friends.
A uniform pattern was observed regarding visit of these doctors to
their patients on a social footing. Among G.Ps. 40%, among P.Ps. 80%
and 92% of C.Ps. said they do not visit patients at their home socially.
The main reason given was that such familiarity bred contempt in the
sense that the authority of the doctors stood in the danger of being
reduced and patients took advantage of such a friendship. Another fac-
tor was the lack of time and lack of interest to develop friendship with
the patients and their families. Thus we find that even where both pro-
fessional and non-professional aspects of the relationship of the physi-
cians to the same persons are possible, there is a definite tendency to
segregate the two aspects.
When we analyse the data a characteristic picture emerges, that is:

(1) Total output of work: number of places of work: financial reward, are all
proportionate to each other.
(2) The role of the physician centres in his responsibility for the welfare of
patient in the sense of facilitating his recovery from illness to the best of
his ability. In meeting his responsibility, he is expected to acquire and use
high technical competence in ‘medical science’ and the techniques based
upon it.
(3) The G.P. knows his patients best and has more person-to-person contact
with the ‘ill’ human being. He also devotes more time to his patients.
(4) The P.P. has a more mechanical approach to the patient as in the setting in
which he works, personal identity is not given much importance. Further,
he is not totally responsible for the patient as he is safeguarded by the
bureaucratic machinery of the institution wherein he works. Yet the P.P.
has access to most sophisticated equipment and can avail himself of the
most modern methods of healing. But the P.Ps. treat a disease as a case
and not as a human being. Thus once a particular individual is cured of a
specific illness, he is discharged. This is despite the fact that the individual
in question may continue to be afflicted by one or more dormant diseases,
for no comprehensive care of the individual is assured by institutions where
these P.Ps work.

The P.Ps. have no doubt one very great advantage, that of examin-
ing and acquainting themselves with a number of rare conditions and
implications to the virtual exclusion of commonest problems.

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 OCCUPATIONAL AT TITUDES OF PHYSICIANS 73

Personal Need Gratification

We now consider a very important factor in the whole set up of medi-

cal practice—the one of job satisfaction. It is indeed true that a happy
worker is a willing worker. Therefore, this factor of personal need grati-
fication begins with one’s qualification. When assessed, it revealed that
all the consultants (100%) said that they were completely satisfied with
their academic achievements. On the other hand 30% G.P.s. and 64%
P.Ps. were found to be satisfied with their qualifications, while 24%
G.Ps. and 36% P.Ps. were dissatisfied. The reason given for their dis-
satisfication was the aspiration of a higher qualification in their chosen
field. There were 36% G.Ps. who said they were in doubt whether or not
they were satisfied with their present qualifications in medicine.
Naturally, the choice of a job and satisfaction in it go hand in hand.
We found that 32% G.Ps., 100% P.Ps. and 72% C.Ps. had chosen their
present jobs on a priority basis. This choice being their ‘first prefer-
ence’, they were totally satisfied with the work they did. There were
36% G.Ps., who were not too happy with the pattern of work they had
chosen, as they had to stifle their desire for higher education. Thus we
found, 8% G.Ps. said that private practice was forced on them by retir-
ing parents. Another, 8% had no choice as the burden of heavy family
responsibilities made them set up practice soon after graduation and 8%
of G.Ps., who were older said it was the fashion of the day to set up prac-
tice. They further testified that “all this specialization was a new fangled
idea”. There was no specific response from 8% G.Ps.
If as high as 36% G.Ps. were dissatisfied with their work, they
were asked if given the opportunity would they like to change it? There
were 75% of the dissatisfied G.Ps., who said they could not change
now and restart their further studies since they would not be able to
meet the financial burden, while 25% said that it was not too late to
change. Of the P.Ps., though all were satisfied with their chosen field,
44% said that they would definitely like to branch out as consultants
and begin private practice. Though this was their cherished desire, some
could not put it into practice because of two factors, (1) Economic and
(2) Psychological. The economic factors concerned the heavy invest-
ment and doubtful returns of private practice. Psychologically, they were
afraid of facing failure, social censure and total dissipation of profes-
sional ethics. In a hospital setting, an individual does not have to take

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 74 A. Ramanamma and Usha Bambawale

total responsibility of any patient, which he would be obliged to do in

case of private practice.
Job satisfaction and lack of role conflict invariably create a healthy
atmosphere. This may be a reason for recruiting more individuals in the
profession. Thus it is believed that medical practitioners encourage and
welcome their siblings and offsprings to enter the same profession. We
found this was true in the case of all consultants, 56% P.Ps. and 24%
G.Ps., while 16% G.Ps. emphatically said ‘No’ to such a proposition.
Further, 44% P.Ps. and 16% G.Ps. said that the choice was not theirs,
but that of their children and so at this stage they could not commit
themselves. About 34% G.Ps. said they were in two minds and could
not say what they wanted their siblings and children to do.
Finally, the question—would you encourage your children or rela-
tives to take up a practice like yours?—produced the following response.
Of the G.Ps. only 8%, of P.Ps. 24% and 80% of C.Ps. said ‘Yes’, while
60% G.Ps., 32% P.Ps. and 20% C.Ps. said ‘No’. A further 32% G.Ps.
and 44% P.Ps. said “We cannot say what we would like our children to
do.” The various reasons advanced, by those who said ‘No’ amounted
to—‘Would like them to specialise and start consulting practice.’

The Functional Significance of Medical Practice

Parsons (1952) has pointed out that ‘The analysis of this problem may
be centred about the pattern variables and the particular combination of
their values which characterizes the “professional” pattern in our society,
namely achievement, universalism, functional specificity, affective neu-
trality and collective orientation in that order.” The most fundamental
basis for the necessity of a universalistic achievement lies in the fact that
modern medical practice is the application of scientific knowledge by
technically competent, trained personnel. Therefore, a physician’s role is
not particularistically ascribed.
The universalism of the medical role has, however, also another type
of functional significance. In the light of this consideration it is clear
that there is a strong pressure to assimilate the physician to the nexus
of personal relationships in which patient is placed quite apart from the
specific technical content of the job he is called upon to perform. In
so far as his role can be defined in unequivocally universalistic terms,

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 OCCUPATIONAL AT TITUDES OF PHYSICIANS 75

this serves as a protection against such assimilation, because personal

friendships, love relationships and family relationships are overwhelm-
ingly particularistic.
This data gives a bird’s eye view of the total work pattern of physicians.
Before we conclude, we can sum up by saying that the role of the medical
practitioner belongs to the general class of ‘professional’ roles, a subclass
of the larger group of occupational roles.

Conclusion

We can draw some clear conclusions from this exploratory study:

(a) The general practitioners (G.P.) combine physical cure along with the
psychological and emotional care of their patients. He is thus a doctor to
whom patients go oftener and consider a family friend too. On the whole
the monetary gains of G.P.s are limited and yet the number of hours of work
are considerably longer than in other professions. The general physician can
always refer difficult cases to the hospital or send them to consultants.
(b) Paid physicians even though have less monetary gains are compensated
by curing patients, who have abnormal complications. They have at their
command good paramedical service, and excellent equipment, which the
other two categories lack. Without incurring the social responsibility of
failure, these P.Ps. can achieve job satisfaction.
(c) Usually the consultants get patients with a case history from G.Ps. or
government hospitals. So they start treatment sometime in the middle of a
sickness. They also utilize the services of technicians and other paramedical
facilities but the time they can utilize for examining the patients is too little.
So they cannot give much emotional and psychological satisfaction along
with the physical cure. The rewards offered by society in terms of money
and prestige are the maximum in this category.

When we consider the time spent per patient by doctors in relation

to the patients’ illness and the doctors’ rewards, the two seem to be nega-
tively related. The specialist, that is the consultant spends the minimum
time with his patient. All the same, his reward is the highest. For this
very reason the level of need gratification and interpersonal relation-
ship of consultants (C.Ps.) is the highest. The C.Ps have a very positive
approach to their work and not only like it but feel that their children
should also follow in their footsteps.

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 76 A. Ramanamma and Usha Bambawale

On the other hand, the P.Ps. are not all that satisfied with their
occupation. They either want to set up their own private practice or want
their children to be independent professionally. We feel that this attitude
is essentially linked up with the monetary benefits of the doctors.
Occupational hazards as such seem to make or mar the career of a
professional and yet none of the three categories of doctors have felt the
need to stress on this part of their professional life. As mentioned earlier
the maximum degree of interaction between the physician and patient
is between the G.P. and his patient and on a lesser degree between the
C.P., P.P. and their patients.
Now coming to the important aspect of attaining affective neu-
trality in their interaction with the patients we find that in the Indian
context the expert physicians (C.P.) have dragged affective neutrality
to such an extent that they spare only 5 to 6 minutes on an average for
diagonising an ailment and have no time for the total ‘human-being’.
The P.Ps. are also able to attain affective neutrality due to rota duty. This
enables them to see new patients oftener than is possible in the case of
a G.P. The G.Ps. on a lesser degree than the P.Ps, and C.Ps. can achieve
some neutrality. All the same, all the three categories of physicians can
perform their roles without considerable emotional involvement.
Finally we can say that each type of practice has its own silver lining
and the rewards are generally much more than in any other profession.
Besides, doctors are the most respected persons in society, getting a great
deal of importance and weilding a great deal of influence. The doctors
in turn on the whole get psychological satisfaction while curing the sick,
which could be much more than perceived in other jobs.

References
Deodhar, N. D. and Adranwala, J. K. (Ed.) 1971. Basic Preventive and Social Medicine G. Y.
Rane Prakashan.
Friedson, E. 1972. Profession of Medicine: A Study of Sociology of Applied Knowledge. New
York: Dodd Mead.
Henderson, L. J. 1935. “Physicians and patient as a social system”. New England Journal of
Medicine, 212, 819–832.
Merton, Robert K. 1976. Sociological Ambivalence and Other Essays. New York: The Free Press.
Morehead, M. A., Donaldson R. S. and Burt, R. R. 1964. A Study of the Quality of Hospital
Care, Seen by a Sample of Teamster Family Members in New York City. New York:
Columbia University School of Public Health and Administrative Medicine.

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 OCCUPATIONAL AT TITUDES OF PHYSICIANS 77

Parsons, Talcott 1952. The Social System. London: Tavistock Publications.

Peterson, O. L., Andrews, L. P., Spain, R. S. and Greenberg, B. G. 1956. An Analytic Study
of North Carolina Practice 1953–64. Ewanston Illinois: Association of American Medical
Colleges.
Roemer and Friedman H. E. 1977. Doctors in Hospital (As sighted by Rhee-Sango).
Rhee Sang 1977. “Relative importance of physicians personal and situational characteristics
for the quality of patient care”. Journal of Health and Social Behaviour, 18(1), 10–15.
Weswager, L. 1952. “The measurement of the job satisfaction of professional nurses”.
Research Studies of the State College of Washington, 20, 45–55.

Chapter 05.indd 77 2013-11-27 5:35:55 PM

 6
The System of Hope:
The Constitution of Identity
in Medical Institutions
Roma Chatterji

I
n this paper I discuss three monographs that deal with medical insti-
tutions in the Netherlands. Two of these, Vie Nursing Home: Field of
Study by H. ten Have and Disturbance and its Processing in Nursing
Homes by J.C. van der Wulp, are studies of nursing homes for old people
suffering from chronic and terminal diseases and are written by nursing
home doctors who have used methods culled from sociology. The third
is a study of a cancer research institute, conducted by a team of psychol-
ogists and sociologists at the invitation of the institute itself. However,
the report on the investigations of the team was not well-received by
the institute and was withdrawn from circulation soon after it was pub-
lished in 1978 with the title, Dealing with Despair in a Cancer Hospital1
by A. van Dantzig and A. de Swaan, two members of the research team.
There are two questions to which I wish to address myself. The first
is why should doctors actively involved in medical practice choose to
write sociological accounts of institutions in which they work, and the
second is why did the book on the cancer hospital receive such a nega-
tive response from within the institution while books on nursing homes
were not only received with enthusiasm but were also helpful in giving
focus to the discussion on nursing home identity in the Netherlands.2
I argue that answers to both these questions must be sought from

Chapter 06.indd 78 2013-11-26 3:38:25 PM

 The Constitution of Identity in Medical Institutions 79

within the institutions themselves—their self-perception and modes of

organization.
For the authors, these works are not merely ethnographic mono-
graphs but are also efforts at understanding problems posed by inva-
lidity, suffering and death for medical institutions themselves as well
as for the society at large. They are critical of the way in which these
problems are handled by the institutions but they are equally critical of
the increasing professionalization of care in Dutch society which leads
to the diminution of personal responsibility and initiative in the man-
agement of such problems. Thus, de Swaan, in a later work, refers to the
‘total medical regime’ through which society entrusts all matters per-
taining to disease and death to professionals. The overarching medical
network ties the sick person to a complicated and extensive therapeutic
apparatus which removes all sense of personal agency (de Swaan 1990).
However, in this paper the focus will be on the institutions
themselves—the nursing home and the cancer research institute. The
authors’ main concern is with a particular model of organization,
‘the medical model’, which allows for the creation of a work routine
whose legitimacy is sought to be based on medical knowledge or on
therapeutic requirements.
Goffman’s work on total institutions (1961) has had a major
influence on the critical understanding of medical institutions in the
Netherlands. It has helped to articulate the relationship between the
institution and society. For Goffman this relationship is examined in
terms of a series of oppositions between everyday life in a total institu-
tion and life in the wider society. Thus, the spatial barriers that separate
the three spheres of life—sleep, work and play—in the wider society
(Western society, that is) are broken down in the total institution.
Batch-living in the total institution is contrasted to family life in society.
Batches perform routinized activities under a supervisory authority.
These activities are brought under a single rational plan to fulfil the aims
of the institution. In society at large, a distinction is made between the
public domain of work and the private familial domain. The totalizing
influence of the institution breaks down this distinction. The official
goals of the institution become rationalizations for trivial rules which
regulate the daily life of inmates. All aspects of the inmates’ behaviour
tend to be interpreted in terms of the official goals. Thus, for example,
a prisoner by definition becomes a criminal by virtue of the fact that he

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is an inmate of a prison. In medical establishments, similarly, patients’

behaviour is often explained by disease categories.
The strength of Goffman’s work lies in its ability to demonstrate
how the total institution is not merely a bureaucratic organization, but
also a social institution and in this sense embodies a particular morality.
Ten Have (1979) uses this aspect of Goffman’s work as his point of
departure and distinguishes between two aspects of the nursing home:
the organizational and the institutional aspects. For him the organiza-
tion is a social group defined by certain goals.3 The individuals in the
organization interact to achieve these goals. They may have the freedom
to choose the methods by which the goals are best achieved, but they
have no freedom in the choice of particular goals. These are considered
to be a priori.4 He defines the institution as being a complex of nor-
mative modes of action. There is always a tension between these two
aspects. Ideally the institutional aspect should encompass the organi-
zational one, but there is always a danger that the organizational aspect
can become reified, serving as an end in itself rather than as a means for
attaining institutional goals. For ten Have there must be a reflexive rela-
tionship between these two aspects. The nursing home as an institution
occupies a moral space in society and must articulate its self-critique in
terms of this reflexive relationship.

The Medical Institution: The Cancer Hospital

The Dutch Cancer Institute was established in 1914 to promote research

and treatment of cancer. At that time, the medical establishment was
still caught between conflicting ideologies. On the one hand, the new
approach to disease that emphasized research and experimentation
had been gaining ground since the middle of the 19th century, and on
the other, remnants of the ‘charity-based’ approach towards sickness
were still present. This was characterized as ‘fatalistic’ and ‘pessimistic’ by
the new approach. Hospitals were no longer thought to be places where
poor people went to die, but were to become centres of knowledge where
teaching, research and treatment could be combined. The cancer hospital
grew out of this ideology and shared the same proselytizing zeal towards
the disease. The emphasis was on technology and greater specialization.
‘Specialization demanded particular aids and services: a laboratory, oper-
ation theatre and also an X-ray room, and so on. The patient had to

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come to the instruments. . . . The doctor slowly became the dominant

figure in the hospital.’5 The cancer hospital established its identity in
opposition to the religious tradition of charitable care. There were to be
no wards for terminal patients. Only those patients for whom ‘something
meaningful’ could be done were to be admitted. As van Dantzig and de
Swaan show, ‘something meaningful’ in the context of this institution
generally refers to the somatic aspect of sickness that can be handled
aggressively by means of sophisticated medical technology. The other
aspects of the disease, its impact on the sick person as well as the traumas
resulting from the medical treatment itself, are thought to be of second-
ary importance and are taken into consideration only if they interfere
with the course of treatment.

The Nursing Home

As hospitals became in creasingly specialized and technologically sophis-

ticated, there arose the need for another kind of institution that could
take care of the cases that could no longer fit into the organizational
framework of the specialized hospital. After the Second World War it
was the nursing home that grew into an institution that could accom-
modate chronic cases that did not require specialized medical treatment,
but rather, intensive nursing care. However, over the years the nursing
home has changed from being a second order hospital to an institu-
tion that has a specialization of its own—a ‘medicine of care’ called
continuous, long-term, systematic and multidisciplinary care (CLSM).
To understand the identity of the nursing home and its ideology of care
which it has developed in opposition to the ideology of cure of the hos-
pital, one has to turn to its history.
In the Netherlands the rise of the nursing home is associated with
the growth of medical and paramedical disciplines like geriatrics and
revalidation after the Second World War. Revalidation was able to
achieve the status of a scientific discipline when societies involved in
the War were faced with the necessity of putting thousands of disabled
soldiers back into the production process. This had an influence on the
treatment of patients suffering from chronic diseases. Chronic patients
in medical institutions were now kept out of bed as far as possible and
were made to follow a routine that would reflect that of normal everyday
life as far as possible within the requirements of medical treatment.

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Nursing home medicine6 in the Netherlands is involved chiefly

with the specialization, geriatrics. Geriatrics was carved out as a special
field of medical knowledge when it was found that the structure of the
aging body and brain showed significant differences from that found in
the normal adult population. It was argued that specialized knowledge
was required to diagnose diseases among old people because symptoms
manifested themselves very differently. Further, the incidence of chronic
diseases rose sharply with increasing age and these were again mani-
fested as multiple pathologies involving both the body and the mind
and thus required a holistic approach.
For greater clarity let us conceptualize the difference in the treat-
ment offered in the hospital and in the nursing home in terms of two
alternative models of disease and its treatment. One model would
conceive of the disease as having a particular pattern that is revealed in a
restricted time span. The disease first shows itself in symptoms which are
not necessarily intelligible to the sufferer, but which allow the specialist
to make a diagnosis and to suggest a course of treatment. We may call
this the acute/cure paradigm in which treatment is supposed to lead to
cure. The patient is considered to be a passive entity and the disease
is treated purely as a somatic manifestation—that is, as a biological
pathology. The second is the chronic/care paradigm. The treatment of
chronic disease involves its management rather than cure and must take
into account factors other than biological ones. Since this involves an
extended time span, the patient’s biography and his psycho-social envi-
ronment must also be considered.
It must be reiterated that these two models do not necessarily con-
form to the empirical description of particular diseases. They are impor-
tant, however, because they serve to orient representations that the
medical institution may have of itself and the diseases that it deals with.
This can best be illustrated by taking the example of specific diseases,
for example cancer and Alzheimer’s disease. Their suitability for discus-
sion here is determined by the fact that they fall within the purview
of the institutions being discussed. The nursing home, as an institu-
tion specializing in gerontological problems, has developed techniques
for the ‘treatment’ of forms of senile dementia like Alzheimer’s disease,
while the cancer hospital, as is suggested by the name itself, is a research
institute for the investigation and treatment of cancers of various forms.
Alzheimer’s disease has no clear-cut etiology or diagnosis, it is usually
recognized from the symptoms. These are radical personality changes,

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 The Constitution of Identity in Medical Institutions 83

short- and long-term memory deficits, aphasia, apraxia and agnosia.7 All
the symptoms are manifested gradually over an extended period of time
and it is usually difficult to recognize these symptoms in their patho-
logical form in the early stages of the disease. In fact, as we shall see,
the distinction between normal senescence and pathological senescence
remains problematic in gerontology. Recent research into the structure
of the aging brain has shown that the brains of persons suffering from
Alzheimer’s disease have a preponderance of senile plaques composed
of cellular debris and an amyloid substance (a glycoprotein resembling
starch), as well as neurofibrillary tangles. It is not clear, however, whether
the accumulation of this abnormal substance is a cause or an effect of
the disease. Also, symptoms such as these are usually discovered during
post-mortem operations and have no relevance to its treatment or man-
agement. Alzheimer’s disease is a chronic and terminal disease. It cannot
be seen as the direct result of morphological and biochemical changes
occurring in the brain and the central nervous system. The relationship
between so-called pathological behaviour and changes in the central ner-
vous system is mediated by the social environment and must be under-
stood in terms of the total profile of the person’s life.
Cancer is also a chronic and terminal disease. It has multiple causa-
tion and there are multiple pathologies associated with it. Its status is
ambivalent because some forms of cancer are curable while others are
not. However, unlike Alzheimer’s disease, it can be controlled and is
amenable to palliative intervention.
The cancer hospital represents itself primarily as a research insti-
tute, and not one for the care of cancer patients. It operates within the
acute/cure paradigm of medicine. The lives of patients who come to it
for treatment are structured around elaborate investigative procedures
which are supposed to plot the etiology of the disease, its diagnosis,
prognosis and eventual cure. However, as van Dantzig and de Swaan
point out, the model of treatment that is supposed to eventually lead
to cure is really based on the hope of cure. Anxieties about the very real
possibilities of death are kept hidden by a ‘system of hope’ in which both
staff members and patients participate.
The nursing home also receives cancer patients, but mostly in the
terminal phases of the disease when they can no longer be accommo-
dated within the system of hope generated by the acute/cure paradigm
institutions like the cancer hospital. The nursing home operates within
the chronic/care paradigm of medicine. It is recognized that cancer

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patients admitted to it are likely to die. Here it is treated like a terminal

rather than a curable disease.
As far as Alzheimer’s disease is concerned, an opposition does not
emerge between the two models of medicine at the level of institu-
tional practice since there is no treatment for this disease. Patients are
admitted to institutions operating within the chronic/care paradigm.
However, there is a distinction in the way it is viewed in the research
laboratory and the hospital or nursing home. Research into the causes
of Alzheimer’s disease has led to the isolation of a protein which may
be significant in the formation of the senile plaques and neurofibrillary
tangles which are the iconic markers of this disease. But this is still very
distant from the tentative diagnosis based on the doctor’s observation
of the patient’s behaviour and the hetero-anamnesis8 collected from the
members of the patient’s family (see Chatterji 1993). It must be remem-
bered that investigative procedures like the CAT scan are not usually
performed to establish a diagnosis. The brain of the patient afflicted
with Alzheimer’s disease is only accessible after death—for purposes of
research not treatment.

The Medical Model

In all the works that are under consideration here, it is the medical
model that is supposed to have given rise to the bureaucratic organiza-
tion of the institution. Also, the critique that emerges from these works
is addressed to the medical model rather than to the institutions con-
cerned. Hence, we must now try to outline its basic features.
To begin with, in the medical model the sick person’s life is orga-
nized in terms of a disease trajectory. His role in managing his own life
decreases as the doctors and nurses take over agency in its planning.
The illness process is broken up between many specializations which in
turn requires a particular mode of organization in which the relationship
between different aspects of the illness can be managed. For instance,
the social worker is in charge of the interface between the patient’s social
world and his world in the institution. She organizes the admission and
discharge processes, sets the medical insurance procedure in motion
and even gives advice to the family members on the correct selection of
clothes and other personal possessions for the patient. The nurses take
over once the patient is admitted to the ward. They take care of his or

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 The Constitution of Identity in Medical Institutions 85

her physical well-being while the pastor and recreational therapist take
care of his or her spiritual and emotional life. The various paramedical
disciplines are organized hierarchically under the medical disciplines.
This is so even in the nursing home which emphasizes the team-care
approach with the focus on the individual patient as a whole which
includes the disease picture and its influence on his or her personal-
ity. Even here, the doctor is the final authority in the decision-making
process around the patient. Also, it is only the doctor who has complete
access to information concerning the patient under the Medical Secrecy
Act. This applies to areas of the patient’s life that do not necessarily
pertain to his illness directly. For instance, the family may make cer-
tain items of information concerning the patient’s private life available
to the doctor, to give him a ‘complete’ picture of the patient’s person-
ality which may be important for the diagnosis of diseases associated
with senile dementia. Information of this kind is usually kept in the
patient’s medical file which only the doctor in charge is authorized to
view. Besides this, the language of medicine itself operates as a veil or
as a technique of affect management to conceal the true condition of
the patient from him. In the Netherlands, the patient has the right to
information regarding his condition, including access to his case file.
However, the technical language in which the account of his medical
condition is articulated does not allow the patient true access to knowl-
edge of his condition. Van Dantzig and de Swaan give an example of the
way in which patients, desperately searching for clues that will give an
indication of their condition, may misread perfectly neutral signs. Thus,
one patient in the cancer hospital thought that the symbols that signify
gender on the case sheet actually referred to the gravity and progression
of the illness—d’meant that the person whose name followed the sym-
bol was getting better and meant that the person was deteriorating. But
the staff and patients also operate in a double bind; the patients may not
really want to face the truth of their condition and the doctors or nurses
may not be ready to face the impact of such truth-telling on the patients’
emotional equilibrium. This results, therefore, in a kind or ‘affect man-
agement’ in which both the staff and patients engage in an exchange
of half-truths so that a ‘system of hope’ is created and maintained. The
process of treatment breaks up the course of the illness into phases, each
marked by a series of investigative procedures, so that the prognosis
is deferred to the outcome of the next test. In this way the hope for
cure can be maintained. De Swaan (1990) shows how the organization

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of investigation and treatment structures the experience of being sick

into a course consisting of a series of episodes of hope, disappointment
and ever-renewed expectation. In this way it removes agency from the
patient because he or she is no longer in control of the meaning gener-
ated by the illness experience. In fact the experience of illness has been
taken over to constitute part of the definition of disease.
Similarly, the daily routine in the ward which tends to regiment the
patient’s life into standardized patterns of activity can also be rational-
ized on the grounds of medical requirement. For example, the require-
ments of hygiene could be used to account for the sparse furnishings in
the wards, and so on.

Institutional Responses to the Three Monographs

We are now in the position to address ourselves to the two questions

posed in the introduction: first, why do medical personnel feel the need
to write sociological monographs about their workplaces, and second,
why were the responses of the two types of institutions to these stud-
ies so different. Perhaps some tentative answers can be found if we can
identify the particular experiences that led these authors to articulate the
fundamental questions they have been concerned with in their works.
The introduction to Disturbance and its Processing in Nursing Homes
(van der Wulp 1986) offers an illustration. He narrates a personal expe-
rience with a patient—a woman with uraemia—who died. Nothing in
her condition led him to expect her death. He could not understand it
until one of the nurses told him that she had wanted to die. Both ten
Have and van der Wulp turn to sociology to help them create spaces to
listen to the voices of their patients. They both feel that their patients
have more to tell them about their illnesses than the specialists care to
know, and the space offered by medical discourse is not adequate to
understand this.
Contrast this with the experience of the researchers who wrote
the report on the cancer research institute. Van Dantzig and de Swaan
(1978) have discussed the conditions under which the study was under-
taken. Van Dantzig was first asked to act as psychiatric consultant by
the doctors of the cancer institute to advise them on deviant patients.
He refused because he felt that these patients could only be understood
in terms of their total hospital experience, which would include their

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 The Constitution of Identity in Medical Institutions 87

interactions with other patients and the hospital organization itself.

These patients who had been defined as problem cases by the hospi-
tal would have problems that were shared by many people in their
condition—problems around the anxiety caused by the disease and the
very real possibility of death. Van Dantzig thought that it would be
more meaningful to investigate the hospital community, to see whether
there were special problems that were experienced by certain deviant
patients alone, or whether these problems were more general and could
be located in the organization of the hospital community and the strate-
gies that were devised to manage death anxiety.
Finally, a project was devised to study coping strategies and affect
management in the hospital. Even though the hospital staff cooperated
with the research team during the course of the investigation, the authors
feel that the goals of the research project were never fully understood or
accepted. There were no objections to particular facts as they had been
portrayed in the report, but rather, to the general picture that was con-
sidered to be one-sided and extremely negative in tone. It was also felt
that there was no mention of the spiritual care that is institutionalized in
all medical establishments through pastors and social workers.
The report had shown that the very real possibility of death is kept
hidden under a surface calm. Patients are appreciative of the care they
receive. They are aware that they are in a premier institute and are in a
position to receive the best treatment that is available in Europe. Yet,
they are caught in a double bind. They live in a world of hope and anxi-
ety at the same time. This anxiety is not addressed. Rather, it is pushed
away. The rationalization given is that it is not good for therapeutic
treatment for such emotions to be aired. Both staff and patients collude
to create this system of hope.
The central paradox lay in the fact that the report was received as per-
sonal criticism by the hospital staff, when the intention of the research-
ers was to provide a general critique of the medical structure and of its
relationship to society. Van Dantzig and de Swaan feel that the principal
objectors to their work were the senior officials who have participated in
the technological reorganization of medicine in the Netherlands. They
see the hospital organization as an instrument of their intentions, which
is the growth of medical knowledge leading to the control of adversity
brought about by disease, and assume that if these intentions are not
realized it is either due to the inefficient organization of the hospital or
is a criticism of their intentions. Therefore, staff members led by senior

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officials did not recognize the critical representation of the hospital as

their reality. ‘Those who have adjusted to the system of hope cannot see it
for what it is’ (1978: 19). This is the damning conclusion of the authors.
If the portrait of the hospital that emerged in the external observers’
report sharply differed from the perception of the staff members of the
hospital, leading to the negative reception accorded to the report by the
latter, in the case of the nursing home the insiders themselves tried to
view their workplace from an external point of view: ten Have says that in
his experience as a doctor he found that old people had more to tell him
than he had to tell them. Therefore, he chose to study old people in the
nursing home context in terms of their worlds and their life situations,
using a method that is ‘natural’, that is, the phenomenological method.9
He uses the categories of ‘time’, ‘space’ and ‘person’ to delineate different
life worlds the spheres of meaningfulness of the two major groups in the
nursing home. Of course the method he designates as ‘natural’ is not at
all natural from the perspective of his own discipline (medicine) which
would define the experiences of these people in terms of disease catego-
ries. Ten Have chooses to create ‘mini ethnographies’ (to use Kleinman’s
phrase), to listen to their ‘illness experiences’, to what is significant for
them in their life worlds, and thereby he constitutes the doctor not as an
expert but rather as a ‘moral witness’ or a listener (Kleinman 1988). The
conclusion he arrives at is a negative one. One of the official goals of the
nursing home is to provide an optimal life milieu for persons who can-
not live in society, and the patients themselves are appreciative of the care
they receive; yet the problems emerging from their life situations—some
of them inherent in being old and sick, others arising from the process of
institutionalization—are not understood by the staff members.
Ten Have’s work provided an impetus for self-reflection in the nurs-
ing home world. Since then there have been efforts to create structures
that are more open-ended and receptive to criticism and to institution-
alize a more personalized care system. Thus, individual nursing homes
have been encouraged to organize committees to receive complaints
from patients and their families, to hold ward discussions between nurses
and patients, and to try and structure the care and treatment around the
requirements and wishes of individual patients (Chatterji et al. 1991).
There have also been several follow-up studies of which van der Wulp’s
is one of the more systematic. He follows, broadly, ten Have’s concern
but tries to systematize the relationship between different spheres of

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 The Constitution of Identity in Medical Institutions 89

significance, specifically that between the patients’ lives before they fell
ill and their present situation in the nursing home. The relations are
characterized either by conflict or equilibrium and by an experience of
disjunction between the past and the present. The three major areas
in which this disjunction is perceived is in terms of the body (health
vs. sickness), mental status (autonomy vs. dependence) and social state
(home vs. the institution). Van der Wulp suggests that institutions
should structure their work routine so as to be able to handle these dis-
junctions therapeutically.
What is it about the institutional structure of the nursing home
that allows it this reflexivity? To answer this question we shall have to
return to the discussion on the two models of disease—the acute/cure
versus the chronic/care model. They involve different perceptions of
normalcy and health.
The nursing home’s residents are mainly elderly people. The struc-
tures of the aging body and brain are supposed to be different from those
of the normal adult population. Most old people are thought to be suf-
fering from some chronic problems even if these are insignificant and do
not cause major impairment. The standard of normalcy for the elderly
population must take the presence of some pathology into account.
Rather than using terms like ‘normal’ and ‘pathological’, geriatricians
prefer to talk in terms of ‘function’ and ‘disfunction’ (Sunier 1986). The
individual organism (the elderly person in this case) is defined in terms
of his environment which is conceived as being composed of other
beings as well. The individual is in a functional relationship with his
environment as long as he or she is able to respond to it meaningfully.
There is a relationship of equilibrium or ‘homeostasis’ between the two.
In this perspective illness is defined as a break in homeostasis between
the individual and his environment. Normalcy refers to the restoration
of this homeostasis rather than to an average norm. However, the elderly
individual may lose his or her ability to adapt to the environment which
may then be experienced as threatening. If the individual is to survive,
the environment will have to be adapted to meet his or her needs.
The nursing home defines the elderly sick person in terms of a sup-
port structure. This includes not merely the family and neighbourhood
but also professional care services, including ambulatory medical care.
When this support structure breaks down the nursing home steps in to
provide a supportive environment in which the sick person can lead a

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‘normal’ life within the parameters allowed to him or her by his or her
illness. However, the nursing home is perceived as an end stadium by
the wider society, a place for people who are incurably sick, a house of
death. There is thus an ambiguity in the identity of the nursing home.
The fact that it offers a medicine of care means that there is greater sensi-
tivity to the emotional problems that accompany sickness and disability.
But at the same time there is a confrontation with the brute fact of death
and with the incurability of chronic disease which can be perceived as
threatening, especially as the nursing home has also developed from the
medical model which is based on what van Dantzig and de Swaan call a
‘system of hope’—the possibility of cure.
The ambiguity at the heart of the nursing home’s representation of
itself makes it more open to critical reflection. Nursing home medicine
is a marginal discipline. It is not invested with the kind of legitimacy or
prestige associated with a research institute like the cancer hospital. It
is therefore also more open to other languages and to more distancing
representations of itself. However, there is something to be said about a
critique that comes from within as opposed to one formulated by out-
siders. At the time that ten Have’s work was published there was already
an incipient body of critical writing available on subjects like chronic
illness and pain (see Leering 1967). Ten Have helped to locate this dis-
cussion within the organization of the nursing home.
As opposed to this, the cancer hospital was not prepared for the
portrait that had been painted of itself. We have already discussed the
institutional structures which make this response cognizable. Over and
above this we must examine the nature of the representation which may
also be relevant in understanding the hospital’s response to the report.
The critics of the report felt that there was a greater sensitivity to
and a more willing reception of the emotional demands of patients in
the cancer hospital than had been portrayed in the report. The research-
ers pointed out that this was at an informal, interpersonal level and was
not an institutionalized part of the work process. The critics found it
difficult to empathize with a generalized overview of hospital structure
that was, however, based on the detailed observation of one particular
case. The paradox of the method adopted by the researches lay in the
fact that the monograph was built up of concrete examples of interac-
tions between particular individuals which, however, can only be under-
stood within a generalized critique of the organizational structure of the
hospital.

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 The Constitution of Identity in Medical Institutions 91

There was also a more specific objection to the report. The hospi-
tal staff felt that there was an insufficient description of pastoral work.
According to the observation of the researchers this sphere of activity
did not really provide a means for subverting the organizational struc-
ture, but only provided solace at the individual level. However, this does
remain a lacuna in their work. Van Dantzig and de Swaan are aware
of the fact that they were not sufficiently self-conscious about their
own subjective orientation. They feel that an empathetic approach and
greater sensitivity towards affectivity is part of their training as psycho-
therapists and psychologically-oriented sociologists. They are willing to
admit that the ‘system of hope’ may be the only mode of care available
in the medical context. They see their critique of the medical institution
as being part of a larger critique of the professionalization of care in soci-
ety in which experiences of suffering and death have been removed from
the familial domain and placed within the regime of experts.
There is, however, a problem with the mode in which the ethnog-
raphy is presented. To use a distancing, third-person generalized style
is not necessarily the most sensitive mode in which to represent private
experiences of suffering. The authors’ style tends to remove agency from
the persons undergoing these experiences. Their voices are not heard.
The authors’ voice stands above them, purportedly objective but easily
interpreted as negative and judgemental.
Ten Have and van der Wulp in contrast use a dialogical mode
which gives primacy to the voices of their patients. They turn to the
social sciences not to provide a distance but to be able to come closer to
the experiences of their patients.

Conclusion

The authors of these works would like to see more openness in medical
institutions and a more personalized approach to medicine in which the
patient is central not merely in terms of his or her disease but in terms
of his/her whole life experience. They would like to see medical person-
nel not as mere technicians for the treatment of the body but also as
spiritual advisors and sympathetic witnesses to the patient’s suffering.
In recent years most institutions have switched over to the team-
care model in which an individualized care programme is constructed
for each patient. What happens in practice is that the patient is broken

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 92 Roma Chatterji

up between the various so-called specializations, including that of pas-

toral care which becomes just another service present in medical insti-
tutions. This does not mean that there are no cases of interpersonal
bonding between staff members and patients and no informal attempts
at affect management. Van Dantzig and de Swaan (1978) dismiss all
such relationships precisely because they are not part of the institutional
structure. They feel that the bureaucratic organization of work prevents
emotional relations from being articulated. However, my own work
in a nursing home in the Netherlands has shown that it is precisely
through the work routine that inexpressible sentiments may be articu-
lated. Nurses express their bonding with patients by taking care of their
bodies. Verbal communication may not be the most significant form
of communication for persons with debilitating illnesses. It is interest-
ing to note that all the authors rely on verbal communication for their
research. If they had been more sensitive to non-verbal communication
they would have realized that it is characterized by a tentativeness that
cannot be structured in the manner in which the work routine can be
bureaucratically structured. The ideal that stands behind the critiques of
these authors must be understood in terms of the moral value that the
medical institution has in this society. The model on which it bases its
own identity is that of the community. The ideal approach to problems
associated with suffering, illness and death are modelled on those that
are supposed to be found in the community. At the same time their
critique of the professionalization of Dutch society shows that they are
aware that this ideal community may be illusory. The danger of even
greater professionalization and regulation of the individual personality
that may be inherent in the changes that van Dantzig and de Swaan
would like to see, are not explored. It may be pertinent to end here with
Goffman who believed that the individual personality could only be
articulated in the cracks of bureaucratic organizations.

Notes
1. I am grateful lo Professor B.S. Baviskar for encouragement in the writing of this paper.
The Dutch titles of the books are as follows: Ha Verpleeghuis: Veld van Onderzoek by
H. ten Have; Verstoring en Verwerking in Verpleeghuizen by J.C. van der Wulp; and
Omgaan met Angst in Een Kankerziekenhuis by A. van Dantzig and A. de Swaan. The
works of both ten Have and van der Wulp were written originally as dissertations
for Ph.D. degrees in sociology. However, both are directors of nursing homes in the

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 The Constitution of Identity in Medical Institutions 93

Netherlands. Van Dantzig is a psychiatrist and de Swaan is a sociologist. All three

works are written in Dutch. I have tried to substitute English terms for the Dutch
originals as far as possible for the convenience of English-speaking readers.
2. Ten Have’s book was published in 1979, a year after the book on the cancer hospital
by van Dantzig and de Swaan. Van der Wulp’s book, published in 1986 and dealing
with many of the same questions that had been raised by ten Have, is an indication of
the ongoing discussion around these problems in the Netherlands.
3. According to the Webster’s Dictionary (third new international edition, unabridged),
an organization refers to a group that has a constant membership, a body of officers,
a purpose and usually a set of regulations.
4. Ten Have does not acknowledge Weber’s influence in his formulation even though it
seems evident to us here.
5. Quotation in van Dantzig and de Swaan (1978) from A. Querido ‘Gedachten over de
evolutie van het ziekenhuis’, De Gide, 136, 9/10 1973, pp. 619–28 (my translation).
6. Van der Wulp (1986) characterizes the treatment offered in nursing homes as ‘nursing
home medicine’. He also makes a distinction between the acute/cure and chronic/care
paradigms in medicine.
7. Apraxia is a disorder of the cerebral cortex resulting in the patient’s inability to orga-
nize his movements. Aphasia is caused by a disease in the dominant hemisphere of
the brain, (i.e., in the left hemisphere of a right-handed person’s brain). It causes a
language disorder affecting the generation of speech and its understanding. Agnosia is
caused by a disorder of the association areas in the parietal lobes of the brain, whereby
the patient cannot interpret sensations correctly although the sense organs and nerves
conducting sensation to the brain are functioning normally (Harrison 1986).
8. A hetero-anamnesis is an account of the patient’s biography and past behaviour which
may throw light on his/her present condition.
9. The phenomenological perspective takes as its fundamental unit the individual
human being and his/her experiences of the world. These experiences are studied
in terms of overlapping structures of intentions. It tries to describe the individual’s
subjective orientation to the world.

References
Chatterji, R., V. Das, S. Dutta-Chaudhury, R. Pradhan and K.W. Van der Veen. 1991.
The Welfare State from the Outside: Aging, Social Structure and Professional Care in the
Netherlands: Indo-Dutch Program for Alternatives in Development.
Chatterji, R. 1993. An Ethnography of Dementia. A Case Study of One Psycho-Geriatric Patient.
Paper presented at the Sociological Research Colloquium, Department of Sociology,
Delhi School of Economics.
De Swaan, A. 1990. The Management of Normality. Critical Essays in Health and Welfare.
London: Routledge.
Goffman, E. 1961. Asylums. Essays on the Social Situation of Mental Patients and Other
Inmates. Harmondsworth: Penguin.
Harrison, L.M. 1986. The Pocket Medical Dictionary. Delhi: C.B.S. Publishers.

Chapter 06.indd 93 2013-11-26 3:38:26 PM

 94 Roma Chatterji

Kleinman, A. 1988. Illness Narratives. Suffering, Healing and the Human Condition. Basic
Books: New York.
Leering, C. 1967. ‘Vragen naar Zinvolle en Zinloze Invaliditeit bij (oude) Mensen.
Beschowingen naar aanleiding van een aspect in het werk van Samuel Beckett, Gawein:
Tijdschrift voor Psychologie. XVI(6).
Sunier, A. 1986. Body and Mind in Old Age and Decay. Assen: Van Gorcum.
Ten Have, H. 1979. Het Verpleeghuis: Veld Van Onderzoek. Deventer: Van Logum Slaterus.
Van Dantzig, A. and A. de Swaan. 1978. Omgaan met Angst in Een Kankerziekenhuis.
Utrecht: Het Spectrum.
Van der Wulp, J.C. 1986. Verstoring en Verwerking in Verpleeghuizen: Belevingswereld en
Conflicten van hen die hun Verdere Leven in een Verpleeghuis Doorbregen. Nijkerk: Intro.

Chapter 06.indd 94 2013-11-26 3:38:26 PM

 7
Voice of Illness and
Voice of Medicine
in Doctor-Patient
Interaction
Mathew George

M
edical care achieves its salience through the processes of diag-
nosis, treatment, and follow-up. These are usually accom-
plished by the active group-effort of doctors, patients, and
other paramedical staff through health institutions. The roles played by
doctors and patients become pivotal in the process of medical care. The
role played by the patient cannot be seen merely as a recipient of medi-
cal care but as that of a partner in the total effort at curing the disease, as
it is the patient (or her/his relatives) who first identifies the problem and
seeks treatment. This becomes a necessary condition for the recovery
of illness through medical care. Besides, the whole process of medical
care that transforms a lay category of illness to a medical category of
disease is facilitated through these interactions. In other words, doctor-
patient interaction can provide an expert and a lay interpretation of the
same event, which, in turn, reveals the context and the reasons for these
interpretations. The present paper is an attempt to show various voices
in doctor-patient interactions in a clinic and thereby explaining these
interactions as outcomes of the socialisation of actors involved.

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 96 Mathew George

Understanding Doctor-Patient Interaction

The interaction between doctors and patients becomes cardinal not only
in the process of medical care, but also within the institution of medicine.
It is through this interaction the basic components of medical care like
diagnosis, prognosis, and therapeutics get accomplished. Additionally,
this interaction can be seen as part of the whole process of medical care
where both the actors are influenced by the changing medical knowledge.
There are several approaches through which the interaction between doc-
tors and patients can be examined. A brief overview of some of them will
be attempted here thereby situating the approaches used for the present
study in its context.
Scholars have attributed a passive role to patients, thereby expecting
them to co-operate with the doctor in the process of medical care (Seal
1971). These studies mostly examine the gaps in the knowledge and
understanding of patients about medicine with a view to rectify them by
the process of socialisation of the patients to medical values and beliefs
(medicalisation). Talcott Parsons’ ‘sick role’ (1951) has been one of the
dominant as well as influential approaches among sociologists which
resulted in the acceptance of the physician’s expertise in tackling illness
as the key for doctor-patient interaction. This not only problematises
illness but also considers bureaucracy in hospital as a feature manifested
through doctor-patient interaction (see Mechanic 1976; Tuckett 1976).
In all these, patients were not given sufficient attention, as the major
role attributed to them was to help the physician in their maximum
possible capacity in the collection of information about illness for ren-
dering better care. Moreover, from a professional perspective, another
stream of studies examined the temperament, attitude, and behaviour
of doctors and patients and tried to link them to the socio-economic
class of the respective actors, thereby showing conflict between them
(see Friedson 1970/2001; Advani 1980). Besides, scholars have also
examined the changing nature of role structures and behaviours among
professionals and semi-professionals within a bureaucratic setting and
linked these to the social characteristics of the actors (Oommen 1978).
Taking into consideration the varied roles played by doctors and
patients, four models have been developed to understand the physician-
patient relationship, namely, paternalistic, informative, interpretative,
and deliberative models (Emanuel and Emanuel 1992). As the term

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 Voice of Illness and Voice of Medicine in Doctor-Patient Interaction 97

indicates, the paternalistic model assumes that the physician is an expert,

similar to a priest, who knows what is best for the patient, who, in turn,
will be thankful for such help. The informative model, also known as
scientific engineering, is the process of translation of patient’s values
into facts through the mediation of the physician, the expert. The inter-
pretative model, similar to that of a counsellor, helps the patient under-
stand her/his priorities, thereby helping her/him in decision-making.
The deliberative model proposes the possibility of negotiation where
the physician, through dialogue, enables the patient to look at available
options that aid final action. In all these approaches, the upper hand
and expertise of the physician and the capability attributed to medicine
are obvious.
The rise of the consumerist perspective, which considers medical
care as a commodity and the right of the patient as that of a consumer,
further attempts to empower the patient where the patient is expected
to assert her/his needs and make her/him aware of the possible options.
This could not go very far due to the patients’ inability to enter into the
expertise of medical knowledge, which plays an important role in the
process of medical care decision-making. For H. Waitzkin (1979), this
is only an outcome of a professional hegemony embedded in medicine
prevalent in any society, whose intensity is greater in a capitalist society,
which is capable of exerting social control that ultimately gets precipi-
tated through the doctor-patient interaction.
The realisation of uncertainty within medicine (Fox 1957, 2000)
has resulted in an approach that questions acceptance of physician’s
expertise in tackling illness. Here, diagnosis is seen as a practical
approach that does not seek to pursue beyond the stage that predicts
therapy and a theoretical approach that seeks to refine diagnosis to the
limits of the possible (Mccormick 1979). Furthermore, the reasons peo-
ple consult doctors are not always for diagnosis and treatment of disease,
but also for getting reassurance about the meaning of symptoms, help
with the problems of living, certification of sickness, and prevention of
disease (ibid.). In this context, it will be farcical to understand doctor-
patient interaction merely as a dyadic relationship. Instead, a contextual
analysis that situates doctors, as the representation of the prevalent medi-
cal fraternity and patients, depending on the social strata to which one
belongs, along with the prevalent cultural practices reflected in the type
of health institutions, needs to be attempted (see Atkinson 1995; Good
and Good 2000).

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 98 Mathew George

This can be a means for analysing how larger social and cultural
processes are made relevant to the experience of patients, suggesting
that clinical conversations are a form of traffic not only among doctors
and patients, but also among diverse local and global sites that pro-
duce biomedical knowledge, therapeutic technologies, and the scientific
imaginary (Good and Good 2000). That is, consultation is the forum
through which biomedical theory and scientific assumptions meet lay
expressions of the experience of illness. In the encounter, the personal,
social, and psychological contexts of sickness that are brought by the
patient are translated by the physician into terms that are intelligible
in biomedicine. This is accomplished here by analysing doctor-patient
interaction in its totality using narrative analysis whose basic assump-
tions and techniques is discussed in the following section.

Doctor-Patient Interaction as Narrative

The suitability of narrative analysis in clinical encounters is dealt by

C. Mattingly: ‘Narrative plays a central role in clinical work not only as
a retrospective account of past events but as a form healers and patients
actively seek to impose upon clinical time’ (1994: 811). This becomes clear
as (illness) narratives are extensively used to understand patients’ represen-
tations and experiences of illness and to provide a temporal frame (clinical
time) for therapeutic events. When the doctor-patient interaction is seen
as a narrative, the scope of analysis widens, as it can be a tool to situate
the physician and the patient in their socio-cultural milieu and a means
of communication, whose further analysis provides the meaning given by
both the actors to a common event, namely, illness. This is because nar-
rative can be studied as a mode of discourse—as text or as performance:
‘Narrative is used when we want to understand concrete events that require
relating an inner world of desire and motive to an outer world of observ-
able actions and states of affairs’ (Mattingly and Garro 1994: 771).
Narrative thus makes it possible to understand not only the past
experiences, but through that the present understanding of that experi-
ence and the future options perceived within the given socio-cultural
context. As narrative is about experiences, it is through stories that nar-
ratives are produced where stories themselves are outcomes of experi-
ences of the actors within their respective context (socialisation). The
linkages between narrative and life stories have been dealt extensively by

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 Voice of Illness and Voice of Medicine in Doctor-Patient Interaction 99

many scholars (see Frank 1995; Mattingly and Garro 2000). It is this
narrative or life story that is further analysed by the researcher as a text
based on her/his socio-cultural milieu.
The position of the researcher here is more of a ‘passive’ partici-
pant observer (Spradley 1980: 59–60), as the researcher neither has the
first-hand experience of the illness patient suffers nor the expertise of
the physician with which the illness gets interpreted as disease. Thus,
by taking the position of a bystander (witness), it is possible that the
researcher would have internalised the problems of the patient better
possibly due to greater familiarity with the patient and her/his context.
Besides, not having the expertise of the doctor limits a complete under-
standing of the physician’s point of view. This would result in being
more of a patient-centric perspective in the analysis. Thus, the model in
which experience leading to narrative, narrative to text, and text further
reshaping the experience is in itself inadequate, as the role of socialisa-
tion of the actors and the researcher in the formation of narrative and
the text is not addressed. This inadequacy is tackled by introducing the
concept of institutions at each juncture, that is, during translation of
experience to narrative, narrative to text, and text further reshaping the
experience. The concept of institutions used for this study is based on
Jamie A. Saris’ work about a schizophrenic patient (1995).

Institutions in Narrative

Saris (ibid.) addresses the above problem by elaborating narrative, or, in

his terminology, ‘the conditions of narrative production’. The transla-
tion of experience to narrative and narrative to text, according to Saris,
is shaped by the institutions that are prevalent in each social context.
The concept of institutions he puts forth encompasses the prevalent
socio-cultural milieu. He defines institutions ‘as bundles of technolo-
gies, narrative styles, modes of discourse, and as importantly, erasures
and silences. Culturally and historically situated subjects produce and
reproduce these knowledge, practices and silences as a condition of
being within the orbit of the institution (ibid.: 42).
Saris elaborates institutions as helping to constitute stories as well as
being sites of narrative productions, thereby problematising the relation-
ship between experience and the development of the story about that
experience (narrative) in such a way as to focus the analyst’s attention

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 100 Mathew George

on the specific circumstances of the social field in which narratives are

developed and deployed. Moreover, narratives as text would ensure a
thick description that would show a better picture of the social context
in which the narrative is embedded (ibid.).
Unlike clock time or serial time, that follows one after the other,
narratives follow narrative time where the time itself is dependent on the
events explained with a beginning, middle, and end (plots). Mattingly
(1994) has used the concept of narrative time and emplotment in the
analysis of clinical interactions. For her, emplotment involves ‘making
a configuration in time, creating a whole out of a succession of events
(plots) (ibid.: 812). She elaborates that narrativity and, particularly, the
work to create a plot out of a succession of actions, is of direct concern
to the actor in the midst of action. Narrative analysis used in clinical
interactions generates sufficient space for adequate understanding of the
actors’ (doctors’ and patients’) perspective about the illness and their
future plans for the same. According to Mattingly,

A narrative analysis offers a way to examine clinical life as a series of existential

negotiations between clinicians and patients, ones that concern the meaning of
illness, the place of therapy within an unfolding illness story, and the meaning
of a life which must be remade in the face of serious illness (1994: 821).

It is this perspective of narrative—a narrative that is shaped by the insti-

tutions—that is used to analyze the doctor-patient interaction in the
context of fever care rendered by allopathic health facilities in Kerala.

Voices of Interaction

In order to contextualise the doctor-patient interaction deploying nar-

rative analysis, E.G. Mishler’s concept of voice (2005: 320) is used.
Mishler argues that

Voice represents a particular assumption about the relationship between appear-

ance, reality, and language or, more generally, a ‘voice’ represents a specific
normative order. Some discourses are closed and continually reaffirm a single
normative order; others are open and include different voices, one of which
may interrupt another thus leading to the possibility of a new ‘order’ (ibid.).

Thus, it has to be understood that the idea of voice does not equate

with a speaker. One speaker may articulate more than one voice; different

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 Voice of Illness and Voice of Medicine in Doctor-Patient Interaction 101

speakers may share the same voice. Different voices distinguish con-
trasting orientations to the world and to the moral order as each voice
realises a particular relationship between the speaker and the world.
For Mishler (ibid.: 321), in clinical interaction, two different voices
representing different normative orders can be identified: the voice of
medicine and the voice of the life-world. He argues that, in the medical
interview, the former dominates the latter. Occasionally, in this inter-
view, the patient articulates the voice of life-world (based on her/his
personal experiences and pre-occupations), but that gets overlooked by
the voice of medicine. The whole clinical interaction then is seen as a
struggle for dominance, the voice of life-world occasionally interrupting
the voice of medicine (ibid.). The above approach of voice situates the
clinical interaction as a dynamic one where the power of the patient is
also acknowledged by locating both the patient and the doctor within
their socio-cultural context. Similarly, based on the narrative of a per-
son diagnosed with schizophrenia, Saris (1995) shows how, at several
junctures, the institutions of medicine and their categories lack insight
in understanding and tackling the problems faced by the person due to
the illness. He also shows how the institutionalised authority of profes-
sional expertise reflected in the power to name silences and erases other
experiences and knowledge. The above approaches, based on discourse
analysis, portray doctor-patient interaction as an everyday activity of
human beings whose meaning becomes obvious on contextual analysis.

Voice(s) of Medicine

The above perspective is, however, limited, as it dichotomises the clini-

cal encounter to only two voices, where the voice of medicine is seen as
homogeneous. P. Atkinson (1995: 130–42), in his study among haema-
tologists, shows how, within medicine, different voices are articulated
and how they can be in conflict with each other. This he elaborates by
analysing a situation in a haematology laboratory where the ‘voice of
experience’ of a senior physician contradicts the ‘voice of textbook med-
icine’ of a student in a teaching hospital. This Atkinson views as a fea-
ture of medical work that can occur in any setting influencing medical
practice. Furthermore, he explains that voice of medicine constitutes the
voice of experience and voice of science. The voice of experience comprises
accumulated experiences and a biographical warrant for knowledge and

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 102 Mathew George

opinion. By voice of science, he means an articulation of knowledge

warranted by an appeal to research, namely, published scientific papers
as well as textual knowledge. Haematology laboratory is a place where
the core of medical work is accomplished and is, therefore, considered
as more ‘scientific’ in its proceedings. If contradictory voices are heard in
such a setting, it is possible that heterogeneous and even contradictory
voices can be heard in a doctor-patient interaction.
Based on Atkinson’s and Mishler’s insights on clinical encounter, I
would like to argue that it is the voice of illness that can be heard along
with the voice of medicine. This obviously would be based on the past
experiences, perceptions, and worldview (life-world). In a medicalised
society, it is possible that the voice of illness itself will be medicalised
thereby articulating a medicalised voice of illness. Thus, there can be differ-
ent voices that are in constant interaction in doctor-patient interaction:
the voice of experience and the voice of science, together constituting
the voice of medicine (Atkinson 1995), and the medicalised voice of ill-
ness and life-world voice of illness (Mishler 2005) together constituting
the voice of illness. Thus, for the analysis of doctor-patient interaction
in fever care in Kerala, the following model will be used, as there can
be voices of illness and voices of medicine: the voice of illness would be
divided into life-world voice of illness and medicalised voice of illness, and
the voice of medicine would be divided into voice of science and voice of
experience. Most of these voices get articulated in a clinical interaction.
An analysis of these voices will be carried out, as they have a bearing not
only on the prevalent discourse, but also on the process of medical care.
The above voices in themselves should not be seen as all-encompassing;
there can be several other voices which may not fit into any of the above
categories. Moreover, the dynamics of these various voices depend on
the context of interaction and the actors involved.

The Study

The Context

In the state of Kerala, until the mid-1980s, fever, as a broad category,

included viral fevers, common cold, runny nose, and similar other
infections. Later, during the late-1990s, by the increased reporting of
the number of cases of rat fever (leptospirosis), dengue fever, and viral
fever, a threat about fevers was generated and the distinction between

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 Voice of Illness and Voice of Medicine in Doctor-Patient Interaction 103

the types of fever became difficult. From 2002, every year during post-
monsoon season, fever as a broad category has been taking its toll. It is at
this juncture that the health minister of Kerala declared, in May 2004,
the starting of ‘fever clinics’ in all district and taluk hospitals and major
community health centres in the state. These clinics were expected to
function as a separate division in the existing outpatient departments
(The Hindu, Thiruvananthapuram, 25 May 2004).
As in any other context, it is possible that the meaning attached to
‘fever’ could be different for different people. It was found that fevers
could be a symptom for clinicians and a state of ill-health for those
affected, whereas for public health experts, it appeared to be an epidemic.
Discussion with public health experts revealed that they had come to
view the problem of fever as an epidemic. In fact, ‘fever clinics’ were set
up by the health ministry as a response to the crisis of ‘fever’. It is inter-
esting to note how the concept of ‘epidemic’ gets constructed/negotiated
during a crisis, as in the case of dengue fever in Delhi (see Addlakha
2001) and cholera in Kolkata (see Ghosh and Coutinho 2000).
Fever talk, as mentioned before, implies the varied understandings
about the illness, fever. This is based on the premise that the under-
standing and perception about fevers is determined by the discourses
about disease and illness, health services, and so on, which is further
determined by the various discourses on medicine prevalent in the soci-
ety. Different groups, namely, those affected, clinicians, public health
professionals, and so on will see illness/disease differently. This is obvi-
ous from the fact that, for each, the nature of interaction with the illness
is varied and it influences their understanding of it and, therefore, their
response to it. For individuals, whose lives are delimited by a combina-
tion of physical and social constraints and potentialities, there can be
diverse perceptions of illness. For example, working and housing con-
ditions and dietary habits and health customs impact on the health of
working-class people as imperatively as physical entities such as viruses,
genes, or environmental pollutants (Yardley 1997: 14).

The Data

The present paper is based on a larger study (George 2007) on the vari-
ous facets of the problem of fever in Kerala of which ethnography of
biomedical clinics was one component. The data for the study was col-
lected during January–June 2005. All the respective authorities were

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 104 Mathew George

informed about the study and necessary permissions were obtained.

Consent from those patients and physicians who were part of the study
were also ensured. The major tool to understand the culture of fever care
was participant observation: the procedures involved in fever care were
observed closely and the events of medical care were recorded (ethnog-
raphy of the clinic) from the health facilities. Several semi-structured
interviews were carried out as clarifications from doctors, patients, and
other actors involved in the events. Moreover, the doctor-patient inter-
action during clinical encounter was recorded for a few cases on the spot
giving due consideration to the context of interaction. This was later
used as a text for analysing doctor-patient interactions and was sub-
jected to narrative analysis (Czarniawska 2004). The process of clinical
decision-making and the response of the patient were examined within
the context and their respective influence on the outcome of fever care
were analysed. Above all, follow up of each cases identified from the
health facilities was done using household survey.
The data was collected in the local language (Malayalam) and was
translated into English keeping in mind the original twists, turns, and
the context. In the first stage of data analysis followed the holistic-content
approach (see Leiblick et al. 1998). Later, for each case, John Heritage’s
approach of identifying institutions in interactions (2004) was used.
Although institutions were identified almost ‘everywhere’ in the interac-
tions, they became obvious from the turns, sequences, lexical choices, and
more importantly, epistemological and other forms of asymmetry (ibid.)

The Setting

The description of health facilities is inevitable at this juncture, as

making explicit the field setting is the only way by which credibility
of anthropological studies can be established (Sanjek 1990). Broadly,
there are two functions involved in these hospitals: the administrative
function and the medical function. The former comprises the process of
registration leading to the making of a case record, which remains as the
identity of those who seek care, and collection of cash as the price of the
care rendered. The latter comprises the diagnosis accomplished through
physical examination, history taking, laboratory investigations, and so
on along with therapeutics. This function constituting the medical work
will form my major focus.

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 Voice of Illness and Voice of Medicine in Doctor-Patient Interaction 105

The procedures for consultation is such that the doctor and the
patient interact with each other the first time and, based on the patient’s
explanation, the doctor records the details of the illness in a particu-
lar format in the case record. Subsequently, the patient is subjected to
physical examination and laboratory investigations, as the case may be,
and thereafter asked to meet the doctor with the results of the tests and
investigations. The doctor then prescribes medicines for a short period
and asks the patient to come for a follow-up, if required. The extent of
physical examination carried out, laboratory investigations prescribed,
and prescription of medicine all depend on each case that calls for an
analysis, taking into consideration the context as it is influenced by a
range of factors.

Voice of Illness

Jincy Joseph, a 17-year-old girl studying in class XI, went to a practi-

tioner in the hospital accompanied by her mother and a neighbour. She
belongs to a middle-class family; her brother, working in the military
service, is the major source of income for the family. Her parents are
educated till the tenth standard and they run a small pettikada (a small
shop-like structure where lemon juice, sweets, soda, chewing items, cig-
arettes, etc. are sold). The hospital they went to was a private hospital
having over 300 beds with emergency and laboratory facilities, includ-
ing biochemical tests. It has specialisations in general medicine, paedi-
atrics, ENT (ear, nose, and throat), ophthalmology, orthopaedic, skin
and VD (venereal diseases), and others. The physician she consulted
completed his medical degree from one of the leading medical colleges
in the country and holds a masters degree in general medicine. He has
been practising since 1972 and has been the physician in this hospital
for the last eight years.
The patient along with her mother and neighbour entered the con-
sulting room after completing the registration procedure of the hospital.
The interaction1 between the doctor and the patient (in Malayalam)
proceeded as follows:

1D: What is your illness?

P: Fever, severe pain in the legs.
1MoP:  Severe weakness and headache.
2D: Was there swelling [in English]?

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 106 Mathew George

2MoP: She is very weak and, at times, there is swelling on the side of the feet.
Sometimes there is difficulty in breathing and back pain. Especially after
coming back from the school . . . she has to walk long distance . . . she is
very tired.
3D: Is it hereditary?
3MoP: No.
4D:  Show your tongue, open your mouth. Is there recurrent throat pain or any
other illness?
P: Ahh!! No.

The doctor physically examined the patient’s mouth, abdomen (by

pressing), and with the stethoscope. He then prescribed ECG (electro-
cardiograph) and routine blood and urine tests.
4MoP: What is the disease, doctor?
5D:  I need to see whether it is the initial stages of arthritis [in English].Anyway
let me have a look at the test results.

The doctor then asked the patient to come on the next day.
On the second day, the doctor, after checking the laboratory test
results said:
lab test results are normal and the illness could be due to excess strain due to travel-
ling. Medicines for swelling and weakness are written.

As the consultation ends, the patient collected the medicines from

the pharmacy and left the hospital for home. A perusal of the medical
case record showed that neither diagnosis nor symptoms were recorded.
All the laboratory test results were within the normal ranges. During the
follow-up of the patient at her home, a month later, it was found that
she continued to suffer from the illness. Moreover, it was discovered
that, before going to the above hospital, steam inhalation had been done
at home and thereafter she had been taken to a small clinic near her
home for consultation; the doctor at the clinic had prescribed a tonic
(a kind of syrup usually taken to resist weakness and enhance health).
This clinic, run by a qualified allopathic doctor, had no facility for inpa-
tient care, but had basic laboratory facilities.
During my conversation with the mother about the illness of her
daughter, she said that

[her daughter] complains of weakness everyday and invariably goes to sleep as soon
as she comes home from school. She is not able to study properly. She doesn’t help

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 Voice of Illness and Voice of Medicine in Doctor-Patient Interaction 107

me in any household work. She is very lazy and she complains of weakness . . . as
the illness was not subsiding and news of epidemic diseases made us think that the
illness could be serious we decided to do a complete check-up in the highly-reputed
private hospital.

During the clinical interaction, it was obvious that the problem of

weakness of the girl was not addressed adequately. Instead, the fact that
the search for symptoms by the physician dominated the interaction
was revealed by his question (2D). It has to be noted that, despite the
expression of the problem by the mother (2MoP) based on her expe-
rience of her daughter’s suffering, it got sidelined by the subsequent
direct question of the physician (3D) on heredity. Thereafter, the physi-
cal examination portrays how the voice of medicine dominates the life-
world voice of illness during the clinical interaction. It appears that the
major purpose of the physician’s consultation was to collect informa-
tion regarding medically acceptable illnesses. In other words, the patient’s
mother presents the illness from the viewpoint of the abnormality of
social body (Taussig 1980) by highlighting her daughter’s problem as
the inability to perform daily chores like travelling to school, study-
ing her lessons, and helping in household work (2MoP). The physi-
cian, on the other hand, first inquires about heredity to find some lead
(3D) on the abnormality of biological body (ibid.) reflected in the physi-
cal examination of the patient (4D) and the prescription of laboratory
investigations (5D) for diagnosis. This leads to one-sided interaction:
the patient becomes a mere object in the process of therapeutic care.
The doctor’s use of the English terms swelling and arthritis, despite there
being popular Malayalam equivalents like neeru and vaatham, shows the
intense urge of the physician to fit the patient’s complaints (that are lay
problems) into textual medical categories. In other words, this was the
moment at which the translation of a lay category into medical category,
be it a symptom like ‘swelling’ or a suspected disease, namely, ‘arthritis’
occurred.
The above case also shows the management of uncertainty during
clinical interactions when a valid diagnosis or symptoms are not identi-
fied. Despite this, medicines were prescribed. This is evident as, in the
initial stage, the doctor expected the possibility of a hereditary factor
(3D); next, before the laboratory test, he suggested the possibility of
arthritis (5D); and he then concluded with observations about swell-
ing and weakness, which was at the symptom level and devoid of any

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 108 Mathew George

final disease diagnosis. In his study of haematologists, Atkinson (1995:

113–17) shows how uncertainty has become an important characteristic
of contemporary biomedicine. He elaborates the relevance of close
examination of the process of everyday medical work:

It is necessary to pay rather close attention to how uncertainty or certainty

is actually conveyed in the course of everyday medical work. . . . There is
need for detailed examination of how medical practitioners, students, scien-
tists and others express and discuss their information how they voice their
opinion and how they claim particular warrants for the knowledge and inter-
pretations they endorse (ibid.: 17).

He points to the need to examine and understand the context of uncer-

tainty or certainty and how these are accomplished in everyday medical
work. The implications of the outcome have more to do with the ques-
tion of the relation between knowledge and power. Rene C. Fox (2000)
examines how doctors, as part of their medical training, get socialised to
manage uncertainties at various levels of medical care, thereby internal-
ising this ability as an achieved quality of the art.

Medicalised Voice and Voice(s) of Medicine

Ramachandran, a 31-year-old married man, a commerce graduate

working in a private finance company went to a private hospital (the
same as Jincy Joseph) with complaints of fever and body-pain. He
belongs to a middle-class extended family comprising his parents, two
younger brothers, and a younger sister. The physician he consulted
was around 36 years of age, with a masters degree in general medicine.
This physician has been practising for eight years of which seven years
have been in the present hospital. The doctor-patient interaction during
consultation proceeded as follows:

1D: Uh, what is the problem?

1P: Fever and body-pain.
2D: For how many days?
2P: Around two-three days.
3D: Was there vomiting present?
3P: No, there are rashes on the body.
4D: Take off your shirt and turn back [Ramachandran’s body was full of
rashes].

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 Voice of Illness and Voice of Medicine in Doctor-Patient Interaction 109

The doctor carried out investigation using a stethoscope; he later exam-

ined the patient’s mouth using a tongue depressant.

4P: [While examination was going on] I have been taking medicine for
jaundice. My serum bilirubin was tested from a nearby lab and the value
was 1.1.
5D: Have you heard of measles?
5P: No.
6D: It is a viral infection [in English] and the typical clinical symptoms [in
English] are shown.
7D: Getting admitted, aren’t you?
6P: Yes.

The patient got admitted, and routine blood tests were carried
out. The platelet count was tested everyday until the third day when
the patient was discharged from the hospital. At the time of discharge,
medicine was prescribed for one more week. The patient was relieved
of the illness only after ten days from the day of discharge. As per the
medical record, the diagnosis was ‘Measles with URTI [upper respiratory
tract infection]’. On talking to the physician about fever care later, espe-
cially on the need for laboratory tests in diagnosis, he opined that ‘All
fever except viral fever need basic laboratory parameter support’. He clari-
fied, when asked about the platelet count and its relevance, that ‘Unless
and until platelet count becomes normal we cannot discharge a patient’.
During  follow up at the patient’s residence, the patient commented
about the illness:

. . . as there was discoloration in urine together with body pain and rashes in the
body, I checked serum bilirubin from a nearby lab and as the value was higher
than the normal, I went to the hospital.

In the above interaction, after the initial problem-identification ses-

sion, the urge of the physician for the medically relevant information
becomes clear, as it sidelined the patient’s doubt (4P) about jaundice.
The way the physician ensures/justifies his findings to himself is visible
in his use of expressions like ‘viral infection’ and ‘typical clinical symp-
toms’ in English (6D). These are the textual terms that shape the physi-
cian’s thought style or clinical mentality. It appears that, in a society where
English is neither the mother tongue nor the common language, the use
of English terminology in clinical interaction has to be seen as the point

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 110 Mathew George

at which the translation2 of clinical presentations (patent’s illness) to

textual knowledge (medical categories) occurs. The moment the patient
felt that the examination was over and before the doctor reaches a con-
clusion, the patient submits his analysis about the illness, by pointing to
the fact that he is taking medicine for jaundice and his blood test shows
an abnormal value (4P). Here, the fact that the patient associates serum
bilirubin and its raised value to jaundice, which is logically possible, is a
way of expressing his illness in medical terms. In other words this is the
medicalised voice of illness that can be heard in many clinical interactions.
These medicalised voices may or may not be relevant to the physician as
contextual factors determine whether to associate rise in serum bilirubin
to jaundice. The response of the physician may be either acceptance or
rejection. In the above case, it is clear that the physician rejected the
medicalised voice of the patient and supplanted it with authoritative
voice of medicine—a voice of medicine in which the clinical diagnosis
overrules the laboratory values of serum bilirubin, the latter provided by
the patient’s medicalised voice of illness. This is despite the fact that the
physician is dependent more on laboratory tests for clinical diagnosis
and for fever care as reflected in the physician’s response to the need for
laboratory tests (platelet count) in fever care.
The prevalence of dengue fever in the area might have possibly influ-
enced the doctor to suspect the case as an instance of dengue fever, as
reflected in his advice for admission and checking platelet count every-
day till discharge from the hospital. This is because in cases of measles
rarely are the patients admitted and their platelet count taken. In other
words, the above case also shows how, during epidemics, threat and med-
icalisation influence each other forming a vicious circle that aggravates
the process of medicalisation.
This medicalised voice of illness has to be seen as an outcome of the
patients’ past experiences with illness and the western medical system,
resulting in a state which R. Crawford calls ‘healthism and medicali-
sation of everyday life’ (1980). He argues that

Past therapeutic experiences and notions derived from diffused medical idea
as well as reinforcing ideological premises of the society acquired by other
means pre-structure the encounter (therapeutic). The client (patient) is already,
in a sense ‘professionalised’. In other words, persons being helped take on
as their own some of their helpers’ theorised assumptions and explanations
(ibid.: 373).

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 Voice of Illness and Voice of Medicine in Doctor-Patient Interaction 111

In the above case, it is the medicalised voice of illness that was heard.
This goes well with the argument that the patient’s context offers a ‘pro-
fessionalised’ outlook about her/his illness and everyday life. A similar
but different phenomenon that occurs during clinical interaction is the
genesis of new categories; this is shown in the following case.

Therapeutic Interaction: A Site of Knowledge Production

Saritha, a 21-year-old woman went to a Community Health Centre

complaining fever, headache, and weakness. Her father accompanied
her. She belongs to a lower-income-group and hails from an extended
family. Her parents are daily-wage labourers, and there are two elder
brothers, of which the eldest is married and has two children. Saritha
occasionally works in the cashew factory depending on the availability
of job. The Community Health Centre does not have regular laboratory
test facilities; these tests have to be carried out at private laboratories
situated on the premises. As there is overcrowding at the Centre, the
duration of interaction was too short. The physician was a 52-year-old
man. He has a basic medical degree with specialisation in child health;
he has been practising for 25 years. The interaction between the doctor
and the patient proceeded as follows:

1D: What is the matter?

1P: Fever, headache and weakness in hands and feet.
2D: For how long?
2P: One week. Everybody in the house has this.
3D: Vishapani (poisonous fever) is there, could be that, it is better to get
admitted.

The patient got admitted after getting the laboratory tests done. After
four days, she was discharged with medicines prescribed for one more
week. According to the doctor, the illness was ‘viral fever’.
This case shows how, during doctor-patient interaction, certain
kinds of information get internalised by the patient and how such infor-
mation later forms a new category for the public. This was clear from
what the patient said at her home during the follow-up visit:

The illness was vishapani. This is not like earlier ones. There is something poison-
ous that enters the body. That is why this is very severe.

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 112 Mathew George

The doctor’s version about this illness makes the picture complete:

. . . it is just viral fever. Since the patients won’t understand it if we say ‘viral’ it is
convenient if we use ‘visham’ (poison) instead of viral as the virus when it enters
the body becomes poisonous.

The fact that this was indeed a physician-created category, created osten-
sibly for patients who may not understand, was borne out by a number
of other patients using the same category of vishapani to express their
illness. One of the patients, who himself considered his illness as visha-
pani, when asked about it, responded by saying:

. . . last time I came with symptoms of fever and body pain then the doctor said
that this is vishapani—a new type of fever with severe symptoms.

It is obvious that the context of doctor-patient interaction becomes

a site of knowledge production, a knowledge that can determine the
patient’s understanding of and behaviour during illness.

Conclusion

This paper has been an attempt to show how doctor-patient interac-

tion takes place in a clinical setting as part of fever care. The duration
of interactions was very short and in local health institutions in which
clinical interaction is minimal. The three cases describe clinical interac-
tion in an Indian setting and how these interactions are outcomes of the
socialisation of the actors involved. The clinical interaction is not merely
the two-way communication desired for exchange of information; it is
the product of the networks through which those actors involved are
communicating. In other words, the interaction is the outcome of the
socialisation of doctors and patients in their respective contexts. This is
similar to the notion of thought style used by Fleck in the case of physi-
cians (cited in de Camargo 2002) and life-worlds in the case of patients
(Mishler 2005). It is in this context that the interactions between doctor
and patient become the interaction of various voices, where voices them-
selves are representations of illness from various realms. L.J. Kirmayer
deals with the real complexity of this interaction when he says that

Doctor and patient are attempting to communicate, but their conversation

is heavily constrained by the demands of the situation and their efforts to

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 Voice of Illness and Voice of Medicine in Doctor-Patient Interaction 113

present an appropriate face to each other. Each speaks from a different posi-
tion, which includes awareness of both the interactional context and its rela-
tionship to larger social spheres. Each speaks with the voice of the self but
invokes the voice of others (2000: 169).

It has to be noted that the study was conducted in Kerala where

recurrent epidemics and deaths due to various kinds of fevers were
reported since the mid-1990s. The media reports and several control
programmes initiated in the state generated a pervasive feeling of threat
among the public about fevers. In Jincy Joseph’s case, it is clear that the
problem the patient put forth is a social one: the patient and her mother
tried to present the problem in terms of the patient’s inability to perform
everyday life activities. On the contrary, the doctor keenly searches for
medically-valid findings that have physiological explanation. Two dif-
ferent notions about the same event are in fact the reflection of each of
their lived experience and the respective role they perform. The doctor’s
aim is to settle the issue by a diagnostic and prescriptive act, whereas the
patient’s purpose is to seek relief.
Here, I would like to refer to the concept of institution advanced
by Saris (1995) mentioned earlier. In the three cases, the manifestation
of institutions is varied. In the first case, the threat about fever was the
guiding force in the patient’s understanding of her illness as reflected
in her response towards treatment-seeking. In the second case, the
patient articulated the medicalised voice of illness, showing the patient’s
dependence on western medicine in general and medical technology in
particular, that ultimately reached a state of communicating illness in
a language close to medicine. This de Camargo describes as ‘how lay
people rely on expert systems in every day life, meaning the myriad of
technologies that we interact with on a daily basis without really having
a firm grasp on how they work’ (2002: 830).
The institutions with which the patient engages—the health insti-
tutions, the dominant discourse about fever in the society, one’s own
experience with illness—play an important role in the patient’s under-
standing of health, illness, and cure. This is obvious in the third case,
where new category/knowledge (for instance, vishapani) is produced in
a clinical setting which is part of neither medical knowledge nor lay
knowledge. It is not possible to draw a general pattern from these inter-
actions, but the meaning of illness/disease and, therefore, the outcome
of medical care will be determined depending on the institutions preva-
lent in which clinical interactions occur and the actors involved.

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 114 Mathew George

Notes
I am indebted to my guides Dr Alpana D. Sagar, for her valuable inputs emanating from
her expertise as a physician and a public health professional, and Dr Harish Naraindas, for
his sociological inputs, especially on narrative analysis. I sincerely thank the anonymous
referee for meticulously going through two drafts of this article and offering invaluable
comments for its improvement.
1. Their interaction is denoted as follows: D—doctor (physician); P—patient; MoP—
mother of the patient. The number indicates the order of interaction.
2. It is noteworthy that only few English terms are used during the whole clinical
interaction. The medium of medical education being English, it is possible that
physicians have internalised medical categories and terminology in English and are
not concerned with translating them into Malayalam for the benefit of the patients or
their relatives.

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 8
Narratives of Sickness and
Suffering: A Study of Malaria
in South Gujarat
Purendra Prasad

T
he Latin word disease literally means the absence of ease, which
is defined as a bio-pathological process that affects the organism.
As Karl Popper (1972: 106) says, for the clinician, disease is
experienced as present in the body. For the sufferer, however, the body is
not simply a physical object or physiological state; it is an essential part
of the self. Thus, disease is considered as a medical view of ill health,
whereas illness is a much broader phenomenon than disease (see Young
1982; Turner 1987; Kidel 1988; Good 1994; Boyd 2000).
Illness refers to the individual’s subjective awareness of the disor-
der. This awareness is articulated primarily through language. While
the ‘disease model’ argues based on the mind-body dualism,1 the ‘illness
model’ questions this reductionist theory. However, both disease and
illness models take the individual as their object. Moreover, the illness
model is interested in the issue of medical efficacy,2 that is, augmenting
clinical medicine by way of enhancing patient education, remedying
problems of non-compliance, and challenging maladaptive course of
treatment.
On the contrary, the social relations or sickness model questions
both the biomedical model of disease as being equivalent to sickness and
the explanatory model of disease as being equivalent to illness. Neither

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 Narratives of Sickness and Suffering 117

of these models explains the sociological background and context of

sickness. Accordingly, physicians tend to think of non-health as disease;
psychologists, as illness; and sociologists, as sickness (see Twaddle and
Hessler 1987). Allan Young defines the concept of sickness comprehen-
sively as follows:

. . . the process through which worrisome behaviour and biological signs, par-
ticularly ones originating in disease, are given socially recognisable meanings,
that is, they are made into symptoms and socially significant outcomes. Every
culture has rules for translating signs into symptoms, for linking symptom-
atologies to aetiologies and interventions, and for using the evidence provided
by interventions to conform translations and legitimise outcomes. The path a
person follows from translation to socially significant outcome constitutes his/
her sickness (1982: 270).

This definition gives primacy to the social relations that produce

the forms and distribution of sickness in society and recognises the
wider social context. According to Young, therefore, the task is not
simply to demystify knowledge but to critically examine the social
conditions of knowledge production. The sickness model is interested
in medical productivity and not efficacy alone, that is, identifying the
direct and indirect impacts of particular clinical practices and perspec-
tives on the levels of morbidity and mortality of the population at large
(Ibid.: 279).
Historically speaking, after the Renaissance, medicine has been char-
acterised by a shift from person-oriented to object-oriented cosmology.
Hence, it is always individuals who become sick, rather than social, eco-
nomic or environmental factors which causes them to be so. As such,
disease became more important than the sick person. Hence, while it
is important to understand the conceptual differentiation between ‘dis-
ease’, ‘illness’ and ‘sickness’, it is also necessary to recognise that these
concepts are no more than analytical categories. This is because, in the
real world, it is difficult to separate the biomedical perception, the self-
perception and the social perception. As long as there is this clarity of
thought, it does not matter whether ‘disease’, ‘illness’ or ‘sickness’ is used
to define suffering. The sociological understanding of suffering is that the
patient is not an abstract being, but of a certain age, sex, caste, class and
nation, and that he/she has internalised a specific historical experience
from childhood to adulthood.

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 118 Purendra Prasad

A critical medical social science forcefully poses the question of

when illness or sickness representations are actually misrepresentations
which serve the interests of those in power, be they colonial powers,
elites within a society, dominant economic arrangements, the medical
profession, or empowered men. Critical analysis investigates both the
mystification of the social origins of disease wrought by technical ter-
minology and metaphors diffused throughout medical language, and
the ‘social conditions of knowledge production’ (Ibid.: 277). Moreover,
several factors have contributed to critical re-examination of biomedical
or disease model by the medical world itself for the past two decades.
The factors as pointed out by Leon Eisenberg include intolerable costs
(either to individuals or to governments), inaccessibility of medical care
because of poor distribution by locality and specialty, and dissatisfac-
tion with the ‘quality’ of the medical encounter when it takes place, etc.
(cited in Lock 1989).
Within this conceptual framework, this paper attempts to under-
stand sickness through a study of malaria in India. Sickness identifica-
tion and prolongation of sickness (longer duration of sickness) are major
concerns for policy makers. However, the whole discourse of preven-
tive and curative models fixes the blame on the individuals and pre-
scribes several health-education and behaviour-change programmes as
remedies, instead of understanding and addressing the social conditions
of disease production. Pursuing this line of argument, a few pertinent
questions are raised in order to understand the recurring human suf-
fering due to malaria and subsequent interventions. The narratives3 are
explored in terms of semantics in the local context. What are the specific
human factors that social scientific research highlights or undermines as
the processes in the identification of malaria, its causes and subsequent
treatment patterns?

Malaria in India: An Historical Assessment

It is estimated that malaria affects 300–500 million people and results

in more than one million deaths per year worldwide (McCarthy et al.
2000). The UNO statistics reveal that, aside AIDS, malaria is the only
other disease that has been steadily spreading in the 1980s and 1990s.
In India, there were 2,019,066 reported incidences of malaria and 946
malarial deaths in the year 2000. According to WHO estimates, the

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 Narratives of Sickness and Suffering 119

numbers exceed well over the reported cases, and that the actual num-
bers are around 15 million and 20,000 respectively (see http://www.
who.org).
The overall malaria situation in India remained unchanged until the
1940s, prior to the introduction of Dichlorodiphenyltrichloroethane
(DDT). DDT was first imported into India for military purposes. In
1945, following the first major large-scale trial of DDT application
along the Tennessee River (USA), it was made available to the Bombay
Malaria Organisation in September 1945 for field trials in the rural
areas of Dharwar and Kanara districts (now in the State of Karnataka).
This had proved to be remarkably successful in the project areas (cited
in Kamat 2000). Based on these results, the Government of India had
launched the National Malaria Control Programme (NMCP) in 1953
with the support of WHO, USAID and the Rockefeller Foundation,
during which time there was an estimated annual incidence of 75 mil-
lion cases of malaria and annual incidence of 80,000 deaths. Within
five years of the launching of NMCP, the incidence of malaria had
drastically dropped from 75 million cases to 2 million cases. With the
exuberant confidence over its success achieved in malaria control, the
government renamed NMCP as NMEP (National Malaria Eradication
Programme) in 1958, and implemented it as one of the vertical pro-
grammes in the country. By the year 1964, it was claimed that malaria
was eradicated from 88 percent of the area and the remaining 12 per-
cent could have been contained if the supply of DDT was maintained
as scheduled.4 It has been pointed out that, starting with the shortages
of DDT and malaria larvicidal oil, inadequate infrastructure in general
and health services in particular hampered surveillance and vigilance.
Inadequate staff in health centres and technical problems contributed to
the rise in malarial cases (Sharma and Mehrotra 1986; Wessen 1986).
Some studies fixed the blame on the movement of population (particu-
larly rural migrant labour due to distress conditions), increased water-
intensive cropping, labour habitats near construction sites and mining
areas, delayed or piecemeal financial sanction to NMEP in certain
states, and diverting basic health workers for other health programmes
(see Rajagopalan et al. 1986).
The annual number of cases rose again to over half a million in
1970. The Government of India acknowledged the gravity of the situ-
ation and abandoned the eradication strategy in favour of a strategy
known as Modified Plan of Operation (MPO) (implemented in 1977)

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 120 Purendra Prasad

which emphasised control and containment (Sharma and Mehrotra

1986). In fact, since 1979, the incidence of malaria has shown no
marked change in India and that the incidence of plasmodium falci-
parum has increased from 20 percent in 1965 to 50 percent in 2000
(Sharma 2003: 514). By the year 2000, when the situation was diag-
nosed as beyond control (leave alone eradication), the Government of
India changed its nomenclature from NMEP to NAMP (National Anti-
Malaria Programme).5 Again in December 2003, NAMP was changed
to VBDCP (Vector Borne Disease Control Programme). This shift from
NMCP to NMEP to NAMP to VBDCP reflected not only a shift in
the approach to the problem, but also the way it undermined the role of
human beings in creating new epidemiological trends. This also brings
to the fore the intensity of the communities’ suffering and high inci-
dence of mortality and morbidity due to malaria, more particularly plas-
modium falciparum.6
In a nutshell, India continues to experience malaria epidemic in
different parts of the country every year. The gravity of the problem is
emphasised by the fact that the Government of India has identified sev-
eral districts in each state as ‘malaria endemic regions’ and decided as a
policy to treat all febrile illnesses with anti-malarials as part of presump-
tive treatment. This, however, showed how bodies are being viewed or
attended to in suppressing the apparent symptoms rather than address-
ing the persons, communities and their suffering in context. As Robert
H. Black has argued:

How often one reads or hears that malaria eradication failed because the vec-
tors became resistant to insecticides and the parasites resistant to chloroquine.
This is a nice ‘scientific explanation’ that appeals to hard scientists whereas
the main reasons for failure have to be sought in the soft sciences—human
behaviour, politics, economics . . . (cited in Wessen 1986: iii).

Malaria: The Processes of Prognosis

It is recognised that, since malaria is a moving target, the control

approaches/programmes to control it must constantly adapt to the
changing patterns of epidemiology over the times (Shivlal et al. 1998).
Recognising the high incidence and the changing epidemiological pat-
tern of malaria, the NAMP issued directives and guidelines by which

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 Narratives of Sickness and Suffering 121

district health administration should predict and detect local malaria

epidemics to initiate adequate control measures. However, the district
health administration was provided neither the authority nor the com-
petence to adapt to the locally acceptable methods of detection and
treatment.
Given the iniquitous social structure, caste hierarchy and economic
disparities, on the one hand, and the high incidence of malaria and its
geographical spread, on the other, it has not been possible to provide
facilities for clinical diagnosis of malaria for majority of the affected
persons. Moreover, technically it has been acknowledged that there are
difficulties in developing a clinical definition of malaria, because of the
wide variety of symptoms that occur as well as the increase in asymp-
tomatic cases (for example, either severe headache or knee pain as in
Surat district) in different parts of the country. Thus, to a large extent,
malaria is being diagnosed based on physician’s experience (particularly
of those in private practice). Majority (68 percent) of the affected per-
sons consult private practitioners, who would normally not recommend
clinical diagnosis because of its high cost (Prasad 2000). Furthermore,
where local governments commissioned active surveillance during epi-
demics, it revealed a large number of undetected malarial cases. In a
study on malaria epidemic in Mumbai, Vinay Kamat reports that ‘sur-
veillance system actually picked up those fever and malaria cases that
would have been left undiagnosed, untreated or most likely to be treated
by a private practitioner’ (2000: 146).
The prognosis of malaria, starting from collection of blood slides, effi-
cient screening, appropriate skills of lab technicians, scheduled delivery
of reports to the affected persons, follow-up of treatment, reputation
of government run health centres, non-specified treatment provided by
unregulated private sector etc., is quite complex. For instance, in order
to detect malaria epidemics, the NAMP directs district health adminis-
tration to find out if the increase in fever-rate reaches one-third or more
of new OPD cases in dispensaries, primary health centres or hospitals
during the current month; or rely on field-staff communication about
the increase in fever cases. However, neither is the field-staff communi-
cation reliable nor do most sick persons visit the government-run health
centres, thus resulting in a large number of undetected malaria cases in
rural India. Our study (see Infra) revealed that most (78 percent) of the
affected persons were labelled by the doctor as having malaria without

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 122 Purendra Prasad

any clinical test. This brings into focus how sickness is identified and
labelled, and subsequently treated. In this context, people’s expression
or articulation of sickness is a significant factor in terms of prognosis.
People use various analogies and metaphors to describe and explain
sickness. The terms used by laypersons to explain sickness often do not
coincide with those used in the biomedical parlance and, hence, the
scope for misunderstanding between sufferers and healthcare providers.
At times, both may be using the same term for indicating different
things and, at others, both use different terms to mean the same thing.
For instance, when people say they are affected with ‘malaria’,7 they may
not mean the same thing as medical professionals do, though both use
the same word.8 It may be noted that less than one-third of the respon-
dents indicated ‘malaria’ as one of the three most serious sicknesses in
their village. However, placing malaria in the matrix of serious ailments
has two main limitations. First, ‘seriousness’ has to be defined and, sec-
ondly, not all those who have reported knowledge about malaria neces-
sarily mean it as ‘clinical malaria’. Several research studies have pointed
out that a key step in studying treatment-seeking with respect to malaria
is to identify local disease categories or illness terms that correspond to
malaria (see McCombie 1994; Hausman 2000) and then devise appro-
priate policies and interventions.

Methodology

The data for this study was part of a larger multi-disciplinary research
project sponsored by the Government of India (involving entomolo-
gists, epidemiologists, social scientists and health policy makers) with
the aim to develop a strategy for malaria control and prevention. The
study was conducted over a period of five years (1995–2000) in Surat
district in Gujarat. During this project period, three interventions—
Insecticide Treated Mosquito Nets (ITMN), Indoor Residual Spray
(IRS), and Early Detection and Prompt Treatment (EDPT)—were
tested out in forty-two villages in each zone (coastal, plains and hilly)9
covering altogether 126 villages.
Social science component in the larger project had three major
objectives: (i) to carry out fieldwork through participant observation
method and collect data on perceptions of illness and health, particularly
on beliefs and practices surrounding treatment of fever; (ii) to prepare

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 Narratives of Sickness and Suffering 123

reports setting out the findings of the field work and discussing the
implications for introducing modern scientific knowledge about the
transmission and treatment of malaria to the local population studied;
and (iii) to advise on the setting up of training programmes for health
workers in rural areas and health promotion and training programmes
in urban areas incorporating research gathered during field work.
Accordingly, we selected three villages, one intervention village each
from three different ecological zones—Karanj in the coastal, Sathvav in
the plains and Khogalgam in the hilly zones—for intensive study. These
villages were chosen primarily keeping in mind the needs of interven-
tions proposed by the MCRP.
The research team comprising one principal investigator and one
research assistant spent about six months in each village. Participant
observation was used to understand people’s perceptions on diseases
in general and malaria in particular. Tools of data collection included
unstructured interviews, group discussions, case studies and discussion
with key informants. After one year, two more villages in each zone were
subjected to intensive study for further clarity. The findings of these
nine villages were validated through a structured questionnaire in eleven
villages in each zone, thus covering 976 households (15% of the total
households) in thirty-three villages. Similar methodology was used in
‘non-intervention villages’ (1,704 households) in order to compare the
findings of ‘intervention villages’ (see Lobo et al. 1998 and 2000).

‘Lay’ Perceptions of Malaria: View from the Field

Health was something that one ‘possesses’ normally in the course of

life, whereas sickness can be avoided by eating appropriate food as per
the season, by good action, by warding off evil, and by propitiating
the appropriate deities. There are different types of sickness, one associ-
ated with physical body (rising temperature, injury through accidents,
etc.), the cause of which is perceived as internal; and the other, with
non-physical activities (bad actions, fevers due to external agents, etc.),
the cause of which is external. It is important to understand this over-
all attitude before various concepts and perceptions about sickness and
treatment are discussed from the field data.
In Surat district, bimari and mandgi are the local terms used for
sickness. If a person is sick for short duration,10 he/she denotes it as

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 124 Purendra Prasad

bimari, while it becomes mandgi if it is for a longer duration. Bimari

includes cold, cough, fever, diarrhoea, etc., while mandgi includes jaun-
dice, malaria, typhoid, etc. The term rog is used to indicate chronic sick-
ness like TB, cancer, asthma, paralysis, arthritis, skin diseases, etc. The
main criteria used to indicate rog was ‘continuous attention’ required;
sicknesses that cannot be easily cured; and fatality, economic cost and
abnormal time it demands. The duration of sickness also, in fact, dis-
tinguishes these three concepts of sickness—bimari, mandgi and rog.
Malaria11 is bimari for some, while it is mandgi for others, depending
upon their perceived sickness, intensity of pain, frequency of sickness
etc. The reference group is always their own family members or kin
group who were affected with intense sickness.
In the instance of malaria, another common term used by the com-
munities to describe their sickness was tav in Gujarati and jora in tribal
(Gamits) dialects meaning fever. The words tav and jora originate from
the Sanskrit words tapa and jwara meaning fever. The symptoms of tav
were further elaborated as body temperature, internal heat/pain in the
body (kadtar tav/dukhavo), ‘steam comes out from the body’ (sharir
dhagu dhagu thaye), uneasiness (jeev ukalat); acute ‘tearing’ pain in limbs
(hath pag fatva made), loosening of the body (sharir dhilu dhilu lage);
severe headache (mathu fati jatu hoi tem bahuj dukhava lage) etc. Ashakti
was another term used to describe their sickness, implying their condi-
tion of sickness rather than a label for the sickness. These terms or narra-
tives not only indicated physical abnormalities but also social problems
or complications in day-to-day life.
Furthermore, the biomedical term ‘malaria’ is being understood in
a varied sense in the study area. The word tav (fever) opens the win-
dow for understanding specific pain affliction and suffering expressed
through different semantics. If a person said he/she was afflicted with
zeri (poison) tav, it may indicate the intensity of fever in terms of high
temperature, pain, etc. or that somebody with envy/jealousy may have
performed witchcraft on him/her. Similarly, communities use the words
simple malaria (sado malaria) and poisonous malaria (zeri malaria). Sado
malaria, to a large extent, indicated physical pain, whereas zeri malaria
meant several things—like malaria afflictions due to bad intentions or
punishment for some wrongdoing etc. The local medical practitioners
use the terms zeri tav and zeri malaria to refer to plasmodium falciparum
and other tavs to refer to plasmodium vivex. However, it may not be
possible to make these simplistic distinctions in terms of semantics used

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 Narratives of Sickness and Suffering 125

without understanding the complex situation the people are describ-

ing. This was quite evident, say for instance, about their knowledge of
malaria. Even in the non-trial12 villages, the study revealed that 97 per-
cent of the 1,704 households claimed to know malaria. However, only
three-fourth of those who claimed to know malaria could describe the
cause (that is, the malaria-mosquito link) and symptoms of malaria as
per the generally accepted clinical knowledge. Similarly, there were var-
ied semantics used which indicated specific pain in terms of frequency,
body sites, cause, seasons etc.
Frequency: Fevers related with frequency of occurrence like alternate
day fever (antario tav or ekantario tav), fever occurring in turns on the
same day (varino tav, varkiliya jora), fever occurring daily (rojiyo tav),
fever occurring fortnightly (mudati tav), fever occurring every fourth
day (chouthiyo tav).
Fevers/pain on body sites: Few respondents described stomach pain
(petmadukhavano tav, khad jora), saying ‘I felt something was moving in
my stomach, I felt like vomiting; also had slight cold and fever’. Other
descriptions included pain in the head (ardha mathanu tav, adhiheeno
jora), fever due to ache in the waist (kamar dukhavano tav); fever result-
ing from cold and shivering (thadiyo tav, kapro tav, kapro jora), fever
from cold (sardino tav), fever from cough, (khansino tav); fever with
shivering (hihee jora, also thandino tav), body feels torn apart, knee pain,
feeling a compulsion to hold the limbs together and desire for sleeping
(tutino tav). Haddino tav is the fever in the bones followed by a feeling
of lethargy.
Fevers linked to causes: like tiredness (thakno tav), big and small
rashes (fullino tav, chandano tav, pikhala jora), hot winds (loono tav,
garmiwalo tav), and bad air (bura pavan)—which referred to unnatural
forces (baharni asar).
Season: Fevers occurring in different seasons—monsoon, winter and
summer—were indicated by barasati tav, thandino tav and garmino tav.
Across the district, different social groups used various semantics
for expressing similar pain/suffering. For instance, antario tav was used
in multi-caste villages in the coastal zone; varino tav, in the plains (both
tribe and caste villages); and varkiliya jora, in the tribal hilly zone.
Similarly, some fevers have different names even within the same village,
like antario tav, which is same as ekantario tav (fever that comes on alter-
nate days). Another example is zeri tav (poisonous fever) and magazno
tav (cerebral fever) which are used synonymously.

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 126 Purendra Prasad

Fluidity of tav: As far as the consequences of fevers are concerned,

there are some fevers which turn into more serious diseases/sickness.
For instance, zino tav (simple fever), followed by an uneasy feeling in
the stomach, resulting in moto tav (intense fever). This intense fever
causes rise in the proportion of blood in the body and may lead to
malaria (biomedical term) or jaundice or paralysis.
The extent to which these local disease categories represent true
malaria is variable. In principle, broad terms that can be translated as
‘fever’ should incorporate most cases of malaria, though they include
other diseases as well. For instance, certain other terms like uthal pathal
(upsets), gabhraman (fear), peeda (pain), ashakti (weakness or fragility),
bechani (uneasiness), kam karvanu man na thai (lethargy) and khavanu
man nathi lage (loss of appetite) were expressions used along with tav
(fever) to describe their suffering/symptoms. These semantics, emanat-
ing from their bodily experiences, to describe their pain and sickness
have no meaning in a different context. Moreover, these semantics,
expressed to indicate their pain in terms of ‘sickness in itself ’ and
‘symptoms’, do not get acceptance because the words used neither coin-
cide with the biomedical term malaria nor the sequence of ‘signs’. The
cases described below narrate the complexity of the sickness situation
and treatment patterns.

Case 1

Dhansukhbhai Gamit, an agricultural labourer aged 32 years, who lived in the

village Kosambiya, had fever. When he felt sick, he did not even disclose this to his
family members for the first two days, and it was also the period when sugarcane-
cutting operation was at its peak. When it became unbearable, he revealed it to
his family members and on the advice of his grandfather (who has knowledge on
herbs/roots, that is, jadimudi), Dhansukhbhai consumed crushed juice of neem
bark for two days. When the fever did not subside, he went to Dr Kiritbhai, a
private doctor in Valod, at a distance of 4 km from the village. When the doctor
enquired and asked to narrate the symptoms, he revealed saying that he had sado
tav (simple fever) and ashakti (weakness), that he was not able to eat and often felt
thirsty, and that he did not feel like working. The doctor did not tell him what
he was suffering from, but he gave antibiotics and paracetamols for three days
along with an injection. After two days, when the temperature got aggravated,
he went to Dr Pawar in Valod, another private doctor. On enquiry, he revealed
the same symptoms, but emphasised on weakness, for which Dr  Pawar asked

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 Narratives of Sickness and Suffering 127

him to take an injection, and prescribed paracetamols and multivitamin tablets.

Within a day, the situation became worse, and he was forced to get admitted
in a government-run community health centre. The blood-slide examination
revealed that he was suffering from malaria, and was treated accordingly.
Upon interviewing, both the private practitioners said that it was not pos-
sible for them to send large number of poor sick persons for blood-slide exami-
nation, which is expensive in private laboratories. They also feared that the poor
sick would never return to them for consultation because of the expensive treat-
ment. When Dhansukhbhai Gamit was asked as to why he had not consulted
the government-run health centre at first instance, he and his family members
expressed apprehensions about the treatment available there. They also wanted
to consult private doctors to recover quickly so that he did not lose wages, as he
is the main breadwinner.

Case 2

Savitaben Rathod, aged 35 years, is an agricultural labourer, who also works

as ‘helper’ in domestic work in Timberva village. When she was not well, she
waited for a day and bought four tablets from a local shop (ganchi ni dukan)
and consumed them in the next two days. On the fourth day, as the symp-
toms persisted, she consulted Dr Chandubhai, a private doctor at Mohini,
which is 2 km from the village. When the doctor enquired about the symptoms,
Savitaben said that she had fever (tav) along with limb ache (hath pakh phate),
fear (gabhraman) and weakness (ashakti lage). On hearing the symptoms, he
gave an injection and prescribed tablets for two days symptomatically. She was
curious to know about the diagnosis, but the doctor did not say anything. She
consulted the doctor thrice, every alternate day, that is, for five days, and took
three injections but took the tablets only for the first two days. Her percep-
tion was that if she takes more tablets, the body gets hot; hence, she did not
consume all the tablets, though she spent Rs 20 for each visit to the doctor.
The doctor advised her to take ‘cold food’ (particularly milk), but she did not,
as her family could not afford it. The body temperature was reduced, but her
back pain, cough, fear and weakness persisted. After three days, she became seri-
ously unwell and all the symptoms along with the fever aggravated. She went
to another private doctor, who immediately asked her to get admitted in Sardar
Trust Hospital, but when they approached, it was beyond their ability to bear
the cost of treatment. She was taken to a government hospital and was diagnosed
as having malaria and treated for the same.

(Case 2: Contd.)

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 128 Purendra Prasad

(Case 2: Contd.)

In this case, discussion with the private doctor revealed that the symptoms
described by her did not indicate malaria. Savitaben went on expressing fear and
weakness as major symptoms because of the huge indebtedness they had ended
up due to crop loss in the previous year as well as the unanticipated death of a
milch cow, which provided significant income to meet household expenses on
day-to-day basis.

These two cases revealed the anxiety with which both the sufferers
and healthcare providers are negotiating sickness situations. The method
of identification of sickness becomes much more problematic because
the affected persons are narrating the sickness in its specificity, whereas
the healthcare providers are looking for clinical translation of symptoms
into signs without taking into account the social circumstances. Byron
Good (1977) showed through his study in Iran that ‘heart distress’ was
used sometimes to name an illness, sometimes as a symptom, sometimes
as a cause of other illnesses. Heart distress in Iran’s context meant worry
about poverty, nerve distress, sadness, anxiety, anger—all of these can be
caused or exacerbated by living in poverty. Similarly, in the explanation
of ‘sinking heart’ (kamjori) by the Punjabis living in Bradford, Inga-
Britt Krause (1989) says that, illness complex was conceptualised as a
set of physical signs, emotional sensations, and feelings and social cir-
cumstances which once triggered off tend to be perpetuated and expe-
rienced again and again. Narrating similar usage of semantics of pain,
Judy Pugh (1991) remarks that pain behaviour in India incorporates a
range of styles appropriate for specific categories of persons, situations
and types of pain. Thus, the medical way of thinking focuses exclusively
on physical abnormalities ignoring the sufferer and her/his attributes as
human persons.

Two Perceptions of Malaria:

A Sociological Analysis

My purpose here is neither to come up with an inventory of local illness

semantics nor justify it, but to highlight two contrasting worldviews,
where each group is operating in its own frame of reference and hence

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 Narratives of Sickness and Suffering 129

unable to negotiate sickness situations. As Sanjyot Pai (2003) points out,

the physician and the patient experience sickness in significantly differ-
ent ways. Therefore, sickness, in effect, represents two distinct realities
rather than representing a shared ‘reality’ between them. A shared world
of meaning between the healthcare providers and healthcare receivers
largely does not exist.
Despite their limited economic, political and social resources,
including access to education, health and affordability to modern medical
practitioners, communities have enormous trust in and expectations of
the modern system of medicine. One could find communities grappling
with their own sickness- and suffering-narratives, as they are unable
to reach out to the realm of modern institutions and its practitioners.
Instead of understanding the struggle and transition of the communities
to negotiate space for quality life, one finds a major discourse emanat-
ing from both medical and non-medical domains undermining people’s
ability to comprehend sickness situations. Consequently, biomedical
as well as social scientific literature to some extent advocates provid-
ing health education in order to set free the communities from their
ignorance.
Technically speaking, surveillance, detection and prompt treatment
are considered as crucial factors in not only reducing large number of
malaria cases, but also in preventing potential community carriers of
parasites (Hausman 2000). As policy makers also admit, only when com-
munities participate in large numbers in the anti-malarial programmes
designed by the government, the detection of cases is possible. With
the lead role provided by international funding agencies in advancing
the rhetoric of ‘community participation’ in all the development pro-
grammes, NMEP or NAMP in India can hardly be an exception to it.
There is little evidence if one were to examine healthcare policies and
its implementation to find locally acceptable methods of identification
of malaria. In other words, community perceptions and the ways and
means of negotiating suffering, whether it is malaria or any other disease
situation, has never been uncovered. The recurrent incidence of malaria
and other fevers initiate a process of rationalisation of what comes to be
constituted as ‘endemic’.
The underlying reasons for the failure or non-compliance by the
malaria-affected persons need to be understood, rather than letting
loose a victim-blaming process. The commonest forms of evading social
responsibility is to identify ‘certain group character’—‘defaulter’, in

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 130 Purendra Prasad

the case of Tuberculosis; ‘non-compliant’, in the case of malaria; and

‘uncooperative’, in the case of leprosy. In addition, specified group of
people—migrants, rural women, illiterates, etc.—have been identified
as community carriers of malaria parasite. Several studies have pointed
out that the prominent social response that emerges during epidemics
is the shifting of responsibility and blame to the other (see Ghosh and
Coutinho 2000; Prasad 2000). On the one hand, sufferers, particularly
women and the aged, have hardly any option but to resort to available
healing processes within the community (elders of the family/kin, tra-
ditional healers—herbalists, faith healers, etc); on the other hand, treat-
ment providers and health administrators blame the people in terms of
their beliefs, superstitions and value systems.

Linear Causation by Major Cause

Similar to sickness identification, causes of sickness also indicate differ-

ential pattern between medical and lay narratives. However, a deeper
understanding of these narratives reveals that persons with sickness
and their families are confronted with several sickness dichotomies
prior to their response to sickness. Apart from mosquitoes as a cause
of malaria, getting drenched in rain, physical work for long hours,
exhaustion, tiredness, working under hot sun, bad air, bad weather,
baharniasar,13 eating certain types of food like cucumber, custard
apple, stale food, etc. are some of the ‘causes’ of malaria/local fevers as
revealed in this study.
A young person (a tribal Chodry, who is educated up to primary
level and holds a private job) with fever said ‘since last week the weather
was moist due to rain. Hence, there was shivering, blocked nose, body
ache and headache, which all culminated into tav gripping me. Later the
doctor told me that it is malaria’.
In another case, a tribal male (aged 32 years) described how his
fever began. After completing his weeding work in the field, as he was
returning home, he felt chakkar (giddiness) on the way. His body started
paining and he began feeling cold. By the time he reached his home, he
was gripped by the fever. It began to rise further. He said, some fevers/
malaria are accidental/coincidental after getting tired or exhausted
working under the sun, or due to bura pavan (bad air).

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 Narratives of Sickness and Suffering 131

The causes of malaria narrated in all the study villages are very
dissimilar. Some of the causes are sheer coincidental such as getting wet
in the rain. However, the communities’ perceptions on the causes of
malaria could be classified thus: physical work (hard work), bio-chemical
(change in water), supernatural (sorcery), psychological (tension),
seasonal (getting wet in rain), contagious (close contact with malaria
patients), loss of crop or any misfortune (anxiety) etc. In this multi-
ple causative logic, one major dichotomy that arises is between natural
(kudrath) and unnatural (baharni) causes of malaria. This dichotomy is
crucial or a liminal phase of sickness. One starts introspecting her/his
own life-world and social events that take place during that particular
period of sickness. In their multi-causal analysis, baharni asar as a cause
cannot be ruled out in any sickness. However, medical aetiology denotes
mosquitoes as the only causative factor and dismisses other factors as
having no relevance in the process of treatment. This not only wid-
ens the critical gap between groups of sickness sufferers and healthcare
providers, but also results in the under-diagnosis of malaria cases evident
in the study area. Naming a specific cause for a disease is not sufficient. It
is essential to find a pattern of events that makes the patient to become
vulnerable to specific causes of disease(s).
It is also reported that most deaths due to malaria remained unre-
ported in different parts of India (see Rana and Johnson 2003). Apart
from causing mortality, malaria gravely weakens many of its affected
persons, making them susceptible to other life-threatening illnesses
such as pneumonia, anaemia, or dysentery. As Watts Sheldon (1999)
notes, in addition to its role as a killer and weakener, malaria was an
element in that vicious circle which makes the poor malarious and the
malarious poor. In fact, a single set of signs can designate more than
one sickness and social forces help determine which group of people get
which sicknesses. As Vijay Kumar Yadavendu points out, ‘The taking of
a purely medical history individuates the patient; however, the disease
or injury from which the patient is suffering, is received as part of a col-
lective experience in a particular historical, cultural and social setting.
These latter circumstances are as much a part of the cause, and should be
part of the treatment as purely medical facts’ (2001: 2787). This is also
ironic since the problems of ill health and disease in the Third World
countries is entirely of a different order, located in hunger, poverty and
infection, all of which have social bases.

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 132 Purendra Prasad

Interventions and Specific Groups

Anti-malarial programmes also need to identify specific groups and

devise appropriate interventions rather than offer generalised services.
A special focus is required for all the tribal communities across the
country, as malaria takes a high toll on these communities. Although
tribal communities account for 8 percent of the total Indian popula-
tion, it contributes to 30 percent of the total reported cases of malaria
and 50 percent of malarial deaths (ICMR 2004). Similarly, other spe-
cific groups, such as women, children and the aged, need to be focused.
For instance, though research indicates that, in terms of prevalence and
incidences of malaria, men outnumber women in the country (approxi-
mately 1.39 to 1), women disproportionately bear the economic bur-
den of disease and illness. When members of the family fall ill, there is
labour substitution to maintain the income and functions of the fam-
ily unit; and the burden of labour substitution tends to fall dispropor-
tionately on women. Maternal health is also critical for infant health.
Malaria is the leading cause of anaemia and low birth-weight babies.
Thus, malaria is also a cause of infant mortality and threatens life-long
morbidity. Malaria prevention among children also needs to be a prior-
ity since it is one of the leading causes of mortality and morbidity for
children under the age of five.
Migrants form another category of people that requires a great deal
of attention. In South Gujarat, there is surveillance on migrants. For
instance, in Surat city, migrants need to seek special permission from the
municipal authorities both before and after arrival into the city, as the
migrants are the suspected carriers of protozoa. However, the surveil-
lance is restricted to identifying actual malaria cases and sending back
the malaria affected migrants to their respective home states, rather than
to providing treatment. Instead of targeting the migrants, they need to
be provided with special facilities in accessing health services. As provi-
sions of public health infrastructure in terms of access to healthcare, safe
drinking water and sanitation have collapsed, the migrants, rural poor
and urban poor are increasingly becoming vulnerable to the malarial
fevers. In addition to this, caste issue continues to plague the malaria
control programme and health system in general. In rural areas, the con-
tinuing stigma of untouchability remains painfully obvious and detri-
mental to the health and livelihood of the lower castes. Additionally, the

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 Narratives of Sickness and Suffering 133

impoverished state of many of these castes only compounds this prob-

lem of access and capabilities. Ill health is not a problem by itself, it is
rather a symptom of deeper socioeconomic injustice. As Sheila Zubrigg
(2001) avers, ill health can be interpreted as a form of institutionalised
violence in society.

Discussion

It is evident from the study that an analysis of disease/health that iso-

lates the individual from her/his social environment not only fails to
identify sickness as well as address contributing and causative factors,
but implicitly accedes to the continuation of power arrangements in
social relations. The problem identified with description or narration
of local illness categories is its failure to link these categories to the
larger systems of domination that often influence or even generate them
(Farmer 1988).
It is the state and civil society groups, which lacked commitment
to provide basic needs, particularly public health facilities and ‘educa-
tion’,14 to the rural communities for the last five decades, which cre-
ated a huge gap between healthcare providers and receivers. Instead of
empathising with the struggling communities and their suffering, one
finds ‘victim-blaming’ as a predominant agenda taken up by the health-
care bureaucracy and policy makers. State and civil society groups,
which failed to create conditions for self-realisation of individual capa-
bilities, do not hesitate to put the blame on the dependency syndrome
of the people. The findings from the malaria-affected persons revealed
that communities have lot more expectations from the modern medical
institutions, which are not able to live up to the aspirations of the larger
masses. Hence, understanding sickness from the ‘sufferers’ point of view
holds the key to any intervention in the area of tropical diseases. As
Arthur Kleinman et al. rightly observe:

Social suffering brings into a single space an assemblage of human problems

that have their origins and consequences in the devastating injuries that social
force can inflict on human experience. Social suffering results from what
political, economic and institutional power does to people and reciprocally,
from how these forms of power themselves influence responses to social prob-
lems (2001: ix).

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 134 Purendra Prasad

People have given fifty different local names for fever. It will be use-
ful to put these fevers into categories of malaria and malaria-like fevers,
so that policy makers do not miss out the malaria cases just because they
do not use the same nomenclature for an illness. Aetiology, however,
cannot be different. There may be hundred reasons for getting fever,
but malaria is transmitted through mosquitoes. Sometimes when people
describe malaria and malaria-like fever as baharni asar and its aetiology
as an evil force (through dakan) in the form of an insect, what it means
is the same. This is simply because the biomedical scientists view it as a
parasite, while communities view it as an insect; it is only a difference
in language.
Given the intense suffering due to malaria, V.P. Sharma (2003:
514) boldly suggests that higher levels of funding, cooperation, effec-
tive health and malaria education, though necessary and important,
offer only a part of the solution to malaria. These approaches fail to
address the greater socioeconomic concerns that, if corrected, would
revolutionise health in the country. There should be access to medical
services for anyone in medical need (Daniel 1985). However, specific
non-medical features of individuals—their caste, gender, and politico-
economic location—actually determine whether or not they have access
to healthcare.

Notes
This is a revised version of the paper ‘Conceptualising Health: A Study of Malaria in
Gujajrat’ presented at the seminar on ‘Health and Society: Issues and Concerns’ organised
by the Department of Sociology, Goa University on 5–6 March 2003. I am thankful to the
organisers of the Seminar for the invitation. I am grateful to the anonymous referee for her/
his useful comments and suggestions that helped me revise the paper substantively.

1. Rene Descartes provided a highly influential conceptualisation of the mind/body/

senses relationship. His formula ‘cogito, ergo sum’ (‘I think, therefore I am’) was linked
at one level to a complete devaluation of all the body’s senses. Such an approach
exposes the western philosophy’s inability to deal comprehensively or consistently
with the human body (cf. Mellor and Shilling 1997: 6).
2. Medicine may be efficacious; it may nevertheless have little or no positive effect, as is
evident in the case of tropical and other diseases in India.
3. Narratives are not individual accounts, but collective social accounts of the struggling
communities.
4. The factors that contributed to the short supply of DDT were the outbreaks of hostili-
ties with Pakistan and a breakdown in production at the Alwayne factory.

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 Narratives of Sickness and Suffering 135

5. This change in nomenclature was effected due to the advice by the World Bank as part
of the Enhanced Malaria Control Project (EMCP) in fifteen states in India.
6. Plasmodium falciparum (PF) is more severe and complicated compared with
Plasmodium vivex (PV) that was common in India till 1980s.
7. Malaria is a parasitic disease spread by the bite of Anopheles mosquito which is active
between dusk and dawn. Malarial symptoms can occur eight days after an infected
bite. The principal symptoms are fever, malaise, headache, chills and sweats, but it
can present itself as a respiratory or gastrointestinal illness, too.
8. The research projects and intervention programmes on malaria implemented by the
government through different funding agencies also influenced people to largely
adapt the biomedical or English terms whether they mean same thing or not.
9. The geographical zones of Surat district are also socio-cultural zones. Hilly zone, a dry
region was inhabited by the tribes (Chodrys and Gamits); caste groups (Koli Patels,
Ahirs, Desai, Kaduva Patidars, Prajapatis, Chamars, Parmars and Halpatis) were pre-
dominant in the irrigated coastal zone; and the plains zone (both dry and irrigated)
comprised villages inhabited by both castes and tribes. Surat district was chosen for
trial research not only because of its malaria endemicity, but also due to its geographi-
cal and socio-cultural spread, so that generalisations made from the trial zones would
have broader relevance for the entire country.
10. ‘Short-’ and ‘long-duration’ are relatively used, as what is short or long depends on the
type of sickness, its conceived ranking in the family and community, age of the person
affected, the circumstances under which the sickness occurs, etc. Broadly, short dura-
tion may be one to five days, and long duration may be three days and more.
11. Wherever the biomedical term malaria is used, it also includes local fevers which may
or may not correspond to malaria.
12. Non-trial areas were those villages where there was no intervention by the Malaria
Control Research Project. Three interventions (namely, ITMNs, IRS, and EDPT) in
trial areas required scores of official visits, distribution of material things, and exter-
nal dissemination of information on malaria, which largely influenced people’s ideas
about malaria.
13. Baharnisar meaning malevolent social relations which go beyond witchcraft and
sorcery. Both intentional and unintentional acts of ‘abnormal’ persons, ancestors,
or unnatural forces may strike a person to make her/him sick. It is observed that
beliefs about different forms of malevolent social relations are prevalent in all societ-
ies and tribals are no exception. Furthermore, modern health services have been well
accepted by the tribals and they are craving for efficient delivery of these services.
14. Here, education does not mean adult literacy or health education/awareness, but for-
mal education.

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Farmer, Paul 1988. ‘Bad blood, spoiled milk: Bodily fluids as moral boundaries in rural
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Lobo, Lancy; Purendra Prasad, Babasaheb Kazi and D.C. Sah. 2000. Ethnography of malaria
in Surat district—Composite report. Surat: CSS (mimeo).
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Prasad, Purendra. 2000. ‘Health care access and marginalised social spaces: Leptospirosis
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Rana, Kumar and Liby T. Johnson. 2003. ‘Hot-tempered “cold fever”: Illness and impover-
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Sharma V.P. 2003. ‘Malaria and poverty in India’, Current science, 84 (4): 514.
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 9
Caste Variations in
Reproductive Health
Status of Women: A Study
of Three Eastern States
Papia Raj and Aditya Raj

Introduction

I
n India, caste plays a major role in the life of her people, influencing
their socioeconomic activities, and in turn regulating their health
status. S.N.M. Kopparty (1991) shows the variation in the utilisa-
tion of health resources among different caste groups and its impact
on their health status. Similarly, Thomas Matthai (1996) states that,
because of differential literacy rate and economic status between the
scheduled castes and non-scheduled castes, there is also a difference in
their health status. In caste-based Indian society, women of the lower
castes are the worst hit, as they suffer from double discrimination: First,
in the patriarchal society women are discriminated against men, as they
have to bear the burden of household work demanding much time and
energy without adequate compensatory diet. And second, a lower-caste
woman, owing to her poor socioeconomic status, also experiences social
deprivation. Both these factors are detrimental to the health status of
women, especially their reproductive health.
Given that caste is important in the life of an individual, in this paper
we examine the caste variations in the reproductive health of women.

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 Caste Variations in Reproductive Health Status of Women 139

There are as yet no studies on the reproductive health status among

different caste groups. The National Family Health Survey (NFHS)-1
(1992–93) gives us an opportunity to conduct such a study, as it has
compiled data on caste (International Institute of Population Sciences
1994). Though a second round of NFHS also collected similar data in
1997–98 (International Institute of Population Sciences 2000), we have
not considered that data in this study for two reasons: First, when the
NFHS-2 was conducted, the state of Bihar had been divided into Bihar
and Jharkhand. And second, since the NFHS is a sample survey, and not
a longitudinal survey, comparing the two sets of data would not throw
much light on the actual situation.

Reproductive Health in India

Women and child health received a major impetus after the International
Conference on Population and Development (ICPD) in Cairo (1994),
which recommended that the participant countries should implement
unified programmes for Reproductive and Child Health (RCH), as it
was considered essential to human welfare and development. In the
ICPD, reproductive health was defined as the state of complete physi-
cal, mental and social well-being, and not merely the absence of disease
or infirmity, in all matters relating to the reproductive system and to its
functions and processes (ICPD Programme of Action, paragraph 7.2).
India, being a signatory to the ICPD, strongly supports the Programme
of Action and, since the 1990s, the Government of India has introduced
the RCH Approach. This approach includes the ability (of couples) to
reproduce and regulate their fertility. Women can go through preg-
nancy and childbirth safely, the outcome of pregnancy is successful as
for maternal and infant survival and well-being, and couples can have
sexual relations free of fear of pregnancy and of contracting diseases.
Indian women, by and large, have a poor reproductive health sta-
tus, as is evident from the NFHS data. For assessing the reproductive
health of a woman, the NFHS-1 incorporated the following variables:
antenatal care (ANC), immunisation of pregnant women, institutional
deliveries, and assistance at delivery. Proper ANC is crucial for the good
health of both mother and child. NFHS-1 data show that, among all
the women who have given any live birth in the four years preceding
the survey, only 62.3 percent of mothers have received various types
of ANC services. All pregnant women are expected to receive doses of

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 140Papia Raj and Aditya Raj

Figure 1: Schematic Framework for Analysing the Influence of Caste on Repro-

ductive Health of Women

tetanus toxoid vaccine to be protected against tetanus. Two or more

doses of this vaccine during pregnancy were received by only 53.8 per-
cent of all mothers. The situation is not much different as for the cover-
age for iron and folic acid tablets, which forms a prophylaxis against
nutritionally induced anaemia among pregnant women. According to
the NFHS-1, only 50.5 percent of women had this coverage. Another
important thrust of maternal health services is the encouragement of
institutional deliveries attended by trained health professionals to ensure
better health for the mother and the child. The proportion of institu-
tional births (25.6 percent) is very low in India.
Both international and national organisations, such as the World
Health Organisation (WHO), United Nations Population Fund (UNFPA),
Population Association International (PAI) and Population Foundation
of India (PFI), have attempted to measure the reproductive health of
women with the help of certain sets of indicators. The most recent index
of reproductive health has been computed by PAI (2001). It puts India in
moderate rank, with a score of 44.8 on a scale ranging from 0 to 100.
However, despite government programmes and intervention, the
reproductive health status of women in India presents a sorry scenario,
mainly because of the socioeconomic forces that influence reproduc-
tive health. Caste is one social institution in India whose impact on

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 Caste Variations in Reproductive Health Status of Women 141

the life of her people cannot be exaggerated. To understand the influ-

ence of caste on reproductive health of women a schematic framework is
developed. From Figure 1 it follows that caste influences socioeconomic
variables that include educational status, work status and standard of
living. These variables, in turn, have an impact on knowledge and utili-
sation of contraception and reproductive health care services, ultimately
affecting the reproductive health of women.

The Study

The study area is restricted to the eastern region of India, comprising the
states of Bihar (that is, former Bihar, including Jharkhand), Orissa and
West Bengal. Obviously, the caste structure is not uniform across the
country, and there are significant regional variations. We use a modified
version of H.H. Risley’s (1881) classification (see Appendix 1) as his sur-
vey was undertaken when the geographical area comprising these three
states was administratively united. In these three states the caste struc-
ture is more or less similar due to their historical moorings. Moreover,
the authors’ acquaintance with the area facilitated better understanding
of the behaviour of various caste groups.
The three main objectives of the study are:

1. To analyse the variations in the reproductive health status of currently

married women belonging to different caste groups in the states of Bihar,
Orissa and West Bengal.
2. To compute a Reproductive Health Index (RHI), for the various castes in
these three states.
3. To examine the influence of social and economic factors on the reproduc-
tive health of women, with special reference to their caste membership.

The data used in this study were obtained from the NFHS-1 (1992–93)
conducted between April 1992 and September 1993. The Survey cov-
ered more than 89,000 ever-married women in the age-group 13–49
in twenty-four states and the union territory of Delhi; it was, thus, the
largest of its kind in the subcontinent. It provides national- and state-
level estimates of fertility, infant and child mortality, family planning
and maternal and child health. In this study, we have drawn data from
the following sections of the Women’s Questionnaire used in the Survey:

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 142Papia Raj and Aditya Raj

the respondent’s background, reproduction, contraception, pregnancy

and breast feeding, husband’s background, and women’s work. For
analysis, only those women who have given any live birth during the
four years preceding the survey (1988–91) are considered, and only the
recent birth is taken into account. Since the main purpose of the study
is to analyse the impact of caste on reproductive health, only the Hindu
women falling in this category are considered.
The reproductive health indicators used in the present study are as fol-
lows: contraceptive usage (any method), birth order, birth interval, ante-
natal care (any type), status of immunisation of women during pregnancy
(doses of Tetanus toxoid vaccination), obtaining iron and folic acid tablets,
place of delivery, assistance during delivery, weight of the child at birth.1

Caste Variations in Reproductive

Health Indicators

Table 1 presents caste variations in the reproductive health indicators.

‘Use of contraceptives’ is an important indicator of reproductive health.
In Bihar, only 55.7 percent of the couples use contraceptives, and there
exist castewise variations: among the High Caste 73 percent of the cou-
ples use contraceptives, followed by the Highest Caste (62.2 percent).
The rural-urban difference in contraceptive use is large, and it is more so
in case of the upper castes and the Intermediate Caste. The high rural-
urban disparity among the upper castes is because, unlike in urban areas,
in rural areas there are some taboos attached to the use of contraceptives,
and these taboos are more observed by the upper castes. Also, in rural
areas, the joint family system is still prevalent among the upper castes,
which are land-owning communities. The joint family norms regulate
the reproductive behaviour of the couples and hence affect the use of
contraceptives. In urban areas, due to the prevalence of nuclear house-
holds, even among the upper castes such controls do not operate and
the couples are relatively free to exercise their reproductive choices. In
the case of the lower castes that are generally engaged in agricultural
labour, the joint family system does not exist even in rural areas. Hence,
their reproductive behaviour does not change much with place of resi-
dence. Apart from this, the upper castes have a higher literacy rate in
urban areas as compared with the lower castes, and this increases their
* Due to archaic nature of the articles some tables in this chapter are not available
and could not be reproduced.

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 Caste Variations in Reproductive Health Status of Women 143

awareness about the various family-planning methods, thus influencing

the use of contraceptives.
Orissa also presents a similar situation where 59.9 percent of the
couples presently use contraceptives. The highest proportion of con-
traceptive use is among the High Caste (79.2 percent), followed by the
Highest Caste (72.5 percent), while less than 60 percent of the couples
among the Intermediate, Lowest and Low Castes use contraceptives.
Striking differences are also noticed between rural and urban areas in
the use of contraceptives. In West Bengal, 66 percent of the couples
use contraceptives, and, unlike in Bihar and Orissa, there is not much
caste variation. In fact, the proportion of couples using contraceptives
is the same for the High Caste and the Low Caste (that is, 69 percent).
There is also not much rural-urban difference among these caste
groups. In West Bengal, the marginal difference in the use of con-
traceptives by various castes is due to the caste structure being not
as rigid as in Bihar and Orissa. One reason for this is that the reform
movements in Bengal had liberalised the caste system. Moreover, the
relatively higher literacy rate in rural areas of West Bengal has fostered
a more liberal outlook, which positively influences the reproductive
behaviour.
The higher the birth order of a child, the more adverse the effect
it has on the reproductive health of the mother, as it means repeated
number of pregnancies. In Bihar, 38.6 percent of the live births are
higher order births, that is, birth order of equal to or more than four.
With a higher proportion of their members using contraceptives, the
upper castes have low proportions of high order births. The rural-urban
difference in birth order among the caste groups is high, except for
the Lowest and the Intermediate castes. This is obviously the result of
the prevalence of joint family system in rural areas which encourages
couples to have more number of children. Moreover, in rural areas,
where the standard of living is not very high and the economy is labour-
based, children are viewed as an economic asset, and more so among
the lower castes, who are also generally the low income-groups. On the
other hand, in urban areas, the cost of bringing up a child is relatively
high. This also is responsible for the differential birth order between the
rural and urban areas.
In Orissa, 30.7 percent of the births are of higher order; a large dif-
ference in birth order is noticed among the various castes in this state.
As in Bihar, the proportion of higher order births is much less in urban
areas and irrespective of caste affiliation. In West Bengal, all the castes

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 144Papia Raj and Aditya Raj

have fairly small proportion of higher order births, ranging between

20 percent (Highest Caste) and 31.9 percent (Lowest Caste). Since there
is not much variation in the pattern of contraceptive use between the
rural and urban areas in West Bengal, it gets reflected in the birth-order
pattern.
Apart from birth order, it is also the interval between two births
that has a bearing on the reproductive health of a woman. A little
over 39 percent of all live births in Bihar have a birth interval of more
than or equal to twenty-four months, without much caste variation.
In Orissa, 56.9 percent of the live births have a birth interval of equal
to or more than twenty-four months. The proportion of births with a
higher interval is almost 60 percent among the lower castes, while it is
only 48 percent among the upper castes. Since, in West Bengal, only
25 percent of the births are of higher order, and among the lower order
births 32 percent are of first order, the proportion of births with large
intervals is quite low (45.1 percent). This applies to all castes.
Antenatal care (ANC) is one of the four most important pillars of
safe motherhood along with family planning, safe delivery and essential
obstetric care (WHO 1996). In the study region, there is a large differ-
ence in the proportion of women receiving ANC: it is only 40.8 percent
in Bihar, while it is 79.8 percent in West Bengal. In Bihar, the propor-
tion of lower-caste women receiving ANC is much less (35.5 percent)
compared with their upper-caste counterparts (68.1 percent). This dif-
ference is accentuated in rural areas, where only 34.3 percent of the
women receive any type of ANC, either visited by a health worker or
going to a clinic. However, the position of the Lowest Caste does not
improve much with place of residence: it is 34.1 percent in rural areas
and 46.2 percent in urban areas.
Lack of accessibility to ANC services is a major cause for this.
Accessibility refers to both physical accessibility (in terms of distance
travelled) and accessibility in terms of cost incurred to avail such
services. Long distance and inadequate public transportation facility are
common constraints to health-care utilisation, and this is more so in
rural areas (Thaddeus and Maine 1994). This applies to rural Bihar too,
where the availability of medical facilities does not meet the require-
ments of the people, and the transport infrastructure is underdeveloped.
Also, in the rural areas of the states under study, the residential pattern
follows caste hierarchy: the houses of the upper castes are located in the
centre of the village, and those of the other castes are located farther

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 Caste Variations in Reproductive Health Status of Women 145

away from them according to their ritual and occupational status. As a

result, the lower castes are usually settled on the periphery of the village.
Moreover, in Bihar, as is well known, the family-planning pro-
gramme is not a success story, and the health workers visiting homes is
also rare. Also, as elsewhere in rural India, land continues to be the most
important source of income, and the upper castes are usually the land-
owning communities (Chakravarti 2001). This contributes to the
improvement in the standard of living of the upper castes in rural areas.
The lower castes, on the other hand, are also down in the hierarchy as
for their economic status and they cannot afford the transport-cost for
availing the ANC services if they are located at a far off place. Even the
private clinics, due to their exorbitant charges, are out of their reach. All
these lead to a drop in the percentage of lower-caste women receiving
ANC. On the contrary, in urban areas, physical inaccessibility is not a
problem, as there are many clinics and the transport system is also bet-
ter. Moreover, urban areas are free from caste-based settlement patterns,
which fact too acts facilitates lower-caste women receiving ANC. Lower
standard of living and lack of knowledge among the urban lower castes
may be responsible for less proportion of their women availing ANC.
Similar caste variations are noticed in Orissa, too. Among the upper
castes more than 80 percent receive ANC, while among the lower castes
the figure is below 70 percent. The ANC coverage is higher in West
Bengal, without much rural (77.8 percent) and urban (87.6 percent)
differentiation. There is also not much caste variation in availing the
ANC services.
Apart from the ANC services, a birth attended by skilled health
professionals assures safe delivery and reduces risk to the life of the
mother and the child. In Bihar, skilled health professionals attend
only 23.4 percent of the births. The situation is grimmer for the lower
castes, as less than 20 percent of their births are assisted by skilled health
professionals. Only among the High Caste a majority (53.4 percent) of
the births are assisted by skilled health professionals. Rural areas are worse
off, as the figure for no caste exceeds 40 percent. This is due to the tradi-
tional outlook prevalent in rural societies, where most of the births still
take place at home and are assisted by dais (traditional midwives) who
are not very skilled and follow traditional practices, some of which are
unhygienic. Even in urban areas, the situation is not satisfactory for the
lower castes: skilled health professionals assist only 37.2 percent of the
births among the Lowest Caste, but the corresponding percentage is 80.3

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 146Papia Raj and Aditya Raj

for the High Caste. It is perhaps the inaccessibility due to high cost
that influences this variation in urban areas. The government hospitals
lack adequate infrastructures in terms of both equipment and personnel,
while the poor lower-caste people cannot afford the services of private
hospitals.
In Orissa too, skilled health professionals assist a very low pro-
portion of (28 percent) births, and a large caste variation is noticed.
The upper castes have higher proportion of births assisted by skilled
professionals (51 percent). Skilled assistance at delivery is also not very
satisfactory in West Bengal (41.6 percent), and caste variations exist:
60 percent of the births among the High Caste are assisted by skilled
professionals, in contrast to 26.1 percent, among the Lowest Caste.
To summarise, the caste differences are the highest in Bihar, fol-
lowed by Orissa and West Bengal. In all the three states, the upper
castes are in a better position in comparison with the lower castes. The
Intermediate Caste shares more characteristics of the lower castes than
that of the upper castes. The place of residence has a great influence on
the reproductive health status of women as is evident from the striking
rural-urban differences in all the states for all the reproductive health
indicators, with urban areas presenting a better picture.

Reproductive Health Index

For a comprehensive understanding of caste differences in reproduc-

tive health status of women, based on the above discussed indicators, a
Reproductive Health Index (RHI) has been computed for the various
caste groups (see Appendix 2). The range of this index varies between
‘0’ and ‘5’. The higher the value of the index, the better the reproduc-
tive health status of the women. Based on the mean value of the index,
women are grouped under two broad categories of reproductive health
status: High RHI and Low RHI.
In Bihar, as most of the reproductive health indicators for women
are poor, only 39.1 percent of them show High RHI (see Table 2a).
Caste variation is also large: 64.4 percent of the High Caste women
have High RHI, and only 36.5 percent of the Lowest Caste women have
High RHI. Though in urban areas 65.3 percent of women have High
RHI, this percentage drops to 33 in rural areas.

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 Caste Variations in Reproductive Health Status of Women 147

Table 2a
Caste-Group and RHI—Bihar, 1992–93

Caste Low RHI (%) High RHI (%)

Groups Rural Urban Combined Rural Urban Combined
Highest 57.65 34.15 52.70 42.35 65.85 47.30
High 50.00 11.48 35.58 50.00 88.52 64.42
Intermediate 70.43 35.25 64.36 29.57 64.75 35.64
Low 74.09 34.85 68.68 25.91 65.15 31.32
Lowest 65.92 52.56 63.51 34.08 47.44 36.49
Total 66.97 34.72 60.89 33.03 65.28 39.10

Table 2b
Caste-Group and RHI—Orissa, 1992–93

Caste Low RHI (%) High RHI (%)

Groups Rural Urban Combined Rural Urban Combined
Highest 31.67 7.14 21.57 68.33 92.86 78.43
High 33.33 6.98 22.64 66.67 93.02 77.36
Intermediate 44.17 29.17 40.29 55.83 70.83 59.71
Low 54.82 29.03 48.65 45.18 70.97 51.35
Lowest 53.95 36.92 50.00 46.05 63.08 50.00
Total 49.36 25.14 42.83 50.64 74.86 57.17

The proportion of women having High RHI is 57.2 percent in

Orissa (see Table 2b), with the upper castes holding a much higher posi-
tion in comparison with the lower castes. Orissa has a sharp rural-urban
difference as regards reproductive health status of women. Irrespective
of the place of residence, the upper castes have better index in Orissa.
The reproductive health status of women in West Bengal is the best
as compared with that of Bihar and Orissa: 67.4 percent of women in
this state have High RHI (see Table 2c). The difference among the high-
est (Highest Caste = 77 percent) and the lowest values (Lowest Caste =
58 percent) is only 19 percentage points.

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 148Papia Raj and Aditya Raj

Table 2c
Caste-Group and RHI—West Bengal, 1992–93

Caste Low RHI (%) High RHI (%)

Groups Rural Urban Combined Rural Urban Combined
Highest 29.0 12.1 23.0 71.0 87.9 77.0
High 34.4 6.9 25.6 65.6 93.1 74.4
Intermediate 35.2 21.6 32.6 64.8 78.4 67.4
Low 34.4 25.0 33.1 65.6 75.0 66.9
Lowest 42.1 41.1 42.0 57.9 58.1 58.0
Total 35.9 20.2 32.6 64.1 79.8 67.4

Correlation among Predictor Variables

A correlation matrix has been constructed to understand the relationship

among the predictor variables. For correlation, education of women has
been re-coded as ‘0 = illiterate’ and ‘1 = literate’, and husband’s occupa-
tion has been coded as ‘0 = agriculture and other primary activities’ and
‘1 = others’. The other codes remain unchanged. The results of correla-
tion are presented statewise. Only those results for which the ‘r’ value
is more than 0.2 and that are statistically significant are discussed here.
But, to highlight the influence of caste, all correlation results that are
statistically significant against caste are discussed.

Bihar

The correlation matrix for predictor variables for Bihar is presented in

Table 3a. Age of the woman and experience of child-loss has a positive
correlation (r = 0.27). It means that experience of child-loss is higher
for women of older age-groups as compared with women of younger
age-group. Caste also shows a negative correlation with child-loss (r =
−0.07), as more women among the lower castes experience child-loss.
This is because of the low literacy rate among the lower castes coupled
with lower standard of living, hindering awareness of and accessibility
to medical facilities.

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 Caste Variations in Reproductive Health Status of Women 149

Caste and place of residence are positively correlated (r = 0.07),

which means that upper caste women usually live in urban areas.
Place of residence has a positive correlation with education of women
(r = 0.32). As expected, women in urban areas are more literate than
those in rural areas. The negative correlation between work status of the
woman and place of residence (r = −0.20) suggests that women in rural
areas are engaged in work. In rural areas, due to the agrarian economy,
which is labour intensive, even the womenfolk join hands with the male
members of the family in the field, and this raises the work-participation
rate among rural women. Since most of the men are engaged in agri-
culture in rural areas, there exists a positive correlation between place
of residence and occupation of the husband (r = 0.34). Exposure to the
mass media has a positive correlation with place of residence (r = 0.34),
that is, women in urban areas are relatively better exposed to the mass
media than those in rural areas.
There is a positive correlation between caste and the following
variables: education of the woman (r = 0.23), husband’s occupation
(r = 0.14) and exposure to the mass media (r = 0.14). These correlations
indicate that the literate women are from the upper castes and their hus-
bands are engaged mainly in non-primary activities. These women are
also better exposed to the mass media. Work status of the woman and
caste are negatively correlated (r = −0.16).
Education of the woman is negatively correlated with her work sta-
tus (r = −0.27), but is positively correlated with husband’s occupation
(r = 0.35). It follows from the results that illiterate women are generally
working and their husbands are engaged in either agriculture or other
primary activities. Exposure to the mass media (r = 0.49) and spousal
communication (r = 0.22) show a positive correlation with education
of the woman, as exposure to the mass media is high among literate
women and this increases communication among the couples.
A negative correlation is observed between work status of the
woman and husband’s occupation (r = −0.22), which means that if hus-
bands are engaged in agriculture or other primary activities then the
work-participation rate among their wives is also high. Such a situation
is perhaps explained by the labour-intensive nature of primary activi-
ties, and the family being the main source of labour for them. Work
status of the woman is negatively correlated with exposure to the mass
media (r = −0.24) because more of the working women are settled in

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 150Papia Raj and Aditya Raj

rural areas, where exposure to the mass media is limited, especially so

in Bihar, where electricity supply is yet to reach all villages and the elec-
tronic media are noticeably absent. Also, owing to the low literacy rate,
the print media is not widespread either. For those women whose hus-
bands are engaged in agriculture there is less exposure to the mass media
(r = 0.33).

Orissa

Table 3b presents the correlation coefficients for predictor variables in

Orissa. It is seen that age of the woman has a positive correlation with
experience of child-loss (r = 0.24), suggesting that, as in Bihar, the expe-
rience of child-loss for women in older age-groups is higher. There is
a positive correlation between caste and place of residence (r = 0.12).
Place of residence also has a positive correlation with husband’s occupa-
tion (r = 0.32) and exposure to mass media (r = 0.23). Thus, women
in urban areas, with their husbands mainly engaged in non-agricultural
activities, are also better exposed to the mass media.
Caste has a positive correlation with education of the woman (r =
0.26), as in Bihar, indicating that more women of lower castes are illiter-
ate than those of upper castes. A negative correlation, though small, is
observed between caste and work status of the woman (r = −0.07). As a
corollary, we find a positive correlation between caste and husband’s
occupation (r = 0.22), showing that lower-caste males are engaged in
agricultural activities. Moreover, there is a positive correlation between
caste and exposure to the mass media (r = 0.21). Hence, increasing
status along the caste hierarchy leads to a decrease in exposure to the
mass media.
Education of the woman shows a positive correlation with hus-
band’s occupation (r = 0.35) and exposure to the mass media (r = 0.43):
husbands of literate women pursue mainly non-primary occupations,
and these women are more exposed to the mass media. Husband’s occu-
pation, however, has a positive correlation with exposure to the mass
media (r = 0.28). This shows that women are better exposed to the mass
media if their husbands are not engaged in agriculture or other primary
activities. A positive correlation is also noticed between exposure to the
mass media and spousal communication (r = 0.22), that is, spousal com-
munication increases with an increase in exposure to the mass media.

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 Caste Variations in Reproductive Health Status of Women 151

West Bengal

Table 3c presents the correlation coefficients for predictor variables in

West Bengal. Age of the woman shows a positive correlation with expe-
rience of child-loss (r = 0.24), like in Bihar and Orissa. In West Bengal,
caste and child-loss are negatively correlated (r = −0.08), indicating that
experience of child-loss is common among lower-caste women. A posi-
tive correlation between place of residence and husband’s occupation
(r = 0.36) means that in rural areas males are involved in agriculture
or other primary activities. In urban areas women are better exposed to
the mass media, and this is also evident from the positive correlation
between these two variables (r = 0.21).

Multivariate Analysis

The logistic regression analysis (see Table 4) represents the influence of

demographic and socioeconomic conditions on RHI. The results for the
eastern region of India show that all the predictor variables affect the
reproductive health of women, as the odds-ratio is statistically significant.
When other variables are controlled, caste is observed to be an important
variable influencing reproductive health of women: High Caste women
are 1.8 times more likely to have High RHI as compared with the
lower-caste women. This is because the upper-caste women enjoy bet-
ter socioeconomic status that influences their reproductive choices and
reproductive behaviour, there-by improving their reproductive health.
Age of the woman has an inverse relation with reproductive health:
with an increase in age there is a decrease in the reproductive health status
of women. Even experience of child-loss influences RHI. Women who
have experienced child-loss are 39 percent less likely to have High RHI.
Women’s educational level and exposure to the mass media are important
variables that exert a positive influence on reproductive health. Women
exposed to the mass media are more informed and aware about various
measures that affect reproductive health. However, women who have
not discussed children with their husbands are less likely to have High
RHI. Place of residence and husband’s occupation are two other vari-
ables influencing RHI positively. The likelihood of High RHI is more
among women who are settled in urban areas. Similarly, women whose
husbands are not engaged in agriculture are more likely to have High

Chapter 09.indd 151 2013-11-27 7:12:31 PM

 152Papia Raj and Aditya Raj

RHI. On the other hand, work status of the woman shows an inverse
relation with her reproductive health status. This is mainly because of
the nature of women’s job, which is mainly agricultural labour.

Discussion

This study highlights the impact of caste on reproductive health of

women in the eastern states of Bihar, Orissa and West Bengal. It does
not emphasise the overall status of the health-care system in these three
states, as we are more concerned with the determinants of reproductive
health of women at the individual level than with providing a gener-
alised scenario. The study helps us to understand how even personal
decisions like reproductive behaviour and reproductive choices are
largely influenced by caste. One important finding of the study is that
there persists an intra-regional difference in reproductive health status of
women. In the eastern region of India, caste differences in reproductive
health are most pronounced in Bihar, while it is least so in West Bengal.
This is mainly because the caste system in its rigid form is more a char-
acteristic of the less developed state of Bihar, where caste and class are
almost synonymous (Chakravarti 2001).
The economic differences among the caste groups widen the social
inequalities among them. It is observed that poor educational status
among women is an important reason for their poor reproductive health.
The educational status of the woman is not free from her caste member-
ship. In Bihar, according to the 1991 Census, literacy rate among the
scheduled caste females is only 5.5 percent. During the colonial period
the upper castes gained access to modern western education. The trend
persists without much change in the educational status across the vari-
ous castes. According to the 1931 Census, literacy rate was much higher
among the Kayastha, Namasudra, Mahishya and Brahman caste groups,
which constitute the upper castes; it was quite low among the Agarwals
and Doms, who are the intermediate and lower castes. This implies that
policies should be so framed that emphasis is placed on education, espe-
cially among the lower castes in rural areas, as caste variations are much
higher in there.
Apart from trying to diversify the economy and provide better edu-
cational facilities, a major task for policy makers is to ensure that policies
on reproductive and child health focus on campaigning the utilities of
availing maternal care services and encouraging institutional deliveries

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 Caste Variations in Reproductive Health Status of Women 153

assisted by professional health workers. It is observed that there prevails

socioeconomic differences among the caste groups and this is one among
various causes for inequality in their reproductive health status. Thus,
different campaigning approaches should be adopted to reach different
sections of the society to make the campaign more effective. Moreover,
health workers should more regularly visit areas that comprise mainly
of lower castes, who are deprived of access to formal maternal care due
to reasons discussed earlier. Also, more auxiliary nurse and midwives
should be trained so that births are assisted by skilled personnel.
This study leaves many gaps for future investigation. The caste clas-
sification considered in this study could be disaggregated for a detailed
understanding of the influence of caste on the reproductive health of
women. Our analysis is based on the individual level; the reproductive
health status of various castes could also be studied at the district and
state levels.

Note
1. In the present study the status of immunisation of women is not included in the RHI
as it shows a strong positive correlation with ANC utilisation (Table not included).
Women who avail ANC services usually receive two or more doses of tetanus toxoid
injections. Similarly, iron and folic acid tablets also show a strong positive correlation
with ANC, and hence it is also not included in the RHI. Since assistance at delivery is
more important to determine the reproductive health status of women, in the RHI it
is considered leaving out the place of delivery. Weight of the child at birth could not
be included in the analysis as more than 70 percent of the children were not weighed
at birth in the states covered by the study.

Appendix 1: Caste Classification

Caste Classification
(Based on Ritual Status)
Caste Classification (Risley 1881) Used in the Study
1. Brahman Highest Caste
2. Baidyas, Kayasthas and Kshatriyas, and also Rajputs High Caste
3. Clean Sudra: Gandhabanik, Karmakar, Kansari, Kumar, Kuri, Intermediate Caste
Madhunapit, Modak, Malakar, Napit, Sadgope, Sakhari, Tamil,
Tanti, Tili, and Teli also Karan, Kustha and Raju of Midnapur, Khan
of Rangpur and Sudra of East Bengal

(Continued )

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 154Papia Raj and Aditya Raj

(Continued )

Caste Classification
(Based on Ritual Status)
Caste Classification (Risley 1881) Used in the Study
4. Clean castes with degraded Brahman: Chasi Kaivarta, Mahishya Low Caste
and Goala
5. Caste lower than group >4 = whose water is not taken by
Brahman: Sarak of Manbhum, Swarnakar, Sunri, Subarnabanik and
Sutradhar
6. Low caste who abstain from eating beef, pork and fowl: Bagdi, Lowest Caste
Barua, Bhaskar, Chain, Chasa, Dhoba, Doai, Gauran, Hajang,
Jaliakaibarta, Kalu, Kan, Kapali, Kptl, Malo and Jualo, Mech,
Namasudra, Chandal, Palia, Patri, Pod, Paro, Rajbanshi, Koch,
Sukli, Tipura and Tipra etc. (This group includes most of the non-
Aryan race and castes.)
7. Unclean feeders: Not served by Brahman, Dhoba or Napit: Bauri,
Chamar, Dom, Hari, Bhuimali, Kaora, Konai, Kora, Lodha, Mal,
Muchi, Sialgir

Appendix 2: Reproductive Health Index

Variable Score
1. Contraceptive usage Presently using contraceptives = 1
Not using contraceptives = 0
2. Birth order of the last child Low birth order (<4) = 1
High birth order (4 and above) = 0
3. Birth interval between the last child and the Birth interval of 24 months and more = 1
second last child Birth interval of less than 24 months = 0
4. Antenatal care Received antenatal care (any type) = 1
Did not receive any antenatal Care = 0
5. Skilled assistance at delivery Received skilled assistance at delivery = 1
Did not receive skilled assistance at delivery = 0
Reproductive Health Index (RHI) Score range 0 to 5
Categories of RHI Range
  Low RHI   0 to 2
  High RHI   3 and above

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 Caste Variations in Reproductive Health Status of Women 155

References
Chakravarti, Anand. 2001. ‘Caste and agrarian class: A view from Bihar’, Economic and
political weekly, 36 (17): 1449–62.
Government of India. 1931 (reprint 1987). Census of India—Bengal and Sikkim, Part I
and II.
International Institute of Population Sciences (IIPS). 1994. India: Introductory report—
National family health survey (1992–93). Bombay: IIPS.
——— 2000. National family health survey-2 (1988–99): Key findings. Mumbai: IIPS.
Kopparty, S.N.M. 1991. ‘Caste and utilisation of health resources’, Eastern anthropologist,
21 (4): 365–84.
Matthai, Thomas.1996. ‘Illiteracy, ill-health, poverty in India’, Mainstream, 34 (51): 9–11.
Risley, H.H. 1881 (reprint 1981). The tribes and castes of Bengal (Vol. 1 and 2). Calcutta:
Firma Mukhopadhyay.
——— 1915 (reprint 1999). The people of India. Calcutta: Thacker, Spink and Co.
Thaddeus, Serene and Deborah Maine. 1994. ‘Too far to walk: Maternal mortality in con-
text’, Social science in medicine, 38 (8): 1091–10.
World Health Organisation. 1996. Regional health report, 1996. New Delhi: WHO Regional
office for South East Asia.

Chapter 09.indd 155 2013-11-27 7:12:31 PM

 10
Informal Social Networks,
Sonography and Female
Foeticide in India
Tulsi Patel

T
he late 20th century advances in new reproductive technolo-
gies (NRTs) have generated a great deal of interest in social
anthropology. Upon entering South Asia, the debates around
these technologies have added another issue to its complexity. In fact,
the debates have focussed on how people have taken to this technology
rather smoothly, leading to threatening sex imbalances in society. India
shares with China (and other South Asian countries, with the exception
of Sri Lanka) the phenomenon of missing girls (shown by 0–6 years sex-
ratio data) in the population (see Sen 2003). Throughout the rest of the
world, women outnumber men. The serious impact of this technology is
evident through the public debates around the ethics of the practice and
the worrisome adverse sex ratio of the girl child in India, which is con-
firmed officially by the decennial Census of 2001 (see Table 1; see also
Agnihotri 2000; Mazumdar and Krishnaji 2001). Amartya Sen (1990)
had raised the alarm a while ago. Using sex-ratio data N. Hatti et al.
(2004) have analysed the risk faced by the girl child in India. Sample
Survey data (1999–2000) show that the child sex ratio among the poor-
est 5 per cent of the households in rural areas is 946, while among the
richest 5 per cent it is 804. The corresponding figures for urban areas
are 903 and 819 respectively. The lowest sex ratio for children is in the

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 Informal Social Networks, Sonography and Female Foeticide in India 157

Table 1
Trends in Female–Male Ratio (FMR) and 0–6 Year Sex Ratios in Selected States
of India

FMR 0–6 Years

Zone/State 1971 1981 1991 2001 1971 1981 1991 2001
North
Punjab – – 882 874 892 908 875 793
Rajasthan 911 919 910 922 931 954 916 909
Uttar Pradesh 876 862 876 898 899 935 928 916
South
Andhra Pradesh 977 975 972 978 986 992 974 964
Karnataka 957 963 960 964 968 975 960 950
Tamil Nadu 978 977 974 986 964 967 974 939
Kerala 1016 1032 1036 1058 972 970 958 962
West
Gujarat 934 942 934 919 956 947 928 878
Madhya Pradesh 920 921 912 920 944 978 952 931
East
Bihar 957 948 907 921 958 981 959 938
Orissa 988 981 971 972 984 995 967 950
West Bengal 891 911 917 934 1007 981 967 963
India 931 935 927 933 954 962 945 927
Source: Census of India 2001, Banerjee and Jain 2001.

state of Punjab, one of the few highly developed states (with a per capi-
tal income of Rs 22,797) where there are only 793 girls aged 0–6 years
for every 1,000 boys in the same age group, a decline of 115 points
since the 1981 Census. Goa is an exception, having a per capita income
Rs 44,613, while the child sex ratio is 933. For India as a whole, the per
capita income is Rs 15,562, and the child sex ratio is 927, as per 2001
Census figures.
This essay explores the manner and the processes of the relationship
between NRTs, particularly the ultrasound technology, and the culture
of reproduction mediated by informal social networks. By informal

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 158Tulsi Patel

networks here is meant social/neighbourhood and kinship ties, both as

a means and a resource, and the manner these are used by people in
the community. The focus on networks also brings out the informal
and social dimension of relations people have with employees of the
state as revealed in their day to day interaction as members of the same
society. The essay focuses on the multi-layered relationship between
community members and their relationships in organising social and
biological reproduction. The society’s institutional mechanisms, espe-
cially the practices of the family and reproduction associated with the
use of NRTs, are analysed on the basis of data collected in two towns
in Rajasthan and in several districts of Bundelkhand1 region in Uttar
Pradesh and Madhya Pradesh. Many of these practices are connected
with wider material and historical influences mediated through culture.
Culture here implies the ideas and values by which people make sense
of their social and personal lives. Also, it includes the material and tech-
nological resources they deploy in accordance with the social values they
infuse into these resources. In doing so, the essay first provides the con-
text of NRTs in India. In the second section, it deals with reproduction
as a social and political issue, both in the family and in the community.
Based on ethnographic data, the next section analyses the interaction
among people in their access to the illegal practice of using ultrasound
technology for finding out the sex of the foetus and aborting it, if it is a
girl, especially if the couple already has one daughter.
The data have been collected through focus group discussions, and a
series of informal discussions on a number of issues with NGO workers,
social workers/activists and people from the community in both rural
and urban areas. It is important to point out the fact that use of pre-
natal diagnostic technology to test the sex of the foetus with the intent
to abort a female foetus is illegal in India since 1994 (and the rules have
become more stringent since the amendment of the Act in 2002 and
2003). Therefore, it is not possible to find respondents, both customers
and providers of ultrasound services to accept that they indulge in this
practice. It is in tune with the illegal nature of this test that when several
persons on several occasions mentioned of the act and described the
practice, it was decided to treat it as reliable information for the study,
especially because no one would openly accept that he or she is indulg-
ing in an illegal practice.
The essay attempts to point out that gender and family size issues bring
about a convergence of culturally imbued interest and socio-economic

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 Informal Social Networks, Sonography and Female Foeticide in India 159

purpose among different categories of people in the society with respect

to provision, acceptance and accessing of sex-determination technology,
and aborting undesired foetuses. Even if such a convergence of purpose
does not lead to public good or desirable sex ratio balance at an aggregate
level, on a personal and family level it often synchronises with the state’s
aim of the small family norm.

I  The Context of New Reproductive Technology

An increasing number of women all over the world are coming under the
fold of antenatal screening. Since the medicalisation of birth began in
the early 20th century, and with the use of ultrasonic waves in reproduc-
tive science, foetal testing has attracted a greater involvement of women
in decisions about their treatment and that of their unborn babies. The
purpose of the technology when it was introduced in the West in the
late 1960s was for an early diagnosis of foetal deformities. In the West,
the  technology became part of the routine prenatal examination to
avert the birth of what is called, ‘welfare babies’. Congenitally deformed
babies came to be seen as a burden not only to their parents but also to
the ‘welfare state’. NRTs have given an option to people whether or not
to carry through an abnormal foetus. Some of the common methods of
sex determination before birth are:

• Amniocentesis (amnion: membrane, kentesis: pricking). In this tech-nique,

amniotic fluid is drawn from the amniotic sac surrounding the foetus in
the uterus through a long needle inserted into the abdomen. Foetal cells
present in the fluid help in determining the sex of the foetus. It is normally
performed after 15–17 weeks of pregnancy.
• Chorionic Villi Biopsy. This refers to the removal of elongated cells (called
villi) of the chorion, the tissue surrounding the foetus, through the cervix.
The tissue cells are tested to determine sex of the foetus. This technique
enables sex determination between the first 6–13 weeks of pregnancy.
Chorionic Villus Sampling (CVS), the other diagnostic test, is seen as
having an advantage over amniocentesis. But there is a miscarriage risk of
2 per cent over 1 per cent in the case of amnio-centesis from CVS diagnostic
test; in addition, there is an increased risk of limb defects to the foetus.
• Ultra-Sonography. Ultrasonic sound waves (inaudible to humans) are
used to get a visual image of the foetus on a screen. Normally, this is used
to determine the foetal position or congenital abnormalities. But it can also

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 160Tulsi Patel

be used to find the sex if external genitalia of a male foetus is seen on the
screen. It is normally performed around the 10th week of pregnancy. It is
the most commonly and rampantly used method for sex determination. In
India, it is also routinely used in hospitals for ante-natal care.

The pre-conception sex-selection techniques are:

• Ericsson Method (or X and Y chromosome sperm separation). A male

child requires an XY combination of chromosomes. Sperms may have either
X or Y chromosome, but eggs have only X chromosome. In this method,
sperms are separated—into those bearing X chromosome and those bearing
Y chromosome—by filtration when put in a chemical solution. The faster
moving Y sperms penetrate the solution’s denser bottom layers. The egg is
then fertilised with a high concentration of Y sperms to produce a male. It
is now also possible to manage a pre-conception gender selection (PGS).
• Pre-Implantation Genetic Diagnosis. This is one of the latest technolo-
gies used for sex selection; it involves chromosomal analysis of a few cells
taken from a test tube embryo (fertilisation is done out-side the uterus) to
determine the sex.

In PGS, X and Y sperms are separated and X sperms are utilised to

fertilise the ovum. The method was intended to reduce the risk of dis-
eases related to the X chromosome, which are far more likely to occur
in boys than in girls (who have two X chromosomes). Introduced in
the 1960s to monitor high-risk pregnancies, fetal-ultrasonography2 had
become, by early 1980s, a routine aspect of prenatal care not only in
most of the industrially advanced countries but also in many others.
Yet another test is foetal blood sampling. Foetal blood obtained from
the umbilical cord with the aid of ultrasound at an early stage in preg-
nancy gives the results in three days. This test too carries a 1.15 per cent
risk of foetal loss. Vivenne Harpwood (1996) informs that foetal blood
sampling is seldom used in England for technical reasons and so is the
case in India.
Advances in medical technology, such as the use of ultrasound and
amniocentesis offer much more reliable antenatal screening and diag-
nosis than was previously ever possible. These have enabled people to
know the unknown aspects of a foetus. The most common test in India
is ultrasound, colloquially known as ‘sonography’, ‘janch’ or ‘test’ in
most parts of North India and, in some rural areas of Bundelkhand,
also as ‘untracson’. By the mid-1970s, amniocentesis and CVS were

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 Informal Social Networks, Sonography and Female Foeticide in India 161

introduced in India for research on genetic abnormalities. It began when

the Government of India in 1974 ran clinical trials on amniocentesis.
For this purpose, the All India Institute of Medical Sciences (AIIMS) in
Delhi got 11,000 volunteers.
The AIIMS survey revealed that the main motivation of the volun-
teer couples was to ascertain the sex of the foetus. As soon as they found
that knowing the sex of the unborn baby was so easy, most women
carrying female babies wanted an abortion, which has been legal in
India since 1971. The Medical Termination of Pregnancy Act, 1971
permits abortion on rather easy and liberal conditions up to 20 weeks
of pregnancy. The volunteers in the AIIMS research were exhilarated to
find that the sex of an unborn baby is so simple to discover and at a low
cost, too. The few among those carrying female babies who did not ask
for an abortion might be ones who had not had any daughter.
With the introduction of ultrasound technology, sex-determination
test has spread like wild fire all over the country: hoardings appeared,
encouraging parents to spend Rs 500 now to save Rs 50,000 later.
The New Bhandari Hospital, which advertised itself as Antenatal Sex
Determination and Fertility Clinic, gave the above economic logic (see
Jeffery et al. 1984). The logic of saving a hefty amount later by sending a
smaller amount now made substantial cultural sense. Subsequently, the
advertisement and the NRT facility spread quickly in Delhi and large
towns and cities of Punjab and Haryana, where the decline in sex ratios
is among the most alarming the country.
Subsequent scientific advances in biotechnology and genetic
research have only added to the depletion in sex ratio. PGS is used in
India to avoid conceiving girl children. But it is a relatively new, com-
plex and exorbitantly expensive procedure costing between Rs 20,000
and 50,000, and is not common. Also, the focus of this paper is on
ultrasound, which has become synonymous with sex-determination test
in India, as was also found by D.C. Wertz and J.C. Fletcher (1993) in
the early 1990s.

II  Reproduction and its Politics

Aspects of human reproduction—that is, pregnancy, childbirth and

abortion—have always been subjects of public (in the sense of body
politic) as well as private concern (in the sense of individual and social

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 162Tulsi Patel

body, as used by Scheper-Hughes and Lock 1987). These are matters

of domestic, family, community and state interest. To have or not to
have children, when, where and how many and of what sex are not
relegated to nature as mere biological events in all known societies.
The focus on human reproduction as including social reproduction
encompasses events throughout the human and especially female life-
cycle. These events are related to ideas and practices surrounding fertil-
ity, birth and child care, including the ways in which these contribute
to understandings of social and cultural renewal. Even before entering
the hospital, pregnancy has never been an absolutely private affair for
a woman. Anthropological studies (Douglas 1960; Levi-Strauss 1966)
have shown that biological phenomena are culturally organised; preg-
nancy and childbirth are socially and culturally immersed activities (see
Jordan 1978; Shostak 1983; Jeffery et al. 1989; T. Patel 1994; T. Patel
and Sharma 2000).
Pregnancy, childbirth, abortion and infanticide have been in the
political arena for quite some time in the western world. The discur-
sive shift of pregnancy from the micro and the private to the macro
and public political domain is traceable most directly to the consumer
movement of the 1960s and 1970s, notwithstanding the early 20th cen-
tury birth control movement. This was coupled with the second wave
of the women’s movement that reiterated with force some of the earlier
issues it had on its agenda. Since the 1970s, the analysis of reproduc-
tion has been greatly envisaged by the encounter between the second
wave of feminism and anthropological discourse. The fall out from this
encounter has contributed immensely to revitalise the perception about
the socio-cultural contexts of reproduction. Unwanted pregnancies
and legalising of abortion were brought under the purview of rights.
The reproductive experiences of women are analysed both as sources of
power (Mandelbaum 1974; T. Patel 1982, 1994; Handwerker 1990)
and as subordination (Safilios-Rothschild 1982; Mason 1984; Basu
1992; Dixon-Meuller 1993). T. Dyson and M. Moore (1983) set off
several such studies. The local social arrangements within which repro-
ductive relations are embedded can also be viewed as inherently politi-
cal. Linking reproduction with women’s movement provides us the
connection between the local and the global issues around it.
Additionally, seemingly distant power relations shape local repro-
ductive experiences in multiple ways as we shall see in the practice of
ultrasound tests. But it is also important to remember that population

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 Informal Social Networks, Sonography and Female Foeticide in India 163

control ideology, influenced by Malthusian views takes us deeper into

the history of global and local links with reproduction or its control.
In India, as mentioned earlier, abortion was legalised in 1971 to encour-
age population control.
Let us also recapitulate that at the micro, household and family
levels, fertility is the most significant marker of womanhood. Being a
mother has been critical for a woman in the Indian context.

Fertility ensures the mother a permanent position in the conjugal house-

hold. Childbirth lends stability and security to the bride’s relationship with
other household members. . . . After establishing herself as a mother, a woman
overcomes her disabilities as a bride and daughter-in-law and gains some
authority. . . . If a woman does not bear any child for 4–5 years after marriage
there is serious concern (T. Patel 1994: 76).

This is how women in Rajasthan see their reproductive responsibility.

Operating routinely at the micro political level in the household and
the family, the ability or inability to reproduce has cultural meanings.
Birth is not merely a biological event; it is also a social event, as it creates
relationships. The harrowing experiences of childlessness faced particu-
larly by childless women in rural India (ibid.), in urban India (Widge
2001), in Egypt (Inhorn 1996) and in many other parts of the world
(Inhorn and Balen 2002) are palpable. The ideology of motherhood is
pervasive in these societies. The desire for pregnancy and child-birth is
a recurrent theme.
The primary expectation from a married woman is that she will
become pregnant soon and bear children. Typically, a woman knows
of no acceptable role for herself than that of wife-mother. Childbirth
dispels immediately the stigma of barrenness of a couple, especially
that of a wife. The first child’s sex is secondary, more important is the
couple’s fertility (Patel 1994). The religious rites a woman participates
in are also predominantly related to increasing her fertility. A woman
requires to bear children to prove her womanhood, and a man desires
children to attain full manly state and hence dignity. Even grandparents
are eager to have grand children as their status gets enhanced in society.
The whole family is desirous of having children. By bearing children,
it is fulfilment of both social expectations and personal desires (Oakley
1982). It is not only that motherhood brings status to a woman but it
is also an attribute without which she is useless. She justifies her exis-
tence and is privileged only as a mother of son/s. Sons are regarded as

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 164Tulsi Patel

critical for continuing the family line, for family’s religious rites and ritu-
als, especially to light the funeral pyre of parents. It is through sons that
parents can anticipate a relaxed old age with daughter-in-law to run the
household and look after them (see cases cited by T. Patel [1994] on how
disconcerting and disheartening births of ‘daughters only’ can be). Sons
are also important to take on the responsibility towards the sisters and
daughters of the family. It is not just dowry at the time of wedding, but
a continuous flow of gifts that a daughter and her children and others
in her conjugal family receive from her parents and brother/s. S. Vatuk
(1975) discusses the flow of prestations from the bride’s kin to her hus-
band and his family among the Gaur Brahmins in Uttar Pradesh. Her
focus is on the flow of gifts and not on the importance of having a son or
a brother. My data from Rajasthan and Bundelkhand show how fathers
and brothers are often arranging, especially providing for the giving of
gifts and carrying them to daughters and sisters, both their own (sagi)
and classificatory ones on a number of life cycle rites and ritual occasions.
Parents generally prefer a son in comparison to a daughter, espe-
cially after having one daughter. One daughter is acceptable if not always
welcome among all caste and class categories. North India has been
notorious for its violence against women, especially female infanticide
in the past and until the early decades of the 20th century (Panigrahi
1972; Vishwanath 2000). The region is also infamous for female neglect
(Miller 1981; Das Gupta 1987). Infant and child mortality has been
higher for females at those stages in a child’s life when socio-cultural
influences more than biological/immune strength become important
for survival of infants and children. Table 2 shows infant mortality
trends by sex over time. The incidence of female infanticide is increas-
ingly surfacing in certain pockets in the southern states of India as well
(Bumiller 1990). Using reverse survival methods to estimate sex ratio at
birth for several parts of India, S. Sudha and I.S. Rajan (1999) found
an increasing masculinisation in sex ratio. The skewness in the sex ratio
was brought out starkly also by an analysis of the data from the second
National Family Health Survey (NFHS) conducted in 1998–99 (see
Arnold, Kishor and Roy 2002): at the all India level, the sex ratio of the
last births was 697 girls for every 1,000 boys, among currently married
women who did not want any more children. This is much lower than
935, the sex ratio for the other births. A. Bose and M. Shiva (2003) have
found that the sex ratios at birth are consistently declining with parity
and birth order in Haryana and Punjab (see Table 3).

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 Informal Social Networks, Sonography and Female Foeticide in India 165

Table 2
Infant Mortality Rates and Death Rates (0–4 Years) by Gender

Infant Mortality Rate 0–4 Years Death Rate

Year Female Male Female Male
1905 218 231 – –
1936 153 170 – –
1955 91 99 – –
1964 72 76 – –
1972* 148 132 – –
1984 104 104 39.6 43.1
1993 75 73 22.7 24.8
1999 73 71 22.2 25.6
Note: * 1972 is the year at which female infant mortality rate increased over that of the male
infant mortality rate.
Source: Premi 2001; Agnihotri 2000.

Table 3
Sex Ratio by Birth Order in Haryana and Punjab

Sex Ratio
Birth Order Haryana Punjab
First order 890 698
Second order 787 830
Third order 743 664
Fourth order and above 577 96
Overall 787 458
Source: Bose and Shiva 2003.

The all India fall in sex ratio disfavouring the girl child aged 0–6
years (927 girls for every 1,000 boys), especially when the overall sex
ratio has marked a slight improvement between 1991 and 2001 (933
females for 1,000 males) signifies the abuse of NRTs. To examine
the fairly widespread diffusion of prenatal diagnostic screening, espe-
cially ultrasound technology in the Indian society, I am looking at the

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 166Tulsi Patel

ethnographic data collected through several brief visits to two towns

in western Rajasthan during the 1990s and early 2000s, and in 14 dis-
tricts in Uttar Pradesh and Madhya Pradesh, that is in Bundelkhand
region during 2002–05. While in Rajasthan data were collected through
long-winding discussions on several related issues without conveying
the intent of research, in Uttar Pradesh and Madhya Pradesh the data
were collected through focus group discussions, and interview-schedules
and unstructured interviews. As mentioned earlier, the instances and
case details were taken as reliable after a few iterative, though indirect,
triangulations. The limitation of the data is the inability to confirm it
with the practitioners. This limitation is bound to remain, as acceptance
of this practice is a punishable crime. Also, in cases where a woman
or her family member/confidant confided in me, I have respected the
trust the respondent reposed in me. The study adopts the multi-sited
ethnographic method as it follows the practice of NRTs in these locales,
in exploring the rapid, enthusiastic and secretive incorporation of NRTs
and the rampant use of ultra-sonography for aborting female foetuses.

III  Seeking Sonography through Social Networks

As a consequence of protests by women’s groups and civil society groups,3

the use of ultrasound and amniocentesis technologies have been banned
through what is called the Prenatal Diagnostic Techniques (Regulation
and Prevention of Misuse) Act, 1994 (PNDT). This Act provides for the
regulation of the use of PNDTs for the purpose of detecting genetic or
metabolic disorders or chromosomal abnormalities or certain congenital
malformations or sex-linked disorders. The misuse of PNDTs, which
in most of India has been to test the sex of the foetus, was banned in
Maharashtra even earlier. Vibhuti Patel (1987) provides a detailed dis-
cussion of how the protests were organised and a ban sought (see also
Jesani 1998).
In order to prevent the misuse and abuse of the new technology of
sex pre-selection at the pre-conception stage, an amendment in PNDT
Act, 1994 was brought about in 2002 and implemented in 2003. The
1994 Act now stands renamed as ‘The Preconception and Prenatal
Diagnostic Techniques (Prohibition of Sex Selection) Act’. The Act pro-
hibits sex selection before and/or after conception. It regulates but does
not deny, use of prenatal diagnostic techniques, such as ultrasound, for

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 Informal Social Networks, Sonography and Female Foeticide in India 167

the purposes of detecting genetic abnormalities or other sex-linked dis-

orders in the foetus. Hospitals are supposed to refuse to declare the sex
of the foetus even if people are curious and often keen to learn. People
in both urban and rural areas are aware of the ban. Unlike the openness
about foetal tests prior to the ban, they are now shrouded in secrecy. Yet,
NFHS-II (1998–99) found that 13 per cent of the pregnant women
self-reported having gone for prenatal sex determination during the last
pregnancy, amounting to about 3.6 million women having access to the
technology (reported in Jha et al. 2006).
Despite its widespread prevalence, there is something peculiar and
secret about it. Sonography/‘untracson’ (that is, sex determination test
and sex-selective abortion) carries a mixed meaning. It is both good and
bad at the same time, bad enough to keep it shrouded and good enough
to continue the practice.
The case of Maina, a nurse working in a town in Rajasthan pres-
ents a rather complex picture where she is chided by her urban, natal
family for producing a second daughter, while her husband’s rural fam-
ily members feel sorry and are clearly unhappy that she has produced
another daughter after the first one. Maina grew up in a city while her
husband, employed as a clerk in the public sector, was raised in a village.
Their first child, a daughter, was born while Maina was still studying
and her husband was unemployed. They both got their jobs in another
town after the first child was born, in Maina’s natal home as is the cus-
tom in Rajasthan. It was not easy with both of them having new jobs
and a child to raise. Some or the other older child from her husband’s
family (husband’s elder brother’s child) came from the village to baby
sit. After a few years, Maina was pregnant again and developed high
blood pressure during pregnancy. She could barely manage to carry her
pregnancy through with the heavy burden of her demanding job. No
one in the hospital gave her any respite until a matron saw her dragging
herself through the ward dutifully. The matron’s intervention shifted her
to a lighter ward where she could work a little less. Neither she nor her
husband had thought of summoning help from the family despite the
state Maina was in. It was something they had to endure and there was
an assurance that the hospital is there in case of any crisis. Additionally,
they were feeling they had been taking a great deal of support from the
family kin and did not consider asking for additional help. After Maina
delivered her second baby, the news reached her natal family. It was the
second daughter for Maina. She was hoping to have a son. On learning

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 168Tulsi Patel

of the second daughter’s birth, her mother was of course unhappy. Two
of her sisters went to see Maina after her mother-in-law and her mother
had been with her to look after her and others in the house for a fort-
night each. Both the sisters besides looking after her also gave their piece
of mind. They showed their unhappiness at her laxity in being in a hos-
pital and yet not being clever enough to manage a sonography to test the
sex of the baby. One of the sisters said,

You are already so overburdened with work in the hospital and then have
the house to look after. You also have blood pressure. And now you have
to produce another baby (as you need to have a son at least). Why did you
have to be so innocent? Had I been told about your pregnancy I would have
suggested the test to you and you would have been more free today. It is such
a burden to raise daughters in present times. And who gets two daughters
these days?

Our next case is from Bundelkhand. One of the NGO workers

(Raj), who was part of a two-day-long focus group discussion in Jhansi,
was a young lady in her thirties. Oddly enough, she was unmarried and
saw little meaning in getting married. Inability to accumulate enough
dowry and having obtained a master’s degree in sociology in the mean-
time might have made finding a suitable match all the more difficult
in her case. She did not wish to elaborate about it even when politely
prodded. She lived in another city and was in Jhansi for this meeting.
Coincidentally, her elder sister was in hospital and she had met her
that morning before the focus group discussion meeting began. The
sister had delivered a girl, second in a row, and had no sons. She is a
housewife and her husband is in private employment. The heaviness of
the conversation she had with her sister that morning was visible on
her face. She was less chirpy than on the previous day. At one of the
points in our discussion, the event overpowered her, and she poured
out with an open heart the whole story. When her sister had conceived
the first time, she was rather anxious about the sex of the baby to be.
At that point her husband dissuaded her from having the sex detected.
They had a daughter. That was three years ago. Though she was upset,
her husband was supportive and made clear that he did not mind if it
was a daughter, their first child. But when another daughter arrived, all
hell broke lose. When the sex test is possible to obtain, what justified
the pregnant woman being lax about it? The family felt that had it been
decades ago, the unfortunate event was pardonable, but not today. It

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 Informal Social Networks, Sonography and Female Foeticide in India 169

is common in Bundelkhand not to treat the parturient mother well if

she produces a daughter. It is a means to convey that she is responsible
for producing the undesirable baby, notwithstanding the biological role
of the father in the sex of the baby. Many are not willing to believe
that the mother has little role in the formation of the baby’s sex. The
saying commonly quoted in Bundelkhand is ‘beta ho to taliyan, beti ho
to galiayan’ (greet with clapping when a son is born, and curse when a
daughter).
The dislike by the husband and his family was loud and clear. They
did not see the baby, let alone ask after her well being or that of the
mother. Little was brought by way of food or medicine for the new
mother. Her husband instead abused her for producing another girl.
That morning the threat her husband gave was too hard on the parturi-
ent mother. He made it clear that he did not want the girl in his house.
Unlike on the first day, the next morning’s meeting with Raj in the
hospital, the mother expressed her wish to her younger sister: ‘I wish
this girl were dead. She will not let me survive.’ She felt guilty for hav-
ing produced a second daughter. ‘She did not feed or hold the baby the
previous night’, said Raj. Newspaper reports were recalled for me dur-
ing the fieldwork that vigilant nurses had caught a couple of parturient
mothers trying to kill their babies by stuffing their mouths with tobacco
or thrusting jute into their throats. Obviously, violent though they are,
such cases are few and far between. And Raj’s sister was apparently too
overwhelmed to do anything along these lines.
The assumptions and acceptance if a second or third daughter is
born have altered in the last decade and a half, thanks to sonography.
The woman is held responsible for conceiving a female in the first place,
and worse still for not aborting after sonography. Also, I am not sure if
Raj’s sister had not had a sonography. It is an illegal test for knowing
the sex of the foetus, and is best kept shrouded. This doubt still lingers
in my mind because, not only did I reliably learn, besides it was com-
monly reported by people in villages and towns in Bundelkhand that
Jhansi is the hub for sonography and abortions, Gwalior being the next.
This mother could not bring herself to kill her baby, nor did she have
the courage to take her baby home. The matter was further corroborated
when two months later, we had another meeting and learnt that the new
born girl was given away to be raised by Raj and her parents, to make
way for the mother to re-enter her husband’s house after bearing a sec-
ond daughter (the undesirable one). Her unmarried sister’s step saved

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 170Tulsi Patel

her marriage. The sayings, ‘may even my enemy not have a daughter’
and ‘one whom god is slow-poisoning’, come from the pain and suf-
fering a daughter’s birth and upbringing can cause to her parents and
maternal grand parents.

IV  The Convergence of Interests

against the Silent Victim

Since 1978, there has been more or less a regular presence of village
health workers, auxiliary nurse midwives (ANMs), and anganwadi
workers who make door to door visits to motivate parents to have fewer
children to be able to look after them well. From two or three children
(do ya teen bacche) in the 1970s, the small-family norm had shrunk to
only two children (hum do, humare do—we two, ours two) in the 1980s,
though for most parents in rural areas, it has remained three children
with at least two sons. By the late 1990s, the small-family norm for
Family Planning Programme, which was renamed after the political
emergency as Family Welfare Programme, came to mean ‘a boy or girl’
(ladka ya ladki), though it still means two children, with at least one son,
in most parts of India. With the desire for having a smaller family, the
efforts to have not more than one daughter have become more wide-
spread (see Wadley 1993). At the macro level, this trend was pointed
out by M. Das Gupta and P.N. Mari Bhat (1997). The average annual
growth rate for the decade 1991–2001 has come down to 1.93 per cent
from 2.14 per cent in the previous decade. However, the Family Welfare
Programme would like the decline to be sharper than the one achieved
in the last decade.
Despite its anti-natalist policies, India formally gave up target chas-
ing two years after the International Conference on Population and
Development held in Cairo in 1994. Though target free, the approach
since 1996 held the message of the small family as one child family:
‘The goal of achieving stable population has continued undiluted and
indeed targets were given up with the specific objective of achieving
faster progress in the goal of stable population’ (GOI 1999: 5). ANMs
are to set their own targets on the basis of the needs worked out with the
community. They are now expected to assess the needs of the local peo-
ple and the community in consultation with them. The ANM’s needs
assessment requires her to be in close interaction with local community

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 Informal Social Networks, Sonography and Female Foeticide in India 171

members. To get a great deal of personal information, she has to build

rapport with the community members. They expect her to be helpful
in health matters. One of them told me, ‘I often accompany a woman
to a dispensary if she requests me. After all, they also come to my aid
when I need them. Can you clap with one hand?’ ANMs and angan-
wadi workers in Bundelkhand reside in the village or in the vicinity of
the village under their charge. They keep the records of all the preg-
nant women; their fertility history is known to them. Their infants’
and children’s immunisation status and antenatal state of the preg-
nant women is recorded. ANMs submit their monthly records to their
supervisors. Being a member of the community, the ANM is liable to
think and behave like one. She understands the community needs and
can empathise with residents more than the higher level officials in the
health system wish or care to do. They have come to know rather well
that abortion is the means to achieve a desirable composition of children
through ultra-sonography.
ANMs feign ignorance about any local facility for ultrasound tests.
But the prompt reply is, ‘People go to Jhansi and Gwalior for the test
(janch), they don’t come to us’. One ANM in a small town centre near
Datiya said, ‘Sometimes if there is a case of miscarriage in my area,
I drop the name of the woman in the next month’s pregnant women’s
record. What else can you do?’ She muttered softly, ‘If the woman has
a daughter or two already, what can you tell her?’ Another ANM, who
used the word ‘untracson’ for ultrasound, confided, ‘Am I so foolish not
to understand the pressure on such a woman? Only after having a son
can one suggest her to sterilise. I don’t even mention contraception to
her before she has a son this high (she meant three-to-four years old).’
A team member from an NGO in Bundelkhand, who has been
working in the field for over twenty years, reported that

Ultrasound test is now easy to have. The doctor takes the ultrasound machine
from his clinic and keeps it in the boot of the car and drives the car to a vil-
lage/hamlet. He parks the car in front of a house of a local acquaintance or
where the village health worker has suggested him in advance. Those pregnant
women who need to get the test (ultrasound) done trickle into the house for
the test. In a couple of hours, the car returns to town. Often the village health
worker gets a ride in the car. The fee for the test is paid to the doctor either in
the house where the test is conducted or in the clinic in town by the health
worker, who collects it from the clients in advance. The health worker gets his
cut for each test.

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 172Tulsi Patel

The household and the family in India, as elsewhere, is a cooperative-

conflicting unit (T. Patel 2005). The micro-politics of the family disad-
vantages its women, especially the younger ones. It is with the birth of
sons that women get a stronghold in the family. Whether the husband
and in-laws approve or not, women find producing girl babies, espe-
cially after one, to their detriment. They have a vested interest in avoid-
ing a daughter’s birth, especially after one has been born. E. Bumiller
(1990) recounts the killing of daughters by low-caste women in South
India. The stigma of sonlessness is not an abstraction; it is real and very
palpable. Often girl children are not included in reporting the number
of children one has.4
The misery of not being able to produce a son is not limited to the
household or the mother-in-law–daughter-in-law dyad, but spills rather
quickly beyond the conjugal family. If a woman is not worldly wise and
allows other emotions to prevail by not aborting an unwanted female
foetus, there are ways to make her see reason, as happened in the case
of Raj’s sister. It is not only the women’s conjugal relatives, but also her
natal kin and relatives are interested in her having a son and not having
more than one daughter, as in the case of Maina. Individuals are tied
to each other and to the local systems in which they live. The idea of
all relatives forming a sort of panopticon, as it were, in Balinese society
(Wikan 1990), is close to what goes on in Indian families and the local
community too. People’s affective commitments and fears are mediated
through the family and community, and their performance, including
fertility performance, is a means through which their evaluation discur-
sively and otherwise takes place along the social ladder.
The social ties among medical practitioners and state officials are such
that law enforcement officials and medical practitioners are friends if not
relatives. Bose and Shiva (2003) report that they meet at social gatherings
and clubs and play cards together. But the nexus is more than just club life.
The combination of legal abortions (also possible in government hos-
pitals at government cost) with the illegal foetal sex test (done privately) is
managed in ways other than mediated through local health functionaries,
that is, through relatives or friends. Like the Family Planning Programme
taking itself to people’s doorstep in the community in the 1960s and
1970s, the ultrasound machines too reach people’s doorsteps. Motorable
road networks in India have improved and expanded extensively during
the 1990s. Just as laparoscopic sterilisations gained women’s acceptance
in the 1980s (T. Patel 1999), sonography/janch has also been accepted

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 Informal Social Networks, Sonography and Female Foeticide in India 173

enthusiastically as nothing hitherto-fore. It has brought about a unity of

purpose between the Family Welfare Programme and the people’s aims.
The family obtains the desirable sex composition of children, govern-
ment health staff posted locally fulfils their targets, and private medi-
cal practitioners make money, while the female foetus disappears. The
unborn girl is not there to level charges or demand justice!

Notes
I thankful for the comments received on a different version of this paper, ‘Science, Gender
and Social Networks: the Missing Girl Child in India’ presented at the Institute of Social
Studies, Vasant Kunj, New Delhi, on 26 September 2003. 

1. I am thankful to Oxfam-Lucknow for the Bundelkhand data collected for research on

domestic violence and sex ratio.
2. Sonography is medically considered a harmless test in the sense that it has no radia-
tion, and no pricking is involved. No fluid is taken in a routine sonography. It
involves just a probe on the abdomen where sound waves are sent; they reflect back
and are picked up by the probe again. The womb can be virtually peeped into and the
insides sighted. It is indeed a technological feat and empowers humans over nature.
The technology for foetal testing has brought down to a great extent, high risk births,
such as babies born with neural tube defects or Down’s syndrome, one of the leading
causes of mental retardation world wide. The main diagnostic test for Down’s syn-
drome is amniocentesis, which involves the sampling of amniotic fluid obtained by
needling through the wall of a uterus. Amniocentesis was traditionally used to screen
for certain genetic diseases. It is only done and warranted in high risk pregnancies
where the mother is (i) more than 35–40 years old and is first-time pregnant and (ii)
where there is a family history of a genetic disease. If the foetus tests positive for the
genetic disease then medical termination of pregnancy is advised (an option given to
the parents). The results of the test take up to one month to obtain, by which time the
pregnancy will be advanced. Since the desirable time for the test is between 16–20
weeks, it is risky and painful to abort at the advanced stage of pregnancy. The test is
diagnostic and usually provides definite confirmation of Down’s syndrome and other
chromosomal anomalies of the foetus, except in some cases of ambiguous results
because of laboratory errors.
3. This has been an achievement for the Indian feminists, sensitive lawyers, scientists,
researchers, doctors and women’s organisations such as Women’s Centre (Bombay),
Saheli (Delhi), Samata (Mysore), Sahiar (Baroda) and Forum Against SD and SP
(FASDSP)—an umbrella organisation of women’s groups, doctors, democratic rights
groups, and the People’s Science Movement. Protest actions by women’s groups in
the late 1970s got converted into a consistent campaign at the initiative of FASDSP in
the 1980s. Even research organisations such as Research Centre on Women’s Studies
(Mumbai)), Centre for Women’s Development Studies (Delhi) and Voluntary Health
Organisation, Foundation for Research in Community Health also took a stand against

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 174Tulsi Patel

the tests. Even while the PNDT Act, 1994 was unable to stop female foeticide, the yet
newer technology of sex selection at the sperm stage, that is, pre-conception sex selec-
tion arrived on the Indian scene. The sex of the desired baby could now be chosen
even before conception by separating the sperms having x from y chromosomes. In
order to prevent the misuse and abuse of the new technology of sex pre-selection at
the pre-conception stage, an amendment in PNDT Act, 1994 was made in 2002 and
implemented in 2003.
4. Kalaivani mentioned this happening in Andhra Pradesh in south India, where the
term for ‘insignificant’, or ‘some one who’ll not be there in any case’ is invoked in
response to a query about girl children. Arima Mishra mentioned about how the term
for involuntary childlessness and sonlessness is often the same in the Oriya language
(personal communications).

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 11
Perception and Work Ethos of
Medical Experts Dealing with
Infertile Couples: A Study in
Medical Sociology
Bela Kothari

I
nfertility is basically a medical problem, but its social implications
can cause severe personal distress and family discord. India is home to
14 per cent of an estimated 80 million infertile couples in the world
(Bahuguna 2003). Unfortunately, an overwhelming concern with popula-
tion stabilisation in India has overshadowed this aspect of human fertility,
and it has never been taken seriously as a public health issue (Jejeebhoy
1998). But the damning social stigma that goes with the ‘crisis of infertility’
in our country even today, particularly for women, should be a matter of
concern for everyone (Cook 1987). In the widest perspective, involuntary
infertility can be regarded as a failure of the socio-biological relationship
between two individuals—the husband and the wife. The problem, there-
fore, has to be examined from both the medical and the social viewpoints.
It has to be borne in mind that the social construction of illness as such
is distinct from the way the medical professionals respond to a patient.
The socialisation of the medical specialists and institutional practices of
the health care system are important components in the management of
diseases (Brown 1995). It, therefore, becomes pertinent to enquire: How
far does the background and social perception of the treating doctors

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 178 Bela Kothari

influence the handling of the complex problem of infertility? In working

out the treatment protocol and choosing from the various available options,
are they taking into account the ethno-cultural and socio-economic condi-
tions of the couple? And, finally, do male and female doctors, elderly infer-
tility super-specialists and the young beginners, differ in this? The study on
which this paper is based, attempted to answer these questions based on
in-depth interviews with specialist doctors practising, exclusively or mostly,
in the field of infertility.

Methodology

The study was carried out in Jaipur, the capital of the State of Rajasthan.
The city has well-developed medical infrastructure: three medical col-
leges and several private medical care centres, small and large, claiming
expertise in treating infertility. Five doctors were selected for detailed
interview on the basis of the following criteria:

a. qualified medical graduates, MBBS plus post-graduate degree or diploma in

gynaecology,
b. clinical experience of at least ten years,
c. recognised by the community for treatment of infertility on the basis of
their success stories or the advanced technology being offered, and
d. willingness to spare time for the interview.

Data was collected with the help of in-depth interviews using an

interview guide, developed after consultation with two retired doctors
(not those selected for interview), and review of available literature. All
the interviews were recorded using a digital voice recorder. Prior permis-
sion to record the interviews was taken from the doctors. Each inter-
view lasted between one-and-a-half to two hours. Transcription of the
interviews was done later. Both English and Hindi were used freely by
the doctors to ensure spontaneous and authentic answers. The interview
guide broadly covered five different aspects of the problem:

(i) perception of infertility in its social context; prevalence and cause,

(ii) treatment-seeking behaviour of couples; attitude of their families; patient’s
expectations,
(iii) doctor-patient relationship; problems faced by doctors; complaints of
malpractice,

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 Perception and Work Ethos of Medical Experts  179

(iv) doctor’s attitude towards alternative treatment systems: ethno-medicine,

advanced ‘test tube baby’, or in-vitro fertilisation (IVF) techniques, compli-
mentary medical systems, etc., and
(v) attitude towards adoption as a remedy for the problem.

Observations

The information provided by the five doctors as per the interview guide
is summarised below, using their own words as far as possible.

(Respondent 1): Dr LKK (male, aged 76 years; MD, Fellow of the

Academy of Medical Sciences [FAMS]; more than forty years experience of
teaching, research and patient care, particularly in the field of Andrology1
[male reproductive disorders] in medical colleges).

(A) Infertility is a very peculiar disease in which the ‘patient’ is a unit

consisting of two individuals. The problem is one, but the sufferers are
two, one female and one male. It is the couple which is unable to pro-
duce a baby. And very often no specific cause can be found. I would,
therefore, think of it as a problem of interpersonal relationship.
Out of all married couples living together and not using any
contraceptives, in almost 85 per cent of the cases the wife is likely to
become pregnant within one-and-half years of marriage. The remaining
10–15 per cent of the couples has infertility and would need some medi-
cal help before having a baby.
In our society, it is important to emphasise that the cause of infer-
tility may be as often in the husband as in the wife. I would put it this
way: in 40 per cent it is the husband who is responsible, in another
40 per cent it is the wife, and in the remaining 20 per cent something is
wrong with both. The causes are many and often difficult to pinpoint.
Sometimes our diagnosis is ‘GOK: God only knows!’ A few socially
important causes are:

In males: impotence; heavy alcohol or tobacco use; occupational hazards like

exposure to heat, chemicals etc; excessive work stress; sexually transmitted
diseases (STD).

In females: poor nutritional status and low bodyweight, uncared for local
infections and Tuberculosis leading to blocked tubes, and hormonal problems.

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 180 Bela Kothari

Unless doctors are receptive, many causes related to our social life may
be missed. For example, I did not realise till some time back that addic-
tion to television watching could also be a cause of infertility!

(B) Usually, it is the wife who first goes to a doctor. The husband comes
into the picture much later and quite reluctantly. One major social prob-
lem with us is that mothers find it very difficult to believe that some-
thing could be wrong with their ‘precious son’, too. After all, producing
and nurturing a baby is a woman’s job. The family conveniently puts all
the blame on the poor daughter-in-law. She is labeled as ‘banjh’ (barren).
Unfortunately, women themselves are partly responsible for this sit-
uation. Very often, even when the wife comes to know that her husband
is at fault—say, with no sperms or living seeds in his semen—she hides
the fact from everyone. It is perhaps due to the fact that, in our society,
an infertile man is often assumed to be an impotent man and good for
nothing. Of course, the two are different.
There can be another problem here. In our country, most gynaecolo-
gists happen to be women. So, the wife just goes to any locally available
‘lady doctor’. But whom should the husband consult—physician, sur-
geon, urologist, pathologist, or the so-called ‘sex specialists’? He feels lost
and confused. Andrology, the male counterpart of gynaecology—is still
hardly known in our health care system.

(C) Lack of proper communication between the doctor and the patient
is a big handicap with us. Our doctors don’t have the time to talk.
Perhaps it is due to the pressure of numbers. But I always make an effort
to explain to the couple what is possibly wrong with them, as far as we
can see at the moment. It makes no difference whether the patient is
educated or illiterate. One can always devise one’s own methods and
tools to explain the essentials in the minimum time available.
The idea of doctors giving any sort of guarantee to the patient is
absolutely stupid. No guarantee can be given for anything. When the
patient asks me about the chances of success, I promptly ask them to
see some astrologer. We can only try and do the best we can, and hope
for the best.

(D) Very often, the couple asks if they can try some alternative thera-
pies like ayurveda, homeopathy, naturopathy, and other indigenous

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 Perception and Work Ethos of Medical Experts  181

medicinal systems. Why not, when we ourselves have reached a blind

end? I have myself referred some patients to qualified practitioners of
these systems. Frankly speaking, my experience with them has not been
very encouraging.

(E) All salesmen like to sell the costliest item available with them—one
that gives maximum profit. And doctors are no exception. Adoption is,
therefore, seldom suggested, as long as the patient has money to spend on
technologies like test-tube-baby, donor egg or donor sperm, surrogacy,
etc. But I personally feel that adoption is a good option. Adoption solves
two problems at once. The childless couple gets a child, and an orphaned
child gets a home. But it is not easy to accept a child about which you
know nothing, and with whom you have had no emotional bonding.
And the couple may ask ‘From where can we get a child to adopt, and
how?’ After all, babies cannot be purchased from the shopping malls!
Unfortunately, doctors themselves are not well informed about all the
personal and legal intricacies of adoption across different religious and
socio-economic groups. Therefore, they can do little to promote adop-
tion as a treatment modality for infertility.
One good thing that is happening now is that many couples will-
ingly opt for adopting a girl child. Why this change, I don’t know. The
reasons could be many. Social scientists should study this, particularly
because of the very high son-preference in our culture for ages. [Here the
doctor narrates a case history.]

Many years ago, a young lady doctor—a gynaecologist herself—came to see

me along with her husband. They were running a nursing home in some far
away town, but they had no children. While describing her problem, she sud-
denly started crying. Then she told me something that deeply touched me:

‘I am working in a small town where I am highly respected. Once there was a

function in the local school, and I was invited to preside. I saw a lovely little boy
standing nearby with his mother. I don’t know why, but I just smiled at him, called
him near, and tried to caress him. Suddenly, the mother rushed in, lifted the boy
and disappeared. No one might have noticed this, but I knew what it meant. A
barren woman like me can cast an evil spell on a child.

‘I was very much upset. I have myself delivered hundreds of babies into this world,
working day and night. Then tell me, why can’t I have a child of my own? Why is
god so unkind to me?’

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 182 Bela Kothari

What could I say! All treatment had failed till then. Ultimately, I could
convince her for adoption: adopting a girl child delivered in her own
nursing home. That was a long time ago, and I hope they are happy now.­

(Respondent 2): Dr RP (female, aged 60 years; MS in Gynaecology;

clinical experience of twenty-eight years; running own hospital for women,
and specialising in infertility management).

(A) Infertility is a peculiar condition in which the affected are harassed

from all sides: physically (excessive diagnostic tests and interventions),
socially (stigmatised within the family and society), and financially
(expensive treatment and malpractices by care providers). Everyone, from
spiritual healers to qualified medical specialists is tempted to exploit the
vulnerability of these patients.
In my experience, the cause for infertility is fifty-fifty in males and
females. Some of the common causes are:

In females: unconsummated marriage; blocked tubes due to Tuberc­ulosis and

other infections; hormonal disturbances.

(I don’t see male patients and I refer them to others.)

One thing is clear. Even today, the common perception in our soci-
ety is that infertility is associated with the female body only. So, the
husband stays away, although he may be responsible for the infertility in
almost half the cases.

(B) Couples come to me as soon as six months after marriage to as

late as fifteen to twenty years after marriage. This depends on two
factors: (i) the socio-economic and educational status of the couple, and
(ii) information gathered from some other patients or relatives who had
been successfully treated.
I have never advertised in any form, and I have never employed
a Public Relation Officer. Many hospitals are doing this today. The
patients, therefore, often reach me after wandering through several
other clinics.
With most of the gynaecologists in our country being women,
the husbands are totally neglected. No one asks them if they have any
problem. Female gynaecologists talk only to female patients. Frankly
speaking, there is a total vacuum of doctors for male-fertility-related

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 Perception and Work Ethos of Medical Experts  183

problems, that is, andrologists. Gynaecologists go on treating the child-

less couples all by themselves, irrespective of their competence to deal
with the husbands.

(C) The relationship between the doctor and the infertile couple has
to be very cordial and sympathetic. The most important factor in the
treatment of infertility is the time spent with the patient in history tak-
ing and clinical examination. Even family matters and delicate personal
issues have to be discussed sometimes. You can’t do this unless you have
emotional rapport with the couple. [Here the doctor narrates the case his-
tory of one of her patients.]
A patient came to me after having been to the All India Institute of Medical
Sciences (AIIMS), New Delhi. On her outdoor ticket was written ‘Advised HSG
[Hysterosalpingogram]’. On examining her, I was shocked to find that she had no
uterus at all. Then how could an X-ray of the uterus be taken? Had the doctor at
the country’s topmost hospital just spared sometime to properly examine the patient,
no further investigations—no HSG—would have been called for. The unfortu-
nate woman was born without a uterus, and there was no possibility of her having
a baby of her own. It is rare, but does happen sometimes.

I know that malpractice and quackery are big problems for our profes-
sion today. But even honest doctors are helpless sometimes due to the
pressure of work.
If you have fifty to sixty patients waiting in a queue for you, no
patient can be given more than 2–3 minutes each. Then where is the
time for any history taking or a proper check-up. Such clinics can only
be called mini-factories for minting money. They are destroying our
ancient traditions of good doctor-patient relationship.

(D) The infertile couples are so desperate to have a child as quickly as pos-
sible that they fall for all modes of treatment—ayurvedic, homeopathic,
spiritual (jhad-phunk), or whatever else they come across.2 I let the
patients do as they please. But, as far as my treatment is concerned, I
insist on regularity and full compliance.

(E) I don’t have much experience with adoption. But most couples don’t
think of it till every other possibility has been exhausted.

(Respondent 3): Dr NB (female, aged 58 years; MS, Fellow of the Royal

College of Gynaecologists [FRCOG]; gynaecologist, extensively trained

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 184 Bela Kothari

abroad, specialising in infertility and assisted reproduction technology for

the last twenty-five years; running her own centre with all facilities).

(A) I don’t think of infertility as a disease, or even a disorder or disability.

It is rather a ‘state of the body in which the couple is unable to conceive
within a particular time’. And sometimes we may not find any specific
reason behind their not conceiving. Therefore, we should not call it a
disease, but only inability to conceive.
Infertility can be due to many reasons. Most important, I feel, are
related to our changes in lifestyle, for example, excessive smoking and
consumption of alcohol and tobacco products lead to low sperm count
in men, so also STDs. Similarly, the common causes in women are obe-
sity, pelvic infections, STD, tuberculosis, and irregularities of menstrua-
tion or ovulation. In my experience, all these factors are seen more often
in the rural population. Hormonal problems are, however, more com-
mon amongst the urban women.
Overall, in 40 per cent of the cases, the husband is at fault; in
40 per cent, the wife is at fault; and in 10 per cent, there is some problem
with both. In the remaining 10 per cent, no clear reason may be found
for the inability to conceive.

(B) To begin with, it is generally the mother-in-law who brings the young
woman to the doctor. And she does most of the talking also. But you
can’t get all the information you want unless the patient talks herself,
freely and frankly. Doctors often get irritated because of this interference
by the in-laws.
Apparently, men are not that much bothered about their childless-
ness. For men, it is just a problem—one problem amongst many other
problems; for women, it is a curse or a social stigma that makes their
whole life miserable.

(C) Almost 70 per cent patients come to me after having already tried so
many other doctors, sadhus (holy men), quacks, and the like. I ask them
not to waste more time, particularly if the age of the wife of already
30 years or more. Depending on her age, I choose the most vigorous line
of treatment that carries the best possible chance of success.

(D) I have no idea about other systems of medicine. And I just can’t
understand how people have faith in miracles. In Rajasthan, and perhaps

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 Perception and Work Ethos of Medical Experts  185

elsewhere too, our society is full of fertility-related rituals, taboos, and

beliefs. The helpless women will subject themselves to all sorts of physi-
cal and mental torture just to have a baby. What can the doctors do?

(E) If I find that the couple has no chance whatsoever of having a child
of their own, I frankly say ‘Namaskar’ (Good Luck), and there my work
ends.
Adoption can be a boon in many such cases, particularly when com-
plex technological procedures are beyond the couple’s financial capacity.
And the couple invariably asks if there is an assurance of cent per cent
success. This is just not possible. I honestly tell them what the success
rate can be. There is always an uncertainty—it is a matter of chance. It
may be too much of a financial risk for them. Adoption again becomes
a good option.
The actual process of adoption, I leave to others. I refer the couple
to specialists who can properly counsel them and help in arranging the
adoption. Several agencies and children’s homes are also coming up for
this. But one thing is clear to me; it is always better to adopt from out-
side the family.

(Respondent 4): Dr BB (female, aged 55 years; MS; consultant gynae-

cologist in a charitable health care centre on the semi-urban periphery of
Jaipur; clinical experience of about twenty-five years.)

(A) Infertility is basically a disease of ignorance. Most of the couples

have little knowledge about the right time of ovulation in women, the
process of intercourse, conception, etc. Or, they have wrong ideas. The
problem is almost equally common in husband or wife. This again is not
generally known to the rural population.
Excessive fertility and infertility are two related but different issues.
Excessive fertility is a social phenomenon and can be controlled by edu-
cation and persuasion. On the other hand, infertility needs medical
intervention. The needs of both the groups should be met by us.
In my experience, some of the common causes of infertility are:

In males: low frequency of coitus due to husbands frequent absence; low

sperm-count.

In females: nutritional deficiency; delayed marriage; uterus not toned; ovula-

tion not proper.

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 186 Bela Kothari

(B) Patients generally come from within a year to as late as five to seven
years after marriage. Women with early marriage usually come late. In
some cases, due to pressure from their families, couples are not able to see
a proper doctor even after many years of marriage. They waste a lot of time
with all sorts of home remedies and suggestions from dais (traditional
birth attendants). As the chances of pregnancy start dropping in women
after the age of 35 years, there is often not much time left for a doctor.
Gender is a significant factor in infertility management, both for the
patient and the doctor. Almost 50 per cent of the husbands do not even go
for a simple semen examination. The men say, ‘What problem can I have?
I am absolutely fine.’ Education is now bringing about some change in
this. Men are becoming a little more sympathetic towards the problems of
their wives’ and more responsible too. They tell me: ‘I am ready to spend
money. You please give her the best possible treatment. What else can I do?’

(C) The work of an infertility expert involves a lot of talking and clini-
cal assessment, rather than just prescription writing. Therefore, a good
doctor-patient relationship is essential as a part of the treatment of such
cases. But malpractice is also very common in this field. Let me give you
one example:

One standard procedure we often perform on these women is called ‘D and C’,
(dilatation and curettage). It helps both in diagnosis and treatment, and has to be
done in an operation theatre as a minor surgery. Now, in Hindi, we generally call
this procedure ‘bachadani-ki-safai’, that is, cleaning the uterus. Unfortunately,
some dais exploit the poor women by doing a ‘safai’ themselves by just sweeping
the vagina with a red cotton piece, and pocketing the fees.

(D) By the time the patient arrives here in the Centre, she has already
been to a number of spiritual local healers and quacks. I tell them, ‘Keep
all faith in god. Continue with these other measures if you like, but be
regular with the medicines prescribed by me.’

(E) I have no personal experience about adoption as such.

(Respondent 5): Dr SA (female, aged 53 years; Diploma in Gynaecology

and Obstetrics[DGO]; gynaecologist, with twenty-five years of experience;
running own nursing home in the city’s suburb; known for social commit-
ment to both family planning work and management of infertile couples).

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 Perception and Work Ethos of Medical Experts  187

(A) Infertility can be considered a sort of disability in the sense that the
wife is unable to perform one of her expected functions—she is unable
to conceive. It seems to be on the rise, with patients coming much ear-
lier after marriage than before.
The causes for infertility are many. I feel that ignorance and over-
anxiety are two very important factors amongst rural women. Both the
husband and wife can be responsible for the couple’s problem. But,
amongst the uneducated, it is a pre-conceived notion that nothing can
be wrong with the husband. Many persons from rural areas are not even
prepared to hear about this possibility. I would say that out of ten infer-
tile couples, in three the cause may be in the husband, and in seven in
the wife.

(B) Almost always it is the wife who first comes to me, accompanied by
the mother or mother-in-law. These days they have started coming rather
soon after marriage—say six to twelve months. Sometimes, the woman
first complains of vague menstrual problems or abdominal pain. Only
later does she reveal her concern about not having a baby. Every month,
when their period starts, they get a mental shock, a severe disappointment,
killing all expectations of a pregnancy. Some women from backward rural
areas may even become hysterical with fainting attacks.
A powerful social factor which forces women to seek early interven-
tion is a comparison with friends or relatives who were married in the
same ‘mahurat’ (an auspicious moment), on the same day. ‘My younger
sister and my devrani (younger sister-in-law) already have babies in their
lap. Then, why cannot I have? And believe me, we three were married
on the same day.’ Sadness and jealousy are unavoidable.
It would be wrong to say that the husbands are not concerned at all.
Yes, men don’t cry like women; but, I am sure, they also feel upset because
of the absence of a child. Their ‘manhood’ may be doubted. ‘Why so
late?’, everyone asks them, ‘you should have been a father by now.’

(C) Unfortunately, doctors seldom take the trouble of talking to the

patients. Nothing is explained to them. Their queries are just ignored.
They are only handed over a prescription. Our patients are not only
totally ignorant about the biology of conception, pregnancy, etc, but,
in addition, they are confused with so many misconceptions and
superstitions. Is it not our duty to help them with some basic facts?

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 188 Bela Kothari

How can you think of good doctor-patient relationship at all, if you do

not have the time to talk to the patient?
Treatment compliance can be another problem with the rural
patients. They are often irregular in coming for follow up: ‘I told my
husband several times that I have to go and see the Doctor Madam, but
he did not bother. How can I come alone?’

(D) Most of my patients are simultaneously pursuing some ‘tantra-

mantra’ (charms) or ‘devta’ (worship of an idol or revered person) also.
I never say anything to antagonise their belief or their rituals. No harm
can come as long as the devta part is limited to bhabhoot (ashes), dora
(sacred thread), taweez (amulet), or puja-path (worship). No medicines
are generally given by these people. So the devta + doctor combination
can go on. When pregnancy occurs, I don’t mind if the credit is also
divided.
The use of ethno-medicines for infertility is still very common in
our society, but I don’t argue with anyone on this point. I rather wish
that the possible benefits and side effects of these ethno-medicines are
scientifically studied by someone.

(E) Adoption is not an easily acceptable option in the rural environ-

ment. The question of inheritance of the family’s land can be a serious
problem. You can’t adopt an unknown child, or someone from outside
the extended family. Surprisingly, many husbands have started asking
about donor insemination. This has its own problems—technical, psy-
chological, and legal. I don’t do these procedures myself, but I do try to
counsel them on the pros and cons.

Discussion and Conclusion

The World Health organisation defines infertility as the inability to con-

ceive within two years of exposure to pregnancy (WHO 1975). Social
scientists have considered it a chronic illness when it becomes a focal
point of suffering over a long period of time (Greil 1991), and a dis-
ability when it significantly limits the individual’s ability to perform
various social roles (Miall 1986). In a wider perspective, it is a problem
of social relationship, entangling in its web not only the husband and
wife but their families as well. The long and uncertain illness trajectory

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 Perception and Work Ethos of Medical Experts  189

makes matters worse, causing emotional and physical harassment to the

so called ‘banjh’ or infertile woman (Kothari 2008). But how do the
medical professionals—experts treating infertility with all the sophis-
ticated technology at their disposal—perceive the problem. Detailed
interaction with five such doctors has led to some interesting and valu-
able conclusions.
Infertility specialists do not see the problem as a specific bodily dis-
ease or disability in the ordinary sense of the term. Perhaps, this explains
why treatment of infertility is not accepted for medical reimbursement
by most employers, government or private. It is pushed aside as merely
a problem of social relationship between two individuals, manifesting
itself as the inability of the wife to conceive—a purely private matter.
But, in another sense, it has also been considered a unique and com-
plex medical condition in which the ‘patient’ is a unit of two dissimilar
individuals—the husband and the wife3 (Respondent 1). One or both
could be at fault. Both need to be fully investigated; better starting with
the husband. But to tackle the husband is not easy in our traditional,
male-dominated society, particularly in rural areas. It may require con-
siderable ingenuity and persuasion on the part of the doctor to convince
the couple, mother-in-law and others that it is the young man who may
be at fault and not his wife. All the five respondents were equally critical
about this situation.
One interesting fact which emerged from this study is that infer-
tility can also be considered a ‘Disease of Life Style’ (R-IV). Excessive
smoking and alcohol, sexually acquired infections, obesity, occupational
hazards, long and stressful work hours—can all lower fertility in men.
Similarly, poor nutrition, poor personal hygiene, constant humilia-
tion of being called a ‘banjh’, excessive fatigue, very low frequency of
intercourse—may all make conception difficult in women. Corrections
in lifestyle may not only bless the couple with a baby, but also improve
the quality of life for the whole family and prevent many diseases.
In their infertility practice, all the respondent doctors were facing
three major problems that could be corrected, according to them, only
by determined social interventions:

(i) Widespread ignorance about the basic facts of reproductive health, coupled
with age-old superstitions in our society. Only universal literacy and liberal
education can correct this. Doctors often do not have the time to explain
anything under the pressure of numbers.

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 190 Bela Kothari

(ii) Unfair competition from quacks, tantrik healers, paramedics, and even
qualified general practitioners is a constant irritant for the genuine special-
ists. These people do everything possible to retain the patient for themselves,
even when they know that the problem is beyond their competence. Social
awareness and effective regulatory mechanism is needed.
(iii) Doctor-patient relationship is far from being gender-neutral for the
infertile couples even today. Whom should the husband consult, if needed?
As pointed out (Respondent 1), it is still difficult to find well trained
andrologists in the country. Conversely, women in our conser-vative society
naturally prefer female gynaecologists. (In the present study also four out of
five fertility specialists happen to be female, and only one male.)

When all available treatment options have been tried, and the cou-
ple has lost hope of having a child of their own, adoption remains the
last resort. This has been so since ancient times. How else could a heir be
found for a mighty ruler, or a wealthy merchant when they had no male
offspring of their own? Under the present societal structure, the ritual of
adoption is changing, but little is known about the various patterns of
adoption existing across the country (Jejeebhoy 1998). One good thing
is that baby girls are being accepted more and more (Respondent 1).
It appears from the present study that doctors are indifferent to the
idea of adoption because the whole process is too time-consuming and
economically not rewarding for them.4 We need specialists or agencies
that can provide in-depth psycho-social counselling, help in finding an
acceptable child for adoption, and finally guide the couple through all
the legal formalities.
Social responsibility as well as professional ethics demands that all
possible treatment options be fully explained to the infertile couple. It
is for each couple and their families to decide what they want and what
they can afford.

Acknowledgements

The paper is based on the findings from a research project on infertility

funded by the Indian Council of Social Science Research, New Delhi.
The author is thankful to the Council for its support. Thanks are also
due to the research team comprising Shri Vijay Singh, Ms Harsha Kotra,
and Shri Dinesh Swarankar for the field work and all the help in the
project. The author is also grateful to the anonymous referee for her/his
valuable suggestions that helped her improving the manuscript.

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 Perception and Work Ethos of Medical Experts  191

Notes
1. Andrology is the branch of medicine dealing with the problems related to maleness,
from childhood to old age. It may be considered as the male counterpart of gynecol-
ogy. Unfortunately, in India, doctors trained and experienced in Andrology are still
very few. Men with any fertility related or sexual problem are thus left to the mercy of
quacks or the self-proclaimed ‘khandani (familial) sex specialists’.
2. Marcia Inhorn (1994) in her work on Egyptian infertility traditions has used a term
‘pilgrimage for pregnancy’, referring to the plurality in treatment methods ranging
from allopathic medicine to traditional ethno-therapies and visits to holy sites.
3. Aditya Bhardwaj (1998) has argued that infertility is an issue of cultural management.
He comments: ‘Experience of infertility is an oppressive contradiction in which social
indifference and social concern, stigma and pity, and social isolation and social inter-
ference converge to create a condition which is expressively undesirable’ (ibid.: 68).
4. With the birth of Louise Brown—the world’s first test-tube baby conceived outside
the human body—on 25 July 1978, infertility clinics have mushroomed all over the
country. They offer various forms of technology-assisted reproduction including IVF
(in-vitro fertilisation). Even a city like Jaipur has five well-established centres (only
one has been included in the present study). The cost of this treatment has shot up
and one try may cost around Rs 1 to 2 Lakhs. With a doubtful success rate, the afford-
ability is a serious problem in society.

References
Bahuguna, N.J. 2003. ‘Violations of women’s rights in South Asia’, Development, 46 (2):
96–100.
Bharadwaj, A. 1998. ‘Infertility and gender: A perspective from India’, in Frank van Balen,
T.G. and M. Inhorn (eds.): Social science research on childlessness in a global perspective
(65–78). The Netherlands: SCO–Kohnstamm Instituut.
Brown, P. 1995. ‘Naming and framing: The social construction of diagnosis and illness’,
Journal of health and social behaviour, 35 (extra issue): 34–52.
Cook, E.P. 1987. ‘Characteristics of the biopsychosocial crisis of infertility’, Journal of coun-
selling and development, 65 (4): 465–69.
Greil, A.L. 1991. ‘A secret stigma: The analogy between infertility and chronic illness and
disability’, Advances in medical sociology, 2 (1):17–38.
Inhorn, M.C. 1994. ‘Kabsa and threatened fertility in Egypt’, Social science and medicine,
39 (4): 487–505.
Jejeebhoy, S. 1998. ‘Infertility in India: Levels, patterns and consequences—Priorities for
social science research’, Journal of family welfare, 44 (2): 15–24.
Kothari, L.K. 2008. Man, medicine and morality. New Delhi: Paragon International.
Miall, C.E. 1986. ‘The stigma of involuntary childlessness’, Social problem, 33 (4): 268–82.
World Health Organisation (WHO). 1975. ‘The epidemiology of infertility: Report of the
WHO scientific group’ (Technical report series 582). Geneva: WHO.

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 12
‘Correcting’ the Reproductive
‘Impairment’: Infertility
Treatment Seeking
Experiences of Low
Income Group Women
in Mumbai Slums
Meghana Joshi

The Issue of Concern

I
nfertility remains a major gynaecological problem worldwide, despite
huge strides made in its diagnosis and treatment. While differences
in data sources and analyses make it difficult to accurately measure or
compare infertility rates, it is clear that the level and causes of infertility
vary widely, both among and within countries (WHO 1991; Larsen
1996). Estimated prevalence of infertility ranges from 8 to 33 percent
depending on population and criteria employed in its definition.
Another estimate is that about 8 to 10 per cent of couples experience
some sort of infertility in their reproductive lives (Harrison, Bonnar and
Thompson 1983).
In India, primary and secondary infertility figures, as given by
WHO (1980), are 3 per cent and 8 per cent, respectively. According

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 ‘Correcting’ the Reproductive ‘Impairment’ 193

to the National Family Health Survey 1998–1999 (NFHS II), 3.8 per
cent of women between the ages of 40 and 44 years have not had any
children and 3.5 per cent of currently married women are declared infe-
cund (IIPS and ORC Macro 2000). With the associated psychological
and social consequences, the female partner tends to be more adversely
affected than her male counter-part (Guttormsen 1992 as cited in
Aghanwa et al. 1999).
A related concern is the lack of social research on infertility as a
legitimate reproductive health right. S. Jejeebhoy (1998) states that
there is a paucity of studies in India exploring the perceptions and expe-
rience of infertility. There is also very sparse research available on the
socio-cultural and behavioural correlates of infertility in South Asia.
She adds that research on sexually transmitted diseases, maternal health
factors, poor health and nutritional status of women (leading to foetal
wastage), age (adolescent sterility and infertility among pre-menopausal
women), lifestyle-related infertility, previous contraceptive use, mar-
riage patterns, occupational patterns, availability and accessibility of
reproductive health services, levels of education, economic status and
women’s autonomy—all recognisable correlates of infertility—have not
been given due importance in social research.
The above literature strongly indicates that in India there is a lack
of focus on the issue of infertility; it is treated as ancillary next to the
problem of overpopulation in India. As in many other developing
countries, in India too infertility treatment is not part of the reproduc-
tive health services offered. There is no public health programme that
focuses on infertility in the Indian context, though the International
Conference on Population and Development programme of action
states that reproductive health services should include prevention and
appropriate treatment of infertility.1 It is only a decade ago that the
Ninth Five-Year Plan (1997–2002) document of the Government of
India has included infertility in the comprehensive reproductive and
child health package.
The instant study was carried out to address the need for critical
attention to infertility in social research and in the provision of repro-
ductive health services. Furthermore, such a focus will bring to light
the experiences of women unable to bear children in their personal,
social and cultural contexts and to suggest interventions which will help
reduce the physical, psychological and social burden associated with
childlessness.

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 194Meghana Joshi

Methodology

This study is located within the paradigm of qualitative research meth-

odology, which allows for a great degree of flexibility and iteration at
different steps during the process of research. The researcher collected
in-depth data from women experiencing childlessness2 through the use
of narratives. Core, largely unstructured, areas of inquiry were explored
through discussion and without the use of any fixed questionnaire/
schedule (for example, every woman was asked to narrate about her
life from as far back in memory as she could). Data was also collected
from other women in the community through focus group discussions
(FGDs).3 Semi-structured interviews were held with medical doctors
and paramedical staff in the public hospital where access to women
interviewed was initiated.4
The study was conducted in two phases. The first phase essentially
covered the observations in the public hospital, interviews with medical
staff and in-depth interviews with five women from the core group. This
phase helped to identify the key areas of women’s experiences, for exam-
ple, meaning of marriage and children, husband-wife relations, various
treatment sources, mental health distress and coping. These key themes
were the tools that were used to frame more specific questions for data
collection in phase two. Gaps in data or newer themes that emerged
during phase two (for example, male response to infertility, and adop-
tion) were discussed in greater detail with all women (core group from
phases one and two), with repeated visits to the field.
During the period of study, data was collected from a total of ten
women, five men (spouses), two doctors, sixteen Community Health
Volunteers (CHVs), two Auxiliary Nurse Midwives (ANMs) and three
(focus) groups (of women from the larger slum community), compris-
ing of a total of twenty five women. The ten women who were the core
research group were accessed from seven different slum localities in
Mumbai. These were the localities that had been assigned to the CHVs
(for outreach work) at the public hospital, which was the primary site for
data collection. Some of the core group women met with the researcher
at the hospital when they came to seek infertility treatment, while oth-
ers were accessed directly in the community with the help of the CHVs.
The entire period of data collection lasted for six months between June
and December 2004.

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 ‘Correcting’ the Reproductive ‘Impairment’ 195

Treatment Seeking5

The key findings with respect to treatment seeking relate to (i) initia-
tion of treatment, largely catalysed by personal and social perceptions
vis-à-vis being childless, and (ii) process of treatment seeking, which was
determined by women’s larger contexts (at home) and their experience
of interface with the medical world.

Initiation of Treatment

Perceptions and consequences related to childlessness: It is difficult (and

even unnecessary) to distinguish between women’s fears/perceptions and
the fears/perceptions of their social world. The need for children is
related to achieving a status that they are supposed to fulfil in order to
integrate into the community, rather than being a personal choice or
decision. However, some women related the inability to have children
to a change in their perceptions of self. Reasons for the need to have
children were always related to a combination of personal desire as well
as social expectation.
Hence, the key perceptions in the community (including family,
neighbours; men, women) regarding childless women and childless
women’s own perceptions on the need to have children intermingles
and overlaps and constitutes the process of appraisal that precedes treat-
ment seeking. In addition to this social construction of meaning of
childlessness, the women also analyse a host of consequences that are
faced by childless women in the community. These consequences range
from changes in self-concept, changes in status within family and tre-
mendous mental distress.
Thus, the individual, family and community perceptions related to
childlessness imply not only a personal sense of loss for the woman but
also related social categorisation of this woman as ‘vanzhooti’ (infertile),
‘banj’ (barren), her complete subordination within the family—‘My
husband and mother-in-law harass me. Verbal and physical abuse is
very common. They keep pointing to the fact that I was not able to give
my husband a child’—and a drastic change in family interactions and
relations—‘My husband is going to remarry he says; now even my in-
laws have asked him not to wait. Initially we took treatment and there
was no talk of remarriage, but now they have lost patience.

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 196Meghana Joshi

Figure 1. Pathway of Initiation of Treatment-Seeking

Drawing from the above data, Figure 1 illustrates the process of ini-
tiation for treatment seeking, which begins at appraisal of one’s position
within the marital home and the larger community and the condition
of being childless. Women and their families make decisions to take
action with respect to their ‘undesirable’ situation largely because of the
personal and social meanings of childlessness for the woman and her
family and the consequences of this condition.

Process of Treatment Seeking

Key decision-makers and loss of control: Most fertility decisions

within the family are never completely in the control of the woman,

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 ‘Correcting’ the Reproductive ‘Impairment’ 197

Box 1: Key Perceptions Regarding Childless Women Highlighted by

Women

• Barren, hence capable of casting as evil eye/perceived as bad omen/

harbingers of bad luck. (‘Childless women have the power to curse, they are a
bad omen.’ )
• Subordinate status due to inability to live up to their roles/norms. (‘Once
a child is born, the woman has a say in the household and can demand things
from her husband.’ )
• Responsible for husband’s remarriage given the circumstances. (‘If you cant
provide him with a child, he will naturally get another woman.’ )
• Causing pain and humiliation to natal and marital family.

Box 2: Women’s Perceptions on Need to Have Children

• Children help the women achieve status and fulfil her role in the marital
home and larger community. (‘Even if a son is not born at least a daughter
should be in order to prove the woman’s fertility’; ‘It is better to have had a child
who died than to have never conceived.’ ).
• Birth of sons helps the woman secure her position in her husband’s home
by providing him an heir. (‘All married women have to reproduce and provide
an heir to the family.’ )
• Children are a support for old age and also the reason for living and earning.
• Children help to make the woman feel complete and give her life meaning.
(‘A childless woman is incomplete, her femininity is unfulfilled, her house doesn’t
become a home.’ )

Box 3: Perceived and Experienced Consequences of Childlessness

• Taunting and stigmatisation. (‘Most common label people use for women is
barren/sterile’.)
• Isolation from community activities and ostracism. (‘Childless women are
considered as inauspicious, as capable of bringing bad luck and are hence kept
away from all happy celebrations like marriage or birth of a child.’ )
• Remarriage and further loss of status and control within household and
community. (‘My husband keeps threatening me with remarriage. He cannot
wait to get rid of me.’ )
• Violence and harassment (‘My husband’s way of expressing his anger and
frustration of being childless is by hitting me.’ )

(Box 3: Contd.)

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 198Meghana Joshi

(Box 3: Contd.)

• Blaming the woman (‘They don’t even know what the doctor has to say and
they have been telling people that there is a problem with me and now they are
coaxing their son to get remarried.’ )
• Consistent and chronic mental distress (‘I feel tension all the time. Even
when I am walking on the road, or working or sleeping. It’s always with me.’ )
• Experience of related physical ailments. (‘Because of the tension I have
constant headaches, also I can’t fall asleep. I feel giddy and nauseous.’ )

even though she is the one who is bearing and rearing children. A child-
less woman is even more vulnerable at the stage of decision making,
especially fertility/reproductive health decisions, which are largely taken
by husbands/older women/other elders within the family. The need to
restore ‘normalcy’ (conception and childbirth) is urgent, as infertility is
a threat to the entire family’s security, identity and status. Hence, there
is a strong tendency for family members around the childless woman to
take control over the woman’s ‘diseased’ body and make it healthy again.
This loss of control over their own bodies is further exacerbated
by the dilemma that women often face: on the one hand, there is tre-
mendous expectation to restore ‘normalcy’ by seeking treatment and
achieving a pregnancy and, on the other, there are several barriers to
treatment seeking within the home and the hospital. When the women
do access treatment, the experience is largely determined by the nature
of social-role relationship between the women and medical personnel,
which make this process of gaining legitimate entry into the adult world
an extremely traumatising experience.
In the hospital: Complicated line of treatment and lack of coun-
selling: It has been observed in the study that many women who start
treatment for infertility are unable to continue it or frequently change
sources of treatment. Hence, another crucial aspect of the treatment
process is the understanding of the reasons as to why women are unable
to complete a certain course of treatment or why they frequently change
sources of treatment, why they are so inconsistent in complying with a
particular line of treatment or why they probably never can exercise an
option available to another class of women—an option which serves as
a hope to restoring one’s identity through the process of dignified and
participative treatment seeking.
The medical voice: Treatment inconsistency: Although in most
cases treatment for women’s ailments is the last priority within the

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 ‘Correcting’ the Reproductive ‘Impairment’ 199

family, medical staff often observes that in case of infertility, treatment

seeking is very prompt. Women may come as soon as they are brought
(which can vary between few months to a few years after marriage),
because, in this case, the status of the woman and her natal and marital
family hinges upon her reproductive performance.
Although women are rushed in for infertility treatment, the period
of treatment is almost never adequate to complete a particular line of
treatment. Generally, there is a high drop-out rate, and change in and
irregularity of treatment. The medical personnel interviewed stated that,
with women, the investigation and treatment of infertility is extremely
complicated. A whole series of examinations needs to be carried out
to diagnose and determine the required appropriate treatment. This
requires for the woman to make repeated visits to the hospital in order
for a thorough investigation, which is often not done.
Most common reasons for the inconsistency in treatment as stated
by medical personnel were: lack of understanding of the process on part
of women, due to inattentiveness; non-compliance with the medical
regime; and seeking treatment from several different sources. When
asked about the root causes of these inconsistencies, a few of the women
CHVs and ANMs spoke about the high degree of emotional and social
burden faced by women and their lack of agency in decision making.
However, most medical staff interviewed had no more to say on the
matter.
Women’s voices: Minimal communication: The primary reasons
for inconsistency in treatment, as stated by women themselves, bring
out a set of other complications. The long period of treatment combined
with minimal or often no communication between women and the doc-
tors makes this experience extremely stressful and confusing for women.
Besides the treatment itself, women have often reported not being
able to ask questions to doctors if they have doubts or not understand-
ing the doctor’s instructions. There is no scope for asking for an explana-
tion because the doctors have innumerable patients to see and often do
not consider it necessary to allow the woman to participate in decision
making about treatment.
Women also report that it is most frustrating when they are not
informed about the physical examinations that need to be carried out
or the medication they need to take. A further sense of humiliation and
loss of dignity is experienced by women during vaginal examinations.
Most doctors are males and even though a female nurse is present during

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 200Meghana Joshi

the examination, little attempt at putting the woman at ease or explain-

ing the procedure to her is made. Women often report wanting to take
part in planning and decision making but state that it is impossible to
demand that from the doctor.
Additionally, women report not being told about the approximate
time required before diagnosis can be made and treatment can be com-
pleted. This lack of communication often leads to a break or change in
the particular treatment even before one doctor is able to make a diag-
nosis. In cases where diagnosis is made, the lack of space to discuss and
participate in the subsequent treatment process itself creates a barrier. A
case in point is taking the sperm test of the male. Women (and/or their
husbands) are told that the male has to take a sperm test three times
and from three different centres. However, no rationale is provided as
regards the significance of doing so and couples are often unwilling to
spend so much time and money on these tests. They then consider this
routine insignificant and unnecessary and do not come back to the
doctor for further treatment.
This discrepancy between what actually happens during diagno-
sis and subsequent treatment and communication of the procedure to
women and their families is so large that often women do not see any
value in continuing treatment where they are not adequately involved in
and informed about the doctors plans for the same.
Social expectations and unnecessary treatment seeking: Women
are often reported to have said that it is not so much their need to con-
ceive as it is everyone else’s (family, community), which brings them to
the hospital. Social pressures push women to seek treatment when it
is not necessary, causing a lot of unnecessary alarm at failed treatment
attempts. Women have been observed to come to the outpatient depart-
ment (OPD) or rather brought to the OPD for infertility treatment
under the following circumstances:

• Inadequate and infrequent sexual contact: Husbands are away either

working abroad or are in occupations that keep them on the move and not
in regular touch with their wives.
• Often couples do not know the technique of intercourse, there are some
who have not had penetrative sex and believe there is something wrong
with them and they come for treatment.
• Male resistance and unwillingness to get semen analysis.
• Lack of privacy: little space, large family size, therefore inability to have
regular sexual contact.

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 ‘Correcting’ the Reproductive ‘Impairment’ 201

• Recurrent infections and unhygienic living conditions: poor hygiene, improper

toilets, early marriage and early sexual activity, hence greater vulnerability
to infection, poor treatment seeking for infections due to associated taboo,
multiple partners (mostly of men).6
• Tremendous social pressure leading to stress: questions such as ‘when is
the good news?’ and comparisons between different families especially
neighbours whose daughters or daughters in law have conceived.

The above stated are some of the key concerns related to lack of
awareness, the need to promote safer sexual practices and community-
level stigma associated with infertility that the study illuminates. These
external pressures to seek treatment even when the individual woman
or even the family does not find it necessary, brings the woman into the
hospital. Lack of counselling and time with doctors provides very little
scope for the qualified professional to understand the context within
which treatment is being sought. This often leads to unnecessary inves-
tigation and medical invasion, thus leading to additional physical and
mental trauma for the woman.
Additional constraints: Besides the fact that decision-making
regarding treatment is not in the hands of the women, a lot of the
treatment process is contingent upon the economic ability to afford
treatment. It was observed that in cases where money was not a prob-
lem, treatment seeking did not have to be contemplated. Whenever the
couple chose, they could take treatment. If they chose to stop seek-
ing treatment, it was not primarily because of shortfall of money, but
because of frustration due to no results.
Women are primarily responsible for saving. Women reported hav-
ing kept money aside for emergency while their husbands often are
very careless and spend money on entertainment. However, it is almost
always the husband’s decision either to seek or not to seek treatment
depending on how much money he can spare. Even if the woman has
saved money, she does not have control over that finance unless she seeks
treatment without the husband’s permission. In certain cases the money
problem is further exacerbated by the husband’s unsteady income and/
or alcoholism and/or expensive habits.
Although women have found ways to keep money aside in spite
of resource crunch, they cannot (almost always) decide how to use the
money. Some women have expressed the desire to work outside the home
(usually as domestic workers) to bring in the extra finances needed. This
alternative too cannot be explored by women without the consent of

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 202Meghana Joshi

their husbands. So, in every way their access to economic resources is

restricted.
Most women researched lived in areas close to the public hospital
from where they were contacted by the researcher. Proximity to hospital
varied: some had to travel by train, others by bus or autos, and some even
walked. Travel was never direct. For one trip, at times, women could
have had to take a train, then a bus/auto and also have to walk a distance
before reaching the hospital. Travel costs were ‘higher than usual’ during
the rainy season; so, instead of walking, at times women took an auto to
save themselves from a downpour.
In spite of the financial crunch and lack of control over money,
women still seek treatment. The only way they can hope for a child is if
they know that they are seeking medical/other help. Sitting at home and
not trying to find ways of going to a doctor is not the preferred option.
At these times when women do reach the hospital, it is important to
note that they juggle with the management of not just money but also
their time, energy and loss of wages.
Besides the travel costs, were the costs incurred on incidentals. Often
the women had to take into account the possibility of spending an entire
day at the hospital (doing tests, going to other centres to do a specialised
test, waiting in queue, loss of time due to inadequate information about
paperwork, etc.) and this meant that they had to, in most cases, eat one
meal during the day at the hospital canteen or in a nearby hotel.
At times, women may be admitted for a laparoscopy, which requires
an overnight stay at the least and this means at first having to gauge
whether the stay was feasible at all. In cases where the husbands were
supportive, they would agree to eat out for a day, but in other cases the
woman had to expend a lot of time negotiating for this one day ‘break’.
In cases where husbands too were getting treated, additional travel,
time and money costs were incurred. This is because no medical diag-
nosis about the man can be finalised unless the sperm test is done three
times at three different hospitals to be sure of the diagnosis. This obvi-
ously meant that besides this hospital, which was still accessible because
of short distance, the men had to travel to other clinics not necessarily
close to their homes, for testing. For men, especially, this meant the
loss of the day’s wages or having to request the boss for a holiday, all of
which put further pressure on the couple. A trip to the hospital has to be
planned a great deal in advance. On the day of the visits, women have to
finish their household chores at least one or two hours before the usual

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 ‘Correcting’ the Reproductive ‘Impairment’ 203

Figure 2. Treatment-Seeking Process

time in order to get to the hospital in time to see the doctor/avoid large
amounts of waiting periods or long queues.
The process of treatment seeking that emerges from the above data
is shown in Figure 2.

Recommendations

Based on the above findings we may make the following recommend-

ations for further research and interventions.

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 204Meghana Joshi

Creating Enabling Hospital Environments

Within the hospital, by sheer virtue of entering the medical set up,
women are at a greater risk to mental distress and discontinuation of,
or inconsistency in, treatment seeking. Often the hospital setting does
not encourage male involvement as the Gynaecological OPD is con-
sidered as a place ‘only for women’. The most important concerns of
women in this study were lack of privacy, the humiliating experience of
vaginal examination, the callous attitudes of doctors and ayahs (female
attendants) inadequate time spent with them, and almost no counsel-
ling or sharing with the women about the line of treatment required.
This study highlights the need to create an enabling environment
with the hospital set up such that women are able to share and discuss
their problems and understand the treatment required. It is essential
that not only do the paramedical staff but also doctors undergo training
in counselling patients during such traumatic periods. Additionally, an
infertility counselling clinic (with a multi-disciplinary team) within the
OPD, like the Voluntary Counselling and Testing Centre (VCTC) for
HIV/AIDS (this is available in the particular hospital where the study
was conducted) is recommended.

Outreach: Involving Men and Families

The role of men as key decision-makers in the lives of the women, espe-
cially during the process of treatment seeking, cannot be emphasised
enough. The support provided or withdrawn by men can affect women
in positive or negative ways and determine their experiences of dealing
with distress. Hence, involving men in any kind of reproductive health
intervention is crucial. In addition to men, directly linked to reducing
women’s psychological burden is the role of social and familial agents.
This means involving family and community members in providing
support systems is equally important.
The above are achievable through a consistent process of informa-
tion dissemination and education of men regarding reproductive and
sexual health as also sensitising men towards women’s reproductive
health problems. Additionally focusing on increasing awareness and
sensitivity of significant people in the woman’s life through community
level interventions and outreach activities, would be significant. Here

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 ‘Correcting’ the Reproductive ‘Impairment’ 205

the role of the CHV gets further emphasised in providing crucial health
information and alternatives.

Reducing Risk of Infertility through

Adoption of Preventive Measures

Although this research study in no way aims to trace back the origin of
infection as the cause of infertility in the women studied, it does reveal
certain important concerns which demand preventive level measures to
be adopted within hospital and community settings. A growing body of
research has verified the importance of infection as a cause of female infertil-
ity worldwide and traced the link between Sexually Transmitted Infections
(STIs) (including asymptomatic infections), postpartum infections, post
abortion infections, pelvic inflammatory disease (PID), and tubal damage
(Cates 1985, 1994; WHO 1987; WHO 1995; Westrom 1994).
The study findings indicate how risk of reproductive morbidities
is linked to women’s social status and role within the household, her
vulnerability to sexual coercion, inability to take sexual or reproductive
health decisions. This means that her male partner’s sexual behaviour
determines her risk to STIs and involving couples in prevention of
infections is crucial.7
Women in this study underwent a series of investigative, intrusive
tests for diagnosis and treatment of infertility. However, none of them
sought out advanced reproductive technological interventions for the
purpose of conception. This was primarily because the women researched
belonged to low-income groups and often did not have enough money to
come to the hospital regularly, leave aside avail of these reproductive aids.
We know that in vitro fertilisation and other assisted reproduction
techniques have been successfully implemented in the developing coun-
tries (Nicholson and Nicholson 1994; Vayena et al. 2002), although
some researchers question whether they will ever be accessible at the local
level by couples who need them due to cultural and economic constraints
(Inhorn 2003). However, cultural and religious values and beliefs, as
well as the health care infrastructure and economic development, influ-
ence the level of services provided in any one country. In most cases,
when assisted reproductive technologies are available, they are provided
by the private sector, making infertility services accessible only to the
middle and upper classes (Vayena et al. 2002).

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 206Meghana Joshi

Considering the above facts and the resource context of India, it

is the preventive level of intervention that social scientists or those in
the medical profession need to address. This does not mean that we do
not do research in and make reproductive technologies available to a
larger group of women, but we need to understand our priorities. We
need to urgently work with communities and encourage adoption of
safe practices (increasing age at marriage, birth spacing, use of condoms
to prevent infections, promoting antenatal care and safe delivery—all
these cumulatively help prevent conditions which can lead to infertility)
rather than concentrate only on or largely on developing sophisticated
reproductive technologies.
Additionally, we feel that obsession with medical technology would
lead to further ‘medicalisation’ of women’s bodies and more and more
assault on the ‘diseased’ body that needs to be ‘cured’. Instead, our
focus as social scientists is to reach beyond and understand why women
without children are stigmatised and work at reducing that stigma
instead of merely finding solutions for achieving pregnancy.

Conclusions

We note through the discussion of key findings that an intertwining of

personal and social perceptions about childless women and the related
consequences of childlessness are the key catalysts in initiating and guid-
ing treatment. Although in most other forms of health-seeking behav-
iour, women’s health is usually the last priority, in case of resolving the
‘problem’ of infertility, women are rushed to the hospital for treatment.
The inability to give their husband and marital family an heir is a
crucial ‘disruption’ in the process of achievement of a high status for
women in their households. This also results in the inability of the family
to be integrated into the larger community. The only possible way ‘out’ of
this distressing situation then is accessing treatment, which hopes to give
the woman and her family some sense of control over what is happening.
Within the arena of the process of treatment seeking where women
and her family come into direct contact with an outside party, an ‘expert’,
in fact results in the experience of a loss of control over one’s condition,
making the woman more vulnerable to physical and mental distress.
In this study, women accessed different forms of treatment at different
points in time depending on the accessibility (not just physical) to that

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 ‘Correcting’ the Reproductive ‘Impairment’ 207

resource. We were however able to interact with women only within

the set up of a public hospital. It was not possible to accompany them
to or even discuss in detail about other sources of treatment. This was
largely due to the taboo and silence associated with non-medical forms
of treatment.
Within a hospital, it is observed that there is no simple, smooth
procedure of diagnosis and treatment that follows the woman’s visit to
the doctor. Several factors aid or decelerate or put a break to or change
the course of treatment for women. This paper has discussed the com-
plex interaction of personal and family perceptions, community con-
sequences, doctor-woman interaction, women’s interaction with other
medical staff, women’s access to information, nature of treatment and
financial resources available to the woman, which play a role in deter-
mining the treatment-seeking process and experience for women.
Treatment seeking, thus, does not follow a linear process involving
recognition of a problem and seeking help. Even the recognition of the
problem is contingent upon several psycho-socio-cultural factors, that
is, besides the biological evidence of a medical condition other aspects
of individual (and/or group) appraisal determine the decision to seek
treatment. These are as illustrated below:

• Does the individual perceive the symptoms as being normal or abnormal?

How important does the individual consider her/his condition to be? Does
it need immediate attention? (Mechanic 1978).
• What the person consciously or unconsciously wants (in this case conception
is the expectation)?
• What are the person’s and her/his family’s response styles?
• What else can be done alternative strategies that may be employed before
consulting a medical professional (try praying, visit local healers)?
• How the illness would affect the individual’s interactions and relations with
family and others in the community?
• What is the support and perceived control over the situation?
• What are the learned cultural consequences of the condition and coping
mechanisms? (Di Matteo 1991).

At different points in time, different factors impinge upon the

decision to seek treatment. Largely, we know that these decisions are
influenced by significant household members, community perceptions,
which guide women’s sense of self and personal desires to have children,
resources available (material, time, personal), support systems the woman

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 208Meghana Joshi

can use (parental and marital family, a woman friend who may accom-
pany her to the hospital, the paramedical staff who work at the hos-
pital but belong to the same community) and most importantly the
actual interaction within the medical setting with the experts treating
the woman and her husband for infertility.
Thus, we note that the pathway from discovery of inability to con-
ceive at the time that is desired and the number of times it is desired,
diagnosis and subsequent treatment is full of disruptions. These disrup-
tions serve to put woman in situations of great distress and disillusion-
ment. Seeking treatment, an action that on the face of it seems to be
a resolution to the ‘problem’ at hand, in fact adds to the experience of
mental health distress.

Notes
This article is an output of a larger MPhil study on Understanding the Experiences of
Childlessness among Low-Income Group Women in Mumbai Slums (Joshi 2006). The key
objectives of the study included understanding (a) the childless women’s perceptions of
causes and consequences of infertility, (b) their treatment-seeking behaviour, (c) the role of
men in sharing this experience, and (d) the coping strategies. The author wishes to thank
the anonymous referee for her/his valuable comments for revision of this paper.

1. Programme of Action. International Conference on Population and Development,

Cairo, 1994: Para 7.6.
2. Any woman who defined herself as ‘experiencing childlessness’ was considered as a
childless woman for the purpose of this research. This means that the researcher did
not rely on medical definitions, rather sought the voices of women who were going
through a particular personal and social experience. This was a conscious choice as
the researcher wanted to focus on women’s perceptions rather than only on women
who were being labelled by the medical world as infertile. At this point it is also
important to note the use of the term infertility as against childlessness. The researcher’s
position is as follows. Infertility is a term understood and used by the medical world.
It connotes a biological inability to reproduce. The agent performing the act of label-
ling is the medical professional, who after examination and diagnosis declares the
woman unfit to ‘naturally’ reproduce and suggests medical alternatives. Infertility is
clearly a medical condition, carrying with it the assumption that women and medical
experts have interacted and a diagnosis has been made. Childlessness encompasses
the gamut of experiences that go hand in hand with the biological inability to con-
ceive. The role of the doctor here is not of key importance. Childlessness refers to a
life without children, which is very different for different women depending on the
manner in which the society and culture is labelling them.
3. FGDs help understand the intangibles (perceptions, attitudes, opinions, values) as
they occur in a group and the process through which these are formed during group

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 ‘Correcting’ the Reproductive ‘Impairment’ 209

interaction. Hence, FGDs with other women in the community helped understand
community perceptions and attitudes regarding infertility, hence brought to light the
larger context within which childless women make decisions or face consequences.
Methodologically these also helped the researcher frame questions for in-depth
enquiry with women and medical staff.
4. Interviewing medical and paramedical staff helped gain an understanding of the
interface between women health care seekers and health care providers and led to a
holistic conceptualisation of treatment seeking by women. The medical perspective
combined with the personal and social experiences of women helped in adding rich-
ness to data.
5. ‘Treatment-seeking’ here refers to medical treatment sought at a public hospital where
the researcher collected data. Information regarding other sources of treatment and
related experiences could not be collated due to taboo associated with use of non-
medical forms of treatment and unavailability of time to fill this gap in data.
6. Although, RTIs are being addressed aggressively, vaginal swabs are regularly taken
and pre- and post-test counselling is carried out in case of high-risk groups, there is a
huge stigma attached to RTIs. In fact, the government has even changed the name of
these centres to ‘Family Awareness Welfare Centres’ to help reduce the burden of the
stigma. Since recruitment criteria are well established, the staff is well qualified, but
invariably there are infrastructural problems. Also in the OPD there is overcrowded
and lacks privacy. Therefore, majority of RTIs cannot be adequately dealt with (in
conversation with doctors during data collection).
7. Attempted in Sitapur by CARE by targeting both men and women in the ‘natural
method of contraception programme’. Counselling meetings are regularly held by
male and female staff members with men and women in the community on preven-
tion of unwanted pregnancy, antenatal care, preventing STIs and RTIs.

References
Aghanwa, H.S.; F.O. Dare and S.O. Ogunniyi. 1999. ‘Sociodemographic factors in mental
disorders associated with infertility in Nigeria’, Journal of psychosomatic research, 46 (2):
117–23.
Cates, W. 1985. ‘Worldwide patterns of infertility: Is Africa different?’ Lancet, 2 (8455):
596–98.
———. 1994. ‘Pelvic inflammatory disease and tubal infertility: The preventable condi-
tions’, Annals of the New York Academy of Sciences, 709: 179–95.
Di Matteo, R. 1991. The psychology of health, illness and medical care: An individual perspec-
tive. California: Brooks/Cole Publishing Company.
Harrison, R.F.; J. Bonnar and W. Thompson. 1983. Proceedings of the 11th world congress on
fertility and sterility. Dublin: MTP Press.
IIPS (International Institute for Population Sciences) and ORC, Macro. 2000. National
family health survey (NFHS II), 1998–1999. Mumbai: IIPS.
Inhorn, M.C. 2003, ‘Global infertility and the globalisation of new reproductive techno-
logies: Illustrations from Egypt’, Social science and medicine, 56 (9): 1837–51.

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 210Meghana Joshi

Jejeebhoy, S. 1998. ‘Infertility in India—Levels, patterns and consequences: Priorities for

social science research’, Journal of family welfare, 44 (2): 15–24.
Joshi, M. 2006. ‘Disrupted’ reproduction: Experiences of childlessness among low-income-group
women living in slums in Mumbai. MPhil thesis in Social Work, Tata Institute of Social
Sciences, Mumbai.
Larsen, U. 1996. ‘Childlessness, subfertility and infertility in Tanzania’, Studies in family
planning, 27 (1): 18–28.
Mechanic, D. 1978. Medical sociology (2nd edition). New York: The Free Press.
Nicholson, R.F. and R.E. Nicholson. 1994. ‘Assisted reproduction in Latin America’,
Journal of assisted reproduction and genetics, 11 (9): 438–44.
Vayena E, P.J. Rowe and H.B. Peterson. 2002. ‘Assisted reproductive technology in devel-
oping countries: Why should we care?’, Fertility and sterility, 78 (1): 13–15.
Westrom, L.V. 1994. ‘Sexually transmitted diseases and infertility’, Sexually transmitted
diseases, 21 (2, suppl.): S32–36.
WHO (World Health Organisation). 1980. ‘Special program of research, development and
research training in human reproduction’—Ninth annual report. Geneva, Division of
Family Health, WHO.
———. 1987. ‘Infections, pregnancies, and infertility: Perspectives on prevention’, Fertility
and sterility, 47 (6): 964–68.
———. 1991. ‘Infertility: A tabulation of available data on prevalence of primary and sec-
ondary infertility’ (Program on MCH and Family Planning) Geneva, Division of Family
Health, WHO.
———. 1995. Task Force on the Prevention and Management of Infertility: ‘Tubal infer-
tility: Serologic relationship to past chlamydial and gonococcal infection’, Sexually
transmitted diseases, 22 (2): 71–77.

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 13
Risk Culture, Propertied
Classes, and Dynamics of a
Region: A Study of HIV/AIDS
in East Godavari District
(Andhra Pradesh)*
Asima Jena and N. Purendra Prasad

A
popular mode of understanding risk zones within the HIV/
AIDS discourse is to categorise them in terms of social actors
such as sex workers, truck drivers, or migrants and poor. This
discourse presumes that the identity of the woman as a sex worker is
fixed, coherent, and essential rather than as managed and constructed.
Research and intervention influenced by such a discourse move away
from understanding the risk culture,1 which is a much broader concept
than ‘risk groups/zones’. All these categories of people, from sex workers
to intravenous drug users, are the ‘other’, who are outside the main-
stream society. It is essentially the socially and morally marginalised
communities who get labelled as ‘risk groups’.
We attempt here to explain public health2 and biomedical perspec-
tives on risk and their basic premises on which public health approach has
emerged. The biomedical model in the context of HIV/AIDS stresses that
individual lifestyles result in people becoming sicker and risky (Lupton
1993; White 2002: 3). By focusing on the individual as the sole locus
of risk, biomedicine fixes the responsibility for health on the individual.

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 212 Asima Jena and N. Purendra Prasad

Although there is some overlap between the biomedical and public

health approaches, advocates of public health critique biomedicine only
to the extent that it leads to commodification of health. The public
health proponents hold that biomedical perspective has been respon-
sible for creating demand for its services by medicalising everyday life.
However, the public health specialists, largely in conformity with the
biomedical approach, never question the behavioural model adopted by
biomedicine that seeks to target individual lifestyles rather than consider
that social factors shape those lifestyles.
At one level, the public health perspective brings forward the idea
of reaching out to the poor and marginalised sections in resource-poor
settings, where health services are inaccessible to a large majority of the
poor. Also, it argues for more provision of generic drugs at lower cost
(Kulkarni 2005: 5378; Gill 2007: 90), resists the systemic denials of
adequate healthcare and legitimises cost-effective approach through
propagating prevention programmes (McKie 1995; Natrrass 2004:13).
At another level, these utilitarian ideas get translated into programmes
by targeting and controlling the marginalised population for the pub-
lic good (Lupton 1993; McKie 1995; Mooney and Sarangi 2005). For
instance, in the HIV/AIDS situation, this approach persuades people
to face minor inconvenience such as sex workers’ adhering to safe-sex
practices and complying with STI (Sexually Transmitted Infections)
management’s regimen for the greater public cause. This is because the
disease status of the marginalised population is perceived as a threat (a
pathological phenomenon) for the social order as they adopt certain life-
styles: the homosexuals rather than the heterosexuals; sex workers and
lower-class migrants who are perceived to be in multiple-partner rela-
tionships rather than those who are known to be monogamous. Hence,
these specific groups are regulated in the name of high risk groups
and the category ‘non-other’ is jettisoned from further investigation and
regulation. Thus, the ‘othering process’ takes place classifying certain
social groups as high risk groups within public health strategy.
When we speak of risk groups/zones from a sociological perspective,
it implies the social characteristics which traverses through the status
groups, social arrangements, the issue of relative poverty, migration,
implications and adjustments in the institution of marriage, etc.
However, the problematic issue in the HIV/AIDS discourse is how it
castigates one form of sexuality—that is, the commercial aspect of sex

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 Risk Culture, Propertied Classes, and Dynamics of a Region 213

work—and how, thereby, it provides legitimacy to other forms of sexual-

ity that also hold exchange value.
Sociology of health explains that there is a wide range of mediat-
ing social factors intervening between biology of the disease, individual
lifestyle, and the social experience which shape and produce diseases
(White 2002: 2). It further explains how medical ideas of the body and
the conception of risk are socially constructed realities that are subject
to social biases and limitations (Wills 1992; Waldby 1996: 5; Fred et al.
2003: 27). This paper argues that a thorough understanding of the social
structures governing the conditions of living explains risk and, hence,
this study uses the conceptual framework of ‘risk culture’.

II

This paper explores the different categories of social capital which show
the connection between the risk and non-risk zones with reference to
HIV/AIDS. It endeavour to explain the close affinity among various
enterprises (such as agriculture, transport, hotels, cinema industry, reli-
gious activities, and the service sector) with the propertied classes3 which
makes the boundary between the risk and non-risk zones fragile. These
commercial sectors gain by associating with the sex-work industry as
much as the sex workers. This paper aims at understanding the process
through which the grey zone (the merging of risk and non-risk zones) is
created and how it provides direction to future interventions.
The argument here is that, since the parameters which define the
risk and non-risk zones seem inseparable, controlling and managing risk
is also that much more difficult. Following Pierre Bourdieu’s concept
of ‘practical reason’, which is one dimension of ‘habitus’ (see Bourdieu
1998), one can find many ways in which the self is managed through
employing different tactics and strategies. Practical reasoning, which
influences different actions, helps social actors to avoid certain risks, for
example, the law enforcement authorities.
Using the above conceptual frameworks, the ethnographic data
from coastal Andhra Pradesh has been analysed. The fieldwork for
this study was carried out in the East Godavari district, especially in
Rajahmundry, during 2006–07 as part of the first author’s doctoral
work. The East Godavari district was selected for two reasons: one, there

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 214 Asima Jena and N. Purendra Prasad

is high prevalence of HIV/AIDS in the district (Biradavolu et al. 2009),

and two, the region has distinct historical antecedents such as temple
culture and huge presence of performing communities. In the official
discourse, the increasing number of AIDS prevalence rate is attributed
to increase in trafficking via sex work and the temple culture. This paper
challenges the official discourse on HIV/AIDS by looking at many path-
ways and factors that produce risk culture in the region.

The Study Setting

The temple culture of East Godavari district is interlinked to the his-

tory of devadasi system. Several administrative units in the district had
devadasi system4 as they were home to some famous temples where the
male and female deities were entertained by female temple servants
(Jordan 2003: 1). The history of the devadasi system and the history
of the development of South Indian music and dance are intertwined
(Srinivasan 1988; Antze 1998; Sriram 2007: xi). Owing to the regular
deposit of silt, the lands near the rivers Krishna, Godavari, and Cauvery
were fertile. Prosperity, therefore, reigned in this region; the kings and
the wealthy could patronise and nurture arts (Sriram 2007: xi).
The Kalavanthulu community, which performed dancing rituals in
the premises of temples, was a major constituent of the socio-cultural
system in the East and West Godavari districts. This assumes signifi-
cance because, during the medieval period, the temple was the prime
social and economic institution and gods were accorded a superior sta-
tus than the kings. Gods were offered many kinds of services (wifely,
ministerial, attendants, and all the paraphernalia of a court) from the
service castes (Prasad 1990: 29; Panjrath and Ralhan 2000: 45). There
was also a reason for the condescending attitude of the kings towards
the temple culture. The patronisation of temple culture legitimised their
supremacy and accorded them princely status, as some of the kings were
not from the Kshatriya varna but from the peasant community (Rao
and Shulman 2002: 253). And, the temple, which functioned through
the devadasi system, brought more benefits in the form of grants and
offerings (Prasad 1990: 42).
To some extent this temple culture gets embedded into the present-
day context, despite the fact that ‘the Devadasi Prevention of Dedication
Act’ was passed by the Union Government in 1947 (Nair 1996; Jordan

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 Risk Culture, Propertied Classes, and Dynamics of a Region 215

2003: 8). For instance, the field data revealed that in small temple
towns in the East Godavari district it is obligatory for women from the
devadasi community to perform during certain festivals. The temple
culture of the past and present day reflects the celebration of religious
festivals and this had implications for the structure and organisation
of sex work. The way the devadasi system has been modified and the
manner in which the Kalavanthulu community has appropriated this
culture in terms of financial rewards seem to have influenced women
from other castes to emulate the Kalavanthulu tradition. This resulted
in varieties of sex work practices based on the well-entrenched regional
tradition.
Historically, the East Godavari district was ruled by various dynas-
ties at different periods of time: the Mauryas to Qutab Shahis, Mughals,
and Asaf Jahis (Acharya and Sarabhai 1992: 16; B. Sudha Reddy 1990).
Several dynasties had different levels of impact on the devadasi customs.
For instance, the Kakatiya regime adopted the Virashaiva cult as their
own and intended to spread Shaivism through the art form Nrutya
Ratnavalli (where 300 devadasis were engaged), unlike in the earlier
period where Jainism had been propagated (Acharya and Sarabhai
ibid.). During the Muslim regimes, neither was the system abolished
completely, nor did these communities get disassociated from their art
form. Anuradha Jonnalagadda (2002) and Guru Acharya and Mallika
Sarabhai (1992: 17) mention that Abdul Hasan Qutub Shah from
Hyderabad extended great support to arts and in particular to Kuchipudi
by gifting the village to the Bhagavatas who were residing and practising
dance there. The argument here is that, prior to patronising Kuchipudi
by the Qutab Shah, it was practised by male Brahmins (Krishnamurti
1996: 61; Jonnalagadda 2002) who were not interested in extending the
art form to the Kalavanthulu, whom they thought of as spoilers of the
devotional art form. However, when this art form received the patron-
age, the Kalavanthulu adopted it (Krishnamurti ibid.; Jonnalagadda
ibid.). This point sharpens our argument that labels such as ‘classical’
and ‘obscene’ are not discreet but form a continuum characterised by
the absorption of the little traditions by the great tradition and vice
versa.
The archival records show that the Telugu literary movement
started from Rajahmundry, the then district headquarters of the East
Godavari district. Rajahmundry has a long literary tradition and the
famous literary works produced from this region mention sex work very

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 216 Asima Jena and N. Purendra Prasad

prominently. For instance, Adikavi Nannaya’s work mentions devadasis

in his famous work Sringara Rasam and Bhogini Devadkum. Similarly,
many of the social reformers too wrote on devadasis but called them
differently as VeshyaKantalu (literally, ‘prostitute women’). Thus, one
can see the shift in their identity from devadasis to prostitutes. In this
context, it is important to explicate the actions of diverse social groups
(reformers, revivalists, missionaries, the British government, and the
men and women of the devadasi community) during the colonial period
which contributed to transforming the very identity of the community.
Through the influence of purity movement in England (Kannabiran
1995; Kotiswaran 2001) the Christian missionaries declared the devadasi
system a ‘social evil’ and worked towards abolishing that tradition.
They condemned the British officers who attended the performances of
devadasis. The Indian reformers initiated the anti-devadasi movement
more as a response to the colonial rulers’ and Victorian missionaries’
blame of exploitation of women in the name of religion. They began
attacking the institution of temple dancers and sacred prostitution
(Vijaisri 2004: 153; Sriram 2007: 165; Dalrymple 2008: 236). With
that effect, British Govt. offered almost negligible support to the per-
forming arts.
Devadasis too differed among themselves on the issue of the abo-
lition of the system. For instance, one group, led by Muthulakshmi
Reddy, demanded the abolition of the system (Srinivasan 1985, 1988;
Kannabiran 1995; Krishnamurti 1996; Nair 1996; Muthulakshmi
Reddy 2002; Jordan 2003; Vijaisri 2004, 2005; Sriram 2007), while
another group, comprising devadasis (such as Nagarathnamma) trained
in the arts and music, opposed the assertions of Muthulakshmi Reddy
and other reformers.
In the Tamil areas of the presidency, most of the abolitionists were
active in the non-Brahmin movement. It is important to note here
the context in which few women from the devadasi community (with
the massive support of their men folk) campaigned for the abolition of the
system. By the 1920s, the anti-nautch (a traditional dance performance)
agitation had become inextricably linked with the communal politics of
the Dravidian movement (Kannabiran 1995; Weidman 2005: 494). In
the 1920s, the non-Brahmin Justice Party had taken great care to protect
service benefits in terms of lands and buildings attached to devadasis.
The aggressive anti-Brahminism and anti-ritualism of the backward class
movement in the south provided the men of the devadasi community a

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 Risk Culture, Propertied Classes, and Dynamics of a Region 217

powerful ideology to overcome the humiliation of the anti-nautch cam-

paign and fight for the dominance, both within the household and in the
wider political sphere (Srinivasan 1985, 1988). The abolition of the prac-
tice of dedicating young girls to temples became a powerful political and
legislative cause espoused by the backward non-Brahmins as part of the
over all self-respect campaign initiated by Ramaswami Naicker in 1925.
Embarrassed by the image of their mothers and sisters as prostitutes and
resentful of the customary law that gave women control over the family
property, males within the devadasi community participated in the back-
ward class movement and supported the devadasi reform (Kannabiran
1995). The reforms benefited the men folk of the community: men con-
tinued to perform both in the temples and in people’s homes, whereas
devadasis were forced to be domesticated and to acknowledge the moral
supremacy of the domestic values (Srinivasan 1988).
Similarly, another issue that came in for discussion was the dance
form itself. Quite parallel to the anti-nautch movements, the revival-
ists (who were from the Brahmin community) endeavoured to restore
the fine-art forms which were formerly practised by the Kalavanthulu
(Srinivasan 1985, 1988; Nair 1996; Sriram 2007: 129). Revivalists’ con-
cern was not so much with the plight of the Kalavanthulu, but more
so with the demise of the country’s cultural heritage. Hence, a con-
scious effort was made by the revivalists to start dance schools; many
Kalavanthulu were recruited to train Brahmin girls in dance forms
(Srinivasan 1985; Antez 1998; Jonnalagadda 2002; Sriram 2007:
127). We argue that both revivalists and reformers segregated the
Kalavanthulu community from its art and profession (see Srinivasan
1988; Kotiswaran 2001). For instance, the revivalists sanctified the very
art and exonerated it of its obscenity, so that women from other com-
munities could learn it, whereas the participation of the Kalavanthulu
women in the art dwindled, despite revivalists’ acknowledgement that
it was Kalavanthulus who were engaged in preserving art and heritage.
Kalavanthulus had to explore new avenues for earning their living
when they were jettisoned from the modified art forms. Some of the
Kalavanthulu women joined the cinema industry and some performed
in ‘record dance’ (dancing to the tunes of recorded music) programmes;
some others have been engaged in domestic sector such as tailoring,
household work, etc., while yet others joined sex work. Ethnographic
account reveals that many film heroines and artists from the commu-
nity were introduced to the cinema industry through the Kanerikam

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 218 Asima Jena and N. Purendra Prasad

ceremony.5 On the other hand, some of the Kalavanthulu men, because

of the influence of anti-caste movement, stopped practising music. It
is this dimension of regional history of the community that serves as
the basis for a sociological understanding of how risk and risk groups
get perpetuated in specific cultural contexts. We explore how numer-
ous discursive practices which were upheld by reformers and revival-
ists in the colonial period and the ‘propertied classes’ and dominant
biomedical approach in the post-independence period shaped the iden-
tity of the Kalavanthulu community. We explain how public health
approach absorbs the ideology of the colonial period, as its orientation
is utilitarian. In its eagerness to address the HIV/AIDS epidemic, the
public health approach reinforces the stigma on certain social groups.
For instance, the public health approach carries out research on the so-
called high risk groups in order to devise strategies for protecting the
mainstream society from the spread of infections. On the other hand,
the sociology of health perspective critically looks at all these discur-
sive practices, their implications for these groups, and how these groups
adopt strategies to avoid the HIV/AIDS discourse.6

III

The Emergence of Propertied Classes

From the earliest times, the economy of Rajahmundry has been based
on agriculture. The construction of anicuts (dams) in Dowleswaram in
1852 and the resultant wide network of irrigation canals made the region
a flourishing agricultural area (B. Sudha Reddy 1990; Parthasarathy
1997: 42). With the construction of anicuts and land reforms in the
1950s and 1960s, the region witnessed Green Revolution in the late
1960s and the 1970s (Mies 1982: 10; Upadhyay 1997). These develop-
ments had a tremendous impact on the regional economy.
The agricultural growth and surplus generation have resulted in a
spurt of industries in the region: the district is now home to sugar fac-
tories, fertilizer plants, paper mills, poultry business, textile mills, and
such enterprises as the Oil and Natural Gas Corporation, Gas Authority
of India Limited, and Reliance projects. As Kakinada is a port city and
the development of the port-associated industries took place in the dis-
trict along with improvements in infrastructural facilities, there also

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 Risk Culture, Propertied Classes, and Dynamics of a Region 219

developed a flourishing sex-trade. These industries attracted many rural

people from the lower castes, both from the dry regions of the district
and from the northern costal districts of the state, to the urban centres
in the district.
Although prior to colonisation Rajahmundry was the district head-
quarters and was patronised by many rulers, the British rulers made
Kakinada as the headquarters primarily because the port there facili-
tated exports and business deals. Historical accounts reveal that the
development of the port by the British rulers energised a great deal
of economic activity, including urbanisation and sex trade. Mineral
resources such as oil, natural gas, graphite, and bauxite influenced the
city’s economy. Carol Upadhyay (1997) explains that dominant castes—
Kamma and Reddy—emerged through the accumulation of cultural and
economic capital and by benefiting from the Green Revolution in the
economically developed regions of coastal Andhra Pradesh. The proper-
tied classes emerged through the benefits derived from the development
of irrigation canals in the coastal district, with their monopoly over the
agricultural land, their increasing entrepreneurial activities in other sec-
tors of local economy, their entry into white-collar occupations, and
their rising political power. Instead of providing adequate employment
for peasants who had lost their land, capital was directed outside the
rural areas towards construction of cinema halls, hotels, moneylending,
and the lace trade.
The latest development in this line of investment of surplus from
agriculture is that of the film industry (Mies 1982: 173; Parthasarathy
1997: 5). The dominant castes and propertied classes control the different
domains of this industry: production and direction of films, promotion
of their men folk as lead characters in films, ownership of cinema theatres,
and establishing film studios and film cities. In the process of their expan-
sion and assertion, the propertied classes also introduced some of their
caste elements into the content of ‘entertainment’ and ‘enjoyment’.
As we have discussed earlier, in the pre-colonial era, it was mostly the
royalty who patronised art forms; in the colonial period, this was done by
the mercantile communities and upper-caste professionals (Ramakrishna
1983: 138; Weidman 2005: 494, 2006: 4; Sriram 2007: 21). However,
in the post-independence period it is the upwardly mobile peasant com-
munities who have patronised the art-performing communities by trans-
forming their identities from performers of art forms to providers of
service, particularly sex.

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 220 Asima Jena and N. Purendra Prasad

Although there was growth in the economy through the development

of agriculture, it is the intermediary or propertied classes who derived
the maximum advantage from economic prosperity. The men from these
classes used landless women labourers of their farms to provide sexual
services to them, especially during the harvest season. Furthermore,
the propertied classes spent a lot on the entertainment industry, not
only in the larger terrain of the production and distribution of films,
but also at the local level by sponsoring cultural programmes during
religious festivals. The Kalavanthulu women were inducted into these
cultural activities. The propertied classes built alliances and mobilised
Kalavanthulu and sex workers in the political sphere, too. For instance,
Kalavanthulu and sex workers were used as voters and supporters in the
electoral campaigns, and to entertain their party activists. In some cases,
Kalavanthulu women were recruited into political parties.7 Not surpris-
ingly, municipal corporators often post bails for Kalavanthulu whenever
the latter are arrested by the law-enforcement agency. These activities
legitimise the dominance/supremacy of the landowning community,
institutionalise the entertainment culture in the region, and construct
a specific imagery of the devadasi women as ‘objects of entertainment’.
This is reminiscent of the dominant culture of kings in the pre-colonial
period. It is paradoxical that, on the one hand, reform movement and
the legislation against the devadasi system excluded women from the
temple culture and art, on the other hand, land reforms and economic
growth in the region indirectly fostered propertied classes and institu-
tionalised an entertainment culture.
Like the upper-caste Kamma and Reddy communities, the middle-
caste Settybalijja and Kapu communities too became dominant over a
period of time; a new kind of patronisation of the entertainment culture
emerged as a consequence. Konaseema area in the district is known for the
export of coconuts to other parts of the country. Their accomplishments
in the coconut trade made some of the middle castes rich and dominant
in the region. They, in turn, competed economically with the upper
castes from the region. The upper castes (Kamma, Reddy, Rajulu) and
the newly emerged middle castes (Kapu and Settybalija) liberally spent
a part of their surpluses in obtaining the services of women from the
lower castes. Although Konaseema area is not historically known for sex
work in the district, sex work flourished there as a result of its economic
growth and new groups of patrons.

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 Risk Culture, Propertied Classes, and Dynamics of a Region 221

The economic prosperity of the region has not trickled down to the
lower social strata, but their aspirations have increased tremendously.
Observation from the field reveals that women from the lower socio-
economic classes make a rational decision of earning money through
some means. For instance, loss in one business compelled some women
to join sex work for a few days and return to the former business when
the loans were repaid. Similarly, maintenance of status quo in terms
of consumption habits compelled women into sex work or to go to
the Gulf countries. The issue of women’s mobility and migration inter-
sects with the notion of caste, class, and gender. For instance, female
migration to the Gulf has been confined to the lower-caste, middle-
class women. The characteristic feature of this migration is that they
migrate as ‘single women’, whether married or not. Field observations
show that in the absence of these women, their husbands tend to visit
sex workers using their migrant wives’ remittances. In this process, this
region emerged as the clientele base for sex workers from other parts of
the state.
These women emigrate because they aspire to achieve upward social
mobility. In order to create a distinct social status in the region, the emi-
grants emulate the consumption habits of the propertied classes while
denouncing their traditional ascribed status. As Bourdieu (1998) states,
the main idea is that to exist within a social space, to occupy a point,
or to be an individual within a social space is to differ, to be differ-
ent. Following the upper-caste consumption practices, family members
of the female emigrants have developed a sense of exhibitionism. This
exhibitionism includes possession of gold, owning property, building
houses, and investing or patronising entertainment or leisure activities.
It is the latter aspect which is of interest to us in terms of analysing
‘risk culture’. Along with the new category of patrons (for instance, the
Settybalijjas and husbands of female emigrants), there has emerged a new
form of risk culture: many members of the Kalavanthulu community
migrated to economically prosperous locations, such as Amalapuram,
where the new patrons lived.
Thus, the invariable factor of the region is the patronisation of enter-
tainment, though the social profile of the patrons changes from time to
time. It is this social entity which is the influential point in terms of pro-
ducing risk situations. Our analysis of risk is, therefore, distinct from that
of the public health specialists. In the official and public health discourse

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 222 Asima Jena and N. Purendra Prasad

simplistic assumptions are made about the positive correlation between

poverty, trafficking, and lower economic status of women, on the one
hand, and the risk of HIV/AIDS, on the other, through critiquing neo-
liberal economic policies as the cause of human trafficking and the spread
of HIV/AIDS.

Spatial Segregation of the Kalavanthulu

The landscape of Rajahmundry city is based on the settlements of dif-

ferent castes, classes, and occupational groups. For instance, the upper-
caste groups (Brahmins, Kammas, Kapus, and Reddys) mostly in specific
residential colonies, middle-caste groups (Padamasalis, Kamsalis, and
Kummaris) reside in other colonies, and the lower-caste groups (Malas
and Madigas) reside in working-class colonies. This does not, however,
mean that there is no mix of caste population in any of these locations,
but each caste group has an overwhelming presence in each of these
colonies.
Although the lower castes reside in some upper-caste settlements,
they do not own the house. There are also some well-known locations
(in public knowledge) where brothels are found, formerly residential
areas of the Kalavanthulu community.8 As Rajahmundry is known for
sex work, sex workers have been residing more or less in working-class
settlements or slum areas in the city. However, sex work is not confined
to these places. Hence, we have discussed the settlement pattern of dif-
ferent social groups in Rajahmundry city.
Our purpose is to explicate the factors that blur the distinction
between risk and non-risk groups, demarcated by caste norms and
inhabitations. For instance, the usage of such terms as ‘chinna illu’
(literally, ‘small house’, referring to the ‘subsidiary house’ as illegal/
informal family) and ‘pedda illu’ (literally, ‘big house’, referring to the
‘main house’ as legal/formal family) show how the upper-/middle-caste
male folk have their sexual interactions with lower-caste/Kalavanthulu
women and sex workers. Although there is the notion of purity of het-
erosexual relationships and it gets reflected in meta-narratives, in prac-
tice, impurity co-exists with purity. Thus, one finds a level of consensus
in social arrangements. The existence of various forms of sexual rela-
tionships among the different groups are referred to in the local usage
such as ‘chinna illu’, ‘pedda illu’, ‘ronkamogudu’ (literally, a lover), and
‘unchukunavadu/mogudu’ (literally, a man who has ‘kept woman’). These

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 Risk Culture, Propertied Classes, and Dynamics of a Region 223

local usages were critically analysed as they have implications for pro-
ducing risk culture in the context of HIV/AIDS.
Chinna illu denotes the cohabitation with a man, who is legally
married to another woman; there is no intention of legal marriage on
the part of the man, but he provides economic and social security to the
woman as long as their relationship exists. Historically, it is known that
well-to-do Brahmin men established a china illu with a devadasi ‘wife’.
This was an accepted social practice (George 2004: 83) and, this prac-
tice, like other social practices, was passed on to men from other domi-
nant caste groups—such as Rajulu, Reddy, Kamma, and Kapus—when
they became economically and socially powerful.
Historically, the concept of chinna illu is mentioned only with refer-
ence to the social practice of the upper-caste men. In the case of the lower-
caste men, it is justified by attaching a functional dimension to it. As Nils
Johan Ringdal mentions, ‘A peasant would take a second wife only if he did
not sire a son with the first spouse in medieval times’ (2004: 76). However,
today, it is not only devadasi or Kalavanthulu women who practice chinna
illu culture, but also women from the upper castes. Correspondingly, the
local usage for promiscuous relationship with devadasis/Kalavanthulu
women has changed from chinna illu to unchukunavadu. The local usage
of chinna illu only refers to informal relationships of propertied classes
with the upper-caste women rather than the lower-caste women. For
instance, respondents informed that there are certain pockets in the
district—like Tummalova and Namavaram area of Rajahmundry, and
other sub-divisions like Mandapeta and Kakinada—where the china illu
culture persists. One of the sub-divisions known for practising concubi-
nage has recently changed its name from Mundapeta (literally, a place
belonging to ‘woman keeps’) to Mandapeta. On weekends men visit their
second ‘wives’ and this pattern is observed in Kakinada, Peddapuram,
Rajahmundry, Mandapeta, and Muramunda. In some cases, women value
and accept their husbands’ extra-marital affairs. Similarly, respondents
speak of chinna illu kind of relationships of married women from Kamma
and Reddy caste groups in which women leave home on the pretext of
watching cinema or shopping, but actually meet their other male partners.
Unchukunavadu is a relationship in the Kalavanthulu tradition in
which propertied classes treat the Kalavanthulu women as concubines
through Kanerikam ceremony. Ronkamogudu is a term that is used by
sex workers from other caste groups who maintain or cohabit with men
to get social approval. In this case, the latter have a legal wife apart from
the sex worker and it is the sex worker who supports financially her man

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 224 Asima Jena and N. Purendra Prasad

or temporary husband. Here, sex workers pretend to be the wife of a

male partner in order to get legitimacy in the public domain or for their
social protection. There is a functional need for this kind of relationship
in terms of facilitating sex transaction in the region. Some of the respon-
dents informed that this kind of liaison not only helps sex workers to
avoid harassment by the police, hooligans, and the neighbourhood, but
also gives their children social approval.
However, the last three forms of sexual relations are not mutually
exclusive in the sense that sometimes some individuals are found to be
with four different kinds of relationships. Although these four forms of
relationships overlap with the commercial sexual relationships, in the
HIV/AIDS discourse, this relationship is not taken into cognisance. In
these four forms of sexual relationships there is less chance to practise
protected sex as comparison to the other commercial sex transactions
that create a risk situation.
Ethnographic data from the field show that truckers also have sex-
ual relationship with non-paid partners other than their wives (in case
they are married) and sex workers. Consider, for example, the following
statement of a truck driver:

Sex workers are like the vehicles that are used for public transport and thus
one can use them roughly. However our partners like our girl friends or wives
can be compared to the private vehicle for which one needs to takes extra
care. In this way, we can use condom with sex workers as we know that they
are available for the public use and we can tolerate ‘rough sex’ using condom
although it does not give satisfaction to us. But we cannot use condoms with
our girl friends since we expect ‘soft sex’ without the use of condom. And we
trust our girl friends that they do not go with other men.

This shows that truck drivers tend not to use condoms with their non-paid
partners (similar to the chinna illu kind of relationship) as well as their
wives (if married) assuming that these women do not indulge in multiple
sexual relationships unlike sex workers. Within the HIV/AIDS discourse,
sex workers are blamed for the vectors of the disease and the wives of
the truckers are depicted as the victims of the transmission. In reality,
however, the disease spreads not only through sex workers but because of
the mediating factors such as the beliefs that prevent truckers from using
condom with their wives or regular partners. As a truck driver said,

We think that our girl friends [meaning female companions who are not sex
workers] are always safe and they do not have contact with other men. But

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 Risk Culture, Propertied Classes, and Dynamics of a Region 225

we are wrong some times. The other day I was surprised to know that my girl
friend too was diagnosed with STIs [sexually transmitted infections] when I
took her to the hospital.

In addition, some of the popular conceptions, which are widely

spread in the region, further aggravate the porous distinctions between
the risk and non-risk groups. For instance, it is widely believed that the
neighbourhood that is close to the red-light area tolerates sex transac-
tions because people in the neighbourhood feel that their property is
safe from thieves and hooligans as sex transactions take place round the
clock. This belief is corroborated by the fact that two of the famous red-
light areas in Rajahmundry are surrounded by the Vaishyas or Komatis
(the business community) and the Brahmins respectively.
The settlement pattern thus reflects the manner in which sex work
is maintained: women of some communities get labelled as sex workers
by the state and, indirectly, by the propertied classes, women belonging
to other caste groups are recognised as sex workers in the public domain,
but do not get labelled as such. The distinction between the risk and
non-risk groups precludes a proper understanding of risk culture pre-
vailing in a patriarchal society.
Since the social space of sex work is itself changing, it is not tenable
to confine our analysis to the conventional parameters that demarcate
the risk zone. To start with, at present, very few sex workers reside in
areas traditionally known for sex work. New areas have emerged, par-
ticularly in the so-called safer zones, where transactional sex takes place.
Furthermore, there is an entry of a new category of women has entered
sex work whose social profile is different from the earlier/traditional cat-
egory of sex workers. Other changing dimensions of the sex industry
include the variety of clientele, commodification of rituals (through
the re-invention of traditions), and proliferation of the forms of sexual
relations. The nexus between the propertied classes, sex workers, and
the law enforcement agency and other political groups is quite evident
if one looks at various enterprises and social spaces such as hotel and
cinema industry, liquor industry, highway and transportation industry,
etc. However, for the present paper we only discuss the hotel and cinema
industry.
In the busy market place of Rajahmundry there are many cinema
halls, many small shops, bus stops, and lodges. The majority of cinema
halls (the space which the sex workers use for transactions) are owned
by influential politicians such as Members of the Legislative Assembly

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 226 Asima Jena and N. Purendra Prasad

Table 1
Caste-wise Ownership of Cinema Halls and Lodges in Rajamundry

Caste Group of the Owner

Kapu Reddy Kamma Total
Cinema Halls (19) 6 1 12 19
Lodges (60) 35 0 25 60
Source: Data collected from the field in 2007.

and ministers belonging to the Kapu caste group and film producers
belonging to the Kamma caste group. Obviously, policing activity takes
place perfunctorily in and around these cinema theatres. Nevertheless,
whenever there is a raid on the cinema halls, sex workers resort to alter-
native venues such as lodges which are adjacent to the cinema halls
or negotiate with the police. We can place this instance in Bourdieu’
explanatory framework: positions stand in relationships of domination,
subordination, or equivalence to each other by virtue of the access they
afford to the goods or capital which are at stake in the field (Jenkins
1992: 85). By virtue of their economic and social capital, these domi-
nant communities portray these spaces as non-risky in the dominant
HIV/AIDS discourse. The public health actors cannot understand the
complexity of this hidden space. Therefore, they cannot reach out to this
space for the prevention interventions, as they will have to involve other
players in the game, such as the propertied classes. The intention behind
discussing the sexual economy in the cinema hall and lodges is to sub-
stantiate the argument of ‘politics of risk’ by showing how risk is con-
founded with complex social factors, values, and power relations despite
the claim of the public health interventionists that it is value neutral.

IV

Settlement patterns do not only explicate caste alliances but also occupa-
tional profiles which are intersected with the caste system. They explain
how women of some caste groups are prone to enter the risk zone as
they do not succeed in their economic activities. This signals the con-
stant shifting arrangements of the lower-caste groups in the subsistence
economy for their survival. An important dimension of the problem

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 Risk Culture, Propertied Classes, and Dynamics of a Region 227

of employment is that women are forced to use their body to augment

their income from the subsistence economy.

Amalgam of Risk and Non-Risk Activities

in the Risk Zone

This section explains how the activities of women are on the constant
move or shift according to the contexts, making it difficult to reach
out to the risk zone. Sex work is practised in various forms and many
women are engaged in sex work, and the law enforcement agencies are
aware of this. Policing often results in raiding the hotspots of sex work,
and arresting sex workers and extorting money from them. The polic-
ing practices coincide with the vested interests of the propertied classes.
Many a time, the police act out a drama of arresting sex workers as a
response to media reports. Another reason for the police ‘crackdown’
on sex-work industry is the official discourse about the AIDS problem.
However, sex work is continued in a covert manner, and by shifting the
place of sex work.
It would be pertinent to comment on the agential aspect of sex
workers: their agency is not radical in the sense of challenging the power
structure; it is an agency for improvising strategy. The strategy of the sex
workers cannot be termed as radical, as neither do they protest against
the law enforcement agencies nor do they continue to work publicly in
the street or brothels as a form of symbolic protest. Rather, they operate
from safer zones while maintaining formal decency. This aspect coincides
with the instrumental objective of the police: the sex workers are arrested
when they create ‘public nuisance’, but not when they operate ‘secretly’.
Similarly, this strategy does not entail a permanent solution to the polic-
ing practices, as, in due course, the police would raid the ‘safer zones’
too, if they received repeated complaints from the neighbourhood.
Policing practices enable us to understand how sex work is stigma-
tised and controlled, and, at the same time, tolerated. This makes zoning
a difficult task: the boundary differentiating a sex worker from other
women, or sex-work space from other spaces where risk activity takes
place, is indefinite. On the one hand, sex workers are moving to cohort
occupations and spaces because of persistent policing, and, on the other
hand, women from the subsistence or domestic economy resort to sex
work for a limited period of time to tide over subsistence problems.

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 228 Asima Jena and N. Purendra Prasad

Discussion

An attempt has been made in this paper to understand the dominant

medical, legal, and administrative approaches that are used to identify
and respond to risk zone in HIV/AIDS discourse in India. It is argued
here that these medical, legal, and administrative approaches justify/
produce medical facts that incorporate the prevalent social biases in
categorising people and targeting certain groups as ‘risk groups’. The
problematic issue in the HIV/AIDS discourse is that it only castigates
the commercial aspect of sex work and thereby provides legitimacy to
other forms of sexuality as non-risk zones.
We use ‘risk culture’ to map both the element of risk and non-risk
in a particular region and its social groups. This is done through the lens
of space while tallying the social groups with such variables as caste, set-
tlement pattern, occupation, and development of the region. Historical
accounts show how the propertied classes transformed the identity of
women belonging to the devadasi community from that of ‘ritual perform-
ers’ to ‘secular entertainers’ and sex workers. It is the latter identity that is
taken as ‘given’ in the biomedical, legal, and administrative perspectives on
HIV/AIDS. Tracing the different forms of sexual relations in the region—
patriarchal marital relationships, the Kalavanthulu tradition, chinna illu,
and unchukunnavadu and ronkamogudu—helped us explain ‘certain forms
of consensus’ that are reinforced through the existing social and power
arrangements. These complex factors explain how risk culture is produced
in a region. Similarly, the social dimensions of lower-caste women emi-
grants to the Gulf countries reveals the conditions under which risk culture
is produced, particularly the way new types of patrons emerge when their
men emulate the entertainment practices of upper-caste men in the region.
The emergence of grey zone9 is due to three conditions: (i) the
elements of risk and non-risk being embedded in the risk zone itself,
(ii) the policing practices resulting in the movement of risk-zone actors
to non-risk zones, and (iii) the shifting identity of different social groups.
The seamless merging of the risk zone with the non-risk zones, or the
risk-zone actors’ movement to the non-risk zones, results in the chang-
ing structure and organisation of sex work.
The different activities of the propertied classes have led not only
to the perpetuation of risk culture but also to the institutionalisation

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 Risk Culture, Propertied Classes, and Dynamics of a Region 229

of an entertainment culture. Owing to the growth of economic capital

in the region, the propertied classes regulate the risk practices. Because
of their economic and social position, the propertied classes have the
capacity to project spaces as risky and non-risky in the dominant HIV/
AIDS discourse.

Notes
* We thank the anonymous referee for his/her comments that helped sharpen the argu-
ments in the paper.
1. The concept of ‘risk culture’ is based on the assumption that there is no region or
culture that can be classified as risk zone or potential risk zone. It is broader in con-
notation, as it absorbs the elements of risk and non-risk within a particular region. It
sketches the social attributes or collective action rather identifying singular characters
or individual actions. It is historical, socially embedded, culturally accumulated, and
not isolated or segregated. According to Lash (cited in Tulloch and Lupton 2003:
6), ‘risk culture’ is less structured and determinate than ‘risk society’. It offers fluid
and interchanging ways of viewing risk, drawing on habitual and effective judgments
which are subjective than objective.
2. Pubic health approach includes the anti-trafficking framework—that seeks the clo-
sure of sex industry and criminalisation of sex work—as well as harm-reduction
approach—that seeks to provide medical treatment and reduce harm of these com-
munities without blaming or targeting them.
3. ‘Properties classes’ is a Marxian concept in which the private holdings of these groups
have significant influence in the state’s economy. In a society that is structured along
iniquitous lines, economic and social power accrued to that class which ‘owned’ prop-
erty. This property ‘owning class’ could employ workers or engage the services of the
‘non-owning’ classes by paying them either a wage in exchange for their labour, or in
kind. Simply put, the ‘owning’ or ‘propertied’ class (also referred to as ‘elite’ or ‘leisure
class’) lived off its property which was multiplied via production, trade, and invest-
ments (cited in Sangera 1997).
4. The devadasi system was prevalent in small towns such as Amalapuram, Annavaram,
Antharveedi, Dwarapudi, Korukonda, Muramunda, Peddapuram, Ramchandrapuram,
and Samarlakota.
5. This ritual symbolises the initiation of a devadasi for temple service; it literally means
the marriage of a devadasi to the temple deity.
6. There are two dimensions of the HIV/AIDS discourse: (i) law and policing practices,
and (ii) health surveillance.
7. There are many Kalavanthulu women who represent different political parties such as
the women’s wings of the Bharatiya Janata Party, Congress, and Telugu Desam Party.
We had also come across a ‘secret’ sex-worker (not from the Kalavanthulu community)
whose public persona is that of a member of a well-known NGO and the Zilla Parishad.
8. One Kalavanthulu household still exists in Meerakaveedi.
9. Actors in the grey zone include both ‘hidden’ sex-workers and ‘non-paid’ partners of
the clients.

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 230 Asima Jena and N. Purendra Prasad

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 14
Prison Inmate Awareness
of HIV and AIDS in Durban,
South Africa
Shanta Singh

Introduction

T
his paper is based on research in one of the sections of the
Westville Prison in Durban, namely, Westville Medium B
(WMB). This penal institution is situated on the outskirts of
Central Durban and has approximately 12,000 inmates, including sec-
tions for males, females and juveniles. It is made up of five centres,
referred to as Medium, spanning from A to E. Medium A accom-
modates inmates awaiting trial, Medium B, male maximum security
inmates, Medium C, inmates with short-term sentences, Medium D,
youth offenders, and Medium E, female inmates. Each centre has a
medical facility available to it, but only one has beds that serve as a quasi
internally based hospital, namely, WMB.
The purpose of this article is threefold. It is to highlight some of
the international and South African concerns about prison life and the
prevalence of Human Immunodeficiency Virus (HIV) and Acquired
Immune Deficiency Syndrome (AIDS). It addresses the nexus that
interconnects prison conditions, sexual behaviour, disease transmission,
sexual violence and the prison inmate’s voices on these issues, especially
with respect to healthcare, and the transmission of diseases. These issues

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 Prison Inmate Awareness of HIV and AIDS in Durban, South Africa 233

are discussed against the background of the alarming HIV/AIDS statis-

tics that are prevalent in the world today, but with specific reference to
South Africa.
In order to comprehend the magnitude of the problem of over-
crowding in penal institutions, it is important, firstly, to have an appre-
ciation of the number of prisoners that are incarcerated worldwide. The
World Prison Population List shows that over nine million people are
held in penal institutions throughout the world (Walmsley 2005: 1).
Against the background of an approximately 6.5 billion global popula-
tion, the world prison population rate should read at approximately 150
per 100,000 people.
In December 2005, there were 40.3 million people living with
HIV/AIDS around the world. There were 4.9 million new cases of
HIV in 2005. AIDS death amounted to 3.1 million for that year, with
2.6 million being adults and 570,000 children under 15 years of age
(UNAIDS 2005: 1). South Africa is presently experiencing one of the
most severe HIV epidemics in the world. At the end of 2005, there were
5.5 million people living with HIV in South Africa, with almost 1,000
AIDS-related deaths occurring every day (UNAIDS 2006: 502).
Against the backdrop of a phenomenal rise in crime, the Judicial
Inspectorate of Prisons and the Department of Correctional Services
reports, the South African prison population has escalated between
1996 and 2006, largely due to the public outcry for longer and harsher
punishment for offenders. This has resulted in severe overcrowding of
prisons. The overcrowded conditions in prison could result in the proli-
feration of HIV/AIDS. Prisons in South Africa have become a breeding
ground for HIV/AIDS and other types of infections such as tuberculosis
and diseases spread through intravenous drug use, and prisoners now
represent one of the most severely affected segments of the population
plagued by the disease (Marquez 2002: 1). Due to the spread of HIV/
AIDS throughout society, this spread is also on the increase among
inmates of prisons throughout South Africa.
In a survey done during March 2004, a total of 187,640 prisoners
in South African prisons were recorded. However, South African prison
capacity then was 114,787, resulting in an overpopulation of 72,853
inmates (Department of Correctional Services 2004). By March 2006,
the number of prisoners decreased to 160,213, still amounting to an
overpopulation of 45,708. In February 2006, there were 4,251 inmates

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 234 Shanta Singh

in WMB the largest maximum-security prison in Durban, one of South

Africa’s prime metropolitan areas that is situated on the east coast.
However, the capacity of this prison is 1,766 inmates—resulting in an
over admission of 2,485 (240.71 per cent). Each cell meant to accom-
modate twenty prisoners held approximately fifty to sixty inmates.
Although South Africa is alleged to have one of the highest rates of
HIV/AIDS cases in the world and its prisons are alleged to have a rate
of infection that is higher than the rate in its civilian population, very
few attempts have been made to conduct research among prisoners with
regards to this. While the prevalence of HIV/AIDS in prison is often
quoted in the media and debated in seminars and conferences on HIV/
AIDS, access to prisoners by researchers is still constricted by inhibitive
legislation. Easier access for authentic policy makers and researchers can
help to understand the depth and magnitude of the problem in prison.
Knowledge, perception and attitudes related to HIV/AIDS are impor-
tant precursors for behavioural responses to the disease.

Justification for the Study

South African prisons are renowned for high-risk activities, such as the
use of drugs, sexual activities between men, tattooing and other ‘blood
brotherhood’ style activities. Some indulge in these activities to combat
boredom, while others are forced to engage in them, in a coercive play
for power or monetary gain. Risky lifestyles can lead to the transmis-
sion of diseases from prisoner to prisoner, and pose a serious health
risk due to contamination (Reyes 2001: 2). Unprotected sexual acts
with exchanges of potentially contaminated human secretions pose a
real risk.
Social and medical conditions within prisons systems in South
Africa have been increasingly brought under the media spotlight since
1994, yet there is a lacuna in empirical data that reliably discourses and
debates life-threatening diseases such as tuberculosis (TB), pneumonia
and HIV/AIDS in prisons. In the recent past, several researchers have
approached the issue of AIDS in South Africa as well as of prisoners in
South African prisons (see Singh 2007: 73). For instance, A. Whiteside
and T. Barnett (2003), as medical practitioners, draw attention to the
social and economic impact of HIV/AIDS and ominously warn us of

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 Prison Inmate Awareness of HIV and AIDS in Durban, South Africa 235

the dire consequences of this global epidemic if we do not respond to

it with the attention it demands. In the course of their work they allege
that ‘Politicians, policy-makers, community leaders and academics
have all denied what was patently obvious—that the epidemic of HIV/
AIDS would not affect only the health of individuals but also the wel-
fare and wellbeing of households, communities and, in the end, entire
societies’ (ibid.: 5).
Sex between men has been recorded in almost every human society
and at every stage in history. At some times and in some places it is
accepted; more often than not, it is repressed or even denied. In many
parts of the world, men who have sex with men are frequently the tar-
gets of prejudice, discrimination, and even legal sanction. This social
stigma has prevented many men from admitting that they are at risk
of contracting HIV from sex with other men and has prevented the
development of HIV prevention campaigns directed at those men at
risk. Anal intercourse is often a component of sex between men. Due to
the increased friction and the fragile tissues in the anus, anal intercourse
involves a higher risk of HIV transmission than vaginal intercourse, par-
ticularly for the receptive partner (World AIDS Campaign 2000: 6–7).
Millions of men worldwide are in jail at rates far higher than
women. Here, sex takes place between prisoners and between prisoners
and guards, or may occur in degrading conditions with the men’s female
partners or with sex workers. Some of this is coerced sex or rape, and
most of it is unprotected. Studies from Australia, Brazil, Canada, Costa
Rica, Nigeria, the United Kingdom and Zambia show that a consider-
able number of men in prison have sex with other men. Many prisoners,
incarcerated for drug-related offences, continue to take and even inject
drugs while in prison. As a result of both sexual and drug-related trans-
mission, there are often high rates of HIV among prisoners. In France,
inmates are 10 times more likely to be HIV-positive than the general
population, while AIDS is responsible for half of all deaths in prisons in
Brazil (ibid.: 10).
The scale of sexual activity in prisons is complex to establish because
studies must rely on prisoners self-reporting. Sex in prison often takes
place in situations of violence or intimidation; therefore, both perpetra-
tors and victims are reluctant to discuss its occurrence. Sexual activities
occur through homosexual interaction—creating an unrelenting social
stigma to it and often forcing avoidance of complaining to the authorities.

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 236 Shanta Singh

C. Giffard (1999: 36) points out that, in a Lawyers’ for Human Rights
survey, it was estimated that 65 per cent of inmates in South African
prisons participate in homosexual activity.
In addition to the already infected HIV positive prisoners, it has
become a normative expectation that a significant number of potential
convicts will also contract HIV while being temporarily incarcerated.
Rape and homosexual intercourse is part of a larger social stratification
phenomenon in prison, the ranking of prisoners into a hierarchy that
is determined by brute strength and fighting prowess. The incidence of
forced, coerced, and consensual sodomy is a reality of prison life, and
is considerably increased by overcrowding and gang activity (Institute
for Security Studies 2001: 5). This type of sexual interaction carries the
highest risk of HIV infection, particularly in cases of rape. Forced anal
intercourse is more likely to result in rectal tearing, which increases the
likelihood of HIV transmission because the virus has a greater probabil-
ity of entering the bloodstream. HIV transmission is compounded by
the presence of untreated sexually transmitted infections (STIs). Some
STIs, such as herpes and syphilis, result in genital sores. Breaks in the
skin in the genital region increase the likelihood of HIV transmission.
The prisoner population has a higher incidence of STIs and prisoners
are often not given their constitutional right of access to proper treat-
ment. As a result, prisoners are more likely to have untreated STIs than
the general population and are also at greater risk for transmitting and
contracting HIV, within and outside of prison (ibid.). Against this back-
ground there is an urgent need for more studies on prison life and the
problems of sexually transmitted diseases.

Research Methods

Fieldwork for this paper began after the arduous task of completing a
PhD in 2004 on overcrowding and related problems in South African
prisons. Post-PhD research continued through interviews in one of
Durban’s major prisons, namely, WMB prison. One of the major factors
that recurred in the literature survey and interviews with people from
across a range of backgrounds was the alleged prevalence of HIV/AIDS in
prisons. The regularity of this issue urged me towards wanting to under-
stand this phenomenon in greater depth (Singh 2007: 73). Attempts
to acquire more detailed information on it were hardly  revealing

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 Prison Inmate Awareness of HIV and AIDS in Durban, South Africa 237

or useful. The Annual Report of the Judicial Inspectorate of Prisons

(JIP) (2005/2006) lists deaths in prisons under two categories: all
HIV/AIDS related deaths and those where a prisoner died because of
illness under ‘Natural Deaths’. ‘Unnatural Deaths’, on the other hand,
included ‘assault, murder, suicides, accidents or similar events’ (Annual
Report of the Judicial Inspectorate of Prisons 2005/2006: 34).
This approach is symptomatic of the state’s policy of denialism
towards the general prevalence of HIV/AIDS in South Africa. Interviews
with senior officials of the South African prison services in Pretoria and
Cape Town, with officials in the prison that was researched, with an
NGO that did work with prisoners and with prisoners themselves began
in May 2005.
The data for this article was derived through two methods: firstly,
in February 2006, a questionnaire was administered to a sample of
fifty inmates at the WMB prison. The fifty comprised of five English-
speaking and forty-five isiZulu-speaking male inmates. Several of the
fifty inmates who were part of the target group were also part of AIDS
Control Committee. The research was administered in the prison church
hall. Participation in the research was voluntary and this was commu-
nicated to the inmates prior to the interviews. Prisoners were required
to sign a consent form to participate in the research. Secondly, observa-
tions, interviews and focus group discussions (FGDs) were conducted
with prisoners on several occasions after arrangements were made with
the prison officials. Semi-structured questions were used and the data
captured in the form of transcribed taped interviews and extensive field
notes. The medium of communication was in English and this was
translated to the inmates in isiZulu. In order to validate the responses
generated by the questionnaire, five FGDs (groups of ten) were con-
ducted with the inmates. This was conducted in a small, windowless
room (approximately 4 × 4 meters) which was adjacent to the prison
church hall. Open-ended questions were asked by the researcher in
order to ascertain the various problems experienced by inmates within
the prison.
Inmates were asked six questions covering the following aspects
which were thought to be significant to them as prisoners:

(i) understanding of the term ‘HIV/AIDS’,

(ii) awareness of their HIV status,
(iii) knowledge of the prevalence of HIV/AIDS in WMB,

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 238 Shanta Singh

(iv) estimation of it in terms of it being low, high or non-existent,

(v) awareness of anyone contracting HIV/AIDS after being admitted to prison,
and
(vi) fear of contracting HIV/AIDS in prison.

In May 2007, interviews were conducted with prison hospital

officials at the WMB through the case study method. The use of the
case-study method often serves as an important instrument in acquiring
data. For instance, Somekh and Lewin (2005: 33) rightfully assert that
individual case studies reflect upon how individuals respond to wider
societal expectations and pressures. Their statement is not only a widely
accepted norm in social science research, but it also constitutes a chal-
lenge to the ways in which such assertions can be used in specific types
of research, such as in criminology.
In one of the interviews I learnt that, in 2002, the South African
Government conducted a bilateral talk with the Ugandan Prison
Service. Several trained officials from Uganda were especially brought
down to share their knowledge and experiences with officials and
inmates alike. However the evidence from the fieldwork provides an
interesting outlook to what was acquired from the Ugandan learning
experiences.

The Survey

From the fifty questionnaires that were administered, forty-seven com-

pleted questionnaires were returned. Twenty-four inmates were aged
21 to 30 years. It is within this age group that the prevalence of HIV/
AIDS is the highest in South Africa. There were eighteen inmates in the
age group of 31–40 years, one inmate in the age group of 41–50 years
and four inmates were over 50 years of age. Two inmates’ home
language was English and that of the remaining forty-five was isiZulu.
The medium of the questionnaires and the FGDs was English. One of
the inmates, who was fluent in both isiZulu and English acted as the
interpreter.
It was ascertained from the survey group that forty-four inmates
were single and three were married. Ten had no formal education,
four had primary education, twenty-five had secondary education
and six, tertiary education. All the prisoners who participated in this

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 Prison Inmate Awareness of HIV and AIDS in Durban, South Africa 239

research were incarcerated for long terms due to the severity of their
crimes (murder, rape, hijacking and robbery). The following results
are reported in the format of the questionnaire and will be supported,
where applicable, by answers from the FGDs. The outcome of the focus
group going beyond the questions in the questionnaire are reported and
discussed at the end of these results. In what follows, the inmates direct
verbal responses are presented in italics, so that their voices and perspec-
tives cab be ‘heard’.

The Questions and Responses

1.  What Do You Understand by the Term HIV/AIDS?

Thirty-four per cent of the respondents understood that the term HIV/
AIDS referred to a virus. Thirty-two per cent understood it to be a dan-
gerous killer disease, 14 per cent said that it kills, and 20 per cent did
not understand the term. Although the respondents had undergone
training with the Aids Control Committee within WMB, only some
inmates understood that the HIV/AIDS virus is a sexually transmitted
disease about which people must be careful and they must use a condom
during sexual intercourse. Other inmates had the understanding that
‘HIV/AIDS was a germ, that this germ is a killer disease that can kill every-
one in this planet and cannot be cured.’
Some understood that there is no cure for HIV/AIDS as yet. One
comment was: ‘I learn that HIV/AIDS there is no cure for this sickness but
when you get it you are still a human being.’ Another inmate said, ‘HIV
is a virus. It cannot be treated (no vaccine). AIDS is a disease, there are
26 opportunistic diseases.’ Others stated:

• I understand it is a killer disease that needs to be prevented because there is no

cure for it because once you get infected you are on your way to heaven.
• HIV is a virus causing AIDS you cannot see a person with HIV. AIDS is a
collection of diseases, person with AIDS is sick.
• I understand that HIV/AIDS is a dangerous disease because lot of people lost
their loved ones even here in prison we lost our brothers or inmates.
• I understand that HIV is a killer pandemic disease, and that it kills our
families, relatives and fellow inmates within the DCS.

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 240 Shanta Singh

• HIV/AIDS it a disease that eat the blood cell to the condition were body system
cannot prevent or protect itself from variety disease and end up killing you.
• HIV is a virus AIDS is the disease and is transmitted disease it can affect
anyone. Here in prison HIV no sign of it but AIDS signs are present.

2.  Are You Aware of Your HIV Status?

If Yes, How Did You Become Aware?

Nearly 58 per cent of the respondents were aware of their HIV status
and 42.5 per cent did not know their HIV status. Due to the confiden-
tiality surrounding HIV/AIDS respondents were not asked if they were
HIV positive. The percentage of inmates that were unaware of their
HIV status is extremely high. Considering that every month in South
Africa, approximately 30,000 offenders pass through the justice system
(Judicial Inspectorate of Prisons 2004/2005: 14), it could mean that, if
these inmates were HIV positive, they could, when released, unknow-
ingly infect people in the community.
One inmate stated that, although he knew his HIV status, it was
important for him to ‘learn how HIV/AIDS can be prevented or we must
fight against the disease. Not only a single person but also even a government
must look after it’. Another inmate learnt of his HIV status in 1999;
when he was involved in a fight, a prisoner bit him to the extent that
his skin tore. He was taken to the prison hospital for treatment and he
requested that an HIV test be done. Other comments were:

• Yes after doing basic course of HIV/AIDS made me realise it is important to

know your HIV status. I went to test myself in the hospital.
• I was aware when I saw some of the prisoners dying in jail.
• Yes after doing basic course of HIV/AIDS made me realise it is important to
know your HIV status. I went to test myself in the hospital.
• I’m aware of HIV/AIDS I learn and see people dying of this disease.
• Me am not aware in my status because I never go to check if I’m HIV or not.
• No, I m not aware about my status because I tested last year on the 10th of
February but no results came back. That is why I don’t know my status.
• I know about my status and I make a blood test more than three times. By that
time I was afraid after I learn about HIV/AIDS. I never have a problem about
my status.
• No because I will never get tested as I’m still here in prison because of poor
relationship between prisoners and hospital staff.

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 Prison Inmate Awareness of HIV and AIDS in Durban, South Africa 241

3.  What Is Your Knowledge of the Existence

of HIV/AIDS at the Westville Prison?

Seventy-six per cent of the respondents revealed that the existence of

HIV/AIDS was high and that many inmates were dying from this
disease. The remaining 24 per cent did not indicate whether the dis-
ease did exist at the prison, but their response was that HIV/AIDS was
a life-threatening disease. They were aware of the high mortality rate
due to HIV/AIDS and knew that their fellow inmates and friends were
dying of AIDS. The death rate in prison has escalated from 1.65 deaths
per 1,000 prisoners in 1995 to its current level of 9.2 deaths per 1,000
prisoners per annum (Judicial Inspectorate of Prisons 2005/2006: 34).
Those who were infected found it extremely difficult to get the correct
care and treatment. One response was:

HIV/AIDS is at a great existence at Westville prison. Inmates that are infected find
it hard. Bad food, bad shelter, bad medication, bad assistance from members. Get
left for dead. Shortage of correctional services members, anal sex and oral sex is high.

Another comment was:

Brothers are losing their lives through a lack of knowledge. I know that this disease
happens at Westville Prison because of anal sex. HIV/AIDS is killing lot of inmates
here. Some of the inmates are scared to come out and confirm at all. We are even
afraid to get tested, that’s why they die because they know about their status when
they are already ill.

Furthermore,

People have it from outside and come with it in the prison and some people they have
it in jail because of many conditions they face in the prison. There are a high number
of inmates who are HIV positive and have AIDS. They are dying everyday and there
is no access to the medical parole.

These findings were confirmed by the discussions held with the focus
group:

There are prisoners/inmates who are dying in front of us and we learn that they are
dying of HIV/AIDS. So that’s why we are saying people are dying of HIV/AIDS’.
‘You can get AIDS through sexual penetration, through carelessness or maybe if I
have a cut and I don’t take care of that thing, and maybe someone who got the same

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 242 Shanta Singh

kind cut somewhere he got HIV/AIDS it can be transmitted that way. Carelessness
like getting tattooed, all you know HIV/AIDS was through tattoos, see they making
a tattoo with the same machine at the same time it’s jumping from this one to that
one. That’s how you get the infection of HIV/AIDS.

4.  Do You Think That HIV/AIDS at Westville

Prison Is High, Low, or Non-Existent?

All the inmates responded that HIV/AIDS was high at the prison.
According to one inmate: ‘We are told each and every moment that HIV/
AIDS here in prison is very high. People are dying everyday here.’ Another
inmate answered: ‘Some of the prisoners are making oral sex. It is too high
because of overcrowding.’

5.  Are You Aware of Anyone Contracting

HIV/AIDS Only after Coming into the Prison?

Nearly 43 per cent of the inmates were aware of someone contract-

ing HIV/AIDS in prison, 51.5 per cent were unaware, and 6 per cent
were unsure. What is astounding is the ‘invisible’ prevalence of unpro-
tected sexual behaviour within the prison. One inmate revealed that:
‘Yes, an inmate found that after he had engaged in tattoos, thereafter he was
tested positive. That made him lose hope. That tattoo made him very lonely.’
Another inmate answered: ‘Yes lot of young inmates they find themselves
contracting HIV/AIDS due to the lack of proper protection and they being
exposed to different kinds of filthy activities.’ Other inmates responded as
follows:

• Yes, because I know if you doing sex with the same gender without using
condom. But inmates are scared to confirm.
• Yes because some of them have sex without using protection and there is no
distribution of condoms in prison.
• Yes he found this disease after having sex that was unprotected sex with another
man.
• In prison there is sexual harassment that happens, like male raping males.
• Yes, I know there is a lot of people getting AIDS inside because of their behaviour.
• No but in prison a sexual harassment are used to happen like male raped
each other so there’s a possibility of one male who get this HIV in prison.
There is a lot even, my homeboys they died in front of me in prison.

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 Prison Inmate Awareness of HIV and AIDS in Durban, South Africa 243

From the focus group discussions it was ascertained that:

There is someone that I know who has contracted AIDS here in prison. I think it was
in 2004 where this guy was staying in this cell, the same section but different cell. I
remember when he get sick he was referred to the hospital in prison, where we visited
him, that’s where he elaborated that he’s feeling shame now because of what he’s hav-
ing because he was involved with someone that has infected him and in that stage we
also called some nurses in order to also witness what he was saying.

6.  Are You Afraid of Contracting HIV in the Prison?

A very high percentage of inmates (82.9%) were afraid of contracting

HIV in the prison, 12.7 per cent were not afraid, and 4.2 per cent were
unsure. The fear of contracting HIV in prison is noted by the inmate’s
responses to what they personally witness:
• Yes. That disease and virus of HIV/AIDS are killer disease. No one wants to be
killed unless otherwise you are not aware.
• Yes, prisoners stab other prisoners on the way to the kitchen. At least two/three
prisoners get stabbed with the same knife. That is one of the greatest ways of
contracting the disease. Soccer is also another way because they play on concrete
floors. Razor blades are used to shave or cut hair.
• Yes sometimes prisoners fight, stab one another and other prisoners who are gang
members they can rape me.
• Yes I’m afraid because I noticed most of people suffering with the same disease.
• Yes because in this prison we are treated like animals, so it’s worst to those who
are affected of HIV/AIDS. E.g.: food is not healthy it takes you some months to
be taken to hospital; some inmates sleep on the floor even those who are sick with
HIV/AIDS.
• Yes because once you are infected your days are numbered.
• Yes HIV/AIDS is killing and there is no medication to cure it. I see a lot of
inmates suffer of HIV and they get it here, because if they have sex without a
condom with same gender.
• Yes because in the prison we use hair cut machines and other people have
unprotected sex in the jail.
• Yes I’m afraid because I want to see my family while I’m still alive.

This perpetual fear that inmates had of contracting HIV in prison

was further reinforced during the focus group discussions:
Yes. Violence is one of the contributors to the spread of HIV/AIDS because of the way
the guys assault one another. The guys assault somebody with a lock or a knife; he

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 244 Shanta Singh

doesn’t hesitate to stab somebody else so whoever is infected gets re-infected. Violence
is on top of the list.

Other serious challenges that prisoners faced were substantiated

by several comments in the focus group discussions. One of the major
problems is overcrowding. One inmate stated:

The problem is that since you are in this environment and this jail is overcrowded
you find that the cell supposed to accommodate about 20 prisoners but due to over-
crowding the cell accommodates more than 50 prisoners. About 56–58 prisoners stay
in one cell. All those prisoners are sharing one toilet, one bathroom and we are issued
one toilet roll each for a whole month or sometimes five to six weeks.

Linked to the problem of overcrowding is the problem of sharing

of equipment:

Our section where we live is overcrowded and you find that in a section there are 300
to 400 prisoners who share one hair clipper machine for hair cut and that leads to
somebody using that hair clipper and maybe he’s’ got pimples and then there is a sort
of bleeding and that very same machine is used by the next inmate and there’s like
an infection transmission of HIV/AIDS through the same machine that they using
and the food that is given to the prisoners is not the right food for the human beings.

Various other inmates complained about the lack of proper medical

treatment within the prison:

My problem is that I’m a TB patient and the place where I live in my section is very
dirty and sometimes when I go down to the hospital I find out that the treatment is
not there for me, so what I need is not available, so then I have to wait for maybe
one or two months.

Infectious Disease and Healthcare

at the Westville Prison

Conditions in prison are such that HIV easily takes advantage of its
victims. Although, in theory, prisoners have access to medical care, in
reality there is a clear shortage of medical staff, and this problem is com-
pounded by the overcrowding in the prison. Prisons are also said to be a
breeding ground for opportunistic diseases, which tend to shorten the pro-
gression from initial HIV infection to full-blown AIDS (Hlela 2002: 2).

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 Prison Inmate Awareness of HIV and AIDS in Durban, South Africa 245

In May 2006, fifteen prisoners applied to the Durban High Court for
the right to anti-retroviral (hereafter referred to as ARV) treatment.
The court battle has been going on since April 2006 when the Aids
Law Project (ALP) which represents prisoners too, lodged an urgent
application for the removal of all obstacles preventing fifteen men and
all prisoners who needed ARV treatment from getting it and for the
government to table their treatment plan in court (Sunday Tribune,
27  August 2006: 7).1 According to the Sunday Tribune report, one
of the fifteen prisoners, known as MM, died in early August 2006.
Officials of the Department of Correctional Services had known since
November 2004 that MM qualified for ARV treatment, yet he was not
given the treatment until July 2006. The government’s treatment guide-
lines recommend that patients start the ARV treatment once their CD4
count (which measures immunity) drops below 200. In April 2006,
three prisoners had CD4 counts of five.
On 26 September 2006, the ALP challenged the government’s ARV
treatment plan for inmates. It alleged that the health of the thirty-eight
HIV-infected prisoners at Westville Prison is being jeopardised by inad-
equate medical treatment by the state (The Daily News, 26 September
2006: 2).2
Under national and international law, governments have a moral
and ethical obligation to prevent the spread of the disease in prisons,
and to provide proper and compassionate care, treatment and support
to prisoners living with HIV/AIDS. This right is guaranteed in interna-
tional law and in international rules, guidelines and covenants including
the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, the International Covenant
on Economic, Social and Cultural Rights (Article 12), the International
Covenant on Civil and Political Rights (Article 10.1), the United
Nations Basic Principles for the Treatment of Prisoners (Principles
5 and 9), and the South African Constitution. This includes the right
to medical treatment and to preventative measures and to standards of
healthcare equivalent to that available in the community.
The results of this research show significant consistency with
existing literature on the subject. An initial visit and overview of the
prison in 2003 revealed expected inappropriate living conditions, espe-
cially with inadequate hygiene and ventilation, overcrowding in cells,
and frequent references by officials to high-risk sexual behaviour, vio-
lence, gang activity and corruption within the prison. Sodomy, rape,
sexual intercourse and sexual assaults have been reported as regular and

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 246 Shanta Singh

normative occurrences in the prisons. Over-crowded conditions in the

South African prisons facilitate an easy spread of communicable diseases
among inmates, of which HIV/AIDS has become the most tempestuous
and problematic.
Although there is a Correctional Services policy on HIV/AIDS to
render an effective and efficient HIV/AIDS and STI healthcare service
to prisoners and to release them back into the community with minimal
risk to society, there is an enormous gap between policy and practice.
The policy is not always effectively managed or understood due to the
lack of human and financial resources. While prisoners living with HIV/
AIDS are not isolated and in some prisons receive counselling, there is
no uniformity regarding the application of Department of Correctional
Services’ policy. These factors necessitated a revisit to the WMB to
gather more substantial information about healthcare in the prison.

The Revisit

The revisit to the prison investigated numerous questions about the state
of healthcare in WMB after the first few visits to WMB. It was decided to
gather more information on what the state has to offer the prison inmates
and how it impacts upon their individual and collective situations.
What followed was a series of restrictions imposed by the bureaucracy.
For instance, on 2 May 2007, armed with all the documentation that
I thought was necessary to grant me re-entry into the prison hospital,
I approached the senior-most official of the WMB hospital, widely
referred to as ‘The Head’, for an interview. His initial reaction was one of
reluctance—because, as he lamented, he first needed permission from his
Area Commissioner. Attempts to contact the Area Commissioner were
unsuccessful, so after some persuasion ‘The Head’ agreed to be interviewed
on condition that he did not have to divulge statistics on inmate patients.
The interview revealed that in each of the five sections that make
up the Westville Prison, a medical facility is available, each of which is
as old as the institution itself, that is, since 1986. The medical facility in
WMB served as an inpatient hospital for the prison’s all five sections and
its 12,000 inmates. It had 105 beds, of which forty-two catered for ‘high
care’ or more seriously ill patients. All 105 beds were reported to be occu-
pied almost continuously. However, the availability of medical staff has
been an ongoing problem since the prison’s opening. Twenty years later,

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 Prison Inmate Awareness of HIV and AIDS in Durban, South Africa 247

that is, only since 2006, a permanent doctor was appointed by the
Department of Correctional Services, and only twenty-six of the fifty-
two nurses recommended for the entire prison were appointed at the
time of the interview. Only two nurses at a time serve as day and night
duty staff to care for the 105 patients. There is a post for a full-time
pharmacist. However, the state’s obstinacy about keeping this post at a
comparatively low level and underpaid position has led to ongoing resig-
nations by pharmacists who are substantially better paid in private enter-
prise. The record to date has been that the prison remains for long periods
without a pharmacist.
The entire debacle that surrounds the allegedly high prevalence
of HIV/AIDS is exacerbated by the policies and practices that the
authorities have adopted. For instance, the administration of ARV
medication to inmates with a CD4 count of less than 200 only began
in September 2006. But its distribution to affected inmates is depen-
dent upon a permanently employed pharmacist, which the prison often
does not have. The result is that ARV has to be brought in on a daily
basis from another state medical facility, Edendale Hospital, which is
approximately 100  km away. The spread of HIV/AIDS in the prison
is compounded by poor planning as well as cultural factors, particu-
larly by Black inmates. Recognising that same-sex intercourse is rife
in the prison, the hospital has made condoms available to all inmates.
However, what was made available was only in one size, and among
Black inmates unprotected sex is defended as a culturally normative
practice and preferable. The accruing mental pressure on inmates, both
affected and those who struggle to keep a distance from such activity is
a build-up of indescribable anguish. While many of them are deservedly
incarcerated, they still have anxieties about their families and resources
outside the prison. Their inability to deal with such anxieties is exac-
erbated by only two psychologists and eight social workers—who are
constrained by having to deal with the most mentally affected only.

Conclusion

Against the background of this information, a mockery is made of

Section 35 (2) (e) of the Constitution, which states: ‘Everyone who is
detained, including every sentenced prisoner, has the right to condi-
tions of detention that are consistent with human dignity, including

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 248 Shanta Singh

at least exercise and the provision, at state expense, of adequate accom-

modation, nutrition, reading material and medical attention’. Similarly,
very little appears to have been learnt from the Ugandan prison officials
who came to South Africa to share their experiences with their South
African counterparts. Clearly, more needs to be done to learn from the
apparent successes that Uganda has allegedly achieved in controlling
the spread of HIV/AIDS. While it would be an expected reaction by
ordinary citizens to claim that convicted prisoners do not deserve treat-
ment that is on par with law abiding citizens, inmates from the Westville
prison do pose a risk to civilian society when they are released, especially
since the HIV/AIDS pandemic is proving to be exceptionally costly to
South Africa’s emerging democracy and its reintegration into the world
economy. Recurrent reports in the media about this and an absence of
the state’s challenges to them must imply at least a measure of truth
about the impact of AIDS on the economy. With this comes a growing
negative perception about South Africa and the continent as a whole.
Added to this is the gruesome evidence of ignorance among the inmates
about the prevalence and spread of the virus. While often ‘ignorance is
bliss’, in a situation of a dangerously infectious sexually transmitted dis-
ease, exacerbated by the use of haircutting and tattooing implements, a
fundamental question must be asked about the role of the state in devel-
oping an awareness- and consciousness-building programme. None of
the inmates referred to any sort of aggressive push by the state to ensure
the establishment of such a programme. The state must be considered
equally liable in a situation when a convicted criminal who is released
from a poorly administered prison spreads the HIV/AIDS virus through
sexual contact with unsuspecting civilians. It will have to weigh the cost
of the spread of the virus by released offenders against the loss of health,
its costs to the state and the eventual loss of life by innocent victims of
released prisoners. The state is unlikely to make the above cited legisla-
tion a reality when prisons are so dangerously over-crowded and prison-
ers continue to reveal sheer ignorance about the prevalence and spread
of HIV/AIDS within the prison boundaries.
The evidence in this paper compliments the existing body of litera-
ture about the desperate conditions in South African prisons. But it also
highlights the need for more research to be done on health-care policies
within the prisons, the dynamics and manifestations of overcrowd-
ing and for researchers’ easier access into prisons. A complimentary
working relationship between the Department of Correctional Services

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 Prison Inmate Awareness of HIV and AIDS in Durban, South Africa 249

and researchers from academic institutions and NGOs can serve to

strengthen awareness and policy measures on what needs to be done to
arrest the spread of one of the most deadly viruses that humankind has
been afflicted with

Notes
I would like to thank Professor Anand Singh for his invaluable advice and support in writ-
ing this article. I would also like to thank the National Research Foundation for providing
me financial support to conduct the research on which this article is based.

1. Sunday Tribune is a weekly newspaper (published every Sunday) in the province of

KwaZulu Natal, South Africa.
2. The Daily News is a daily newspaper published in the province of KwaZulu Natal,
South Africa.

References
Annual Report of the Judicial Inspectorate. 2004–2005. [Online] Available at: http://
judicialinsp.pwv.gov.za
Annual Report of the Judicial Inspectorate. 2005–2006. [Online] Available at: http://
judicialinsp.pwv.gov.za
Department of Correctional Services. 2004. Draft White Paper. Pretoria: Government Printers.
Giffard, C. 1999. Out of step? The transformation process in the South African Department of
Correctional Services. Cape Town: Institute of Criminology, University of Cape Town.
Hlela, K. 2002. ‘Iron cage? Combating HIV/AIDS in South Africa’s prisons’—Policy brief
25. Centre for Policy Studies. [Online] Available at: http://www.cps.org.za.
Institute for Security Studies. 2001. ‘Private prisons in South Africa: Issues, challenges and
opportunities—Correcting corrections. No. 64. September 2001. Imprisonment in South
Africa [Online] Available at: http://www.iss.co.za/Pubs/Monographs/No64/Chap2.html
[27-07-02].
Marquez, J. 2002. ‘HIV/AIDS, sexually transmitted diseases, and tuberculosis prevention
news’ (update 18 October 2002) [Online] Available at: http://www.thebody.com/cdc/
news—updates—archive/oct 18–02/prisons aids.html. [19.12.02].
Reyes, H. 2001. Health and human rights in prisons’ (Extract from HIV in prisons: A
reader with particular relevance to the newly independent states [Health in prisons
project] [Online] Available at: http://www.icrc.org/web/eng/siteengO.nsf/iwpList302/
AAC9DBCFB9954AEAC1256BAAOO1FC31D [20.4.04].
Singh, S. 2007. ‘Being a criminology ethnographer in a South African prison: A search for
dynamics and prevalence of HIV/AIDS in the Westville Prison, Durban, South Africa’,
Journal of social sciences, 15(1): 71–82.
Somekh, B. and C. Lewin. 2005. Research methods in the social sciences. London: Sage
Publications.

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 250 Shanta Singh

UNAIDS AIDS Epidemic Update. 2005. Global statistics. National Aids Trust [Online]
Available at: www.nat.org.uk
UNAIDS . 2006. Report on the global aids epidemic. Annex 2: HIV and AIDS estimates and
Data, 2005 and 2003 [Online] Available at: www.nat.org.uk
Walmsley, R. 2005. World prison population list (6th edition). International Centre for Prison
Studies. Kings College London [Online] Available at: www.prisonstudies.org.
Whiteside, A. and T. Barnett. 2003. AIDS in the twenty-first century: Disease and globaliza-
tion. New York: Palgrave MacMillan.
World AIDS Campaign. 2000. Men and AIDS: A gendered approach.
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Chapter 14.indd 250 11/27/2013 12:01:46 PM

 15
Medicalisation of Mental
Disorder: Shifting
Epistemologies and Beyond*
Tina Chakravarty

Locating Madness/Mental Disorder/Mental Illness

T
he aetiology of mental disorder has been significant in deter-
mining the corresponding paradigms of treatment. The medical
model is an extant and powerful model of mental disorder. It
likens mental disorder to any other disease, and assumes that it too can
be treated with medical means. It attributes mental disorder to physi-
ological, biochemical, or genetic causes, and attempts to treat these
abnormalities by way of medically grounded procedures like psycho-
pharmacology (drug therapy), electro-shock therapy (EST), or psycho-
surgery (brain surgery) (Cockerham 2000).
The incipient stages of this model can be traced to the Renaissance
(c. 1300–1600 CE) and the post-Renaissance period when physicians
tried to combat the view of mental illness being caused by supernatural
forces like demons and spirits. By the end of the 17th century, mental ill-
ness gradually shifted from the realm of theology into that of medicine.
Physicians started to seek organic evidence of mental illness, a notion
shared by psychiatrists.1 Growth and development in the fields of sci-
ence and medicine in the 18th century provided further fillip to this idea
(ibid.). Psychiatry has advocated and actively used this model to treat
mental disorders with varying results.

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 252 Tina Chakravarty

Whether or not a person is deemed to be mentally ill depended

upon the degree to which any displayed behaviour was considered dis-
turbed and the attitude of a larger social group towards this deviant
behaviour (Rosen 1968). Almost all cultures throughout history have
recorded instances of behaviour deemed to be outside of the ordinary
or ‘normal’. The parameters for making this distinction have neither
been clear-cut nor absolute. Hence, certain behaviour patterns become
acceptable under particular circumstances and non-acceptable under
others. Mental illness, as patterns of behaviour, appears to have occu-
pied this interstitial space throughout history. Historically, thus, the
treatment of mental disorders has been embedded in a variegated social
and intellectual space. Treatment and attitude existed in juxtaposition
to ideas within the larger social milieu. Knowledge and knowledge gen-
eration, particularly in the field of mental health and illness, has been
inexorably tied to the social, political, economic, and religious condi-
tions of particular historical periods.
Mental disorder as a phenomenon has been acknowledged in vari-
ous forms in different times and space. For instance, passages in the
Old Testament show that the ancient Hebrews recognised mental disor-
ders (ibid.).2 Illness in general, including mental disorder, was thought
to be inflicted by supernatural powers, including an angry deity who
punished for sins committed by inflicting illness upon the perpetrator.
Another prevalent cause of mental disorder was thought to be posses-
sion by evil spirits and demons, as reflected in the New Testament (ibid.:
28, 33). The belief in such intrusions as a possible cause of mental disor-
der was prevalent throughout the western world since the earliest times.
Examples occur in literatures of Egypt, Babylonia, and Assyria as well as
the ancient Mediterranean-Near East area.
Occurrence of impulsive, uncontrolled, and unreasonable behav-
iour qualified as the objective criterion of mental disorder among the
ancient Israelites, too (ibid.: 37). However, ‘prophets’ were not thought
to be insane in spite of demonstrating abnormal behaviour patterns.
There are cultural differences in the diagnosis of behaviour as normal
or abnormal: what is considered abnormal in one culture may be com-
pletely acceptable in another cultural context. For instance, Melville J.
Herskovits noted that, in Haiti, possession is a normal phenomenon,
used as a means to establish relations with the supernatural (cited in
ibid.: 56).What qualified as mental disorder was as important as who
identified it as such.

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 Medicalisation of Mental Disorder 253

The first Babylonian physicians were priests, who dealt with inter-
nal illnesses and mental afflictions and attributed them to demonic
possession and cured them by magico-religious methods. This system
of medicine was dominated by magic and religion, and included some
form of psychotherapy, the purpose of which was to ‘rehabilitate an
individual and reconcile him with the transcendental world’ (Alexander
and Selesnick 1967: 19).
The Egyptians too believed that anatomical parts were governed
by specific spirits and that the body was composed of four elements
that corresponded to the outside world—earth, water, fire, and wind—
representing the microcosm (ibid.: 21), reflecting a marked predis-
position to magic and religion as well. The Hebrews too attributed
disease to the gods, but differed from the Babylonians and the Egyptians
in that they believed that one god was the source of all health and
disease. Demons were believed to cause insanity and thus it only fol-
lowed that physicians were also priests. The Persians depended upon the
Zend-Avesta that refers to the gods of goodness and relegates the realm
of medicine to a powerful angel called Thrita and refers to spirits of evil
and darkness as well.
Modern concepts of mental illness can be traced to the Greeks
and Romans. The Greeks have been attributed with the formulation
of a rational approach towards understanding nature and society. They
replaced the supernatural with an appeal to a natural cause-and-effect
relationship. This involved the view that mental illness was no different
from physical illness; the same factors that can cause physical ailments
can also cause mental ailments. While the idea of mental illness being
attributed to natural causes germinated during the Graeco-Roman era,
this view existed in tandem with the more prevalent one that attributed
mental illness to supernatural causes, including the wrath of the gods
(Rosen 1968).
These two views reflect the dichotomous position vis-à-vis mental
illness and its treatment and can be traced through the Reformation and
Renaissance up to the present times. These non-medical and medical
attitudes were prevalent in the Graeco-Roman culture as well as the time
preceding that. Greek medicine, in fact, rejected the supernatural expla-
nation of mental disorder and sought an essentially physiologic explana-
tion for it in the form of the humoral theory. According to this theory,
the body was composed of four humours: blood, phlegm, yellow bile,
and black bile. Each humour was endowed with a basic quality such as

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 254 Tina Chakravarty

heat, cold, dryness, and moistness; disequilibrium of any of these four

humours caused disease. Madness was seen to be caused by an excess of
black bile in the body; in particular, a condition called melancholia, a
form of depression (ibid.: 74).
This emerging view existed in concatenation of traditional and,
what Rosen (ibid.) terms, ‘more deep-seated’ views that continued to
locate mental illness in the realm of the supernatural, wherein ghosts,
spirits, and demons were believed to induce the former. The other factor
that accounted for mental illness was the use of magic spells and rites
invoking divinities of the underworld (ibid.: 81). Lunar deities were
also believed to cause mental disorder. With the rise of astrology, it was
believed that human beings would suffer various afflictions when the
heavenly bodies occupied certain positions (ibid.: 83).

History of Mental Disorder:

The Pre-Renaissance Era

What was firmly established by the 5th century BCE is the alternative
view of mental disorder as caused by disequilibrium in one’s physiol-
ogy, in reference to the humoral theory. Nonetheless, the dividing line
between sanity and insanity was somewhat blurred. Mental disorder as a
divine gift was acceptable, and violent behaviour exhibited in a state of
possession was not a cause of concern. Outside of this space, it was seen
to be a sign of mental disorder. The Graeco-Roman medicine dealt with
this by excluding the former from consideration. Moreover, people who
showed signs of mental derangement outside of this sacred space were
still able and allowed to function in society so long as these signs were
moderate and did not harm another (ibid.: 109).
The progressive ideas of the Greeks and Romans were somewhat
stifled with the fall of the Roman Empire. The next five hundred years
(c. 500–1000 CE), characterised by historians as the ‘Dark Ages’, were
marked by social and political upheaval and strife that completely dis-
rupted the social order. Beginning in the Middle Ages (c. 1000–1453 CE)
the mentally ill were institutionalised and incarcerated. The ‘mad’ were
literally cut-off from the community as they were seen to disrupt social
order. While these elements were prevalent during this period, it was also
marked by empirical rationality and humane interest (ibid.: 139). Care
of the insane moved between the family and the institution.3

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 Medicalisation of Mental Disorder 255

During this period, concepts of mental disorder and the treat-

ment of mental illness were a reflection of the ideas of classical antiq-
uity and their modifications during the Middle Ages, including such
elements like popular beliefs about demonic possession and witchcraft.
Physicians too would subscribe to supernatural causes, like possession
to explain mental illness if the symptoms presented were bizarre enough
(ibid.: 146). The criterion used to define mental illness was largely cul-
turally determined, enabling the distinction between what has natural
and what has supernatural aetiology.
The 17th century marked some degree of erosion of the belief
in demonic manifestation in England (ibid.: 149). The 18th cen-
tury marked the age of the Great Confinement: hospitals were set up
across Europe meant to house all those who in some form or other dis-
rupted social order, including the insane (Foucault 1965; Rosen 1968;
Cockerham 2000). What marked this attitude for the 17th and 18th
centuries was the definition of insanity as an inability to use the faculty
of reason. Eccentric or irrational behaviour, that which diverged from
accepted norms, was reflective of a deranged will and, therefore, needed
to be subjected to correction, ideally carried out within the sterile con-
fines of an institution (Rosen 1968). Institutionalisation was completely
in sync with the view that there is an organic base to mental illness,
epitomised by the discipline of modern psychiatry.
Psychiatry of the Middle Ages was akin to pre-scientific demono-
logy, and mental treatment was synonymous with exorcism. Under
the influence of religious beliefs people resorted to exorcism to purge
the body of the devil who was believed to have possessed it. Herbs,
amulets, and magic spells were all a part of the means of curing the
mentally ill. This period saw the strengthening of the idea that devils
and witches were responsible for afflictions of the mind (Cockerham
2000). Many ‘psychotics’ had delusions and hallucinations containing
religious content that reinforced this view. Madness within this con-
text became a means of revelation of religious truth and knowledge.
A rise in the phenomenon of madness was a reflection of impending
doom and destruction. Theological rationalisations and magical expla-
nations served as foundations for burning the mentally ill at the stake
(Alexander and Selesnick 1967; Rosen 1968).
Beliefs linking the devil with mental disorder were both power-
ful and persistent throughout the Middle Ages, the Renaissance in the
15th century and even the 16th and 17th centuries. It was only during

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 256 Tina Chakravarty

the 18th century, when scientific rationalism came to the fore, that these
ideas saw a remission (Alexander and Selesnick 1967; Rosen 1968).
Institutionalisation was an important characteristic feature of the
Middle Ages with regard to treatment of the insane. The modes of treat-
ment, however, were determined within the philosophy of the church;
prayers seeking divine intervention were used to cure mental afflictions.
One of the first mental hospitals was, in fact, founded by a Catholic
priest in Valencia, Spain in 1409 (Guislainstraat 1996: 31).
Contrary to this view is what was propounded by the Greeks and
the Romans. Here the cause of mental illness is not attributed to forces
outside of an individual, but is seen to lie within the individual: either
at the level of physiology or within the immediate environment and the
presence of stress factors therein. There was an emphatic shift from
the supernatural to natural causes. This was further marked by a shift
in the thinking as to what causes madness. Here two distinct ontological
and epistemological positions can be identified: one that locates aetiol-
ogy in physiology, and the other in the socio-cultural milieu. There is a
definitive shift from madness as an experience dealt with in various ways
to mental ‘illness’, which shifts its epistemology entirely. How did mad-
ness come to be seen as solely an ‘illness’? What caused this emphatic
shift? The answer lies in the historical period within which this powerful
shift occurs, namely, the Age of Enlightenment.

Renaissance and the Enlightenment

Enlightenment was an intellectual movement in 18th century Europe.

It represented a genesis in the way human beings viewed themselves, the
pursuit of knowledge, and the universe. During this period, significant
changes occurred in scientific theory and practice: it was an epistemo-
logical transformation marked by the scientific revolution. It enabled the
attainment of objective truth about the universe through its emphasis on
reason, science, and rationality (Hooker 1996). This rationalist world-
view was soon to be epitomised in the discipline of medicine and would
eventually lead to what is termed the ‘biomedical model’ of the human
being in the field of medicine, health, and healing, and also spill over
into the field of psychiatry.
The principal intellectual value of the Enlightenment was the use of
reason to not only unravel the mysteries of the universe and understand

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 Medicalisation of Mental Disorder 257

it as the operation of natural laws that provided for order in the func-
tioning of the universe, but also to use reason to improve one’s life
condition. The goal was to be rational, for rationality provided for free-
dom, happiness, knowledge, and finally progress. The solid intellectual
and political edifice of Christianity built throughout the Middle Ages
started to weaken and would eventually collapse under a sustained attack
by the humanists, the Protestant Reformation, and the Renaissance.
Renaissance revived the idea of ‘person’ as a creative being, while the
Reformation questioned the monolithic authority of the Roman
Catholic Church. Francis Bacon called for a new science to be based
on collaborative and organised experiments with a systematic recording
of results. It was emphasised that general laws can be established only
when the process of research has produced enough data, and by the use
of inductive reasoning, moving from particular to general axioms. These
may be proved or disproved by further experiments. The result is an
accumulation of knowledge.
Developments pertinent to the growth of science include two
important issues. One was the early discoveries of Copernicus, Galileo,
and others synthesised by Descartes into a vision of a mechanical uni-
verse. Prior to the advent of this view, the universe was thought to be a
cosmos, belonging mostly to the gods to be used as their playground. An
important shift had decisively and certainly occurred. The universe was
undergoing a process of desacralisation. It was sacred no more. Descartes,
and others like him, had uncovered it in its essential profanity (Healy
1990). The second set of developments occurred within the emerging
field of the biological sciences. An unprecedented interest in dissecting
the universe was only paralleled by an equal interest in dissecting the
human body and studying it in intricate detail.
However, not everyone was comfortable with this new trend. The
ideas about the devil and evil spirits continued to hold sway. This was so
because, as science started to answer questions, many questions remained
unanswered and the church still held considerable control over scientific
investigations. Both these ideas led credence to the notion that the devil
was responsible for abnormal behaviour. Astrology, palmistry, and magic
were employed during the period of the Renaissance to relieve anxiety
and fear. Medieval and Renaissance physicians routinely studied astro-
logical medicine. They propagated a definitive macrocosm-microcosm
correspondence between the human body and the heavens, wherein
each part of the body is associated with a different star sign. In addition,

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 258 Tina Chakravarty

the planets were associated with particular humours: Mars was choleric;
Saturn, melancholic and hence influenced people’s health. Successful
treatment demanded not just restoring humoral balance, but doing it at
an auspicious time, depending on the position of the planets (Fara 2009).
The contribution of the 17th-century scientists and philosophers
to the history of psychiatry was their emphasis on the role of reason
in understanding and controlling external nature. Psychiatrists used
physiological speculation to explain mental illness.4 Thomas Sydenham
(1624–1689) and William Harvey (1578–1657) both recognised the
influence of psychological factors in disease. Another important thinker
in this respect was Baruch Spinoza (1632–1677), who considered psy-
chological phenomena to be as important as material processes. By
and large, these scholars practised and propagated an actively realist
approach to psychiatry and mental health as opposed to the predomi-
nantly supernatural approach of the medieval times. Through the efforts
of scientists, philosophers, and even artists of the 17th century, mental
illness was further extricated from the realm of the supernatural, the
superstitious, and what F.G. Alexander and S.T. Selesnick (1967: 104)
term ‘authoritarian error’.
The Age of Enlightenment, to sum up, saw three major develop-
ments that were the direct result of the larger intellectual climate of
the Renaissance and the Age of Reason. Empiricism and rationalism,
accompanied by more advances in methods of observation and classifi-
cation, resulted in bringing the problems of the mentally ill into sharper
focus and saw a resultant adoption of a more compassionate stand
towards the mentally ill. Both these developments are a reflection of the
triumph of reason over fear and they concatenated to bring about the
third major development during this period, that of the ebbing away of
the magical and supernatural approach from the mainstream approach
to mental illness and psychiatry. The objective point of view had finally
dislodged the demon from human disease and psychiatry was about to
find its way into medicine through an organic channel.

Medicalisation of Mental Disorder

The late 17th century and the early 18th century witnessed tremendous
advancements in medicine, medical knowledge, and medical procedures
and technology. Diseases were more precisely localised and diagnosis

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 Medicalisation of Mental Disorder 259

was more accurate. By the 18th century, a large number of clinicians

had meticulously reported and classified their observations with regard
to mental symptoms, which were described with more detail (ibid.).
William Cullen’s (1712–90) classification of mental illness was the most
comprehensive in the middle of the 18th century. Cullen was the first
to use the term ‘neurosis’ to mean diseases that are not accompanied by
fever or localised pathology (ibid.: 110).
This period also saw the conceptualisation of the germ theory of
disease which is based on the premise that every disease had a specific
pathogenic cause and whose treatment could best be accomplished
within a biomedical mode. It was inevitable, given the success of this
model, that physicians as psychiatrists would come to view mental dis-
order in a similar vein (Shorter 1997). Thus, by the end of this period,
mostly the end of the 18th century, the predominant mainstream think-
ing about madness and insanity was mostly in terms of it being an ill-
ness, with a physiological basis. The magical approach, including the
supernatural one, gave way to the organic approach to mental illness.
This view was also compounded with the powerful influence of
psychiatrists who viewed mental disorders as primarily brought on by
organic causes. Benjamin Rush (1745–1813), the founder of American
psychiatry, maintained, for example, that abnormal behaviour was
derived from brain disease that had its locus in the brain’s blood vessels.
He firmly believed that insanity is the result of disturbances within the
individual and not due to unknown forces that enter the body (Alexander
and Selesnick 1967; Cockerham 2000: 22). By the early decades of the
18th century, physicians were looking for destroyed matter in the brain
to explain mental disease (Alexander and Selesnick 1967). This was just
a reflection of the developments in the natural sciences and medicine
wherein the effort was to localise and diagnose diseases with more preci-
sion (ibid.: 107).
Towards the middle of the 19th century, psychiatry, following med-
icine, tried to become modern and scientific by explaining disordered
behaviour in terms of disrupted nervous structure and function. This
materialistic conception of mental illness had its roots in Giovanni
Battista Morgagni’s formulation in 1761 that diseases originate in local-
ised disturbances of bodily organs. This notion received further fillip in
the early years of the 19th century when French physicians proposed
that the focus of disease was in the tissues of the organs and also in the
mid-19th century when German researchers localised diseases further

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 260 Tina Chakravarty

in not just tissues but also cells. One of the greatest pathologists of his
time, Rudolf Virchow, in his studies proved that the disease process
could best be described in terms of cellular pathology, responding to the
centuries old medical quest of trying to describe disease in terms of a
specific abnormal substance that caused the disease (ibid.).
Clinical medicine had already made great strides in the first half of
the 19th century.5 This period saw the juxtaposition of medicine and
psychiatry like never before, such that one discipline strengthened the
other and saw the increasing confluence of organising principles. This
was also due to prominent physicians working to establish a connection
between physiology and mental illness. For instance, Wilhelm Greisinger
(1817–68), who had the title of Professor of Psychiatry and Neurology at
the University of Berlin, made significant contributions to the study of
infectious diseases, pathological anatomy, and mental diseases. Griesinger’s
view was that the first step towards the knowledge of the symptoms of
insanity is their locality. The brain was identified as this central location.
Another important name here is that of the Viennese neurologist and
a leading European histopathologist Theodore Meynert (1833–92) who
identified parts of the brain structure and proposed a systematic classifi-
cation of mental illness based on his histopathological studies. Meynert
along with his student Carl Wernicke (1848–1905) believed that mental
diseases were caused by brain pathology (ibid.: 152, 158).
Neurologists were grouping neurological symptoms into syndromes
and diseases. Neuropathologists were looking at lesions to explain these
clinical phenomena and soon neuropsychiatrists followed suite by apply-
ing similar principles to behaviour. Such developments encouraged
19th century students of behaviour to describe, systematise and classify
mental diseases. The symptoms of disordered behaviour and confused
thinking could now be successfully linked to real medical knowledge,
invoking concepts of neurological pathways, disease states of the brain,
and the spinal column instead of precarious philosophical and psycho-
logical vagaries.
The spirit of the times definitely called for the mainstreaming of the
organic explanation to mental illness that no longer occupied the status
of an emergent tradition. A large number of scholars and physicians dur-
ing this time actively propagated and advocated the organic and medical
model of mental illness (ibid.; Shorter 1997). The concept of medi-
calisation suggests that a wider range of behaviours becomes defined as
legitimate for medical intervention (Melick et al. 1979). Medicalisation

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 Medicalisation of Mental Disorder 261

in effect ordered the phenomena of mental illness, that is, defined and
classified it; it provided explanations for the development of mental ill-
ness and also indicated ways of treatment (Gove 1979). It completely
altered the conceptualisation of mental illness, including social attitude
and terminology. The language used to define the phenomenon of men-
tal illness changed. Madness became a disease state invoking a specific
epidemiological explanation and model that primarily held a mechanis-
tic approach, where the method of intervention was mainly biological
and the nature of cure external to the person afflicted, and the attitude
of the person afflicted, mostly passive (Dombeck 2000).

Madness to Mental Illness: Shifting

Epistemologies

The history of mental illness is important because, as a phenomenon, it

was defined and redefined depending on its temporal and spatial loca-
tion. These multiple perspectives did not evolve as a result of devel-
opments endogenous to the phenomenon, but changed as a result
of contact with and by virtue of being influenced by factors outside
of it. Hence, in the ancient and early medieval Europe, the supernatu-
ral explained and determined the discourse of mental disorder. With
the advent of the scientific framework and its growing popularity in
the 17th century and early Renaissance period, scholars and physicians
started to seek organic and natural explanations for mental disorder.
Soon the brain became the centre of attention, and pharmacology one
of the most powerful approaches to treatment, and continues to be so.
The discourse of mental illness has thus traversed a variegated space,
marked by distinct ontological and epistemological positions. Mental
illness as a phenomenon has been acknowledged in various cultures in
different forms, be it in the Old Testament or during the time of the
ancient Hebrews or in Babylonia. In the ancient times, mental illness,
mostly, was regarded as the result of possession by the devil and ‘treated’
accordingly, mainly by resorting to magic and religious ritual. Magic
spells, amulets, herbs, and potions were used to cure. Sick persons would
spend the night in temples where it was believed that gods would appear
in their dream and give advice, which would then be interpreted by the
priests. Magic rites and rituals were a part of the plethora of treatment
measures used (Guislainstraat 1996: 28).

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 262 Tina Chakravarty

What is significant is that the supernatural was not just the motif; it
was the leitmotif of mental illness. It was the dominant paradigm for the
treatment and attitude of mental illness. The realm of the supernatural
defined much of social, cultural, and political life during the preliterate
period and it followed that its manifestations echoed as explanations
for disease and illness, including mental illness. Socio-cultural orienta-
tion was also attuned to a more unified world-view. Human beings were
deemed to be integrated with the larger cosmos, presenting a unified
integrated system. People believed in a harmonious universe in which
gods, stars, and human beings were bonded together and acted in con-
cert (Fara 2009). It only followed that views about the cause of mental
illness also revolved around the position of stars and the moon. From
this point of view, human beings were considered more likely to develop
mental disorders when various heavenly bodies were in certain positions
(Rosen 1968: 83).
The prominent themes associated with mental illness continued to
revolve around the supernatural and had predominantly religious con-
notations till the Middle Ages. Care of the mentally ill irrespective of
what was causing the disorder, was mostly the responsibility of priests
and monks. Thus, those who held positions of power and authority in
society as a whole also determined the process of knowledge formation
and dissemination. They were entrusted with determining the course
of societal norms and practices as well as their violations. The Church
was an important institution, and wielded much power and authority
in this respect.
Hippocrates (460–377 BCE) was one of the first scholars who
separated the discipline of medicine from religion; he rejected the idea
that disease was punishment inflicted by gods or that divine forces even
caused illness. While his school of medicine was far removed from the
tenets of modern medicine, he did make an important break from the
prevailing paradigm of his time. His work brought to the fore a more
scientific form of treatment positing that sickness was caused by imbal-
ance of four humours in the body. He also considered madness to be a
disease of the brain. Roman medicine was not sophisticated by far, and
superstition and sorcery were rife, but significant changes were taking
place that brought to the fore different notions about mental illness.
Two important epistemological positions had emerged during the
Graeco-Roman period. One that attributed mental illness to supernatural
and divine causes and intervention, too, assumed similar lines, and the

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 Medicalisation of Mental Disorder 263

other that attributed mental illness to natural causes. These two para-
digms will manifest in various forms throughout history determining the
course and discourse of mental illness. The developments that changed the
dominant paradigm emerged out of the larger socio-cultural, economic,
and political milieu.
The history of mental illness can be traced as a gradual bifurcation
of the perception and treatment of madness into these two discernible
epistemologies. One is connected with the advent of science and the
scientific methodology and principles as they emerged during the period
of European history referred to as the Age of Enlightenment. This had
important implications for the definition and treatment of madness.
Up until the Age of Enlightenment and the apodictic power assumed
by science and the scientific methodology, views, attitudes, and treat-
ment towards the mentally ill were determined by a wider range of fac-
tors, including what kind of behaviour was being exhibited, by whom,
under what circumstances and were rooted in a socio-cultural milieu.
The community was also an important factor, and was often entrusted
with the responsibility of care.
What is important to note here is that there was a definitive shift
from madness as an experience dealt with in various ways to mental ‘ill-
ness’, which shifted its epistemology. A shift took place not just in the
attitude and treatment towards mental illness, but also in the agency
of care. Mental illness meant invoking the medical model as well as
the specialised institution of the hospital and professional care takers.
In other words, the phenomenon of madness from having been seen
in tandem with other phenomena in a somewhat obfuscated manner
emerged independently and was perceived as an illness.
Mental illness was already being looked upon as having a possible
organic base. Various strains of this organic view of mental illness have
found expression since the Graeco-Roman period. It received a power-
ful fillip during the Age of Enlightenment because it was fuelled by a
fantastic view of science and the scientific framework. Medicine was
also making important inroads into discovering the human anatomy
and its manipulation using science and technology. All the raw mate-
rials required for the development and growth of the medical model
were present by the end of the 17th century and beginning of the 18th
century.
Madness, in the meanwhile, having thus vacillated and moved
between different realms—social, religious, physiological finally—some

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 264 Tina Chakravarty

time in the course of the 18th century, became so to speak an indepen-

dent entity. What had happened was that, within the course of a few
hundred years, madness had found its epitome in the institution of the
asylum. This freedom meant its expression as a problem in itself, raising
questions it had hitherto not formulated. For instance, where is madness
to be situated now?
By the end of the 18th century, neuroanatomists, neurologists, and
physicians interested in the reasons for mental illness began to conduct
detailed studies of the brain. What is important to note here is that
psychiatry too appears to have been torn between two visions of mental
illness. One vision stressed upon the neurosciences, with their interest
in brain chemistry, brain anatomy, and medication, seeing the origin of
psychic distress in the biology of the cerebral cortex. The other vision
stressed the psychological side of patients’ lives, attributing their symp-
toms to social problems or past personal stresses to which people may
adjust imperfectly. The former is referred to as biological psychiatry and
the latter the bio-psychosocial model of illness (Porter: 1988).
There is no doubt that the Enlightenment provided both the epis-
temological and ideological framework for the ascendancy of science
and the onset of modernity. During the 18th and 19th centuries, new
discoveries in biology and technical innovations in medical treatment
also crystallised to produce biomedicine, which is the theoretical basis
for the medical model. The history of the medical profession in the
West shows that scientific medicine or biomedicine is a product of the
Enlightenment. Prior to this, magic, astrology, and religion played a
significant role in both medical theory and practice. However, with the
advent of science, the focus of attention shifted from conceptualising
the patient as a physical and metaphysical being, to viewing the body as
a simple machine. The latter also implied an essential dualism between
the mind and the body (Addlakha 2008).
Historically, the use of the scientific method to study mental ill-
ness was seen as a progressive move because the disease model was
seen to be epistemologically superior and more humane to the earlier
magico-religious models. The application of the scientific paradigm to
the disciplines of medicine and psychiatry implied that these disciplines
were empirical, objective, and value free. This perspective gave a fillip to
the development of clinical psychiatry. Building on the analogy of the
human body as a machine, the structure and functioning of the human
brain became the focus of attention (ibid.: 7).

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 Medicalisation of Mental Disorder 265

Table 1
Ontological and Epistemological Shifts in Understanding Mental Illness and the
Corresponding Practices

Period Ontology Epistemology Practice

Pre-Enlightenment Cosmological a) U nified, holistic i) Supernatural (appeasing
and integrated gods, battling evil spirits)
b) Religious ii) Use of rites and rituals
iii) Use of magic
iv) Astrology
v) Astronomy
Enlightenment Dualism a) Scientific i) M  edical model: organic/
Realism b) Objectivity physiological explanation
Materialist c) Atomism for mental illness
Positivist d) Nominalism ii) Medicalisation of mental
e) Empiricism illness
iii) Institutionalisation
Post-Enlightenment Non-Dualist a) Verstehen i) Psychotherapy
Idealism b) Phenomenalogism ii) Social psychiatry
Interpretivist c) Intersubjective iii) Social learning theory
iv) Ethnomethodology
v) Anti-psychiatry

There is an indelible hermeneutic connection between the shaping

of the discourse of mental disorder and context within which it arose.
Corresponding with this indelible connection are the ontological and
epistemological shifts. Table 1 presents the contrasting ontological and
epistemological positions vis-à-vis conceptualisations of mental illness
and corresponding practices.
During the pre-Enlightenment era, the primary ontological posi-
tion with regard to mental illness was cosmological. In other words,
the universe, gods, and human beings were seen to belong to a unified
system. Mental disorder within this framework was seen to be caused
by supernatural powers including evil spirits or deemed to be punish-
ment for sins, or wrath of angry gods and planets and stars that were
not aligned at favourable positions. Religion was an important source.
The institution of the Church and personnel associated with it played
an important role in ameliorating suffering caused by mental disorder.
During the period of the Enlightenment, the major ontological
assumptions were dualism, and materialism. A clear-cut distinction was

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 266 Tina Chakravarty

made between the scientific and non-scientific method. This period

hence saw the development and growth of the scientific methodology
and the emerging epistemological positions were one of a dichotomy
between subjective and objective knowledge, or that between scientific
and non-scientific knowledge. The other important principles were
atomism, methodological monism, objectivity, nominalism, and a focus
upon empirical knowledge. The corresponding practice vis-à-vis mental
illness saw the medicalisation of mental illness and the application of the
medical model. This also meant an increased application of the organic
and physiological explanation to describe mental illness. Institutionali-
sation was also another important outcome.
During the period of the post-Enlightenment, while the applica-
tion of the medical model continued to hold sway, a number of other
developments also took place. For one, it saw the application of a non-
dualist and interpretivist ontology. This corresponds to a phenomenal-
ist and intersubjective epistemological position. In terms of practice,
mental illness was sought to be addressed by such models as psycho-
analysis, psychotherapy, social psychiatry, social learning theory, and
the gamut of anti-psychiatry models. Ethnomethodology is yet another
option, wherein mental illness is seen as a form of deviance, and the
qualities and attributes of a particular individual is lost, when that indi-
vidual is placed within a particular category of deviance. Consequently,
her/his behaviour/identity comes to represent the category of deviance
and the category of deviance becomes an explanation for the behaviour
or identity in question (Keel 1999).
A definitive shift in epistemology can thus be discerned within par-
ticular periods. It is to be stated that though these shifts are prominent,
they are not absolute. Each period of history saw the pre-eminence of
a particular ontology and epistemology. But it does not follow that the
preceding ontology and epistemology had completely ebbed or disap-
peared. One might have assumed more power than the other depending
upon the context within which it developed and grew, like that of the
dualist ontology during the time of the Enlightenment over and above
the cosmological ontology.
The larger argument that is being posited here is that knowledge to do
with mental disorder, including its conceptualisation, has changed over
time. The prevalent socio-cultural, political, economic, and religious con-
ditions have had an impact upon how mental illness was approached and
treated. Hence, while the context of 17th and 18th century Europe was

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 Medicalisation of Mental Disorder 267

ideal for the development of the medical model, there did exist an alterna-
tive worldview about mental illness prior to this period. Groups and com-
munities have dealt with mental illness in a wide variety of ways. Almost
all of the practices have been drawn from a larger socio-cultural and most
often a religious idiom. Invoking supernatural forces to treat behaviour
deemed to be outside of the realm of the normal was common practice.
Within this paradigm, use of magic, rites, rituals, and planetary positions
were all a part of everyday practice. The community had an important
role to play along with the institution of the Church, for instance. This
changed with the Age of Enlightenment, wherein the institution of the
asylum and then the hospital assumed centre stage. Behaviour deemed
to be disordered was defined as an illness. This brought into operation a
different set of epistemological and ontological principles.
Depending on which position one occupies vis-à-vis mental illness
epistemologically, the course of treatment and attitude towards that will
be consequently determined. Following a medical model will necessarily
bring into operation an organic approach to mental illness. And, simi-
larly, following an interpretivist or even an anti-psychiatric approach will
bring into operation another set of treatment approaches and attitudes.
The picture, however, is not so clearly demarcated, because mental
illness has never exclusively occupied either position in its entirety. One
of the predominant concerns has been not so much mental illness, as it
has been mental health. The fact of the matter is that people suffering
from mental illness often experience it as debilitating, preventing those
afflicted from leading a regular life and even undertaking simple every-
day activities. The predominant question that faces practitioners as well
as care givers is how to provide relief to those afflicted.

Mental Disorder as a Socio-Cultural Phenomenon

Psychiatry, while taking recourse to medication and surgery among

other treatment methods, also as reflected in its history, has attempted
to provide due credence to socio-cultural factors in the aetiology of
mental illness. There is a growing conviction that there exists a close
interdependence between the social environment within which the indi-
vidual is located and the development of mental illness.
This view has paved the way for the practice of social psychiatry. A
changing model of aetiology holds that a multiplicity of causal factors

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 268 Tina Chakravarty

produces diseases. One such model, for instance, proposes that psycho-
logical and organic vulnerabilities together with a precipitating emo-
tional stress, lead to a given disorder. A multidisciplinary approach,
studying patterns of physiological and chemical reactions as well as psy-
chological responses to stress situations embodies modern research of
mental illness (Alexander and Selesnick 1967; Rosen 1968).
A full circle appears to have been drawn with regards to treatment
and care of the mentally ill, with the present trend actively seeking and
exploring the virtues of community care. It is important to mention the
role of various approaches other than the medical approach to psychiatry.
India is a good case in point here. To quote Brigitte Sebastia ‘India is the
repository of a kind of medical knowledge which is formed by both
codified and folk therapies’ (2009: 7). Some of the important schools of
medicine in India include Ayurveda and Siddha along with Unani, of
Graeco-Arabic origin and Homeopathy from Germany. Yoga is another
important approach and has both spiritual and medical values (ibid.: 9).
Religion is a predominant idiom in the Indian cultural sphere.
Recourse to religious treatment for certain ailments continues to this
day.6 Recourse to folk healers is not uncommon and some of the rea-
sons why people go to them include approachability and empathy,
social stigma associated with psychiatric consultation, social network
that strongly promotes folk healer and healing, and the fact that the
repertoire of disease conditions that the folk healer attends to exceeds
that of a psychiatrist (Sebastia 2009). Religious therapies have always
found important space in the rubric of treatment and healing within the
Indian cultural framework.
The repertoire of treatment approaches has certainly widened from
the traditional western psychiatric approach to mental illness. How
effective these are is a moot point. What is important to note is the still
shifting epistemology that this signifies with regard to mental illness. The
role of culture including religious idioms cannot be denied within this
context. The other important shift is one that looks to the role of the
community in bringing about change in the lives and conditions of
those afflicted. While this might be the case, it is also to be pointed
out that along with the growth and development of these trends, tradi-
tional medical/organic approach has not exactly declined. For instance,
medical centres in the United States for years have performed a variety of
experimental procedures, mostly for obsessive-compulsive disorder and
depression, guided by high-resolution imaging technology. Similarly, in

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 Medicalisation of Mental Disorder 269

the last decade, it has been noted that more than five hundred people
have undergone brain surgery for problems like depression and anxiety
(DNA, Mumbai, 30 November 2009).
While such ultra physiological treatment procedures are being used,
early Christian explanation of mental disorder, which implicated the
devil and concept of sin, has also been documented as late as the 1970s.
In a study by Gillian Allan and Roy Wallis (1976) (cited in Cockerham
2000) of members of a small congregation of a Pentecostal Church, the
Assemblies of God, in Scotland, it was found that possession by evil
spirits is still used to explain not just mental illness, but also epilepsy and
blindness. They believe that demons can be transferred from one person
to another by touch and that prayers can remove them. Mental illness
was thought to be demonic in origin. For serious illnesses, members of
this community would resort to divine healing along with professional
medicine. What is significant is that, in spite of the existence of a more
scientific alternative, members of this community chose the supernatu-
ral explanation, indicating an element of power, of the institution of the
church in this case.
The multiplicity of approaches does, however, sometimes confuse
the picture because the approaches belonging to different epistemologi-
cal leanings do not always cohabit. Nevertheless, perhaps the shifting
epistemology is a virtue if the goal is to help and provide relief to people
with mental illness, because it opens out new spaces for exploration and
development and also provides alternatives. Mental illness includes a
wide variety of disordered states of mood, thought, and behaviour, rang-
ing from mild anxiety to severe disorganising psychosis. The attempt of
this paper has also been to underline the impact of cultural factors in
order to demonstrate that culture or a group’s shared system of beliefs,
practices, and behaviour has a significant impact on the growth and
development of various treatment methods of mental illness.
There have always been multiple agencies that have dealt with men-
tal illness and madness. Doctors and psychiatrists are the defined pro-
fessionals who by virtue of their training and knowledge ‘treat’ mental
illness. But every society will also have instances of people who handle
and deal with mental illness and madness. Examples include shamans,
vaids, mantarwads, and patris in the Indian context (Carstairs and Kapur
1976). These are traditional ‘practitioners’ who have, through rituals,
chanting, charms, and even medication constituting of natural sub-
stances, ‘treated’ mental illness, and continue to do so. They often exist

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 270 Tina Chakravarty

in concatenation with medical professionals in the community; literature

shows that community members access both, without perceiving any
contradiction between them (ibid.). In spite of differing epistemologies,
they exist in synchrony, without any overt evidence of conflict of interest.
Within a sociology of knowledge perspective, what this paper has
attempted to do is underline that the relationship between the passage
of time and the growth of knowledge is not random. Historicity is an
important facet of any knowledge system. This perspective recognises
the existence of alternatives and, as Peter Munz states, ‘this succession
of alternative views constitutes the historical dimension of knowledge’
(1985: 22). In this instance, knowledge to do with mental disorder/
illness is socially and historically conditioned and existentially determined
(Mannheim 1970). The process of knowing does not develop in accor-
dance with immanent laws, but social processes influence the process
of knowledge formation. Both temporal and social conditions influence
knowledge and do so by way of shaping its content and form (ibid.: 114).
The narrative history of mental disorder presented in this paper
attempts to problematise the objective, rationalist and essentialist pers-
pective that the biomedical model of mental disorder provides, and reiter-
ates the need to look at other practices related to treatment and approach
that is often dismissed as anecdotal at best. It also underlines the need to
examine the wider repertoire of healing practices available. Communities
throughout the globe have addressed the issue of mental disorder and heal-
ing in multiple ways, and the larger discourse is defined by multivocality
and plurality. It is imperative to provide due credence to these practices,
and in the words of B.J. Good adopt a more ‘meaning-centered approach’
and ‘contemplate an epistemological—and ethical—stance that does not
privilege the knowledge claims of biomedicine and biomedical sciences’
(1994: xi, xv). Diversity in approaches appears to be a strength rather
than a weakness and provides credence to the fact that madness/mental
disorder/illness lies in the interstitial space between magic, science, and
religion. The medical model of mental illness is one instance of this vast
repertoire of approaches, and needs to be seen as such.

Notes
* This paper is based on my MPhil dissertation (see Chakravarty 2010). I wish to thank
Prof. N. Jayaram, Dr. Deepak Mehta, Dr. Renu Addlakha and the anonymous referee
for their valuable suggestions, comments, and constructive criticisms.

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 Medicalisation of Mental Disorder 271

1. Benjamin Rush (1745–1813), the father of American psychiatry, maintained, for

example, that abnormal behaviour was derived from brain disease that had its locus
in the brain’s blood vessels (Cockerham 2000: 22).
2. The Old Testament mentions King Nebuchadnezzar, who was stricken with madness
and commanded to live as a woodman (Guislainstraat 1996).
3. Acutely disturbed and agitated patients were admitted to general hospitals; some
institutions had separate facilities or rooms for such patients. Some of these institu-
tions existed as early as 1326 in Elbing and 1375 in Hamburg (Rosen 1968).
4. William Harvey (1578–1657) and Thomas Sydenham (1624–89), two important
physicians, whose key interest was organic medicine, made important contributions
to psychiatry. Sydenham described the clinical manifestation of hysteria and recog-
nised for the first time the fact that hysterical symptoms may simulate almost all forms
of organic disease (Alexander and Selesnick 1967).
5. Thomas Adison (1793–1860) described a disease of the adrenal gland; Charles Bell,
a form of paralysis of the face due to neuropathology; Richard Bright (1789–1858), a
form of kidney disease; James Parkinson (1755–1824), a shaking palsy; and Thomas
Hodgkin (1798–1866), a type of leukaemia that attacks the lymph glands (Alexander
and Selesnick 1967: 151).
6. Some of the key studies undertaken in the Indian context with regard to treatment
of medical illness that lie outside of the western medical approach include studies on
folk therapies (all cited in Sebastia 2009); this also included studying socio-demo-
graphic categories of patients who consulted traditional healers by Satija et al. Other
studies Varma et al. and Teja et al. examined the phenomenon of possession or ‘devi’
syndrome, often seen as hysterical pathology and to identify the categories of people
who expressed it, in terms of socio-demographic identity, pathology, and the context
within which the possession occurred. Another study by Trivedi and Sethi examined
the diagnostic and therapeutic technique of healers. The aim of these studies was to
observe the patient/therapist relationship, to compare their diagnosis with those of
psychiatry and understand the symbols, idioms, and practices used by the healers to
enhance effectiveness of the therapy (Sebastia 2009). Another category of studies by
Somasundaram, Satija et al., Meha, Carstairs and Kapur (1976) looked at the practice
of religious therapy in temples and shrines.

References
Addlakha, R. 2008. Deconstructing mental illness: An ethnography of psychiatry, women and
the family. New Delhi: Zubaan.
Alexander, F.G. and S.T. Selesnick. 1967. The history of psychiatry: An evaluation of psychiatric
thought and practice from prehistoric times to the present. New York: George Allen and Unwin.
Carstairs, G.M. and R.L. Kapur. 1976. The great universe of Kota: Stress, change and mental
disorder in an Indian village. London: The Hogarth Press.
Chakravarty, Tina. 2010. Medicalisation of mental disorder: A study in the sociology of knowl-
edge. MPhil dissertation in Social Sciences, Tata Institute of Social Sciences, Mumbai.
Cockerham, W.C. 2000. Sociology of mental disorder (5th edition). Englewood Cliffs, NJ:
Prentice-Hall.

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 272 Tina Chakravarty

DNA, Mumbai, 30 November 2009.

Dombeck, M. 2000. The medicalisation of mental illness, www.mentalhelp.net/poc/view_
index.php (accessed on 11 December 2009).
Fara, P. 2009. Science: A four thousand year history. New York: Oxford University Press.
Foucault, M. 1965. Madness and civilization: A history of insanity in the age of reason. New
York: Vintage Books.
Good, B.J. 1994. Medicine, rationality and experience: An anthropological perspective. New
York: Cambridge University Press.
Gove, W.R. 1979. ‘The labeling versus the psychiatric explanation of mental illness: A
debate that has become substantively irrelevant—Reply’, in Journal of health and
social behavior, 20 (3): 301–04, http://www.jstor.org/stable/2136455 (accessed on
7 August 2009).
Guislainstraat, J. 1996. Neither rhyme nor reason: History of psychiatry. Ghent, Belgium:
Dr. Guislain Museum
Healy, D. 1990. The suspended revolution. London and Boston: Faber and Faber.
Hooker, R. 1996. www.wsu.edu/enlightenment (accessed on 24 June 2009).
Keel, R. 1999. www.umsl.edu/keelr/200/ethdev.html (accessed on 18 December 2009).
Mannhein, K. 1970. ‘The sociology of knowledge’, in J.E. Curtis J.W. Petras (eds.): The
sociology of knowledge: A reader (109–30). London: Gerald Duckworth and Co.
Melick, M.E.; H.J. Steadman and J.J. Cocozza. 1979. ‘The medicalization of criminal
behavior among mental patients’, in Journal of health and social behavior, 20 (3): 228–37,
http://www.jstor.org/stable/2136448 (accessed on 7 August 2009).
Munz, P. 1985. Our knowledge of the growth of knowledge: Popper or Wittgenstein? London:
Routledge and Kegan Paul.
Porter, R. 1988. ‘Introduction’, in J. Haslam: Illustrations of madness (xi–lxiv). London and
New York: Routledge.
Rosen, G. 1968. Madness in society: Chapters in the historical sociology of mental illness.
London: Routledge and Kegan Paul.
Sebastia, B. (ed.). 2009. Restoring mental health in India: Pluralistic therapies and concepts.
New Delhi: Oxford University Press.
Shorter, E. 1997. History of psychiatry: From the era of the asylum to the age of Prozac. New
York: John Wiley and Sons.

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 16
‘Indigenisation’ Not
‘Indianisation’ of Psychiatry:
An Anthropological
Perspective
Renu Addlakha

I
n an era of unprecedented developments in genetics and biotech-
nology that are transforming our understanding of the brain and
threatening deeply cherished notions of the human mind, con-
sciousness, emotions, and intellect, it is hard to imagine that not so long
ago another very different set of explanatory concepts were deployed
to account for the very same phenomena. Personality types, religion,
childhood experiences, the Oedipus complex, social class, and a host of
other socio-economic, psychological, and cultural factors were drawn
upon to explain mental life in both health and illness. In fact, from the
1960s to the 1980s, a distinct cultural paradigm developed in Indian
psychiatry that drew upon Hindu religions texts, Ayurveda, and other
distinctive socio-cultural realities to explain the Indian psyche. This was
accompanied by a sociological trend to specifically explore the relation-
ship between the family, gender and mental illness. This paper1 explores
the cultural configurations that appear to be disappearing from a profes-
sion now almost totally dominated by genetic markers, biochemical and
electrical brain activity, MRI (magnet resonance imagining), and mood
and behaviour-altering drugs.

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 274 Renu Addlakha

Within the well-established discipline of the history of medicine

in India, the history of psychiatry has emerged as an important area
of academic research (Ernst 1991; Basu 1999; Mills 2000). Following
the method of discourse analysis pioneered by Michel Foucault
(1988/1967), these scholars have dwelt upon the multiple linkages
between the colonial state and psychiatry, indigenous medical systems,
socio-economic change, and cultural practices. This paper begins where
these accounts end. Due to the overarching preoccupation with political
and economic hegemony of the colonial state, psychiatry remained more
or less an alien discourse during the colonial era, distinct from the local
context into which it was transplanted. The post-Independence era has
witnessed a rapid indigenisation of the discipline. This paper contends
that a strong cultural relativist perspective permeates psychiatry in India.
The analysis of the indigenisation of psychiatry is primarily based
on a content analysis of the Indian Journal of Psychiatry over the past
four decades. This journal has been the official organ of the Indian
Psychiatric Society since 1958. Periodically generated documents, such
as professional journals, are an important source for charting longitudi-
nal discursive changes offering the possibility of both quantitative and
qualitative analysis. For instance, a cursory review of the table of con-
tents of articles appearing in this journal during the 1960s and 1970s
highlights the salience of cultural psychiatry; contrast this with the
burgeoning of articles on biological psychiatry during the 1990s. This
change in focus is an outcome of global developments in the disciplines
of neuropsychiatry, psychopharmacology, and genetics configuring local
research and practice in India.
The first part of this paper is a short overview of the development
of psychiatry in India from the colonial period to the present. Since
psychopathology has been historically entangled with the law, issues
of mental health legislation and policy are intertwined with discus-
sions on diagnosis and treatment in this historical account. Although
Indian psychiatrists have, by and large, followed the dominant theo-
retical and therapeutic trends of their western colleagues, this has not
resulted in blind imitation. The distinctive socio-cultural contexts in
which they, as cultural actors, have been socialised and in which they
practise, have come to impinge on their work and their professional
identity. Although this reflexivity may not be easily discernible in clini-
cal practice, it foregrounds their research endeavours. It is this critical
self-appraisal of professional practice which constitutes the second part

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 ‘Indigenisation’ not ‘Indianisation’ of Psychiatry 275

of this paper. The focus is on cultural embeddedness of the psychiatric

discourse as reflected in major psychiatric constructs, syndrome profiles,
and therapeutic modalities. The question that I pose is simply: how has
culture impinged on psychiatric theory and practice in India? By this
I am in no way trying to undermine the influential role of other factors,
such as the discovery of new and more effective pharmacological agents
and the international emphasis on primary health care and its sequel in
community psychiatry. My focus is, however, on the impact of the cul-
tural, religious and symbolic domains on psychiatric theorising, clinical
practice and research.

The Development of Psychiatry in India:

An Overview

From the Mental to the General Hospital

The earliest mental hospitals in South Asia were set up in India.

Although the Portuguese introduced ideas of western medicine and
hospital treatment, the first such hospital for the isolation of mentally
disturbed persons was started in Bombay in 1745. The establishment
of similar institutions in the other two Presidencies followed, that is, in
Calcutta in 1787 and in Madras in 1794. These places were mainly built
for the treatment of European soldiers, a fact reflected in their barrack-
like architecture.
According to psychiatrists S. Sharma and L.P. Varma (1984), these
developments have to be examined in the light of the unstable socio-
political conditions of the time which put the English army under great
psychological strain. There was the decline of the Moghuls in Delhi,
accompanied by the rise of the Marathas on the West Coast and the
Sikhs in the North.2 Furthermore, there was a tussle for supremacy
between the English and the French in the South. One of the many con-
sequences of this social cauldron was the construction of mental asylums
on the Indian subcontinent. Furthermore, higher rates of mental disor-
der among Europeans were also attributed to the uncongenial tropical
climate. In her study of psychiatric institutionalisation in British India,
the English historian Waltraud Ernst regards the development of mental
hospitals essentially as a response of the colonial elite to the problems
of vagrancy and delinquency posed by its lower-class countrymen since:

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 276 Renu Addlakha

‘the maintenance of discipline among European troops and the preser-

vation of public peace among European civilians were a major preoc-
cupation of colonial rule’ (1988: 30).
Thus, the enforcement of army discipline and the measures against
European vagrancy, on the one hand, and the institutionalisation of
European lunatics, on the other, were closely interrelated. In many
cases, those classified as insane had a prior history of being convicted
for vagrancy or court-martialled following their desertion or discharge
from the army. Transferring them to a lunatic asylum was the solution
adopted by the civil and military authorities to this vexed state of affairs.
The same structural parameters of race, class and gender, along which
colonial society was divided, were reproduced inside the asylum. For
example, Ernst informs us that the pastimes available to occupants were
in keeping with colonial preconceptions. While the European inmates
were encouraged to read and participate in games compatible with polite
English company, the natives were made to engage in combative games
and animal husbandry. Consequently, ‘the choice of pastimes thus rein-
forced the stereotype ideal of the European—superior in intellect and
manners—as opposed to that of the typical Indian—given to fighting
and accustomed to caring for animals’ (ibid.: 36). It is also important
to note that, while class distinctions between the European inmates
were carefully preserved and reflected in the provisions and amenities
made available to them, the caste and religious sentiments of the native
inmates were completely ignored in the organisation of asylum life.
By the early 19th century, psychiatry had become an integral part of
the colonial system of social welfare reproducing the categories of racial
differences in yet another context. This period witnessed the establish-
ment of mental hospitals in the major cities on the subcontinent. Their
earlier social exclusiveness was eroded by an increase in the number of
native inmates. Bromides, hydrotherapy, blood-letting by leeches were the
main therapeutic measures employed to subdue the inmates. It was only
during the early part of the 20th century that any ameliorative changes
were introduced, probably in response to the adverse publicity given to
the living conditions in these establishments. When combined with the
growing popular demand for social reform, a number of administrative
measures were initiated. Mental hospitals, which were hitherto under the
charge of the inspector generals of prisons, were put under the charge of
civil surgeons. Secondly, a government ordinance was issued to the effect
that specialists in psychiatry were to be appointed full-time officers in

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 ‘Indigenisation’ not ‘Indianisation’ of Psychiatry 277

these hospitals. Thirdly, a central legislation, the India Lunacy Act, was
passed in 1912 to regulate their functioning. Lastly, in 1920, the expres-
sion ‘mental asylum’ was replaced by ‘mental hospital’ by a government
ruling signifying, at least at the level of administrative discourse, a change
in approach from custodial care to medical treatment. No other signifi-
cant development took place in psychiatry in India till Independence
in 1947, apart from the formation of the Indian Association of Mental
Hygiene in 1929 and of the Indian Psycho-Medical Association in 1938.
The latter was a branch of the parent British organisation which, subse-
quently, became the Indian Psychiatric Society in 1948.
India’s Independence coincided with critical developments in psy-
chiatry. New generation of psychoactive drugs, such as the neuroleptics,
made it possible to manage psychotic patients in the community. Long-
term incarceration of the mentally ill was no longer necessary. The
concept of primary health care for managing the health status of body
populations was gaining momentum. These developments influenced
the post-Independence Indian state’s health agenda on the provision
of an integrated package of curative and preventive services through
a nation-wide network of primary urban and rural health care centres
(Bhore 1946). Only four new mental hospitals have been constructed
after Independence, that is, one each in Hyderabad in 1953, in Srinagar
(Kashmir) in 1958, at Jamnagar (Gujarat) in 1960, and in Delhi in
1966. Clearly, the era of segregation into prison-like establishments had
come to an end and the focus of treatment for psychiatric patients shifted
to the wards and outpatient departments of general hospitals. Today, the
mental hospitals in the country continue to function; none of them has
been formally shut down to symbolise a formal de-institutionalisation
movement. Changes in architecture and organisational procedures more
in keeping with contemporary psychiatric practice have been initiated.
Despite these changes, most mental hospitals continue to embody the
old concepts of custodial care and medical supervision. Overcrowding
was estimated to be in the range of 200 per cent. They are places of ill
omen, dumping grounds’, where relatives abandon their burdensome
members, despairing of their ever recovering (Carstairs 1973). In some
hospitals the fatality rates are unacceptably high. The grim situation in
such establishments is highlighted by occasional media reports.3
The transition from mental hospital to general hospital psychia-
try was made possible by modern psychotropic drugs. Furthermore, the
comparative cost-effectiveness of psychiatry units in general hospitals

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 278 Renu Addlakha

resulted in their proliferation during the 1960s and 1970s. The first such
units came up in the King Edward Memorial Hospital and Jamshetji
Jeejeebhoy Hospital in Bombay during the 1940s. Initially, they were
established in general hospitals attached to medical colleges but later,
they also came up in government, private, and missionary hospitals.
They are now an integral part of major hospitals in all the state capitals
and other large cities of the country. In Tamil Nadu and Kerala, every
district hospital has a psychiatry unit.
The general consensus among mental health professionals seems to
be that psychiatric treatment in general hospital settings has enhanced
their professional credibility and respectability. It has also produced a
more favourable public attitude towards both the mentally ill and their
families. Medicalisation has reduced stigmatisation. There are no legal
restrictions on admission and treatment. Proximity to other medical
facilities ensures thorough investigations and early detection of other
co-existing pathological conditions. The research generated by such psy-
chiatry units far outweighs the research output of mental hospitals.
Thus, the shift of focus from the mental to the general hospital
has brought in its wake, not only a change in treatment modalities,
but also a different conception of mental illness and of the mentally ill
person. Nonetheless, a division between mental hospital and general
hospital psychiatry persists in psychiatry in India, even though both for-
mally operate within a conceptual framework that combines biological,
psychological, and social interventions (Wig 1989).

Mental Health Legislation and the Psychiatric Critique

It will be noted that the function of the psychiatric diagnosis is not con-
fined to the medical context. The law plays an important role in the
process. In her critical appraisal of the laws relating to the mentally ill in
India, Amita Dhanda (1995) argues that one of the approaches adopted
by adjudicators towards psychiatric evidence of mental illness is an
‘expertise deferent’ approach. Thus, courts often assume that a psychiatric
diagnosis is tantamount to legal determination of ‘unsoundness of
mind’. The other approach adopted by adjudicators is, what she calls, an
‘expertise distinguishing’ approach, which formally eschews an equation
between psychiatric and legal definitions of insanity: psychiatric evidence
is regarded as being relevant but not decisive of the legal determination.

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 ‘Indigenisation’ not ‘Indianisation’ of Psychiatry 279

Based on the British mental health legislation, a number of laws

were passed in India after the transfer of power from the East India
Company to the British Crown.4 The most important was the Indian
Lunacy Act (ILA) of 1912, which enabled a magistrate, with or without
medical opinion, to declare a person to be insane, order her/his incar-
ceration and appoint caretakers to look after her/his property. The Act
placed far more emphasis on the property than the well-being of the
afflicted person. While ‘lunatic’ was summarily described as ‘an idiot or
a person of unsound mind’ there were forty-six sections dealing with the
administration of her/his property. Furthermore, ILA made no distinc-
tion between the mentally ill and the mentally retarded, nor did it make
any mention of the patient’s rights or informed consent for treatment.
Its explicit purpose was simply to safeguard society against the danger
posed by the lunatic rather than to provide therapy and guarantee basic
human rights to the mentally disturbed.
Soon after its inception in 1948, the Indian Psychiatric Society had
drafted and actively canvassed for the adoption of more liberal men-
tal health legislation. The old Lunacy Act, however, continued to be
in operation till April 1993, when the Mental Health Act (MHA) of
1987 replaced it. The main features of this act are (a) incorporation of
modern concepts of mental illness and treatment, (b) primacy of the
role of medical officers, (c) simplification of the rules of admission and
discharge, (d) protection of human rights of patients, (e) providing for
supervision of the standard of care in psychiatric hospitals (by creat-
ing the Mental Health Authority), (f ) provision of penalties in case of
breach of laws in connection with welfare of the patients, and (g) care
and not custody as the ultimate aim.
In contrast to ILA, MHA has a whole section dealing with the pro-
tection of ‘Human Rights of Mentally Ill Persons’.5 It also differentiates
between the mentally ill and the mentally retarded and eschews the use
of such terms as ‘lunatic’, ‘insane’, ‘idiot’, and ‘unsound mind’. A men-
tally ill person is simply defined as one who is in need of treatment by
reason of any mental disorder other than mental retardation. The Act
calls for regular visits by visitors to duly licensed psychiatric hospitals
and also contains provisions for setting up of a Mental Health Authority.
Although the Indian Psychiatric Society had actively lobbied for
the passage of this Act, it is not without its critics. Even before it had
been passed by Parliament, S.M. Channabasavanna (1985), a leading
psychiatrist in the country, criticised the new law. Not only did he point

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 280 Renu Addlakha

to certain lacunae in the legislation, but he even questioned the need for
such legal provisions in the first place. He argued that, with the greater
medicalisation of mental illness and its treatment, there was no need for
a separate law to interfere in the affairs of psychiatric practice. He felt
that, ‘The treatment and care of psychiatric patients can be better with-
out the law’ (ibid.: 181). Admission for treatment should be voluntary
and, if the patient is not in a position to give consent, the relatives can
sign on her/his behalf. The management of the ill person’s property falls
within the legal sphere, but it need not be part of an Act dealing with
admission and discharge procedures.
In general hospital psychiatry units, patients are admitted and dis-
charged on the same terms as other medically ill patients. Consequently,
Channabasavanna wondered why there should be a differentiation
amongst psychiatric patients, depending on where they present them-
selves for treatment. This discrimination in admission to mental and
general hospitals should, therefore, be abolished. Secondly, the certifica-
tion and de-certification procedures are highly controversial. With the
availability of mental health professionals, the role of magistrates and
board of visitors is questionable. Thirdly, the empowerment of homeo-
paths, Ayurvedic doctors and other non-MBBS (Bachelor of Medicine
and Bachelor of Surgery) physicians to certify admissions is contradic-
tory, since death, medical, and fitness certificates issued by these practi-
tioners are invalid for insurance and other related purposes. Lastly, the
licensing system is as complicated as the admission procedures, both
being out of touch with the present medical reality of psychiatric illness
and its treatment. This leads to unintentional segregation and stigmati-
sation of both psychiatric patients and practitioners.
Although, MHA makes provisions for private psychiatrists, it
excludes psychoanalysts, psychologists, and psychiatric social workers
from the field of experts. This has the dual effect of curtailing access
to mental health care and further medicalising many social problems.
Given the fact that psychiatrists in this country are hardly trained in
non-invasive therapies, the Act does not lay down any regulation on the
irrational use of drugs and ECT (electroconvulsive therapy), the pri-
mary treatment modalities in psychiatry in India. Lastly, MHA is silent
on suicide and mentally ill prisoners.
It is, however, ironic that the very instrument that Channabasavanna
had so forcefully criticised, was the means of two landmark judgments. In
a public interest litigation suit, the Supreme Court, on 18 August 1993,

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 ‘Indigenisation’ not ‘Indianisation’ of Psychiatry 281

declared jailing of the mentally ill as unconstitutional and recognised

mental health care as a basic right of individuals. In yet another judg-
ment, in April 1994, the apex court declared punishment of persons
attempting suicide under Section 309 of the Indian Penal Code as
unconstitutional, and thus paved the way for the de-criminalisation of
attempted suicide.

Discrepancies between Mental Health Laws and Policies

The National Mental Health Programme (NMHP) formally came into

operation in 1982. Deriving from the principles of primary health care
enunciated in the Alma Ata Declaration of Health for All By the Year 2000
(WHO 1978), NMHP envisages the management of common mental
disorders in the community. It stipulates the assignment of appropriate
tasks to primary health centre personnel. While the primary-health-centre
doctors are to be trained to recognise, treat, and make referrals to spe-
cialists and to take steps to prevent mental disorders, health workers are
required to educate people in general about mental morbidity as well as
to do the referral, follow-up and rehabilitation of actual cases in their
catchment areas. The health workers are also taught to manage psychi-
atric emergencies such as suicide attempts and acute excitement in the
absence of a doctor. The National Mental Health Programme is a bold
initiative to develop an effective mental health delivery system using
locally available manpower and infrastructure. As in the case of MHA,
NMHP is not without its critics among mental health professionals. It is
exclusively based on a medical model of management without a proper
focus on rehabilitation and aftercare of the severely mentally disturbed. It
also neglects the gender dimensions of psychopathology.
A number of basic contradictions in the government’s approach
to mental health care appear when the two major documents, namely,
MHA and NMHP are juxtaposed. Despite the emphasis of the latter on
community mental health care, MHA, which came into effect more than
a decade later in 1993, makes no mention of these matters. While the
thrust of state policy is on decentralisation, the law appears to be more
concerned with limiting the field to psychiatrists, which flies in the face
of any attempt at community participation. These contradictions stem
from underlying theoretical differences. While the community mental
health movement is grounded in theories of life stress, social support,

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 282 Renu Addlakha

social networks, and family life, the legislation is rooted in outdated ideas
of incarceration and segregation of the mentally ill. The fact, nonetheless,
remains that both these approaches characterise contemporary psychia-
try and state mental health policy in India. None of the over forty mental
hospitals has been shut down. On the other hand, prestigious institu-
tions like the National Institute of Mental Health and Neurosciences
(NIMHANS) at Bangalore and the Postgraduate Institute of Medical
Education and Research (PGIMER) at Chandigarh are conducting
active and successful community mental health projects, which involve
not only other medical and paramedical personnel but the communi-
ties as well. It is this chequered state of affairs which is revealed by the
disjunction in the enunciative modalities between NMHP and MHA.
The initial pilot programmes and demonstration projects undertaken
to train primary health care personnel in the early 1970s and 1980s
proved the feasibility of this approach. Several manuals and modules
have been developed for this purpose and many extension programmes
are being undertaken by medical colleges throughout the country.
However, as with other top-down programmes, the ambitious targets
have not been reached; NMHP still remains a pilot programme without
having become an intrinsic part of the primary health care system in the
country.
This cursory overview of the development of psychiatry in India
reveals that it is only now emerging from its marginal position, both
within state policy and the medical profession. Professional expansion
in terms of training, practice, and research opportunities in general hos-
pital psychiatry initiated the process. The enunciation of NMHP and
the revision of the old Lunacy Act have contributed to enhancing the
status of the discipline and to reducing, to some extent, the social stigma
attached to the mentally ill. Lastly, the NGO sector is beginning to
play an important role in educating the public about mental disorders
and providing treatment and rehabilitation facilities in the community
(Patel and Thara 2003).

Ethnological Paradigm in Indian Psychiatry

The growth of psychiatry in India has followed a pattern of professional

evolution characteristic of other contemporary disciplines in post-
colonial societies, that is, the transplantation of Eurocentric discourses

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 ‘Indigenisation’ not ‘Indianisation’ of Psychiatry 283

and their subsequent integration in the host society through accultura-

tion, subtly altering but not snapping links with the culture of origin.
Paralleling the transcultural study of psychopathology in the western
psychiatric literature, articles appearing in the Indian Journal of Psychiatry
have focussed on the cultural re-interpretation of major psychiatric syn-
dromes, their phenomenology and therapy. The Hindu scriptures and
indigenous medical systems are the filters through which western psy-
chiatric concepts have been questioned. Thus, Indian psychiatrists have
made attempts to correlate schizophrenia with unmada, the equivalent
of insanity in the Ayurvedic texts (Unnikrishnan 1964; Mahal et al.
1977) and to test the efficacy of Ayurvedic preparations in its treatment
through case-control studies (Dattaray et al. 1964; Mahal et al, 1976).
This approach of cultural analysis, re-interpretation, and treatment has
also been applied to other psychiatric conditions.

Ethnomedical and Religious-Symbolic

Systems and Mental Health

Perhaps, the most striking instance of cultural configuration of psychiatric

thinking is demonstrated by the research on the impact of the ethno-
medical and religious symbolic systems on concepts of mental illness
and health. Scholars like A. Venkoba Rao (1964, 1978), N.S. Vahia et al.
(1966), and L.P. Varma (1974) point to the interweaving of the eth-
nomedical and religious idioms in ancient Indian thought. Among the
scriptures, the Bhagavat Gita has been repeatedly singled out to highlight
the nature and predicament of the Indian psyche. According to Rao, ‘Gita
is a work on basic human dynamic psychology par excellence, and a mas-
terpiece of psychotherapy’ (1984: 55).
Indian psychiatrists have repeatedly acknowledged the ethnocen-
trism of western psychotherapeutic paradigms and attempts have been
made to find viable alternatives. According to S.K. Pande (1968), since
western psychotherapy is grounded in the Judaeo-Christian tradition,
it is of limited use in the Indian context. On the other hand, fusing
concepts from psychoanalysis and the Bhagavad Gita, D. Satyanand
(1972) developed a method of ‘soul analysis’ that co-ordinates the vari-
ous dimensions of personality in the whole man. In a similar vein, Vahia
et al. (1972, 1973a, 1973b) have tried to use concepts of ashtang yoga in
the treatment of mental disorders, apparently with good results.

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 284 Renu Addlakha

Ayurveda treats mental disorders under the rubric bhoot vidya (demon-
ology), with evil spirits being regarded as the main agents of mental afflic-
tion. Other models of disease causation within the Ayurvedic tradition
attribute mental illness to an imbalance in the three principal humours
(tridosha), namely, wind, bile, and phlegm. When the humour in excess
circulates towards the heart (seat of the mind) and blocks the channels
and ducts leading to it, mental affliction is the outcome. Thus, Ayurveda
proposes both a religio-magical (demonological) and somatopsychic the-
ory of mental illness, traces of which have filtered into folk models of
psychopathology. In her analysis of psychiatric pluralism in Bengal, D.P.
Bhattacharyya (1983) has identified the conceptual mix, characterising
the explanatory models of mental illness of both patients and their fami-
lies. This cognitive pluralism incorporates possession states by ghosts with
the effects of sorcery and head disturbance associated with heat and bile.
Indigenous Ayurvedic pharmacopoeias, used in the treatment of
mental disorders, have been experimentally tested in medical settings
to assess their relative efficacy against standard psychotropic drugs
(Dattaray et al. 1964; Hakim 1964; Mahal et al. 1976). The general
finding of these studies seems to be that indigenous drugs are more or
less as effective as modern tranquilisers in managing both psychotic and
neurotic disorders. It is ironical that there has not been more serious
research on the psychopharmacological potentialities of Ayurveda from
a biomedical perspective, given the fact that the first report of successful
treatment of psychoses came from India, when C. Sen and K.C. Bose
(1931) used rauwolfa serpentina (reserpine) extract for this purpose,
more than two decades before the antipsychotics came into routine use.
While one strand of ethnological research in psychiatry in India has
focussed on testing the relative efficacy of indigenous treatment modali-
ties vis-à-vis western psychiatric and psychotherapeutic interventions,
another strand can be located in the area of cultural re-interpretation
of basic psychological categories, such as the efforts to define the work-
ings of the Indian mind in terms of the tenets of the Bhagavad Gita. In
a similar vein, J.S. Neki has analysed the Sikh notion of saheja, which
he likens both to ‘a process and a state characterised by equipoise and
nascent freedom bringing about harmony both within the self and in its
relation to the environment and culminating in illumination’ (1975: 6).
J.P. Balodhi (1991) equates the Indian notion of holistic health with
George L. Engel’s (1977) concept of the bio-psychosocial model of medical

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 ‘Indigenisation’ not ‘Indianisation’ of Psychiatry 285

practice incorporating the organic, socio-cultural and psychological dimen-

sions of both illness and health. According to Balodhi, the Vedas, Puranas,
Brahmanas, Upanishads, and the epics conceptualise the person in her/his
total environment, which includes both her/his present worldly status and
her deeds in previous incarnations. That is why medical pluralism is the
keynote of traditional medical systems, embedded as they are in the belief
that any illness, including mental illness, requires a multi-therapeutic
approach, that is, medicinal, spiritual, and occult.
The conflation of traditional conceptual categories and those of the
western psychiatric discourse has occurred in various ways, but perhaps the
most well-known example is the application of the guru-chela (preceptor-
disciple) paradigm to the therapist-patient relationship. Following up on
the psychiatrist-anthropologist G.M. Carstairs’ (1965) idea of the salience
of this model in Indian culture, Neki (1973, 1974) formulated it into a
formal psychotherapeutic paradigm for use in clinical settings. It does not
represent any mundane dyadic relationship such as parent-child with its
accompanying transference and counter-transference. The guru embodies
the authority of the culture: he is in this world and simultaneously out of
it. This transaction has a spiritual and religious basis and dictates a more
active role for the guru than endorsed by the western psychotherapeutic
paradigm for the therapist. For Neki (1976), the concept of dependency
is as ethnocentric as any other western psychological notion. Dependency
is integral to the socialisation process in India and does not carry the same
pejorative connotations attributed to it in contemporary individualis-
tic cultures. Indian parents actively foster dependency in their children
and any attempt at self-assertion is immediately interpreted as rebellion.
According to Neki, dependence and dependability are inextricably inter-
woven in personal and social development. Situated within the life-cycle,
Indian parents ensure that the younger generation develops dependent
personalities, which, in turn, will guarantee that they themselves are
cared for in their declining years. Thus, dependency is not a bugbear
of psychotherapy in India, as it is in the West. The Indian therapist not
only accepts dependency leanings as normal, but also works towards their
displacement on significant others around the patient. Against this back-
drop, there has been a lot of discussion among Indian professionals on the
need to develop more culturally relevant psychotherapeutic models that
take into account the specificities of Indian conditions and personality
structure.

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 286 Renu Addlakha

Culture-Bound Conditions

The principal factor leading to the development of the discipline of

cross-cultural psychiatry was the discovery of the existence of distinctive
culture-bound syndromes with culturally embedded manifestations and
etiologic explanations. Indian psychiatrists have also identified certain
psychopathological reactions with high cultural loading. The most well-
known of these is the dhat or semen-loss syndrome, originally described
by N.N. Wig in 1960. The prototypical clinical case is of a young man
of lower socio-economic status and poor educational background. In
addition to physical and mental exhaustion, the patient presents mul-
tiple somatic complaints, which he attributes to the passage of semen in
the urine. He also feels guilty about the loss of semen, which he connects
to over-indulgence in masturbation or sexual intercourse. In the folk
and Ayurvedic medical systems, such symptomatology is recognised as
a distinct illness, for which many herbal and non-herbal remedies exist.
In the clinical context, Indian psychiatrists have translated semen-loss
syndrome as male potency disorder characterised by clinical depression.
Suchi-bai condition (literally, purity mania) has been defined as a
type of obsessional neurosis in Bengali culture. In a society in which
the most ordinary activities of daily life such as eating, washing, and
cooking are ritualised and infused with a holy significance, the bound-
ary between normal observance and pathological preoccupation may get
blurred. According to Ajita Chakraborty (1975a, 1975b), the lives of
women are more ritualised than those of men. In addition to perform-
ing the routine household chores, they are the principal participants in
the numerous prayers and fasts that characterise the Hindu calendar.
Consequently, they are more subject to the dictates of social customs
and taboos; and among certain groups such as widows, the observance
of such pollution rules may border on the pathological.
Socio-cultural factors not only contribute to the emergence of dis-
tinctive psychiatric symptomatic clusters, but they also mould the patho-
genesis and manifestation of mental disorders in general. While such
impact is more discernible at the level of psychiatric phenomenology, it
also configures the treatment and outcome of mental disorders. Cross-
cultural studies show higher rates of somatisation among psychiatric
patients in non-western societies. The western psychiatric patients, it
is alleged, have a greater tendency towards psychologisation of distress.

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 ‘Indigenisation’ not ‘Indianisation’ of Psychiatry 287

Several explanations have been put forward to account for this differ-
ence in symptomatic presentation. The non-western languages, such as
Tamil, have no dualistic separation between psychological and somatic
aspects of experience (Kleinman and Kleinman 1985). Since personal
meaning and social structural complexes frame the expression of dis-
tress, inadequate social support systems and limited opportunities to
ventilate feelings are likely to facilitate physical expressions of negative
emotions (Nichter 1982). The existence of sharp divisions between
male and female domains and cultural codes regulating sexuality and
feelings of shame also influence the mode of expression of pain, espe-
cially among women (Pugh 1991). It has been observed that a majority
of Indian patients often use the somatic idiom to express psychologi-
cal distress. Complaints of gas (vata) in various body regions emerge
as a salient somatic idiom of psychic distress. Its connection with the
Ayurvedic notion of an excess of wind (vata) resulting in disease comes
to mind.
Several psychiatrists have noted that guilt is not integral to the
depressive experience in a majority of Indian patients. The inability to
perform one’s social roles is, in fact, more likely to precipitate feelings
of shame (Bhattacharya and Vyas 1969; Bagadia et al. 1973a, 1973b,
1973c; Sethi et al. 1973). It will be observed that the distinction between
guilt and shame is related to the source of the discomfort, that is, shame
is connected with the feeling of discomfiture arising out of the failure
to meet social expectations and the fear of loss of face in front of others.
Guilt, on the other hand, is a more intra-psychic phenomenon linked to
notions of individual responsibility, self-worth, and conscience. Where
illness is attributed to external forces such as karma, the will of god or
possession by evil spirits, feelings of shame are more likely to ensue.
Where the affliction is attributed to deficits, physical or psychological,
within the individual herself, guilt is more likely to be the outcome.

Culturally Sensitive Therapies

In view of the definitive role of culture in the genesis and manifesta-

tion of psychiatric disorders, Indian psychiatrists have expressed a sense
of dissatisfaction with the blind application of treatment approaches
developed in the West (Ananth 1981). As far back as 1964, N.C. Surya

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 288 Renu Addlakha

and S.S. Jayaram lamented the western orientation of Indian psychia-

trists trained in an alien language and conceptual frameworks. They
observed:

The Indian Patient is more ready to accept overt situational support, less
ready to seek intra-psychic explanations, more insistent and importunate with
regard to personal needs and time, more ready to discard ego boundaries and
involve the therapist in direct role relationships and finally in his ideal or ide-
alized support in the good joint family Elder (sic) (1964: 154).

According to B.B. Sethi (1977), an indigenous psychotherapeutic

model should take cognisance of the specific problems encountered in
the Indian setting such as poverty, malnutrition, over-population, etc.
Individual-centred psychotherapies are unsuitable since the family is not
the focus of the therapy. According to Sethi, ‘it is essential that families
function as therapeutic units’, and ‘stable families in the long run would
lead to stable individuals and the stable society’ (ibid.: 1).
In a similar vein, A.S. Mahal (1975) had commented on the impos-
sibility of an exclusive therapeutic relationship between a patient and
a doctor in which the family does not play a formal part. Taking the
example of how neurotic patterns in a family member often find support
from a relative, for example, a hysterical girl finding reinforcement from
her over-protective mother, he suggests a tripartite therapeutic encounter
between the doctor, the patient, and a significant relative to be more effec-
tive in treatment than a simple dyadic interaction between therapist and
patient. On the basis of his observation in professional practice, Mahal
presents a four-fold typology of Indian families. Most poor Indian fami-
lies fall in the category of what he calls ‘leaderless families’. They are char-
acterised by child-like behaviour of members, present-orientation with
no long-term goals, and poor respect for elders who provide poor leader-
ship. There is competition for scarce resources as well as deep attachment
among members with short-lived quarrels over resource-sharing. There
are marginal differences in behaviour between grown-ups and children.
In ‘split families’, on the other hand, there is a constant competition for
leadership among two or more persons. This often occurs in households
where the senior male is an ineffectual leader, while the mother or grand-
mother has good leadership qualities. This competition splits the family
unit into two or more quarrelling factions with individuals taking sides
according to their advantage. Co-operation is minimal. In ‘authoritarian

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 ‘Indigenisation’ not ‘Indianisation’ of Psychiatry 289

families’, the unity and harmony of the family unit depends on whether
the patriarch or matriarch is benevolent or selfish and insensitive. The
families with ‘democratic leaders’ are the ideal type since they are char-
acterised by unity, co-operation and amity. It will be noted that this
four-fold division is based on only one criterion, namely, leadership or
distribution of authority within the joint family. Other features such as
family composition, nature of household and pattern of distribution of
income have not been taken into account in this classification.
There are several polarities in terms of which Indian clinicians dis-
tinguish between dominant or modal personality patterns of Indians
vis-à-vis their western counterparts. These, in turn, are shown to have a
decisive impact on the nature of psychotherapeutic practice in the two
settings. Firstly, Indians are regarded as being more emotionally depen-
dent, implying that any therapy, which is based on working towards a
high level of individualisation and autonomy, is unlikely to make much
headway in the Indian clinical context. That is why Neki proposed the
guru-chela paradigm as an alternative, since it fosters both dependency
and well-being in a fashion congruent with dominant cultural values.
The patient’s expectations, when approaching the therapist in this model,
are not grounded in terms of individualism or free expression, but are
framed by what R.F. Torrey and J. Hsu (1972) refer to as the ‘edifice com-
plex’, that is, a lay person or disciple approaching an exalted personage.
The therapist is expected, under such circumstances, to play a more
active role in decision-making on behalf of patients and their families
(Surya and Jayaram 1964). Indian psychiatrists are more active than
their western counterparts. They make suggestions, express sympathy,
manipulate the environment, instruct and reassure (V.K. Varma 1982).
The problem in strictly applying the tenet of confidentiality is evident
given the nature of the family’s role in psychotherapy. Finally, it has been
found that the social distance between psychiatrists and their clients in
terms of caste, class, and gender is more amenable to a filial, avuncular,
or paternal rather than a purely professional relationship.
It is not only the environing social structure which fosters inter-
dependence; cosmological and religious beliefs also contribute to sus-
taining it. Interpreting illness essentially in terms of physical and
metaphysical, and not psychological, factors seems to fly in the face of
the psychotherapeutic endeavour itself, when defined as an interpersonal
method of mitigating suffering through persuasion and other forms of
psychological manipulation. The connection between the doctrine of

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 290 Renu Addlakha

karma and feelings of guilt bears special meaning for psychotherapy.

According to B.B. Sethi and S. Dube (1982), constructing illness in
terms of karma leads to a sense of relief rather than guilt.

Possession: Pathology or Cultural Belief?

In psychiatric nosology, possession is associated with the psychiatric cat-

egory of dissociative reaction, but it is also a culture-specific, psychiatric
reaction by no means limited to the Indian subcontinent. The study of
traditional healing practices has been a common terrain for both anthro-
pologists and psychiatrists. For instance, Sudhir Kakar (1982) and
Deborah Bhattacharyya (1983 and 1986) have done extensive work on
psychiatric pluralism in India. Several Indian psychiatrists have under-
taken research on the socio-demographic characteristics of traditional
healers and their clients and on the efficacy of traditional therapeutic
modalities such as trance and exorcism. They have realised the impor-
tance of these healers as therapeutic resources in the community and the
need to understand their diagnostic and treatment systems. In addition
to the work of D.C. Satija et al. in Rajasthan (1982), other psychiatric
studies have been carried out by O. Somasundaram (1973) in Tamil
Nadu and by J.K. Trivedi and B.B. Sethi (1979a, 1979b) in Lucknow
(Uttar Pradesh). Contradicting the popular belief that illiterate rural
people are the ones who mainly avail of the services of such local prac-
titioners, Satija et al. (1982) found that 80 per cent of the clients at the
Balaji Temple were educated from the primary to the postgraduate levels
and that the overwhelming majority of them came from the urban areas.
The urban-rural ratio being 82 to 18 per cent, students, housewives, and
the business community were the main occupational groups. Among
motivational factors, it was found that failure of allopathic treatment
was a major factor reported in 82 per cent of cases. This was followed
by persuasion by family members and friends in 66 per cent of per-
sons interviewed. People suffering from psychiatric disorders accounted
for 92 per cent of the cases with the psychoneuroses, such as hysteria,
anxiety states, and neurotic depression heading the list. A large number
of cases reported considerable improvement or complete recovery after
undergoing trance at the Mehandipur Temple.
In the clinical context, Indian psychiatrists have identified a distinc-
tive, culture-specific, symptomatic cluster, which they refer to as the

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 ‘Indigenisation’ not ‘Indianisation’ of Psychiatry 291

possession syndrome (Teja et al, 1970; Venkataramaiah et al. 1981).

The belief in possession by one of the goddesses of the Hindu pan-
theon is a common cultural pattern. Subsuming it under the rubric of a
culture-specific reaction signifies the professional recognition of the thin
boundary between cultural belief and pathological reaction. The inter-
pretation and treatment of possession syndrome in the clinical context
requires the psychiatrist to walk a tight rope between pathologising it as
a psychiatric disorder and, at the same time, respecting the patient’s and
even family’s belief in a divine visitation. This negotiation is described
by two clinicians in the following terms:

Thus, where there was a belief like possession by a deity, it would be essen-
tial to accept and go along with the patient in the belief that the particular
deity was giving the patient strength and use that strength to achieve the
therapeutic end by getting the patient to conquer and resolve his conflicts.
Likewise, where beliefs in certain cultural observances existed and neurotic
symptoms were blamed for failure to carry out certain rituals, the patient
should be advised to complete them and the treatment of neuroses should
proceed along the usual lines (de Souza and Ramanan 1984: 197).

Psychiatry in India has evolved over an extended period of time:

from the construction of mental hospitals during the rule of the East
India Company to the present era of community psychiatry. During a
greater part of this period, traditional medical concepts and treatment
practices have not only been relegated to the background by the western
trained physicians, but actively opposed on grounds of epistemologi-
cal validity and therapeutic efficacy. The recent professional interest in
trans-cultural therapy and the need to target community therapeutic
resources, such as the family, have conferred some legitimacy on these
age-old and time-tested procedures.

Conclusion

This paper is a modest attempt in constructing a history of modern

psychiatry in India. It has attempted to highlight the multiple levels
of engagement between psychiatry, culture, and the political economy
in the Indian context. While in the first part, the historical backdrop
constituted the macro-context for discussion, the second part specifi-
cally focused on the interface between culture and psychiatric practice

Chapter 16.indd 291 2013-11-26 3:52:35 PM

 292 Renu Addlakha

at the micro-level. This is not to say that there was no interface between
psychiatric practice and cultural imperatives during the colonial era.
Indeed, there is always an ineluctable interpenetration between culture
and discourse. But the difference lies in the degree of interpenetra-
tion. My reading of the material convinces me that, during the colonial
period, maintenance of law and order and political control dominated
the practice of psychiatry in the clinic to an overwhelming extent. With
the attainment of Independence, this thraldom was somewhat loosened,
making it possible for psychiatrists to engage more actively with the local
context. Furthermore, the development of newer generation of psycho-
active drugs leading to community psychiatry and the international
human rights movement not only undermined the traditional segre-
gation of the mentally ill but also compelled practitioners to question
the social, cultural, and economic underpinnings of their own practice.
The pioneering contributions of such Indian psychiatrists as A. Venkoba
Rao, J.S. Neki, N.N. Wig, B.B. Sethi, N.S. Vahia, and V.N. Bagadia,
among a host of others, cannot be undermined.
However, as the title of this paper indicates, the engagement with
culture even during the peak period between the 1960s and 1980s was
not able to generate a distinctive Indian tradition of psychiatry with
explanatory validity and therapeutic force to replace the key constructs
of the western discourse. The developments in biological psychiatry over
the past decades have further eroded this possibility. In addition, the
forces of globalisation and the proliferation of the internet have resulted
in the circulation of knowledge systems making explicit enculturation
even more difficult. So, while indigenisation is an inevitable process,
especially in disciplines dealing with human behaviour like psychiatry,
the possibility of a unique culturally-embedded Indian school of psy-
chiatry may not be a realisable goal.

Notes
1. This paper is based on my ethnographic research on the psychiatric profession in
India (Addlakha 2008).
2. The reference is to conflicts among certain ethnic groups in India.
3. There is also a flourishing private trade in lunacy brought to light by the Erwadi trag-
edy in 2001. On 6 August 2001, twenty-eight persons labelled as mentally ill perished
in a fire in Badhusa private mental home in Erwadi Dargah of Ramanathapuram dis-
trict of Tamil Nadu. They were chained to their beds and could not escape the flames

Chapter 16.indd 292 2013-11-26 3:52:35 PM

 ‘Indigenisation’ not ‘Indianisation’ of Psychiatry 293

that engulfed their thatched huts. Their cries for help were ignored by the asylum
owners mistaking them for the usual outbursts of the mentally ill.
4. These enactments were (a) The Lunacy (supreme court) Act, 1853 (Act 34 of 1858);
(b) The lunacy (District Courts) Act, 1858 (Act 35 of 1858); (c) The Indian Lunatic
Asylums Act (Act 360 of 1858); (d) The Military Lunatics Act, 1877 (Act 11 of 1877);
(e) The Indian Lunatic Asylums (Amendment) Act, 1886 (Act 18 of 1886); and (f) The
Indian Lunatic Asylums (Amendment) Act 1889 (Act 20 of 1889).
5. The Act categorically states that (a) patients may not be subjected to any indignity
(physical or mental) or cruelty during treatment, (b) patients may not be used for
research purposes unless this is of direct benefit to their diagnosis and treatment,
(c) the responsibility for allowing research lies with the relatives of an incompetent
patient; voluntary patients may not be used for research, even if it is to their benefit,
without their consent, and (d) patients must be granted basic rights in conformity
with human dignity (Section 81). Section 81 becomes all the more relevant in the light
of the fact that a person loses her/his civil rights to vote, contract, and hold property
upon being medically certified as being of unsound mind.

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 Index
aadu todaa ilai (Adathoda Vasaka), 22
abortion, 162
accessibility to services
importance in health services, xxxv
acquired immunodeficiency syndrome
(AIDS), xxxvii
acute/cure paradigm, 82
adjustments, in quantity of food, 25
age group, of doctors, 66
Agnosia disorder, 83
All India Institute of Medical Sciences
(AIIMS), 161
Alma Ata Declaration of 1978, 43
Alma Ata Declaration of Health for
All By the Year 2000, 281
Alzheimer’s disease, 82–84
Amniocentesis technique, 159
Anganwadi Centre, in Himachal
Pradesh, 54
anganwadi workers, 170
Annual Health Micro Plans, Himachal
Pradesh, 53–54
antenatal care (ANC), xxxv, 139,
144–45
Aphasia disorder, 83
Apraxia disorder, 83
ashtang yoga, concept of, 283
Auxiliary nurse midwives (ANM),
170–71, 194
in Uttar Pradesh, xxix, 35–36
Index.indd 297
commuting problems, 41
dereliction of duty, 36–37
Ayurveda system, 4, 15, 30, 180, 268,
284
baharnisar, 125, 130–31, 134
banjh (infertile woman), 180, 189
batch-living, 79
Bhagavat Gita, 283
Bharatiya Janata Party, 229n7
Bihar
availability of medical facilities in,
144
correlation among predictor
variables, construction of,
148–50
family-planning programme in, 145
RHI for women, 146–47
use of contraceptives, 142
bimari, 123–24
biological body, 107
biomedical model, 211
birth medicalisation, 159
blood, 23–24
body constitution, 23–24
cadaver transplantation, 10
cancer, 82–83
cancer research institute, report on,
86–87
11/8/2013 10:25:56 PM
 298
castes, in India
classification of, 153–54
correlation among predictor
variables, construction of
in Bihar, 148–50
in Orissa, 150
in West Bengal, 151
impact on people lives, xxxv, 138,
140–41
influence on women reproductive
health, 140
structure, study of
objectives of, 141
variations in reproductive health
indicators, 142–46
caste-wise ownership, of cinema halls
and lodges in Rajamundry,
226
caturam (body frame), 23
charity-based approach, 80
chemicalised foods, 28–29
childbirth, 162–63
childlessness, 197–98, 206
childless women, perceptions on, 197
chinna illu (small house ), 222–24
Chorionic Villi Biopsy technique, 159
chronic/care paradigm, 82
common cold, 102
Community Health Centre, 111
Community Health Volunteers
(CHVs), 194
compatibility, concept of, 30
conditioning to ecology, through food,
27–28
congenitally deformed babies, 159
Congress party, 229n7
constancy in meal-timings, 20
consultants physicians (CPs), xxx, 63
number of children, 67
professional situation of, 67
consumerist perspective, 97
Consumer Protection Act, 9
continuous, long-term, systematic
and multidisciplinary care
(CLSM), 81
Index.indd 298
Sociology of Health
contraceptives use, in rural areas
eastern states, 142–43
cool bodies, 24
coolie labour, 15
correctional operations,
xxxviii. See also Human
Immunodeficiency Virus and
Acquired Immune Deficiency
Syndrome (HIV/AIDS)
cultural embeddedness, of psychiatric
discourse, 275
culturally sensitive therapies, for
psychiatric disorders, 287–90
culture of silence, xxxv
dais (traditional midwives), 145
death rates, by gender, 165
decentralised health care delivery
systems, 43
deliberative model, 97
dengue fever, 102
de-traditionalisation, xxvii
Devadasi Prevention of Dedication
Act 1947, 214
devadasi system, 214–15, 229n4
dhat (semen-loss syndrome), 286
Dichlorodiphenyltrichloroethane
(DDT), 119
diet content, in Tamil Nadu villages,
15–17
digestive system, 19
diseases
Hippocrates views on, 262
meaning of, 116
model, 116
transmission, xxxviii
District Planning Committees,
Himachal Pradesh, 45
Doctor’s
active involvement in medical
practice, 78
age group of (see age group, of
doctors)
and patients interaction/
relationship, 2–3, 9, 96–98
11/8/2013 10:25:56 PM
 index 299

as narrative, 98–102 foods

study of, 102–12
as professionals, xxix–xxxi
social role of, 2
training in sociology, xxiv–xxv, 3
dry-land farming, 15
Dutch Cancer Institute
doctors dominance in, 81
emphasis on technology and greater
specialization, 80
establishment of, 80
Dutch society
professionalisation of health care
in, xxxi
Early Detection and Prompt
Treatment (EDPT), 122
eating habits, in Tamil Nadu villages,
19–21
economic differences, among caste
groups, 152
education, in reproductive health,
xxxvi
Enlightenment movement, 256–58,
264–66
Ericsson method, 160
euthanasia, Minocha’s debate on, 10
expertise deferent approach, 278
expertise distinguishing approach, 278
factionalism among medical staff,
Uttar Pradesh, 39
family-planning programme, 145,
170, 173
female foetus, illegal testing in India,
158
female–male ratio (FMR), 156–57
fever
category of, 102–3
clinics, 103
talk, 103
folk-health tradition in Thevar
Thirumagan District, Tamil
Nadu, 15
folk medicine, 14
and body, relationship between,
24–26
chemicalised, 28–29
consumption
in day and night, 25
as per proportion to work
done, 25
and health, xxvi–xxviii
significance in Tamil Nadu villages,
17–19
gender-neutral doctor–patient
relationship, xxxvi
gender significance in infertility
management, 186
general practitioners (GPs), 63, xxx
number of children, 67
professional situation of, 67
graft, among ANM, Uttar Pradesh,
37–38
Gram Panchayat (GP)
decentralised health care delivery
systems operations through, 43
role in health-care delivery services,
xxix
gram sabha (GS), 44
grey zone, 228, 229n9
guru-chela (preceptordisciple)
paradigm, 285, 289
Hakim, 4
Haryana, sex-ratio by birth, 165
health, xxv–xxviii
patients narratives on (see patients
narratives on health)
health care, xxv, xxviii–xxix
Health for All Report, Minocha’s
criticisms of, 3–4
healthism, 110
health paradigms and institutions,
changes in, xxii
health professionals, role in Uttar
Pradesh, 42
health service organisations, xxiii

Index.indd 299 11/8/2013 10:25:56 PM

 300
heart distress, 128
hidden sex-workers, 229n9
Himachal Pradesh
gram panchayats
Anganwadi Centre, 54
capacity building of, 54
empowerment to, 45–46
role of, 51–52
infant mortality rate in, 44
PRIs establishment in, 44
research context and methodology,
47–50
background characteristics of
sample respondents, 50–51
civil society role, study of, 53
Standing and Advisory
Committees role, study of, 53
reservation of seats for, 45
rural literacy rate, 44
holistic health, notion of, 284–85
homeopathy, 180, 268
hot bodies, 24
HP Panchayat Act, 1968, 44
HP Panchayat Raj Act, 1994, 44–45
Human Immunodeficiency Virus and
Acquired Immune Deficiency
Syndrome (HIV/AIDS), xxiii,
xxxvii–xxxix, 204
among prisoners, 233
biomedical model in context of, 211
categorisation of, 211
dimensions of, 229n6
East Godavari district (Andhra
Pradesh), case study, 213–14
amalgamation of risk and non-
risk activities in risk zone, 227
emergence of propertied classes,
218–22
setting of study, 214–18
spatial segregation of
Kalavanthulu community,
222–26
problems regarding, 212–13
risk and non-risk zones, 213
Index.indd 300
Sociology of Health
Westville Medium B (WMB) South
Africa, study of prisoners with
HIV and AIDS (see Westville
Medium B (WMB) South
Africa, study of prisoners HIV
and AIDS)
human nature, notion of, xxvii
human reproduction and politics,
161–66
illicit organ trade, 10
illness
meaning of, 116, 128
social construction of, 177
incorporated knowledge, 29–31
Indian Council of Social Science
Research (ICSSR), xxiii
Indian Journal of Psychiatry, xli, 274,
283
Indian Lunacy Act (ILA) of 1912, 279
Indian Lunatic Asylums Act (Act 360
of 1858), 293n4
Indian Lunatic Asylums (Amendment)
Act, 1886 (Act 18 of 1886),
293n4
Indian Lunatic Asylums (Amendment)
Act 1889 (Act 20 of 1889),
293n4
Indian Psychiatric Society, 274, 279
indiscriminate diet, 22–23
Indoor Residual Spray (IRS), 122
infanticide, 162, 164
infant mortality rates (IMR)
by gender, 165
in Himachal Pradesh, 44
infertility, xxxvi–xxxvii
correction of problem through
social interventions, 189–90
methodology of study on, 194
primary and secondary, 192
research and interventions,
recommendations for
adoption of preventive measures,
205–6
11/8/2013 10:25:56 PM
 index
creation of friendly hospital
environments, 204
involvement men as well as
families, 204–5
social implications of, 177
specialists observations on, 189
study in Jaipur, Rajasthan
methodology of, 178–79
observations of, 179–88
treatment seeking
initiation of, 195–96
process of, 196–203
WHO definition of, 188
informal networks, 157–58
informative model, 97
informed consent doctrine, 9
inherited knowledge, 29–31
initiation of treatment-seeking
pathway, for infertility
problem, 196
Insecticide Treated Mosquito Nets
(ITMN), 122
institution, concept of, 113
institutions in narrative, of doctor-
patient interaction, 99–100
inter-faculty collaboration, for
medical personnel training in
sociology, 3
International Conference on
Population and Development
(ICPD) 1994, Cairo, 43, 139,
170, xxxv
inter-personal relations, between
physician-patient, 70–72
janch, 160. See also Ultra-Sonography
technique
job satisfaction, 73
joint family system, in rural areas, 142
kannaku (measure), 20–21
karma, 287, 290
Kerala
category of fever by mid-1980s, 102
Index.indd 301
301
clinics, starting of, 103
collection of data on fever in,
103–4
therapeutic interaction (see
therapeutic interaction, in
Kerala)
Lady Hardinge Medical College for
Women, Delhi, 6
laparoscopic sterilisations, 172
leaderless families, 288
legal abortions, xxxvi
legitimisation of patient status-role,
xxxiii
literacy rate
as 1931 census, 152
high rate among upper castes,
142–43
in rural Bihar, 148–50
in rural Himachal Pradesh, 44, 47
in rural West Bengal, 143
Lunacy (supreme court) Act, 1853
(Act 34 of 1858), 293n4
Lunacy (District Courts) Act, 1858
(Act 35 of 1858), 293n4
madness/mental disorder/illness,
263–64
dimensions of, 251
epistemological positions emergence
during Graeco-Roman period,
262–63
Greeks approach towards, 253
history of, 254–56, 263
medicalisation of, 258–61
ontological and epistemological
shifts in understanding of, 265
origin of, 251
as per Old and New Testament,
252, 261
as a socio-cultural phenomenon,
267–70
Malaria, in India
causes of, 130–31
historical assessment of, 118–20
11/8/2013 10:25:56 PM
 302
Malaria, in India (Contd.)
identification of specific groups for
anti-malarial programmes,
132–33
methodology of research on,
122–23
perceptions on, 123–28
sociological analysis of, 128–30
prognosis process of, 120–22
Male Health Worker (MPW), 49
malfeasance
among ANM, Uttar Pradesh, 37–38
mandgi, 123–24
medical facilities
concentration of, 5
distribution of, 5
medicalisation of everyday life, 110
medicalised voice of illness, 102,
108–11
medical lore, 13, 30–31
medically acceptable illnesses, 107
medical model, 79, 84–86
medical network, 79
medical pluralism, concept of, 4
medical practice, functional
significance of, 74–75
Medical Secrecy Act, 85
medical sociology
Minocha’s contribution to, 1, 8, 11
significance of, xxiii–xxv
Medical Termination of Pregnancy
Act, 1971, 161
medicine
characteristics of, 117
practice, origin of, 61
radical perspective on, xxii
medicine of care, 81
medicine student, oath by, 60–61
mental asylum, 277
mental health, xxxix–xlii
legislation and criticism against
psychiatric, 278–81
Mental Health Act (MHA) of 1987,
279, 281–82
Index.indd 302
Sociology of Health
mental hospitals, 275–76, 291
establishments during colonial
state, xl
transition to general hospitals
psychiatry, 277
Military Lunatics Act, 1877 (Act 11 of
1877), 293n4
Minocha, Aneeta A., 1–11
missing girls phenomenon, 156
moderation in eating, 20
Modified Plan of Operation (MPO),
for malaria eradication,
119–20
multiple systems, people’s responses
to, 5–6
National Anti-Malaria Programme
(NAMP), 120
National Family Health Survey
(NFHS)-2, 139
National Family Health Survey
1998–1999, 193
National Family Health Survey
(NFHS)-I, xxxv, 139
National Health Policy (NHP) 2002, 44
National Institute of Mental
Health and Neuro Sciences
(NIMHANS), Bangalore,
xxxix, 282
National Malaria Control Programme
(NMCP), India, 119–20
National Malaria Eradication
Programme (NMEP) 1958,
119–21, 129
National Mental Health Programme
(NMHP) 1982, 281
National Population Policy (NPP)
2000, 44
Netherlands
medical institutions influence in, 79
nursing homes
growth after Second World War, 81
medicines involvement with
specialization, 82
11/8/2013 10:25:56 PM
 index
report on cancer research institute,
86–88
Naturopathy, 180
new reproductive technologies
(NRTs), xxxvi, 156–58
sex determination before birth
techniques, 159–60
sex-selection techniques, 160
New Testament, 252
Ninth Five-Year Plan (1997–2002), 193
non-owning class, 229n3
non-paid partners of clients, 229n9
non-risk zones, 213, 227
nursing home
characteristics of situation, xxxi
growth after Second World War, 81
organizational and institutional
aspects, 80
Old Testament, 252, 261, 271n2
Orissa
ANC treatment to upper castes, 145
correlation among predictor
variables, construction of, 150
RHI in, 147
skilled health professionals in, 146
use of contraceptives, 143
over-reliance on private sector in
health-care, impact of, xlii
owning class, 229n3
paid physicians (PPs), xxx, 63
number of children, 67
professional situation of, 67
panchayati raj institutions (PRIs), 44
Parampara process, 31
Parivar Kalayan Salahakar Samiti
(PARIKAS), Himachal
Pradesh, 46, 56
paternalistic model, 97
patients
examination by physicians, number
of, 70
narratives on health, xxxiii–xxxiv
Index.indd 303
303
pelvic inflammatory disease (PID),
205
Perceptions and Interactions in Medical
Setting: A Sociological Study of
Women’s Hospital (Aneeta A.
Minocha), 7
physical work, 25
physicians
education and internship of, 62
occupational rewards to, 67–68
output of work put by, 68–70
–patient relationship, xxxi–xxxiii,
70–72
personal gratification, 73–74
study on
analysis of data used in, 65
methodology of, 63–64
occupational attitudes, 63
preparation of questionnaire, 65
size and selection of sample,
64–65
socio-economic data, 65–67
pluralism, 4–5
Population Association International
(PAI), 140
Population Foundation of India (PFI),
140
Postgraduate Institute of Medical
Education and Research
(PGIMER), Chandigarh, 282
practical reason, concept of, 213
Preconception and Prenatal Diagnostic
Techniques (Prohibition of Sex
Selection) Act, 166
pregnancy, 162
pregnant women immunisation, 139
pre-implantation genetic diagnosis,
160
Prenatal Diagnostic Techniques
(Regulation and Prevention of
Misuse) Act, 1994 (PNDT),
166
primary health centres (PHCs)
in Uttar Pradesh, xxix, 35
11/8/2013 10:25:56 PM
 304
prisoners, access to medical care,
xxxviii–xxxix
private practitioner, 62
professionalization, of health and
healthcare specialists, xxv
professional situation, of physicians,
67
professions, ICSSR report on, xxiv
propertied classes emergence, in East
Godavari district, Andhra
Pradesh, 218–22, 229n3
psychiatrists, Indian, 274
psychiatry, in India
analysis of indigenisation of, 274
development of
legislation on mental health and
criticism against psychiatric,
278–81
mental health laws and policies,
discrepancies against, 281–82
from mental to general hospital,
275–78
ethnological paradigm in
culturally sensitive therapies,
287–90
culture-bound conditions, 286–87
ethnomedical and religious-
symbolic systems and mental
health, 283–85
possession association with
psychiatric category, 290–91
psychoactive drugs, xlii
public health approach/system, xxix,
211–12, 229n2
Punjab, sex-ratio by birth, 165
quality food, 21–23
quantity of food, 25–26
rat fever (leptospirosis), 102
Renaissance, 256–58
reproductive and child health
(RCH) approach, of Indian
government, xxv, 139
Index.indd 304
Sociology of Health
reproductive health care, in India,
xxxiv–xxxvii
reproductive health of women,
139–40
reproductive health index (RHI),
146–48, 154
multivariate analysis of, 151–52
variations in, 142–46
risk culture, 228
risk groups/zones, concept of, 211,
213, 227
Rockefeller Foundation, 119
rog, 124
runny nose, 102
sado malaria, 124
safer zones, 227
sambar, 16
sanskritisation, concept of, 2
Scheduled Castes (SCs), 45
Scheduled Tribes (STs), 45
Second World War, 81
secret sex-worker, 229n7
self-appraisal, of professional practice,
274–75
services provision, in Uttar Pradesh,
39–41
sex determination before birth,
methods of, 159–60
sex imbalances, 156
sex-ratio, 7–8
by birth in Haryana and Punjab,
165
sex-selection techniques, pre-
conception, 160
sex-selective abortions, 7–8
sexual behaviour, xxxviii
sexually transmitted diseases (STD),
179, 193, 236
sexually transmitted infections (STIs),
205, 212
sexual violence, xxxviii
sex work/workers, 211–13, 220–21,
224, 227
11/8/2013 10:25:56 PM
 index
sickness, concept of, 116–17
causes of, 130
identification of, 118, 130
prolongation of, 118
sick person, goal of, xxxiii
Siddha system, 4, 15, 30, 268
sinking heart (kamjori), 128
social
actors, 211
institution, 80
perceptions of medical specialists,
influence of, xxxvi
preparedness, 57
relations, 116
space of sex work, 225
suffering, 133
ties among medical practitioners
and state officials, xxxvi
social capital, notion of, 55–56
Sociological Bulletin, xxii
sociology, xxiv
doctor’s training in, xxiv–xxv
internalisation of, xli
sociology anthropology, xxiv
sociology in health, meaning of, xxi
sociology of happiness, xli
sociology of health
emergence of, xxi
meaning of, xxi
sociology of medicine, ICSSR report
on, xxiii
something meaningful, meaning of,
81
sonography through social networks,
166–70
spread, concept of, 2
staff morale, Uttar Pradesh, 38–39
Standing Committee on Health
and Family Welfare of GP,
Himachal Pradesh, 45
State Election Commission, Himachal
Pradesh, 45
State Finance Commission, Himachal
Pradesh, 45
Index.indd 305
305
structuralism
concern with variability, xxvii
experience in sociology of food and
eating, xxvi
sub-centres, in Uttar Pradesh, xxix
Suchi-bai condition (purity mania),
286
Surat district, Gujarat
malaria disease
anti-malarial programmes, 132
fever frequency and season,
125–26
study on, 122
surveillance on migrants, 132
usage of bimari and mandgi as
local terms for, 123–24
social science components,
objectives of, 122–23
system of hope, in cancer hospital,
xxxi, 90
taste, xxvi
tav (fever), 124
Telugu Desam Party, 229n7
tension-management device, xxxiii
therapeutic interaction, in Kerala,
111–12
total income, of physicians per month,
68
total institution, 79–80
total medical regime, 79
transport facilities for health outreach
functionaries, Uttar Pradesh,
41
Ultra-Sonography technique,
159–61
Unani system, 4
uncertainty within medicine,
realisation of, 97
United Nations Population Fund
(UNFPA), 140
unwanted pregnancies, 162
up-gram sabha (UGS), 49
11/8/2013 10:25:56 PM
 306
upper castes
advantages in colonial period, 152
high literacy rates among, 142–43
USAID, 119
Vaid, 4
Vector Borne Disease Control
Programme (VBDCP), 120
victim-blaming, 133
village medicine, 14
viral fevers, 102
vishapani, 112
voices, concept of, 100
of experience, 101–2
of illness, xxii, xxxiii, 102, 105–8
of interaction, 100–101
of the life-world, 101
of medicine, xxxiii , 101–2, 108–11
of science, 101
Voluntary Counselling and Testing
Centre (VCTC), 204
welfare babies, 159
welfare state, 159
West Bengal
ANC in, 145
correlation among predictor
variables, construction of, 151
RHI in, 148
use of contraceptives, 143
Westville Medium B (WMB) South
Africa, study of prisoners with
HIV and AIDS, 232, 234
Index.indd 306
Sociology of Health
infectious disease and healthcare
provisions, 244–46
justification for study, 234–36
questions and responses from
prisoners, 239–44
research methods, 236–38
revisit of prison, 246–47
survey of, 238–39
women’s
bearing of health problems in
culture of silence, xxxv
health as last priority, xxxvii
Himachal Pradesh for, seats
reservation in, 45
Minocha’s views on issues, 7–8
non-simplification of procedure
during treatment for, xxxvii
perceptions
on childless, 197
on need to have children, 197
reproductive health of, 140
working hours, put by physicians, 69
World Health Organisation (WHO),
140, 188, 192
estimation on malaria disease in
India, 118–19
World Health Report (2001), xxxix
World Prison Population, 233
zeri malaria, 124
Zilla Parishad (ZP), 45
11/8/2013 10:25:56 PM
 About the Editor and
Contributors

The Editor

Madhu Nagla is Professor, Department of Sociology, M.D. University,

Rohtak, Haryana. She completed her MPhil from Panjab University,
Chandigarh and PhD from Jawaharlal Nehru University, New Delhi.
Her areas of interest include sociology of health, gender studies, and
leisure studies. She had several visiting assignments with universities
abroad. Apart from several articles in national and international jour-
nals, her major published works include Medical Sociology, Sociology of
Medical Profession and Gender and Health.

The Contributors

Renu Addlakha, Senior Fellow, Centre for Women’s Development

Studies, New Delhi.

Rajiv Balakrishnan, Council for Social Development, New Delhi. He

is a demographer, a development analyst, PhD in population studies
from Jawaharlal Nehru University, New Delhi. Presently he runs a con-
sultancy Services.

Usha Bambawale, Poona University, Poona.

Ruby Bhardwaj, Reader, Department of Sociology, Janki Devi

Memorial College, Ganga Ram Hospital Marg, New Delhi.

About the Editor and Contributors.indd 307 2013-11-27 5:38:19 PM

 308 Sociology of Health

Tina Chakravarty, PhD Scholar, School of Social sciences, Tata

Institute of Social Sciences, Deonar, Mumbai.

Roma Chatterji is Professor, Department of Sociology, University of

Delhi, Delhi.

Asima Jena, Research Scholar, Department of Sociology, University of

Hyderabad, Central University, Hyderabad.

Meghana Joshi, Rutgers University, Piscataway, New Jersey, USA.

Bela Kothari, Professor, Department of Anthropology, University of

Rajasthan, Jaipur.

Mathew George, Assistant Professor, Centre for Health and Social

Sciences, School of Health Systems Studies, Tata Institute of social
Sciences, V. N. Purav Marg, Deonar, Mumbai.

Tulsi Patel, Professor, Department of Sociology, Delhi School of

Economics, University of Delhi.

N. Purendra Prasad, Associate Professor, Department of Sociology,

University of Hyderabad, Central University, Hyderabad.

Aditya Raj, Canadian Commonwealth Fellow, Department of

Integrated Studies in Education, McGill University, Montreal, Canada.

Papia Raj, Canadian Commonwealth Fellow, Department of Integrated

Studies in Education, McGill University, Montreal, Canada.

A. Ramanamma, Retired Professor of Sociology, University of Pune,

Pune.

Sthitapragyan Ray, Lecturer, Department of Sociology, Ravenshaw

University, Cuttack, Orissa.

Shanta Singh, Head Department of Criminology, School of Sociology

and Social Studies, University of KwaZula Natal, Verulam, South Africa.

V. Sujatha is Professor, Centre for the Study of Social Systems, Jawaharlal

Nehru University, New Delhi.

About the Editor and Contributors.indd 308 2013-11-27 5:38:19 PM

 Appendix of Sources

All articles and chapters have been reproduced exactly as they were first published.
All cross-references can be found in the original source of publication.

Grateful acknowledgement is made to the following sources for permission to

reproduce material for this volume.

1. “Sociological Inroads into Medicine: A Tribute to Aneeta A. Minocha

(1943–2007),” Ruby Bhardwaj
Vol. 57, No. 1 (January–April), 2008: 115–125.

2. “Food: The Immanent Cause from Outside—Medical Lore on Food and

Health in Village Tamil Nadu,” V. Sujatha
Vol. 51, No. 1 (March), 2002: 80–100.

3. “State Sponsored Health Care in Rural Uttar Pradesh: Grassroots

Encounters of a Survey Researcher,” Rajiv Balakrishnan
Vol. 45, No. 1 (March), 1996: 87–95.

4. “Gram Panchayat and Health Care Delivery in Himachal Pradesh,”

Sthitapragyan Ray
Vol. 56, No. 1 (January–April), 2007: 88–108.

5. “Occupational Attitudes of Physicians,” A. Ramanamma and Usha

Bambawale
Vol. 27, No. 2 (September), 1978: 190–207.

6. “The System of Hope: The Constitution of Identity in Medical

Institutions,” Roma Chatterji
Vol. 42, No. 1&2 (March–September), 1993: 157–170.

Appendix of Sources.indd 309 11/27/2013 11:38:07 AM

 310 Sociology of Health

7. “Voice of Illness and Voice of Medicine in Doctor-Patient Interaction,”

Mathew George
Vol. 59, No. 2 (May–August), 2010: 159–178.

8. “Narratives of Sickness and Suffering: A Study of Malaria in South

Gujarat,” Purendra Prasad
Vol. 54, No. 2 (May–August), 2005: 218–237.

9. “Caste Variations in Reproductive Health Status of Women: A Study of

Three Eastern States,” Papia Raj and Aditya Raj
Vol. 53, No. 3 (September–December), 2004: 326–346.

10. “Informal Social Networks, Sonography and Female Foeticide in India,”

Tulsi Patel
Vol. 56, No. 2 (May–August), 2007: 243–262.

11. “Perception and Work Ethos of Medical Experts Dealing with Infertile
Couples: A Study in Medical Sociology,” Bela Kothari
Vol. 61, No. 1 (January–April), 2012: 144–158.

12. “ 
‘Correcting’ the Reproductive ‘Impairment’: Infertility Treatment
Seeking Experiences of Low Income Group Women in Mumbai Slums,”
Meghana Joshi
Vol. 57, No. 2 (May–August), 2008: 155–172.

13. “Risk Culture, Propeprtied Classes, and Dynamics of Regions: A Study

of HIV/AIDS in East Godavari District (Andhra Pradesh),” Asima Jena
and Purendra Prasad
Vol. 58, No. 3 (September–December), 2009: 383–402.

14. “Prison Inmate Awareness of HIV and AIDS in Durban, South Africa,”
Shanta Singh
Vol. 57, No. 2 (May–August), 2008: 193–210.

15. “Medicalisation of Mental Disorder: Shifting Epistemologies and
Beyond,” Tina Chakravarty
Vol. 60, No. 2 (May–August), 2011: 266–286.

16. “ ‘Indigenisation’ Not ‘Indianisation’ of Psychiatry: An Anthropological

Perspective,” Renu Addlakha
Vol. 59, No. 1 (January–April), 2010: 46–68.

Appendix of Sources.indd 310 11/27/2013 11:38:07 AM

 Contributions to
Sociological Theory
Readings in Indian Sociology
Series Editor: Ishwar Modi

Titles and Editors of the Volumes

Volume 1
Towards Sociology of Dalits
Editor: Paramjit S. Judge

Volume 2
Sociological Probings in Rural Society
Editor: K.L. Sharma

Volume 3
Sociology of Childhood and Youth
Editor: Bula Bhadra

Volume 4
Sociology of Health
Editor: Madhu Nagla

Volume 5
Contributions to Sociological Theory
Editor: Vinay Kumar Srivastava

Volume 6
Sociology of Science and Technology in India
Editor: Binay Kumar Pattnaik

Volume 7
Sociology of Environment
Editor: Sukant K. Chaudhury

Volume 8
Political Sociology of India
Editor: Anand Kumar

Volume 9
Culture and Society
Editor: Susan Visvanathan

Volume 10
Pioneers of Sociology in India
Editor: Ishwar Modi
 READINGS IN INDIAN SOCIOLOGY
VOLUME 5

Contributions to
Sociological Theory

EDITED BY
Vinay Kumar Srivastava
Copyright © Indian Sociological Society, 2013

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or utilised in any form
or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by
any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the
publisher.

First published in 2013 by

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Contents

List of Tables ix
Series Note xi
Preface xv
Introduction by Vinay Kumar Srivastava xvii

Part I: On Concepts and Methods

1. Newness in Sociological Enquiry 3
André Béteille
2. Paradigms and Discourses: New Frontiers in the Sociology
of Knowledge 16
Dipankar Gupta
3. Relevance of the Marxist Approach to the Study of
Indian Society 37
A.R. Desai
4. Altruistic Suicide: A Subjective Approach 55
Lung-Chang Young
5. Rational Social Action as a Basis for Creative Comparisons 73
Prakash N. Pimpley
6. Feminist Social Theories: Theme and Variations 83
Beatrice Kachuck
7. Social Structure 113
M.N. Srinivas

Part II: On Sociological Thinkers

8. Vidyas: A Homage to Auguste Comte 127
G.S. Ghurye
viii Contributions to Sociological Theory

9. Max Weber’s Theory of Social Stratification: Controversies,

Contexts and Correctives 141
Rajendra Pandey
10. Malinowski on Freedom and Civilization 169
Vinay Kumar Srivastava
11. Some Reflections on Karl Popper’s Theory of
Social Explanation 199
Goutam Biswas
12. Outsider Bias and Ethnocentricity: The Case of
Gunnar Myrdal 209
Susantha Goonatillake
13. Robert Merton’s Formulations in Sociology of Science 229
Pravin J. Patel
14. Bourdieu’s Theory of the Symbolic and the Shah Bano Case 249
Sheena Jain

Index 271
About the Editor and Contributors 282
Appendix of Sources 284
List of Tables

Chapter 4
Table 1 Subjective Types of Altruistic and Fatalistic Suicidal
Behaviour 62
Table 2 Percentage Distribution of Suicide Cases by
Subjective Types 68
Table 3 Choice of Method by Type of Suicide 69
Series Note

The Indian Sociological Society (ISS), established in December 1951,

under the leadership of Professor G. S. Ghurye at the University of
Bombay celebrated its Diamond Jubilee in 2011. Soon after its founda-
tion, the ISS launched its bi-annual journal Sociological Bulletin in
March 1952. It has been published regularly since then. Taking cogni-
zance of the growing aspirations of the community of sociologists both
in India and abroad to publish their contributions in Sociological
Bulletin, its frequency was raised to three issues a year in 2004. Its print
order now exceeds 3,000 copies. It speaks volumes about the popularity
both of the ISS and the Sociological Bulletin.
The various issues of Sociological Bulletin are a treasure trove of the
most profound and authentic sociological writings and research in India
and elsewhere. As such, it is no surprise that it has acquired the status of
an internationally acclaimed reputed journal of sociology. The very fact
that several of its previous issues are no more available, being out of
print, is indicative not only of its popularity both among sociologists
and other social scientists but also of its high scholarly reputation,
acceptance and relevance. Although two series of volumes have already
been published by the ISS during 2001–05 and in 2011 having seven
volumes each on a large number of themes and yet a very large number
of themes remain untouched. Such a situation necessitated that a new
series of thematic volumes be brought out. Realising this necessity and
in order to continue to celebrate the Diamond Decade of the ISS, the
Managing Committee of the ISS and a sub-committee constituted for
this purpose decided to bring out a series of 10 more thematic volumes
in such areas of importance and relevance both for the sociological and
the academic community at large as sociological theory, untouchability
and Dalits, rural society, science & technology, childhood and youth,
xii Contributions to Sociological Theory

health, environment, culture, politics, and the pioneers of sociology in

India.
Well-known scholars and experts in the areas of chosen themes were
identified and requested to edit these thematic volumes under the series
title Readings in Indian Sociology. Each one of them has put in a lot of
effort in the shortest possible time not only in selecting and identifying
the papers to be included in their respective volumes but also in arrang-
ing these in a relevant and meaningful manner. More than this, it was
no easy task for them to write comprehensive Introductions of the
respective volumes in the face of time constraints so that the volumes
could be brought out in time on the occasion of the 39th All India
Sociological Conference scheduled to take place in Mysore under the
auspices of the Karnataka State Open University during 27–29
December 2013. The editors enjoyed freedom not only to choose the
papers of their choice from Sociological Bulletin published during 1952
to 2012 but were also free to request scholars of their choice to write
Forewords for their particular volumes. The volumes covered under this
series include: Towards Sociology of Dalits (Editor: Paramjit S. Judge);
Sociological Probings in Rural Society (Editor: K. L. Sharma); Sociology of
Childhood and Youth (Editor: Bula Bhadra); Sociology of Health (Editor:
Madhu Nagla); Contributions to Sociological Theory (Editor: Vinay
Kumar Srivastava); Sociology of Science & Technology in India (Editor:
Binay Kumar Pattnaik); Sociology of Environment in India (Editor:
Sukant K. Chaudhury); Culture and Society in India (Editor: Susan
Visvanathan); Political Sociology of India (Editor: Anand Kumar); and
Pioneers of Sociology in India (Editor: Ishwar Modi).
Contributions to Sociological Theory (edited by Vinay Kumar
Srivastava) is the fifth volume of the series titled Readings in Indian
Sociology. This volume rests on the premise that theoretical traditions
constitute the kernel of the discipline of sociology, guiding the empirical
enquiry, the collection and analysis of narratives and numbers and the
interpretation of findings. This volume consists of essays on theoretical
issues and concerns that have appeared in the Sociological Bulletin in the
last 60 years. The volume also aims to quell the popular belief that
sociologists and their journals are shy of making a contribution to
theory—they are mere empiricists (data-reporters). The volume intro-
duces the dimensions and trajectories of the multiplicity of theory in its
sumptuous Introduction. The volume has two sections—the first deals
SERIES NOTE xiii

with the contribution of the Sociological Bulletin to the conceptual

framework of sociology and the second is the contribution made to the
writings of the Western thinkers who have considerably influenced
Indian sociology.
It can hardly be overemphasised and can be said for sure that this
volume as well as all the other volumes of the series Readings in Indian
Sociology, as they pertain to the most important aspects of society and
sociology in India, will be of immense importance and relevance to stu-
dents, teachers and researchers of both sociology and other social sci-
ences. It is also hoped that these volumes will be received well by the
overseas scholars interested in the study of Indian society. Besides this,
policy-makers, administrators, activists, non-governmental organisa-
tions (NGOs) and so on may also find these volumes of immense value.
Having gone through these volumes, the students and researchers of
sociology would probably be able to feel and say that now “[w]e will be
able to look much farther away as we are standing on the shoulders of
the giants” (in the spirit of paraphrasing the famous quote of Isaac
Newton).
I would like to place on record my thanks to Shambhu Sahu, Sutapa
Ghosh and R. Chandra Sekhar of SAGE Publications for all their efforts,
support and patience to complete this huge project well in time against
all the time constraints. I also express my gratefulness to the Managing
Committee Members of the ISS and also the members of the sub-com-
mittee constituted for this purpose. I am also thankful to all the editors
and all the scholars who have written the Forewords. I would also like to
thank Uday Singh, my assistant at the India International Institute of
Social Sciences, Jaipur, for all his secretarial assistance and hard work
put in by him towards the completion of these volumes.

Ishwar Modi
Series Editor
Readings in Indian Sociology
Preface

P
repared under the auspices of the Indian Sociological Society’s
series known as Readings in Indian Sociology, this volume is a
collection of fourteen articles, besides an Introduction, which
have appeared in the Sociological Bulletin right from its inception and
have been chosen to render a picture of the work on sociological theory
that found its way in this journal. Surely, Indian sociologists and anthro-
pologists have also published articles on social theory in other journals,
and, if tomorrow, we plan a book on their contribution to the issues of
theory and methodology, we shall, needless to say, consult all the mate-
rial that has been published on these topics.
A survey of articles published in the Sociological Bulletin (and also
in other journals) reveals that by comparison to the other areas and
interests in sociology, sociological theory has not received much atten-
tion, notwithstanding the fact that sociology and anthropology students
are expected to be familiar with classical and modern theories, and are
also expected to apply theoretical models, perspectives and strategies in
explaining and interpreting the empirical data they collect. One of the
submissions of this volume is to urge upon the fellow sociologists and
anthropologists to make sociological theory an arena of research.
I am extremely grateful to Professor Ishwar Modi, President, Indian
Sociological Society, for giving me the opportunity to edit this volume,
and to Dr Sukant K. Chaudhury, Department of Sociology, University
of Lucknow, for several acts of kindness.

Vinay Kumar Srivastava

Introduction
Vinay Kumar Srivastava

1.

I
remember in June 1991, a distinguished social scientist, of Indian
origin, with specialisation in political science, from one of the
English universities, in the course of his lecture on the intellectual
scene in India, at the South Asian Centre, University of Cambridge,
United Kingdom, said that whilst Indian sociologists and social anthro-
pologists have made substantial, impressive and oft-quoted contribution
to an empirical and critical understanding of their society, they have
considerably lagged behind in making an equally impressive contribu-
tion to social theory. This, however, did not include the textbooks on
theory that some of them have written principally for the consumption
of students, serving the need that the examination system creates, and of
the young teachers who on being entrusted to teach a course on social
theory prefer to begin with an easy-to-grasp reading, which presents the
abstract ideas in simple language with lots of indigenous examples.
Perhaps, when it comes to writing originally on theory (or theoretical
issues), he said, Indian scholars suffer from ‘nervous inferiority’, not-
withstanding the fact that some of them might have taught papers on
social theory for their entire academic career and are well versed with the
original writings of both classical and contemporary thinkers. In their
class lectures and tutorial instructions, they often make incisive, intelli-
gent and insightful comments, novel and thought-provoking, but when
the challenge to write these up, expanding these thoughts in articles and
books, comes, it is politely declined; either they do not take up the chal-
lenge, or provide textbooks (or ‘help books’) under the pretense of an
xviii Vinay Kumar Srivastava

assumption that since Indian students are less capable of grasping the
‘heavy’ and ‘abstract’ theoretical concepts, so the ‘easy-to-learn’ type of
materials is the suitable answer.
Furthermore, he said, some Indian anthropologists and sociologists
are committed passionately to the process of ‘indigenisation’, a term
defined as delineating a battery of concepts to understand the Indian
social reality from ‘within’ rather than just imposing on it the concepts
and theories that evolved in the Western (or any other) social and polit-
ical context (see Atal 2003: Chapter 6). One of the primary lessons we
have learned in social sciences is about the plurality of cultures (and
sub-cultures), with the implication that irrespective of the commonali-
ties between different varieties of societies inhabiting different ecological
zones, each one differs from the other in terms of its ways of living, its
cultural patterns. This further reinforces the case in favour of indigenous
concepts and theories; but even here, the contribution of Indian anthro-
pologists and sociologists is meagre. An indigenous theory, worth its
name, is hard to find. In a nutshell, the pith of this part of his lecture
was that Indian anthropologists and sociologists, in addition to the
empirical studies of their society, need to concertedly devote themselves
to the theoretical debates in their disciplines and emerge out of their
‘cocoons’ to make a worth-noting contribution to social theory.
Although some members of the audience, particularly of Indian
origin, were unhappy with what they thought was the ‘short-sighted-
ness’ and ‘value-judgements’ of the speaker, and in their respective
rejoinders, they referred to the works of the certain Indian anthropolo-
gists and sociologists (such as André Béteille, J. P. S. Uberoi, Gopala
Sarana, Yogesh Atal, Veena Das, among many others) who have made
their distinctive marks in the disciplines of social theory and research
methodology, in pub-conversations that followed the lecture, many of
them seemed to agree with the speaker about his observations on Indian
anthropologists and sociologists.
Whilst Indian anthropology and sociology were not theoretically
vacuous, it was no exaggeration to say that in terms of their research
agendas, their disciplinarians did not pay as much attention to social
theory as they did to empirical studies. A doctoral thesis purely devoted
to a theoretical problem, without an iota of empirical research, was
(and is) unthinkable in an Indian university department of anthropol-
ogy and sociology, as is the case with, for instance, theoretical physics;
INTRODUCTION xix

incidentally, we do not have ‘theoretical sociology’ or ‘theoretical social

anthropology’ as provinces of research, maybe for a doctorate or other-
wise; its implication is that theory per se is not seen as an area of research,
while its testing against empirical facts is.
After more than two decades, I was nostalgically reminded of this
animated discussion, with streaks of nationalism clearly evincive inside
the seminar hall and a more balanced and critical appraisal of the speak-
er’s presentation outside, both stances justified in their respective con-
texts. Reflecting upon this, two observations may be made about Indian
sociology and anthropology.
First, Indian scholars usually conduct researches on their own soci-
ety, increasingly now on their own communities, the ones to which they
belong by birth and upbringing; in other words, auto-ethnographic stud-
ies are rising and are far more acceptable in the disciplines than what they
were earlier. Because of the study of one’s own society, in India, the dis-
tinction between anthropology and sociology is not of the same kind as
it was (and is, in many places) in the West, where those who studied their
own society were sociologists and those who traveled to far-off places to
be in the company of preliterate communities (that were pejoratively
called ‘primitive’) for a lengthy period were anthropologists. Well-known
is the epithet that anthropology famously earned as the study of the
‘other cultures’. The concept of ‘otherness’ was not only a frame of mind,
to study a phenomenon without preconceptions, to begin the study as a
tabula rasa, but also referred to a community different—often diametri-
cally—from the one in which the researcher (or the ethnographer) was
raised and is currently a member. Literature abounds with the stories of
enterprising anthropologists painstakingly, sometimes frenetically,
‘searching’ for the hitherto unstudied ‘exotic’ people and then choosing
to live with them for years, albeit the uninhabitable conditions that may
be prevailing locally. On the other hand, being a study of one’s own
society, sociology did not have a string of such exciting stories of field-
work. Sociologists worked with familiar people and surroundings;
anthropologists were in the company of ‘unfamiliar’ (often called
‘bizarre’ and ‘strange’) people. In India, however, the distinction between
‘us’ and ‘them’ was not so striking as was the case in North America,
Australia, or New Zealand, where American Indians, Australian
Aborigines or Maori were ethnically and culturally different from the
white people. Furthermore in India, continuities between different
xx Vinay Kumar Srivastava

communities, classified as Caste Hindus and Scheduled Tribes, created

overlapping of societies that anthropologists and sociologists studied,
with the result that these two disciplines became siblings rather than
distant cousins. At the same time, diversity in India was so much that
one’s neighbourhood differed in many social and cultural terms; hence,
the study of one’s neighbourhood amounted to the study of the ‘other
culture’. Indian scholars did not only focus upon their own society, they
were also less comparative in their studies, for their objective was to
grasp a particular situation rather than the Indian society as a whole. In
essence, what they churned out and still do are case studies.
Second, since both anthropology and sociology are regarded as
‘observational sciences’, the researchers are trained from the beginning
in fieldwork and survey methods; the same kind of rigorous training and
learning does not take place in social theory. When starting with their
doctoral studies, the prospective researchers choose their field sites and
the social problems on which they would collect their data. Less atten-
tion is given to the theoretical perspective(s) through which the data
would be analysed and interpreted. The outcome of this is that the ‘case
studies’ that culminate as doctoral dissertations and project reports are
not more than morasses of empirical facts (presented through running
descriptions, tables, charts and graphs, flow diagrams), thinly informed
by theories, in fact for which sociology and anthropology have an envi-
able place among the other social sciences. It is indeed surprising that
the rich tradition of social theory is hardly reflected in Indian anthropol-
ogy and sociology, and it seems as if social theory and empirical
researches exist and develop as parallel species, and social theory is not,
as said previously, a realm of research, but an area on which textbooks in
simple language may be written.
In both ways—whether we study our own society or we regard our
subject (anthropology or sociology) principally an empirical study,
rather than contemplative, philosophical and theoretical—what has
really suffered is the contribution of Indian scholars to social theory, the
contribution that we could have amply made to it. Of course, some of
us did write on the aspects of social theory, and some of the papers
(which are not many) published in the Sociological Bulletin are being
included here in this volume, the truth is that the discipline of social
theory has received nothing more than a feeble-spirited attention.
Philosophical questions in research have been dubbed as ‘nagging and
INTRODUCTION xxi

cumbersome’. Against this backdrop, a major plea of this volume is ‘to

centre social theory’, to bring it animatedly in the intellectual conscious-
ness of the researchers so that anthropology and sociology are saved
from sinking into the marshy lands of commonsense and general knowl-
edge. What makes a work anthropological and sociological is the oft-
asked question, and its answer unequivocally lies in the domain of social
theory.

2.

One of the questions usually asked is about the meaning of the term
‘social theory’, and its relationship with the oft-used terms like hypoth-
esis and paradigm. While the difference and relationship between theory
and hypothesis is easy to understand, and is well known and well written
about, the one between theory and paradigm is not paid much atten-
tion, for it is believed that these concepts are relevant in different con-
texts and we may speak of one independently of the other. Our
submission here is that it is the theory that generates the paradigm, and
with its lenses we look at the reality, in and around us. The paradigm
makes certain facts, the relationship(s) between them, and their collec-
tion for analysis and interpretation, relevant; in fact, the paradigm
makes us see and feel the things that are beyond the vision and compre-
hension of the others, the lay and those who adhere to different para-
digms. Although the theory and its ensuing paradigm constrain our
intellect, thus making us see a certain number and range of things and
not the others, we must consciously tell and remind ourselves that the
facts we are not seeing presently are the ones that may pose well mean-
ing challenges before the theory. To attempt to see what we are not
seeing because of the limits of our theory, which does not show us any
other thing except what its kaleidoscope permits, is one of the lessons
that the discipline of social theory teaches us: ‘Let theory not enslave
you. If it enslaves you, then it is not theory, it is dogma.’
Human beings act; and they think about their acts, representing
them symbolically, and thinking in terms of improving them in future.
Human beings think; and they think about their thoughts, in turn rep-
resenting their imaginings in words, images, pictures, in other words, in
a body of symbols. In social sciences and cultural studies, perhaps the
first lesson concerns the distinction between human beings and their
xxii Vinay Kumar Srivastava

non-human relatives, and their respective ‘aggregates’ (or ‘social organi-

sations’), if they have, and this distinction has implication for the con-
cept of theory. One is reminded here of the analogy that Karl Marx
(1967: 178, in Adams and Sydie 2001: 30) offered to distinguish the
products of human activity from that of the non-human. The bees pro-
duce hives; the birds make nests; the termites build colonies and the
human architect erects a building. The distinction between the ‘best
bees (or birds, termites)’ and the ‘poorest architect’ is that the latter
‘imagines’ the building in advance. He conceives the idea of what the
building would look like; he then draws its diagram on paper (or the
computer screen), and also those of its different parts. All this is done
before he actually goes ahead with its construction. On the other hand,
the animal’s design, if there is any, is in its genetic structure; this would
explain why the hives that different bees of the same species and across
different generations create look identical. The architect’s mental pic-
ture, contemplated many times, discussed with other specialists and
drawn on paper, is implemented into practice; it is also possible that it
may not be implemented and may remain just as a construct. Moreover,
the design that one architect prepares differs from the others in his pro-
fession. And, when the building is under construction, the pre-con-
ceived design may undergo change; in other words, the mental design
and the empirical product are in a ceaseless interaction, one benefiting
the other. Against this backdrop, the mental activity in which the archi-
tect indulges may be termed ‘theorising’—it is an outcome of his spe-
cialised training and his experience of having closely observed several
other buildings; in other words, the ‘architect builds the building theo-
retically before constructing it empirically’. Human beings, thus, ‘theo-
rise’ their actions.
By ‘theorisation’, we understand the process of creating abstract
images of our activities and thoughts, which are eminently communica-
ble to others and, to a great extent, can be put into practice by both the
protagonist of the theory and those who want to test it to check on its
veracity. From this process results a

body of interconnected statements, supposed to be valid for a certain range of

phenomena, for it has been empirically tested and variously tried, and logi-
cally argued, which purports to convey what is generally considered as the
‘truth’, believed to be cutting across the dimensions of time and space, and the
objective of all disciplines, whether classified as science or humanities, is to
search for such knowledge, generalizable and law-like.
INTRODUCTION xxiii

For this body of propositions, the term generally employed is ‘theory’.

The state of knowledge is that theory is neither an assumption, nor
a figment of imagination, nor a hypothetical statement. It has the firm
support of the ‘fact’, a term defined as the ‘empirically verifiable obser-
vation’ (Goode and Hatt, 1981: 8). What exists as a tentative relation-
ship between two or more concepts (viewed as ‘variables’) is a hypothesis,
a conditional statement, which posits the possibility of a variable (‘inde-
pendent variable’) affecting the other (‘dependent variable’), but this
possibility, notwithstanding strong logical arguments in its favour, needs
to be tested empirically before it could be stated with an element of
certainty. Empirical substantiation is different from logical justification.
A hypothesis may be logically justified, but lacks empirical support. In
that case, the hypothesis is disconfirmed, as what is important for the
confirmation of a hypothesis is factual support. If facts lend credence to
the hypothesis, then we have to look for a logical explanation of why
certain variables tend to be connected.
When the fact confirms the relationship, it acquires the honour of
a theoretical proposition. Researchers tend to subscribe to Karl Popper’s
principle of falsification while testing a hypothesis—they try their level
best to disconfirm the hypothesis and when they are unable to do so,
their conclusion is that against the backdrop of the empirical facts at
their disposal, there seems to be a relationship between the variables,
and when some more studies following the principle of falsification
arrive at the same conclusion, they shall inch towards theoretical
statements.
An important debate in social sciences has been about its utility.
Those arguing in favour of the practical and instrumental aspects of
social sciences, in the sense that these should help build up a better soci-
ety and provide solutions to human social and economic problems, have
usually played down the role of theory, considering it an enterprise that
takes our focus away from attending to the actual human concerns.
Here, theory-building is seen as supercilious, eventually responsible for
the marginal status of social sciences—‘What is its use except for its
overindulgence in abstract thinking?’ With the mushrooming of the
non-governmental organisations, international bodies for development,
and voluntary agencies committed to providing answers to human
problems (of poverty, inequality, resource generation, terrorism and
vandalism, etc.) and attempting to solve these, research on theoretical
issues has been pushed to the backseat; and also research has become a
xxiv Vinay Kumar Srivastava

‘quickie business’, quite different from the long, gestation period it has
in the portals of the university.
That this view is myopic and erroneous has been stated time and
again. That theory is basic to practical research has been unequivocally
stated by people who wholeheartedly devoted them to solving urgent
problems. For instance, A. R. Radcliffe-Brown (1881–1955) refers to
the work of a 17th-century chemist Robert Boyle, who recognised this
fact: the transition from alchemy to chemistry engaged the emergence of
theory; a theory lies behind every chemical reaction. Radcliffe-Brown,
who was fond of espousing heuristic dichotomies, distinguished the
practical concerns (calling them ‘frugiferous’) from those that concerned
the theoretical issues (the ‘enlightening’ one, the ‘luminiferous’)
(1957: 147–8).
Both the theory and the practice are interconnected, for there
cannot be practical research and action without the theoretical basis,
and, at the same time, the practice challenges, modifies, alters or rejects
the theory. This relationship between theory and practice also holds for
theory and fact. However, we should not assume that this forms a
closed system. Facts can be collected outside the scope of the theory:
Talcott Parsons (1902–79) writes: ‘...the process of discovery of facts is
held to be essentially independent of the existing body of “theory”, to
be the result of some such impulse as “idle curiosity”’ (1974: 6). The
role of chance finding in research, what is technically called ‘serendip-
ity’, is well acknowledged, but this does not automatically imply that
this fact or any other facts, ‘discovered independently of theory, will
determine what the theory is to be’ (Parsons 1974: 6), for not only the
significance of the facts is to be understood before we carve out a
theory, but also that the theory has a determinate logical structure,
meaning that its different propositions are connected, one explaining
or being understood in relation with the other. Fact is one aspect of
theory-building; logical connection of the propositions is the other.
The implication of the latter part is that the theoretical propositions
can always be conceptualised independently of facts. Theory is thus an
independent as well as a dependent variable in the development of sci-
ence (Parsons 1974: 7–8). The concept of theory engages its testing
against facts and also, ‘thinking aloud’, being creative and unconven-
tional. That is why we say that a good theory yields hypotheses that
may be tested in course of time.
INTRODUCTION xxv

Previously it was said that each theory generates a perspective, a

vantage point of observation, from which we look at and make sense of
reality. The technical term used for this after the work of Thomas Kuhn
(1962) is paradigm. Generally referred to as the ‘foundational belief ’, it
is the intellectual vision of the researcher, shaped by the categories of
thought prevalent at that point of time. Even when newer perspectives
start blossoming, the researcher may continue to repose faith in the ear-
lier perspective, for it lends him intellectual security and the predictabil-
ity of results, but then comes a moment when a new perspective replaces
the old ones and what at one time was faithfully adhered to is now dis-
missed with no compunctions. In social sciences, by contrast to the nat-
ural, several paradigms may co-exist, with the usefulness of one
emphasised over the other for understanding a particular phenomenon
or its part. Thus, we have several shades of scholars; the multi-paradig-
matic reality, forming a mosaic, allows the researchers to choose the one
that convinces them. Social sciences give exemplary freedom to its
researchers, which may not be the case with natural and biological sci-
ences, since for us, the paradigms are neither right nor wrong, truthful
or false, but are judged in terms of their utility and explanatory power.

3.

In his first classroom lecture on the discipline of sociology, a student

learns that Auguste Comte (1798–1857), a French scholar, was the
‘father of sociology’, for he, following the scientific method, most prop-
erly developed in physics, delineated the approach which he called posi-
tivism or positive philosophy, to be employed in the study of social
phenomena, in the six volumes of The Course of Positive Philosophy
(1830–42). He also coined the term ‘social physics’ to be used for this
subject of study, which he thought was most appropriate since it suc-
cinctly summed up the spirit and the aim of the discipline, but when he
came to know that a Belgian scholar had used this term to mean some-
thing else, he, in 1822, reluctantly replaced it by the term ‘sociology’, a
discipline that was to pursue a scientific study of society with the objec-
tive of ameliorating its condition—social reconstruction was sociology’s
primal aim. Believing that the Enlightenment was the main cause of the
French Revolution (1830–42/1855), which left the society disrupted,
Comte thought that it was an opportune moment to combat the
xxvi Vinay Kumar Srivastava

negative and destructive philosophy that the French thinkers had

spawned, with a discipline that was unswervingly committed to improv-
ing upon the condition of society, making it a better place to live (Zeitlin
1969: 76–9). Comte repeatedly argued that his approach to social phe-
nomena was ‘positive’ (that is why the term ‘positivism’) and ‘realistic’—
it proceeded scientifically, endeavouring to understand the laws of social
evolution as well as its functioning; once these were known, the sociol-
ogist would be able to spell out the kind of meliorative changes that
were required. To take up an analogy: Who can repair the watch? One
who knows about its functioning. In the same vein, one who knows
about the functioning of society will be able to scientifically identify the
changes that are required. Sociology began as a theoretical and applied
science of social phenomena.
The issue of the parentage of a discipline is invariably disputed.
Some writers avoid using a male-centric term, like the ‘father’, prefer-
ring instead the ‘founder’. Some consciously bypass the matter of fixing
the foundership of a discipline since they think that it is established over
time from the accretion of the works of many people, from different
traditions and nationalities. For instance, Eriksson (1993) thinks that
the contribution of Adam Smith (1723–90) and the Scottish Moralists
was central to the emergence of sociology. Adam Ferguson (1724–1816),
some think, has a better claim to the progenitorship of sociology for his
view that human nature is inescapably social and, also, for his work on
division of labour that later influenced both Karl Marx (1818–83) and
Émile Durkheim (1858–1917) (Lovejoy, 1948). Some may go back in
time and regard Aristotle’s famous statement, ‘man is a political [i.e.,
social] animal [zoön politikon]’, as a sociological statement of great
import. And, the idea of ‘social science’, a term that Marquis de
Condorcet (1743–94) coined in the initial stages of the French
Revolution, which replaced the older idea of ‘moral science’, was a pre-
cursor to the discipline of ‘sociology’ (Heilbron 1995). Whilst these
debates are of great interest to the historians of a discipline, for others
they may be dispensed with in favour of a critical appraisal of the
approaches that are in currency.
My submission on this point is that the matter of the originator of
a discipline may not be of more than an academic-cum-historic value
for other disciplines, but for sociology its importance lies in the fact
of  the divergent approaches that have evolved historically and are of
INTRODUCTION xxvii

significance even today. Here, I tend to subscribe to Anthony Giddens’s

(1977: 23) view that the true founder of sociology was not Comte, but
his senior collaborator, with whom he had an eventual split on the issue
of authorship, Claude Henri de Saint-Simon (1760–1825). Comte is
‘generally considered to be more important to the founding of sociol-
ogy’ (Ritzer 1996: 13) because his line of thought was carried forward
by later scholars, all inclined to make sociology a science of society, quite
like the natural and biological sciences. All this led to the ultimate
eclipsing of Saint-Simon’s significance to the development of sociology.
In Saint-Simon’s writings, one comes across a dual line of thinking:
the conservative and the socialist-revolutionary. The first line tried to
preserve the society as it was; however, it did not mean a return to the
ways of living of the Middle Ages. What Saint-Simon meant was that
social stability was a much sought-after virtue. It did not, however,
mean a state of inertia. Society should undergo change but the entire
process should be carefully directed, after obtaining a scientific (objec-
tive and mathematical) understanding of the working of society. Here,
he was laying the foundation of what later came to be known as positiv-
ism in Comte’s works.
The other line of thought based itself on a realistic view of society,
which Saint-Simon found to be divided into two classes: industriel and
proletaire. The former comprised the owners of factories and industries,
the affluent people, while the second category was of workers. Each
stage of society, believed Saint-Simon, carried the ‘germs of its own
destruction’, and thus was destined to change; so capitalism was super-
seding the feudal system. Many of the ideas he nursed—like socialist
reforms, improvement in the condition of workers, centralised eco-
nomic planning—were developed later by Marx. Saint-Simon sensed
the presence of conflict between these two classes, but was pessimistic
about any possibility of the working class throwing the capitalists out of
economic and political power. He also had charitable words to say about
the idea and change-promoting nature of revolution.
As stated previously, it was the first line of Saint-Simon’s thoughts
that received undivided attention from his secretary and disciple,
Comte. Whilst Comte believed in the efficacy and unity of scientific
methods, he was skeptical of the application of experimental method to
social research and suggested that we look for its alternative in con-
trolled comparison. With regard to the second line in Saint-Simon’s
xxviii Vinay Kumar Srivastava

thinking, Comte thought that the time after the French Revolution was
one of social construction, improving upon the condition of people,
rather than one of deepening the crises and escalating its instability by
adopting the ideas of conflict and revolution. Thus, Saint-Simon’s
second stream of thinking was summarily rejected and professional
sociology developed in the line of positivism, to be later classed as a
‘natural science of society’. Surely, society must change—as a matter of
fact, Comte attributed more importance to ‘social dynamism’, con-
cerned with the issues of change, rather than ‘social statics’, concerned
with continuity, stability and coherence—but it should not be disrup-
tive, lethal and pernicious, which was expected to follow from revolu-
tion; so any school of thought or ideology that highlighted the role of
revolution was alien to the new science of sociology, which was ‘posi-
tive’, not ‘negative’.
By the 1850s, some part of Comte’s work had been translated into
English, although it did not evince much interest in the beginning, with
time, the ideas of evolution, scientific methods, comparative orienta-
tion, and an overall concern for the study of the whole society, started
attracting scholars (see G. S. Ghurye’s paper in this volume). An English
scholar of great reputation, whose work influenced the later thinkers,
was Herbert Spencer (1820–1903), usually acclaimed as the ‘philoso-
pher of universal evolution’. Important differences exist between Spencer
and Comte; for instance, by contrast to Comte, Spencer followed the
laissez-faire doctrine, meaning that the state ‘should not intervene in
individual affairs, except in the rather passive function of protecting
people’ (Ritzer 1996: 33). Believing that social life should evolve inde-
pendently of extraneous controls, Spencer did not favour the implemen-
tation of any social reforms. Society changed in accordance with its own
laws of evolution.
Spencer was the first scholar to offer a comprehensive definition of
evolution in terms of the processes that accompany it: in other words,
the question he took up was what happens when evolution occurs?
Being a process of gradual and incremental change from a simple state
to the complex, or from a state of relative homogeneity to relative het-
erogeneity, evolution involves differentiation, that is the parts of the
system become specialised and dissimilar over time; but for making
these parts work together as a system and also for saving these parts
from, so to say, ‘falling apart’, they should be properly integrated. The
INTRODUCTION xxix

process going on concomitantly with differentiation is integration: parts

get differentiated as well as integrated. In this context, Spencer’s oft-re-
membered statement is: ‘Integration compensates for differentiation of
parts.’
The process of evolution is ceaseless, having ubiquitous applicabil-
ity; everything in the world evolves, although the rate of evolution varies
from one to the other. As evolution proceeds, the weak elements are left
behind, and are eliminated over time. Only the strong are able to sur-
vive; thus, evolution is a process aiming towards progress. The ideal of
evolution is to make the system perfect, adapting it better to its habitat.
Incidentally, Spencer was the first scholar to use the phrase ‘survival of
the fittest’, one that acquired phenomenal popularity with the work of
the biologist and natural historian, Charles Darwin (1809–82). For
Spencer, each step of evolution heads towards progress; that was the
reason why Spencer termed evolution ‘progressive change’, and he tried
to illustrate it in his analysis of the evolution of societies, from the stage
marked by military conquest to the one in which industrial production
was central. Each stage that follows is far more stable than the one that
precedes it. Spencer said that less differentiated systems are unstable and
as they evolve, they become more stable. Thus, evolution marks the ‘dis-
sipation of motion and a more integration of matter’.
One of the greatest intellectual accomplishments of mid-19th cen-
tury was the publication of Darwin’s On the Origin of Species (1859).
Based on the natural history expedition in search of paleontological
remains, famously known as the ‘Voyage of the Beagle’, Darwin ren-
dered an empirical justification to evolution, one that hitherto was
being supported in metaphysical and philosophical terms. Emerging as
a sound alternative to the Biblical theory of creation, the evolutionary
theory as Darwin developed, taking into consideration the researches of
his predecessors, impressed the scientists and intellectuals of the later
19th century. Evolutionary theory, which principally spoke of changes
in floral and faunal worlds, was applied to understand the progressive
changes of social forms. This application of the evolutionary ideas
earned the title of ‘Social Darwinism’ (Harris 1968). Sociology and
anthropology of the second half of the 19th century were principally
concerned with evolutionism, often known as the ‘19th-century, classi-
cal or Victorian evolutionism’. Notwithstanding the people’s faith in the
theory of creationism, Darwin was read with infectious enthusiasm.
xxx Vinay Kumar Srivastava

Although the general public, especially the elite classes, found it difficult
to come to terms with the fact that they had simian ancestry, the idea
that things were perpetually changing, moving from a state of relatively
speaking less differentiation to the one of more differentiation, was
gradually gaining acceptance; the notion that change was (is and will be)
ubiquitously occurring, though imperceptible, had negligible dissenters.
Darwin was a popular figure, but the other evolutionists, particularly
Spencer, were read avidly by intellectual classes. In fact, J. D. Y. Peel
(1971), in his scholarly work on Spencer, says that the school of Social
Darwinism borrowed a lot from Spencer than from Darwin.
The two accomplishments of the 19th century were positivism and
evolutionism. Both these paradigms of looking at and analysing social
reality exercised tremendous influence on sociology and social anthro-
pology, for they later grew into new approaches or gave rise to new
interests. Although periodically rebutted, they have always staged a
comeback.

4.

Positivism, developing during the Enlightenment (post–Middle Ages)

period of Western thinking, referred to the approach of the natural and
biological sciences, which was later applied to the study of social forms.
In social research, it advised researchers to conduct precise empirical
observations of individual behaviour, then attempting to discover, con-
firm and verify causal laws (the ‘universal generalisations’), and on the
basis of this knowledge, make predictions about social life; the process,
however, did not stop here, since it was not just academic. Against the
backdrop of this knowledge, the sociologist was expected to suggest the
changes that should be introduced and the way in which this process of
improving upon the state of society should be carried out. For positiv-
ists, thus, the objective was not only to know the phenomena scientifi-
cally but also to initiate the desirable changes. Science first understands,
then builds.
Positivists favoured value-free and value-neutral understanding,
which meant that the investigators ‘observed’ each and every aspect (or
facet) of social life, without privileging any particular one over the other;
the biases and prejudices, likes and dislikes, predilections and favourit-
ism of the investigators are kept at bay while conducting the study.
INTRODUCTION xxxi

Science transcends values and beliefs, personal opinions and attitudes,

and has also created a module of checks and balances to protect itself
against any kind of stereotypes and preconceptions creeping in the
study. Distinguishing it from ‘non-science’ (or ‘commonsense’), positiv-
ism claims to replace the ‘non-scientific’ ways (such as occult lore, tradi-
tional knowledge, personal experience) of knowing—‘what is not known
today will be known tomorrow’ is the motto of science. Indubitably,
science borrows from common sense, but the logically inconsistent ele-
ments of common sense, or those not amenable to empirical verification
or full of biases, are summarily rejected.
Positivism argued for the methodological unity of both natural and
social sciences and if differences existed between the two, it was because
the social sciences were in a stage of ‘immaturity’. It was believed that as
social sciences advanced, exploring fully the nuances of the scientific
methodology, the difference between them would be confined to their
respective subject matters of study, rather than the tools of
investigation.
The sociological founder of positivism, Comte, was repudiated for
adopting a mechanical approach to the study of society and also for
paying more attention to the idea of reform than to the issue of refining
methods of study by applying these to an actual study and learning from
it. His contention was that the final stage in the evolution of human
mind was the scientific or positive, which did not envisage the possibil-
ity of any introduction of theological concepts, but the critics argued
that there could always be a ‘post-positivist’ stage, which might combine
the scientific spirit with the other ideas, including theological (Acton
1951). Later, with the work of Wilhelm Dilthey (1833–1911), the
assumption that the explanations derived from science were valid and
the rest could safely be declined came to be questioned. That science
failed to reach the ‘inner nature’ of human beings, their desires, thoughts,
will and feelings emerged as a cardinal critique of positivism.
Although the seeds of evolutionism were sown in the writings of
Comte, well known for his law of three stages, it was in the second half
of the 19th century that the evolutionary approach truly flourished both
in sociology and social anthropology. These evolutionists were inter-
ested in offering an evolutionary sequence of social and cultural phe-
nomena. Incidentally, the concept of culture had come into prominence
with the work of Edward Tylor (1832–1917), who devoted his book
xxxii Vinay Kumar Srivastava

Primitive Culture (1861), the first sentence of which was the definition
of culture, which continued to be only definition of culture till 1902, to
the evolution of religion. The classical evolutionists had two aims: to
account for the origin of the social form under consideration and to
identify the stages through which it had evolved to reach its contempo-
rary form.
In these endeavours, the evolutionists considered the ‘contempo-
rary primitive societies’, inhabiting the forests and mountains of South
America, Africa, Asia, and Australia, as the ‘remnants’ of the prehistoric
times, a study of whom would illumine our understanding of the past
societies; it may surprise us now but Tylor unhesitatingly called these
people ‘social fossils’, and their study would serve the same purpose that
paleontological records have for evolutionary biologists. Those times
were different. Anyone could say anything—derogatorily or admir-
ingly—and get away. Notwithstanding the fact that many of these evo-
lutionists pursued sociology or anthropology after having studied
science and were acquainted with positivism, they allowed their values
to run free. The words they used to describe the so-called ‘primitive
societies’ were value-laden and dyslogistic, for they (the simple and pre-
literate) were thought to be at the ‘lowest level of the evolutionary
ladder’, the summit of which comprised the Victorian societies.
The evolutionists applied their ideas to the entire human society
and different institutions and cultural traits. Lewis H. Morgan (1818–
81), following Montesquieu, spoke of the stages of savagery, barbarism
and civilisation through which society has passed; he also wrote on
the evolution of marriage. Tylor, like Morgan, followed the theory of
the  three stages; he also worked on the evolution of plough from
digging-stick. In addition to the work of these celebrated authors, the
latter half of the 19th century saw a large number of other scholars,
bearing allegiance to different social science disciplines, adhering fer-
vently to the evolutionary theory, applying it to different facets of soci-
ety. Even those scholars who were not indulging in speculations about
the origin and the early stages of society were deeply concerned about
the breakdown of the existing system and the emergence of a new one;
evolution inspired the study of change.
The first three decades after the publication of Darwin’s work of
1859 were vainglorious for evolutionism, but soon it came under vitri-
olic attack. Those who called them ‘diffusionists’ lashed evolutionism
INTRODUCTION xxxiii

for ignoring the role of contact between different cultures, because of

the migration of people from one part of the landscape to the other, in
the studies of change. If evolutionists seemed to follow Adolf Bastian’s
notion of the ‘psychic unity of mankind’, the diffusionists derived inspi-
ration from the idea of the ‘uninventiveness of mankind’. If evolution-
ists thought that cultures evolve in the same manner and pass through
the same stages because all human beings think alike, the diffusionists
believed that men imitate and learn from the others, and change accord-
ing to their needs what they have borrowed and learned from the others
(Lowie 1937).
The other major criticism of the school of evolutionism—and not of
the process of evolution—was that it extravagantly indulged in guesswork,
imagining the past and assuming the stages through which societies
were believed to have passed, in the absence of any authentic evidence;
in the words of Radcliffe-Brown (1952), classical evolutionism was
based on ‘conjectural history’ and not ‘authentic history’. By the turn of
the 20th century, a major paradigmatic change occurred: ‘to study the
society as it is and not how it has evolved’. Known as the functional
approach, it was based on the following interrelated ideas:

1. Study society as a holistic system rather than pick up any of its parts because
of its bizarreness or oddity.
2. Carry out an intensive first-hand study, observing the behaviour of people
in their natural context, rather than relying on the reports that were pre-
pared by the itinerants, missionaries, army personnel and the others.
3. Show how society survives as a ‘working’ and an ‘ongoing’ system, rather
than how it has evolved; the question of evolution is not unimportant, but,
because of the acute paucity of information, the questions of origin and
evolutionary stages may not be answered authentically, thus increasing
one’s proclivity to conjectures.
4. The knowledge thus gathered should be put to use; it should help in social
improvement.

Functional approach marked the revival of the ‘scientific sociology’,

which had been pushed to the backseat because of the conjectural recon-
structions of classical evolutionists, although by then the term ‘positiv-
ism’ had almost been eclipsed. Comte suggested that the first aim of
sociology is to discover the laws of evolution and the laws of the func-
tioning of society, for this knowledge is imperative for commencing
a  programme of social amelioration, and these ideas received
xxxiv Vinay Kumar Srivastava

sophisticated treatment at the hands of Durkheim, one who has been

acclaimed as the ‘founder of modern sociology’.
Alvin Gouldner (in Zeitlin, 1969: 235), the American sociologist,
called Durkheim ‘uneasy Comtean’, for Durkheim had an ambivalent
relationship with Comte; if, on one hand, he demonstrated that the
ideas of Comte had their genesis in the work of Saint-Simon, on the
other, he was profoundly influenced by Comte’s positivist-constructivist
philosophy. Earlier it was said that Comte unflinchingly thought that
the need of his time was social construction and not the further accen-
tuation of malaise. Any support to the philosophy of socialism, Comte
believed, was destined to aggravate the current state of social disorgani-
sation. Durkheim, who also began with a study of socialism, moving
later to sociology, held similar views and devoted him to a professional
(i.e. scientific) development of the science of sociology, applying the
scientific method to the study of conscience collective; because of this,
Durkheim’s approach is often called ‘sociologistic positivism’.
Sociologists, Durkheim said, were expected to offer what he called a
‘sociological explanation’, which comprised two parts: the causal–histor-
ical explanation and the functional explanation. The first should not
indulge in any pseudo-historical explanations (as did the classical evolu-
tionists) but look for authentic evidence, and if the latter is in paucity,
then the enquiry should be suspended till the time proper historical facts
come to light. Regarding the second, Durkheim was the first to offer a
definition of the term ‘function’, which is the contribution a part (of a
larger whole) makes to the whole, thus fulfilling the need (besoin) and
this contribution is for the maintenance and well-being of the whole. In
other words, function is positive; different parts of the whole make their
respective positive contributions, eventually leading to the perpetuation
of the whole; the interest of the whole is in its ‘ongoing continuity’. For
Durkheim, a concept of great theoretical importance is solidarity.
Durkheim was a true comparativist: like his predecessors in the
French tradition, he subjected to comparison societies of different scale
and magnitude. Sociology for him was not confined to the study of
‘one’s own society’ or the urban–industrial world; it was a comparative
study of all types of societies, simple and complex. In fact, Durkheim
called sociology ‘comparative sociology’. His Primitive Classification
(1903), a book he did jointly with his nephew, Marcel Mauss (1872–
1950), is a good example of this endeavour, for here he compared the
INTRODUCTION xxxv

totemistic societies with the highly complex societies of China and the
Christian world. His work on religion, The Elementary Forms of the
Religious Life (1912), was a case study—he called it ‘experimental’—of
totemism among the Arunta, one of the Australian aboriginal commu-
nity, based on the data that the two travellers, Baldwin Spencer and
Frank Gillen, had meticulously collected. If there is anyone who truly
deserves the title of the founder of both sociology and social anthropol-
ogy, and who gave a common approach to these disciplines, he was
Durkheim.

5.

Durkheim gave autonomy to ‘social’ as worthy of study. The subject

matter of sociology comprises the scientific study of ‘social facts’, which
are the ‘ways of acting, feeling, and thinking’, shared collectively, having
the ‘noteworthy property of existing outside individual consciousness’.
Social facts are ‘things’ (comme des choses), and can be observed, studied,
classified and compared in a manner similar to the one adopted for the
study of natural and biological facts. The procedure Durkheim pre-
scribed for the study of social facts was as follows (see Aron, 1965):

• Define the phenomenon under study in precise terms so that the definition
could be operationalised.
• Systematically examine and rebut the non-sociological explanations.
• Espouse sociological explanation(s) of the phenomenon.
• On the basis of the knowledge thus gained, devise a programme of change.

Durkheim elaborated the last part of this method in his study of

suicide.
Durkheim’s work greatly influenced the later sociologists and social
anthropologists, particularly the English anthropologist, A. R. Brown
(who later became A. R. Radcliffe-Brown), who started as a diffusionist,
being a student of W. H. R. Rivers (1864–1922), but later converted to
what he called the structural–functional approach. For anthropology
particularly, the issue of knowing the simple societies—in the round—in
the sense ‘how they work here-and-now’ was of utmost importance. The
method the anthropologists devised for the study of simple and preliter-
ate societies was fieldwork, which meant ‘studying a society in situ’, by
xxxvi Vinay Kumar Srivastava

living with a community of people in their natural habitat for a lengthy

period, generally not less than one year, so that the fieldworker (or the
ethnographer) had an opportunity to observe first-hand how the native
social life was annually conducted. The fieldworker was also expected to
acquire proficiency in the local dialect so that the information was col-
lected without the intervention of a translator or interpreter.
Although the tradition of fieldwork goes back to the collectors who
traversed to far-flung territories for museum exhibits, its true founder
was Bronislaw Malinowski (1884–1942), who spent close to three years
with Trobriand Islanders, a community of people famed for a system of
ceremonial exchange known as Kula, and wrote extensively on them,
with the consequence that many surmised that if there was any place
where ‘primitive men and women’ lived, it was the Trobriand Island.
Radcliffe-Brown reworked his master’s thesis on Andaman Islanders,
based on a personal contact with these people from 1906–8, according
to Durkheim’s method, and both his work and that of Malinowski’s
Argonauts of the Western Pacific were published in 1922. Both these
monographs meticulously described the societies as they were when
studied by their respective ethnographers; each of these monographs
showed how different components of the respective societies were inter-
connected. Because of the significance of these monographs for the
functional approach, Adam Kuper (1973: 9) regards 1922 as annus
mirabilis (the ‘year of wonder’) of functionalism, the approach which
studied society as an integrated system, how it functioned as a whole.
Durkheim’s definition of function was accepted by his predecessors,
but by no stretch of imagination he can be labelled a ‘functionalist’,
because in his sociology, one finds besides functional explanations, evolu-
tionary ideas and causal analyses, and in an embryonic form, symbolic
anthropology, especially in his study of religion. The British social anthro-
pologists, particularly Radcliffe-Brown, carried forward from Durkheim
his stream of the positivist–functional thoughts. In Britain, this became
‘functionalism’, a term that acquired currency because of its use by
Malinowski. Radcliffe-Brown said that ‘social structure’ (Durkheim’s
‘social morphology’) can only be studied when it functions (‘social phys-
iology’): because of the interconnection of these two concepts, Radcliffe-
Brown preferred to call his approach ‘structural–functional’. For him, it
is a method of study rather than an ideology or a school of thought. That
was the reason why he disapproved the term ‘functionalism’, which gives
INTRODUCTION xxxvii

the impression of being an ideology. Social anthropology, which for

Radcliffe-Brown is a branch of ‘comparative sociology’, is a ‘natural sci-
ence of society’, the subject matter of which is ‘social structure’, and
‘social structure’ is empirical and observable (see M. N. Srinivas’s paper in
this volume on this point). For it to claim a scientific status, a discipline’s
subject matter should be amenable to observation. That was the reason
why Radcliffe-Brown in the study of religion said that rituals rather than
beliefs constitute the proper subject matter of study; it is because they are
observable and as they are collectively performed, there is no individual
variation as is the case with beliefs.
One of the ways to conceptualise human society, made popular
with Spencer’s work, was the use of organic analogy. Durkheim further
pursued it, which led Radcliffe-Brown to say that the concept of func-
tion is based on an analogy between biological organism and human
society. However, Radcliffe-Brown tried to ‘de-biologise’ and ‘sociolo-
gise’, so to say, the functional terminology, clearly enunciating the dif-
ferences between society and organism. The ‘necessary conditions of
existence’ (instead of ‘needs’) of society are met by its parts, and the parts
work in a relationship of togetherness to create ‘functional unity’, and
society endures as an ‘ongoing system’. Radcliffe-Brown’s functional
approach was ‘sociological’, in which the welfare of the individual was
incumbent upon the functional continuity of his or her society.
The individual—not an explanatory category in the ‘sociological
functionalism’ of Durkheim and of his ardent follower, Radcliffe-
Brown—was extremely important to Malinowski, who after having fin-
ished a great deal of writing on the various institutions of the Trobrianders
devoted himself to the theoretical issues, which were published posthu-
mously. Malinowski built up a theoretical model, the base of which
comprised the biological system, followed by the social and the sym-
bolic systems, respectively. Central to his theory (which he called ‘scien-
tific’) is the idea of the ‘survival of the individual’, dependent upon the
fulfilment of his ‘basic (i.e. biological) needs’. Social system includes the
groups that are built up for the satisfaction of these needs and the others
that are created once the biological needs are satiated. The symbolic
system includes the beliefs, values and the world views the people hold
and cultivate. Culture is a need-serving system—it consists of institu-
tions that act towards meeting the biological needs, to begin with,
and then the others that are subsequently created. Because of the role
xxxviii Vinay Kumar Srivastava

assigned to culture, Malinowski’s functional approach is known as

‘bio-cultural functionalism’.
The other term that Malinowski’s approach has earned is ‘psycho-
logical functionalism’. It is not only because of the centrality of the indi-
vidual in his thought, but also because he often refers to the mental
states that are produced as a consequence of certain institutionalised
actions. For instance, in an attempt to answer why the Trobrinder fish-
ermen perform magic (recite spells) when they go to the deep seas for
catching fish, Malinowski’s answer was that the situations fraught with
risk, where human actions are incapable of bringing the situation under
control, are often coupled with magical performances, since magic pro-
vides psychic energy to combat anxiety-driven situations. ‘Magic is sum-
moned where mechanical technology ends’, was one of Malinowski’s
(1922) famous conclusions.
From the 1920s, British social anthropology devoted itself to theo-
retical concerns, applying them for understanding local communities
and situations. It wholly enriched our knowledge of small, bounded,
communities; and at the same time, it tried to arrive at a set of general-
isations (for some, they were law-like propositions). By comparison, the
American sociology was unswervingly compiling data about communi-
ties, neighbourhoods, towns and cities. In anthropology also, after Franz
Boas (1858–1942), it was thought that attempts towards generalisation
should better be postponed, since data at the command of the research-
ers were scanty (Harris, 1968). Emphasis was laid on data-collection.
When Parsons started working on social theory, he found the American
sociology of his time as nothing more than a ‘quagmire of empiricism’,
and the sole way to make sociology relevant was to strengthen its theo-
retical base.
The first major work Parsons undertook was a critical study of the
writings of the classical thinkers. To his credit was the fact that he intro-
duced the English-speaking world of the social scientists to the writings
of the German and Italian thinkers. Considering this work, The Structure
of Social Action, originally published in 1937, an ‘empirical’ study,
Parsons tried to build up a theory of social action, bringing in and syn-
thesising the writings of the German and French thinkers (see Rocher
1975). Because of his training under psychologists and anthropologists
(such as Malinowski), in his analysis of society, Parsons spoke of the four
systems (viz., biological system, personality system, social system and
cultural system) that carried out their respective duties in a system of
INTRODUCTION xxxix

interconnectedness. Each of these systems corresponded with the activ-

ities—such as adaptation with the external world, identification of
goals, integration between different parts of the society, and creation of
knowledge—that were considered indispensable, in the sense that the
continuity of society could only be predicted when these had been car-
ried out. The individuals performed the unit acts as directed by the
respective systems. The cultural system—the source of all information
and knowledge—did not act on its own; that is why Parsons called it
‘latency’. So there were systems high in energy and those high in infor-
mation. The working of the society showed a ceaseless link between
energy and information, which Parsons called the ‘cybernetic
hierarchy’.
It is not easy to place Parsons in any straightjacket category of social
theories, for he worked on a variety of subjects and institutions, from a
variety of perspectives. If he was hailed as a pursuer of ‘structural-
functionalism’, a term he used for his brand of functional approach, he
also wrote on the evolution of societies. If on one hand, he described him
as an ‘incorrigible theorist’, on the other, he carried out empirical studies
on hospitals, professions, schools, students and families, writing inci-
sively about each one of them. However, close to his heart was the ques-
tion ‘Why and how does order come in society?’—which he also called
the ‘Hobbesian problem of order’ and tried to take it up in his work.
Parsons’s sociology, thus, tilted to the functional approach (Ritzer
2000). He was regarded as a status-quoist and conservative thinker, one
who created a utopian world. This was the blistering critique that Ralf
Dahrendorf (1929–2009, 1958, 1968) offered to Parsons’s book titled
The Social System (1951), which he found to be a figment of imagina-
tion rather than the description of an actual society. Although Parsons’s
‘grand theory’ might have served the purpose of raising the image of
sociology as a ‘positive science’ in the eyes of the scholars from the other
disciplines, it was far removed from the real society, where the states of
equilibrium and disorganisation (or what Radcliffe-Brown called ‘euno-
mia’ and ‘dysnomia’) were polar categories, and the real society com-
bined at every point in time various shades of consensus and conflict,
unity and oppositions, cohesiveness and cleavages.
Functional approach was criticised on many counts: first, the
assumption that whatever exists is ‘functional’ (contributing to the
maintenance of society), otherwise it would cease to exist, and then,
each time looking for the function of a part or action when in fact there
xl Vinay Kumar Srivastava

may not be, and on not being able to find one, there will be a likelihood
on the part of the researcher to impute one to it, like the popular exam-
ple: Why is the nose placed above the mouth? So that you may smell the
food before you eat! Besides being teleological and tautological, func-
tionalism was not able to account for change; it could explain how order
came in society but not how it would change over time. Conflict was
also treated as a kind of ‘social sickness’ (a ‘state of anomie’). The ahis-
torical nature of functionalism perhaps could not envisage that conflict
could be change-generating and change-promoting. One of the princi-
pal reasons why functionalism could neither take into consideration the
processes of conflict nor include change in its body of analysis was that
its empirical substantiation came in the context of simple, tradi-
tion-bound, societies, which were, relatively speaking, slow changing
and rule abiding. Normative order in these societies was strong, thus,
the episodes of manifest conflict were rather infrequent. The weaknesses
of functionalism were wide open when it was applied to complex, het-
erogeneous societies.
Many functionalists have tried to reprieve the situation. One of the
earliest attempts was Robert Merton’s (1910–2003) who introduced the
concept of ‘dysfunction’ to refer to all those unit-acts which do not work
towards integration—‘maintenance and well-being of the whole’—but
try to create disharmony and fissiparousness (Merton 1968). That dys-
functions are a harbinger of change amounts to saying that conflict is
not ‘evil’. Neo-functionalism has also tried to struggle with the issues of
conflict and change, thinking in terms of a ‘theoretical tendency or ori-
entation’ that can conveniently explain the aspects of dynamism and
continuity of society (Alexander 1998).

6.

Attention to the ‘dual line of filiation’ in the work of Saint-Simon was

drawn earlier (Giddens 1977: 23). It was pointed out that in addition to
laying the foundation of the scientific approach to the study of society,
on which Comte built up his edifice of positivism, Saint-Simon also
discussed in his writings the change that followed the underlying con-
flict between classes. Even before Marx’s writings became popular and
the role of revolution highlighted, Comte (and later, Durkheim) were
suspect of socialism and the exacerbation of conflict in society. The
second line in Saint-Simon continued undeveloped for a long time,
INTRODUCTION xli

since professional sociology progressed as a scientific discipline, quite

like the other natural and biological sciences. Against this backdrop,
Marx’s writings, which gradually became popular from the mid-19th
century, and also of his collaborators and the other exponents of social-
ism, were dismissed as mere ‘pamphleteering’, aiming to fill certain
classes of people with revolutionary fervour, rather than of any scientific
value. The other reason why Marx was not taken seriously was that he
was not developing a particular ‘university discipline’, as was the case
with Durkheim and the German sociologist Max Weber (1864–1920),
but was committed to certain political goals and their attainment. At
best, Marx could be termed a ‘social thinker’. That his thoughts might
not constitute the discipline of ‘sociology’ but were of tremendous
sociological relevance, for a critical examination of the existing theory
and methods, was not realised at that time, and so Marx was kept alien
to the growth of sociological thoughts, with scholars giving a passing
reference to his work without closely examining its significance. But
Marx was read—often seriously—when sociologists examined the works
of Weber and the other German, Italian and French sociologists, in
which the starting point of their respective debates began with Marx.
With respect to the place of the Marxian thought in sociology, three
opinions may be identified in sociological literature (see Béteille 2009).
The first is that sociology and Marxism are two divergent bodies of
knowledge; whilst sociology is an academic discipline, Marxism is a
political ideology devoted to the liberation of workers from the yoke of
exploitation. The second opinion, which is its polar opposite, is that
Marxism provides the most correct, viable and implementable episte-
mological perspective on society, and so if sociology is to be relevant, it
must wholly subscribe to Marxism. Here, in this view, sociology and
Marxism overlap; the other name of sociology is ‘Marxian Sociology’.
This was the state of sociology in the so-called socialist and communist
countries, where not only sociology (and the other social sciences) but
also the natural and biological sciences assiduously followed the para-
digm of Marxism in their respective works. The final opinion, followed
in contemporary sociology, is that there are multiple perspectives on
society, in accordance with which it is analysed, and one such perspec-
tive is drawn from Marxism. In no way is Marxism privileged over the
other ways of studying society, and it is left to the investigators to decide
which of the standpoints on society to follow keeping in mind the reality
at hand. Here, Marxian sociology is one of the interests of sociologists,
xlii Vinay Kumar Srivastava

as are the other brands of sociology, such as ‘Weberian sociology’ and

‘Durkheimian sociology’. Some authors place Marxism under the rubric
of ‘Radical Sociology’.
Marx’s method is known as ‘dialectical materialism’, which J. V. I.
Stalin (1879–1953) defined as ‘[t]he world outlook of the Marxist-
Leninist Party’ (Cornforth 1979: 1). A collocation of two terms, it is
defined as the application of the principle of ‘dialectics’ to the material
world. The statement summing up the spirit of ‘dialectics’ is: ‘Nothing
is static in the universe’. Each phenomenon, system, unit or element,
right from the moment of its inception, has ‘germs’ that would mature
and intensify over time to cause its annihilation, culminating in the
emergence of a new state, which like its predecessor would have the
same fate. Marx (1967: 20) writes:

...[dialectics] regards every historically developed social form as in fluid move-

ment, and therefore takes into account its transient nature not less than its
momentary existence; because it lets nothing impose upon it, and is in its
essence critical and revolutionary.

The ideas of dialectics can be traced to certain pre-Socratic scholars

and Aristotle; however, the fuller use of this method came in the work
of G. W. F. Hegel (1770–1831), whom Marx regarded as a ‘mighty
thinker’. Marx not only had a closer look at Hegel’s dialectical method,
but also thought that it was the best for providing an explanation of
human society as it has developed over time. Marx never lost sight of the
fact that society is a historical artefact, a product of the processes and
vicissitudes of history, and therefore, unlike the context of natural and
biological sciences, in social sciences, the history of societies is itself an
explanatory category.
Hegel gave primacy to ideas, the products of mental activity. The
‘existing state of things’ was nothing more than an expression of the
idea. Marx found this notion and its philosophical justification unac-
ceptable. With this application of dialectics to the world of ideas, Marx
thought that it had become ‘mystified’; here, one of the most frequently
quoted statements from Marx (1967: 20) is:

With him [Hegel] it [dialectics] is standing on its head. It must be turned

right side up again, if you would discover the rational kernel within the mys-
tical shell.
INTRODUCTION xliii

The ‘rational kernel’ was the material reality—the actual living con-
ditions in which people find themselves govern their thought. That
matter exists independently of consciousness and through consciousness
it becomes cognizable was central to Marx’s understanding. In his
Preface, which he wrote principally for self-clarification, to A
Contribution to the Critique of Political Economy (1904: 12), Marx wrote:

It is not the consciousness of men that determines their existence, but, on the
contrary, their social existence determines their consciousness.

All this shows that Marx begins with ‘real, flesh-and-blood human
individuals’ (Zeitlin 1969: 97). If human beings have to live, they have
to eat; and they are not parasites on nature, eating away whatever is
available, and that too singly. They have to produce their ‘means of sub-
sistence’, for which they enter into relations ‘that are indispensable and
independent of their will’ (Marx 1904: 11). The base of human society
is therefore the economic system, comprising the means of production
as well as the relations of production. On this base stand the social, legal,
political and ideological structures—those for which the term ‘super-
structure’ is used. The economic structure conditions the other struc-
tures of society.
How does change occur? Marx was an evolutionist, interested in
understanding the history of human society and how it changed from
one stage to the other. Change, however, for him was not gradual, slow
and adaptive. Each stage of evolution had its own contradictions, which
later became the prime-movers of transformation. For instance, in the
first stage of human existence, the original classless society, what Marx’s
collaborator Friedrich Engels (1820–95) termed ‘Primitive
Communism’, the contradiction was between ‘man’ (the ‘producer of
the material life’) and nature (the ‘exterior world of habitat providing
the resources that become the means of production’), and its resolution
led to the state of slavery. In general terms, the material forces and tech-
nical aspects of production progress faster, whereas the relations of pro-
duction tend to lag behind, giving birth to a situation of conflict, and its
resolution leads to the new stage. Although Marx tried to deal with the
stages of human society beyond the state of primordial classlessness, he
was particularly interested in working out the anatomy of capitalism,
wherein he saw the occurring of the polarisation of classes and rise of the
class consciousness of workers, for because of industrialisation, they had
xliv Vinay Kumar Srivastava

all come ‘under the same roof ’, rather than remaining dispersed in dif-
ferent feudal estates, as was the pattern earlier. The stage was set for
revolution culminating in the emergence of the dictatorship of proletar-
iat, a transitional situation to the classless society.
For Marx, ‘struggle rather than peaceful growth was the engine of
progress’ (Coser 2001: 43), which implies that rather than being treated
as an instance of ‘social pathology’, disruptive and cataclysmic, as was
the firm view of the positivists, and then the functionalists, conflict
poses challenges before the communities for its resolution, leading to
healthy social transformations. Since it is socially produced, conflict is
also social; it may negate a particular system or practice, for which it
may be called ‘anti-social’, but its role in building up a new system
cannot be ignored. Thus, an attribution of negativity to conflict is par-
tisan and erroneous. Marx’s ‘prophesies’, if they could be called, which
followed logically from his analysis, about the emergence of class-free
society were falsified, but this did not imply a rejection of his method.
The primacy to economy in Marxian thought did not mean a sort of
determinism; it meant he was showing how economic factors were con-
nected to non-economic ones, and empirical studies can be undertaken
to examine this relationship. As Durkheim assigned autonomy to
‘social’, Marx, in a similar way, before Durkheim, analysed the auton-
omy of ‘economy’. Marxian method advanced the possibility of offering
an economic interpretation of society, the importance of which lay in
the fact that if human beings have to be liberated from a system of
exploitation and oppression and their perfectibility is to be achieved
then classes have to be eliminated once and forever. For this, revolution
has to be led by the working class for overthrowing the class-ridden
societies.
Thus, for Marx, the theory guides action, and the academic-revolu-
tionaries learn from the action, in light of which the theory is modified:
in other words, Marx argues for the unity of theory and practice. This
idea is well rehearsed in the popular communist literature: there is no
‘abstract Marxism’, Marxism is ‘concrete Marxism’. In the application of
Marxism, conflict plays the central role; it is the prime mover of change.
One of the greatest contributions of Marxian theory was its contri-
bution to the conflict theory which, of course, also had some non-
Marxists making their respective contributions. What Marx brought to
it was the idea of dialectics, the non-relaxing, universally valid process;
INTRODUCTION xlv

so when classes have been eliminated, will dialectics come to an end?

No, the transcendence of classes means the elimination of ‘man–man
contradiction’ but not ‘man–nature contradiction’, and for this, dialec-
tics will continue ceaselessly. Marxism, which did not have many admir-
ers and supporters in academic circles in the first half of the 20th century,
found many sympathisers in the second half, and many of these were
exploring the methodological implications of Marx, his economic anal-
ysis and revolutionary ideology (see A. R. Desai’s paper in this volume).
Marx inspired the later studies of capitalism, the changes that had come
in it, and why polarisation of classes did not occur. Dahrendorf (1959)
was one of those who undertook this task, enumerating the changes that
had come in the contemporary industrial society after Marx, some of
which Marx had guessed in the last volume of Capital. Dahrendorf
(1959) furthered the Marxian idea of conflict, integrating it with its
structure in modern organisations, and called this theory ‘conflict-
coercion theory’, which he compared and contrasted with the ‘consen-
sus theory’ of the functionalists (see Zeitlin 1973).

7.

Marx may have been condemned in academic institutions as a pamphle-

teer, activist and political ideologue, of less or negligible academic worth,
or may be a scholar worth a footnote, the later sociology—of the late
19th and early 20th century—however, was profoundly indebted to
him, for it grew in a long and sustained ‘debate with his ghost’, to
borrow words from Zeitlin (1969). The following scholars—Weber,
Vilfredo Pareto (1848–1923), Gaetano Mosca (1858–1941), Robert
Michels (1876–1936), Durkheim and Karl Mannheim (1893–1947)—
whose works shaped the contours of sociology were not only well aware
of Marx’s writings but carved out their sociological niches commencing
with a critical appraisal of Marx. As a consequence, some of them also
earned the not-so-respectable title of ‘bourgeois Marx’; but the fact of
the matter is that they were all responding to the changes that had come
(and were coming) in the capitalist society which, of course, was trans-
forming, but was far from being withered away, replaced by socialism.
The term ‘post-capitalism’ came to be used for the shape capitalism was
taking. It will not be an exaggeration to say that had Marx been alive to
witness these changes, he might have critically looked at the future
xlvi Vinay Kumar Srivastava

course of society he had charted out in his theory and might have thor-
oughly revised it. After all, Marx always paid attention to the empirical
reality, conducted observational studies and surveys to arrive at certain
conclusions; and so did the later Marxists (Lane 1981).
Besides this, these scholars were also thinking in terms of what
should be the subject matter of sociology and how this should be meth-
odologically approached, which certainly was not Marx’s concern, for he
did not want to limit his work to the field of sociology. A prominent
figure among them was Weber, an advocate of the explanatory under-
standing in sociology, which surfaced as a reaction to positivism, and
was regarded as the ‘founder’ of German sociology. The place that
Durkheim received in French sociology was similar to what Weber got
in the German tradition of sociology.
It may be recalled that positivism, though conceding that the
subject matter of social sciences is different from natural and biological
sciences, accepted the unity of the scientific method, and favoured the
attempts to arrive at laws of the functioning of human society. Like
natural and biological systems, society, it believed, could be studied
objectively. However, it was strenuously opposed by the hermeneutic
tradition, predominantly associated with the German thoughts of the
19th century. Incidentally, hermeneutics—meaning ‘making the obscure
plain’ (Blaikie 1993: 28)— is named after the Greek deity Hermes, who
is supposed to interpret the message and the desires of gods for the ben-
efit of man. Emerging around the 17th century, hermeneutics in the
beginning was largely confined to the interpretation of the sacred scrip-
tures, particularly the Bible. Later, in the 19th century, with the work of
Friedrich Schleiermacher, hermeneutics became the science of meaning,
applicable to all forms of human communication. In social research, its
transition was from the study of the text to the study of society and
culture, but an important point to be kept in mind was that it treated
society and culture as ‘texts’, which are to be ‘read’ and ‘interpreted’ in
the same way as ‘texts’, in the conventional term, are read and
interpreted.
The crucial term here is ‘interpretation’, by which is meant
‘grasping/understanding the meaning of the phenomenon/subject
under study’—what it actually tries to convey lies deep and requires
reaching beyond what is visible. It may not be amenable to observation
to which is largely restricted the positive enquiry. The processes of
INTRODUCTION xlvii

explanation and description, which are central to positivism, are

secondary to an interpretive study. The advocates of the interpretive
approach say that social and human sciences should be separated from
natural and biological sciences in terms of their subject matter, their
respective methods of study, and the objectives. In his book Introduction
to the Human Sciences (1883), Wilhelm Dilthey speaks of two funda-
mentally different sciences: the first based on abstract explanations
(Erklärung) is known as Naturwissenschaft, and the second rooted in an
empathetic understanding of the day-to-day lived experiences of people
in different historical contexts is Geisteswissenschaft; the first is the ‘nat-
ural science’, the second, ‘social and human science’. The aim of a
positive study is to discover ‘social laws’, like the ‘natural laws’, so that
human behaviour can be both graspable, predictable and controllable;
by comparison, the aim of social and human sciences is to understand
the meaning of behaviour from the perspective of people. An example
that Neuman (2000: 75; adopted from Brown 1989: 34) has used to
illustrate this is:

...I see a woman holding her hand out, palm forward. Even this simple act
carries multiple potential meanings; I do not know its meaning without
knowing the social situation. It could mean that she is warding off a potential
mugger, drying her nail polish, hailing a taxi, admiring a new ring, telling
oncoming traffic to stop for her, or requesting five bagels at a deli counter.

The point is that I shall come to know the meaning of her action
when I ask her and examine the social context in which the action
occurs.
Further, in hermeneutics, values should be separated from facts.
Weber said that the confusion between the statements of values and
those of facts is ‘impermissible’. In comparison, for the positivists, there
is no place of values in research, except in the choice of the topic that the
researcher takes up for investigation where subjective factors override
the others. By comparison to this, the interpretive thinkers believe that
values are an integral part of social life. Adopting a cultural relativist
view, they say that values are neither right nor wrong; they are different
and contextual. Thus, they follow a value-integrated approach, which is
different from the opinion that the followers of the critical approach
(Marxism included) adopt, according to which no science is free from
values. Some values are right, some are wrong, and the duty of the
xlviii Vinay Kumar Srivastava

researcher is to further the right values and fight for them. This is the
value-committed approach.
The proponents of hermeneutics and interpretive approach pre-
sume the unity of human nature, notwithstanding the fact that different
cultures have different values and moral standards, in the sense that
what may be ‘good’ to one culture may not be ‘good’ to the other.
Cultural relativism accompanies the idea of an underlying human
nature. Human beings are creators of meaning; the world is not mean-
ingless. Through these meanings, human beings make sense of the world
around them. These meanings are conveyed linguistically. Language
provides the basic structure of society; therefore, it must be seriously
analysed.
For Weber (1968), sociology is a ‘highly ambiguous word’, for it
does not tell us what it would deal and how. To say that it is a study of
‘society’ is to add to the existing confusion, since one does not know
what is society and how to go about studying it. Therefore, it is import-
ant that its subject matter in clear terms is explicated, stating precisely
the procedures that are to be adopted for its study. As we saw previously,
Durkheim also proceeded in the same way; for him, sociology studied
‘social facts’ objectively.
In a nutshell, Weber’s sociology may be said to be a ‘subjective study
of social action’. In Weber’s writing occurred a transition from the
humanistic hermeneutical tradition of philosophy to understanding and
interpreting the actions of people, conveyed by the term verstehen.
Further, Weber was not concerned with the interpretation of ‘texts’, as
was the case with philosophical hermeneutics, but of ‘action’, an activity
which is performed by the ‘actor’ (a ‘being-in-a-situation’ in Parsons’s
words) to which he attaches meaning. Thus, actions (historical or the
ones that the fieldworker observes) are to be understood (and not caus-
ally explained) in relation to the intentions and beliefs of the agents.
Historical epochs and cultures (and also texts) are assemblages of inter-
related meanings, which are to be clarified ‘in their own terms’, the
meanings the agents allocate to their actions, like the example from
Neuman’s book given above.
But, Weber does not confine him to interpretive understanding
only, although undoubtedly this approach is dominant in his work. He
combines this with an explanatory line of analysis; Delanty (2002: 49)
says that Weber ‘radicalised’ hermeneutics by combining it with the
INTRODUCTION xlix

explanatory line of analysis. Problems with respect to a reconciliation of

the interpretive and explanatory approaches have been central in social
science and Weber tried to tackle these.
Offering a theory of causal pluralism, multiplicity of causes behind
a phenomenon, Weber looked at the role of motivations leading to
action. His celebrated work on the spirit of capitalism as being an unan-
ticipated consequence of the observance of their ethical standards and
beliefs by the Protestants is a fine example of an explanatory under-
standing, where first the actions of people are understood and then an
explanation is provided which is one of the several explanations of the
emergence of capitalism. Weber was cautious not to suggest a universal
explanation about religion causing economic development. It was a par-
ticular historical moment that he was trying to explain to show that in
addition to economic factors, the non-economic factors (the ideas the
people hold) were equally important. Some authors speak of what they
call an ‘ideational theory’ of change, to which Weber is regarded as an
important contributor. Weber did not stop after rehabilitating the role
of ideas in his study of capitalism in Europe, but undertook an exem-
plary study of the world religions and their social structures to throw
light on the question of why the spirit of capitalism could not surface in
other parts of the world. Through his work, Weber restored the respect
of religion as a domain of study.
Weber’s impact on the later writers was tremendous. His work on
rationalisation as taking place in all institutions and activities (including
music) has greatly informed the contemporary studies of globalisation.
In the writings of post-structuralist thinkers, one may discern Weber’s
impact, whether it is Jacques Derrida’s view that society and culture can
be read like ‘texts’ or Michel Foucault’s conception of modern society as
‘carceral society’, which is built on insights from Weber’s ‘administered
society’, the society in which the state, through its laws and sophisti-
cated technology, exercises control over the individual, with the conse-
quence that gradually the individual’s privacy is stripped off in the name
of public interest and welfare of all (see Payne 1993; also see Dipankar
Gupta’s article in this volume).
The method of explanatory understanding had its great impact on
ethnographic research. People’s customs and practices, which appeared
bizarre to outsiders, including the fieldworkers, could be understood
from the perspective of their creators, bearers and transmitters.
l Vinay Kumar Srivastava

Understanding reality from the ‘actor’s perspective’, and distinguishing

it clearly from that of the ‘observer’, became central to ethnographic
research. Technically known as the ‘emic approach’ (by comparison to
the ‘etic’ approach), it is followed today in ethnographic and micro-level
studies of communities. One of the finest developments of the interpre-
tive approach came in the work of Clifford Geertz (1926–2006), who
following Weber, defined culture as a symbolic system, a system of
meanings. For him, human beings ‘spin the webs of significance’ and
remain suspended in them (1973: 5). These webs constitute the culture
of people. The ‘science of culture’ is not experimental, in search of laws,
notwithstanding the use of the word ‘science’ here, but it is an interpre-
tive exercise, which searches the meanings the acts have for people.
One of the favourite topics in an introductory course in sociology
is about its status—whether it is a science of society. Counter-arguments
are given which favour its classification along with the discipline of his-
tory. The interpretive approach, however, brings it closer to a literary
enterprise—ethnographic works read like ‘fictions’, except for the fact
that their data do not result from imagination but are collected in a
lengthy and close fieldwork with people. Our first job is to understand
the lives of people, their nuances and symbolic patterns, in their cultural
contexts, and then render it as, what Geertz calls, a ‘thick description’, a
detailed description that richly explains the meaning of the world of
symbols that people create and periodically renew.

8.

Positivism was discredited, with some of its best points absorbed in later
approaches, however, the methods it proposed for the study of society—
which included precise measurements, value-neutrality, quantification,
maximisation of objectivity and minimisation of subjectivity—have
largely continued, along with other methods, even when the researchers
followed the other approaches, such as the interpretive or critical. The
concern for general propositions (the ‘law-like propositions’) in positiv-
ism was criticised; it was said that because of the complexity of human
behaviour and its amorphous nature, it is difficult to arrive at the laws
of human behaviour quite like the laws that the natural and biological
scientists build up. Each culture has its own characteristics, its own
crises and the predicaments of its existence, hence our approach should
INTRODUCTION li

be to understand each culture as a ‘unique’ system, the idea that has

come to be placed under the rubric of ‘cultural particularism’. The
implication of all this was that sociology and social anthropology, which
started as ‘sciences qua sciences’, courtesy the writings of Comte,
Durkheim, Radcliffe-Brown and their respective disciples and pupils,
were pushed to the camp of humanities, and at best, ‘social sciences’,
which, albeit the use of the word science in its appellation, are not sci-
ences the way the natural and biological sciences are.
Although agreeing to the fact that sociology and social anthropol-
ogy have much in common with history and the other social science
subjects, some scholars continued to argue in favour of the unity of
human nature, and because of this, it would not be a formidable task to
reach some levels of general understanding about human beings. One
such effort was of the French social anthropologist Claude Lévi-Strauss
(1908–2009, 1967), well known as the founder of structuralism, whose
impact was clearly seen in other social sciences, humanities and litera-
ture. What Weber is to sociology, Lévi-Strauss is to anthropology. Both
gave new directions to their respective disciplines.
Believing in the existence of ‘universal human mind’, Lévi-Strauss
was principally committed to an analysis of the products of mind, which
show some kind of commonality across cultures, to reach the underlying
structure of human society. Mind cannot be studied ‘directly’, a brain
can, and therefore, it has to be studied ‘indirectly’, by closely examining
all the information it produces; a commonality of the mental products
across cultures is an indication of what may be termed the ‘psychological
(i.e. mental) unity of mankind’. Lévi-Strauss was committed to under-
standing the ‘Universal Man’, rather than a ‘community of men’.
Although his fieldwork in South America was not of the same quality,
and perhaps depth, as was Malinowski’s among the Trobrianders, he
referred to vast ethnographic literature that was available on the societies
of the world, most of which painstakingly collected by Boas and his
students on American Indians, and subjected all this to a comparative
study, before arriving at the binary opposites that constituted the system.
As is popularly known, Lévi-Strauss had ‘cosmic ambitions’, meaning
thereby that he worked towards discerning ‘structures underlying the
entire human society’—his aim was to arrive at, in other words, the
‘global structures’. And in his studies of kinship systems, totemism and
myths, he showed, firstly, that society can be analysed as a system of
lii Vinay Kumar Srivastava

communication, on the model of language, and secondly, he tried to

discover the underlying structure of each one of them.
Lévi-Strauss was greatly admired for his analysis, especially of
myths and for founding the field of mythology. His structuralism
evinced a lot of interest, with scholars all over the world trying to apply
this methodology in their respective studies. However, they all experi-
enced, including those who were Lévi-Strauss’s fervent supporters, like
Edmund Leach (1910–89), discomfort with the idea of arriving at the
structure of the entire human society, which would yield ahistorical con-
ceptions of society and this knowledge may be of less utility. Against this
backdrop, they preferred to apply structuralism on a rather more con-
fined area—may be region, an institution—like Louis Dumont’s (1980)
understanding of caste, and this application of structuralism has come
to be known as ‘neo-structuralism’.
One of the major critical approaches of the second half of the 20th
century is feminism. Two meanings of this term stand out: the first
refers to ‘political activism by women on behalf of women’ (McCann
and Kim 2012: 1), where it is seen as a forum to demand and fight for
rights, equality, justice and change in social consciousness and cultural
artefacts about the gender. The second meaning is more in theoretical
and methodological terms, where it implies a set of intellectual tools by
which the position of women in societies is analysed with respect to
their rights and the denial of these rights and the injustices they have
been confronted with, and this academic exercise, like Marxism, has
the objective of bringing about changes in society, so that women, like
men, can live with dignity, resisting subordination and oppression. The
underlying common argument is that much of social science was, and
in some cases is even today, ‘androcentric’: take the case of sociology
and social anthropology—the fieldworkers are men, the communities
they generally study are sexually segregated, wherein it is not feasible
for them to speak to women, or observe their activities without arous-
ing suspicion, and so they gather their information about women from
men, assuming that what they generally learn from men is the ‘point of
view of the entire society’. All through these researches, the ‘mutedness
of women’, which is culturally constructed, is taken for granted and the
assumption is that ‘women are ill-informed about the institutional
practices at large’. The cultural presumptions based on patriarchal prin-
ciples find their place in social sciences, receiving academic legitimacy.
INTRODUCTION liii

This research, appropriately termed ‘malestream’, is the focus of

rejection.
Researchers—particularly Ann Oakley (1982, 1985)—have also
been critical of positivism and the methodology it popularised, where
the concepts of objectivity, dispassion, and distance are keenly followed.
Calling it the ‘masculine’ approach to research, Oakley has explored the
possibility of a ‘feminist’ alternative, in which a ‘personal relationship’
with the respondent is the key to have a more proximate understanding
of the experiences of the other; and she substantiated this in her study of
178 interviews she conducted with women about becoming mothers.
Such studies have laid down the possibility of thinking in terms of a
separate feminist epistemology, superior in many respects to the others
that are in vogue. Contemporary studies deal with a close study of the
products women have created—for instance, an analysis of women’s
writings where female experience is central to writing and experience, an
interest termed ‘gynocriticism’. Another area demanding our close
attention is the feminist analysis of science and technology, particularly
the information and communication technology.
The second half of the 20th century saw the rise of protests against
the way sociological and anthropological studies were being conducted.
First, as we noted in the beginning, diatribes against theory became con-
spicuous, triggered by the argument that theoretical polemics, which
were thought to be obsessively breeding over time, took one’s mind
away from action research, which was regarded as the need of the time.
For initiating action research, familiarity with the local situation is
urgently and instantly needed, before development plans and instru-
ments of change could be introduced. For gaining this, the baggage of
theories is not needed; what is required are the right tools to know the
local situation well. Participatory research—where those who are called
‘subjects’ in academic research became ‘partners’ in research—was seen
as the panacea, one in which people themselves were ‘researching’ into
their lives, with a few hours of training that their ‘facilitators’ rendered
in the use of the tools of research. For the success of these endeavours,
theoretical research or understanding was (and is) nothing but perfunc-
tory. I have come across several postgraduates of anthropology and
sociology, who after joining non-governmental organisations or ‘devel-
opment consultancies’ have many uncharitable things to say about their
training in the universities where the emphasis on theory and abstract
liv Vinay Kumar Srivastava

learning does not prepare them for jobs in the world of development,
planning and action. And, then, we have to reiterate the significance of
theory and the role of universities as places of learning, searching for the
truth, rather than ‘employment exchanges’.
Second, the conventional theories, popular and sought-after,
received a jolt from those who received their guidance from literary crit-
icism and research in the history of ideas. Structuralism was criticised
for seeking order—in terms of the underlying structure, grids and pat-
terns, binary opposition arrived at through flow charts. Perhaps, it was
thought that the order that was imposed on the study of cultural prod-
ucts (say, myths) or texts was in the mind of the investigator, and was
imposed quite unconsciously, rather than being a characteristic of the
object of study and analysis. Finding it restrictive, limited, an ‘iron-clad
practice’, some authors moved on to a more what they called ‘free’ and
‘creative’ practice, labelled ‘post-structuralism’. In the thoughts of some
scholars—Foucault, for instance—one discerns first the phase of struc-
turalism, followed by post-structuralism.
Closely related to post-structuralism is post-modernism, sometimes
written with a hyphen in between ‘post’ and ‘modernism’, and some-
times without it. The other related terms used here are ‘post-modernity’
and ‘post-modern society’, with or without the use of the hyphen. Post-
modernism is used in several senses: a ‘frame of mind’, an ‘explanatory
construct’, the ‘state of the contemporary society’, a ‘method of analysis’,
a ‘theoretical standpoint to attack the existing knowledge’. Some writers
make a distinction between ‘modern’ and ‘post-modern’ ways of know-
ing. The former epistemology submits that truth can be known (and
also distinguished from falsity) by following the correct procedures. By
comparison, post-modern form of knowledge says that there is no way
of ruling out some ‘knowledge as false’. Each form of knowledge is a
type of ‘story-telling’, equally valid, true and relevant. Post-modern
approach expects to allow each community to tell its story, which is as
persuasive as the story of any other people. No story is better than the
other—thus a post-modern ethnography will be a collage of voices of
different people, one juxtaposed to the other.
In other words, post-modernism rejects the intellectual hegemony
of any thought—the ‘totalising’ (or ‘grand’) narratives (such as Hegel’s
view of history, Marxism, Sigmund Freud’s psychoanalysis) that try to
eliminate the possibility of alternative perspectives are dismissed here.
INTRODUCTION lv

Post-modernism looks for the local narratives, sometimes fragmented,

of the marginalised as well as of the elite, thus attempting to collapsing
the distinction between the high and the low, between the little and
great traditions. Some see post-modernism as a ‘great leveller’.
Whilst some have gleefully embraced post-modernism, others have
been skeptical of its onslaught. Eriksen (2006: 25) thinks that its influx
in anthropology amounted to getting an ‘extra dose of foul-tasting med-
icine’; it should be accepted only if one has solid, persuasive reasons. It
seems that the social science disciplines (for example, political science)
that did not touch it have progressed well and are comfortable in com-
parison to those which succumbed to it. Delanty (2002: 108–9) has
raised many objections to post-modernism; an important one pertains
to the relationship between agency, culture and structure. Since
post-modernism had its genesis in cultural studies, it has reduced
‘agency’ to a situation of insignificance. And ‘agency’ is not ‘culture’—
we may remember here Parsons who said culture does not act on its
own, it is ‘latency’. Thus, it cannot explain how society works and
changes. Furthermore, how far are we justified in treating the ‘under-
standing of society and culture’ as the ‘reading of a text’? How far is the
model of a text useful in the study of social and cultural phenomena? A
serious consideration of these questions takes us away from treating
sociology and social anthropology as ‘literary enterprises’ to pursuing
them as a type of social sciences, concerned with explaining and under-
standing social forms and cultural beliefs and practices.

9.

In my survey of articles on sociological theory in Sociological Bulletin, I

could devise three categories for their classification: first, the articles
where the authors make a contribution to the understanding of a con-
cept or method; second, those articles where the work (or its part) of a
Western social thinker is examined; and third, those articles where the
work (or its part) of an Indian social thinker is examined. In this volume,
I have included the first two—respectively titled ‘On Concepts and
Methods’ and ‘On Sociological Thinkers’. I have not considered the last
category here, as a separate volume on Indian sociologists is expected in
this series. As you may have noticed, I have referred to some of the
articles included here in the sections above.
lvi Vinay Kumar Srivastava

The first section, consisting of seven articles, begins with André

Béteille’s paper on how newness begins in sociology and gets integrated
with the existing practices in the discipline. In the next article, Dipankar
Gupta defends Foucault’s contribution to the ‘archeology of knowledge’,
but suggests that it should be seen in relation to the work of Kuhn. In
the next one, A. R. Desai argues in favour of adopting the Marxist
approach, even if as a heuristic device. Lung-Chang Young’s paper is on
examining altruistic suicide as an index of social-cultural rigidity. In his
contribution, Prakash N. Pimpley thinks that Habermas’s rational social
action is a distinct improvement upon Parsons’s ideas, which were
largely confined to the stance of American society. Beatrice Kachuck
provides a comprehensive review of feminist social theories, providing
succinct accounts of each one of these. The concept of social structure
has been examined by M. N. Srinivas in his article.
The second part, comprising seven articles, commences with G. S.
Ghurye’s paper on Comte’s evolutionism and philosophy. In the next
article, Rajendra Pandey shows the inalienable link that exists between
Weber’s metatheoretical arguments and his stratification theory.
Malinowski is known for his functional approach, but here, in his paper,
Vinay Kumar Srivastava examines the importance of Malinowski’s post-
humously published work on freedom, wherein he brings his scientific
functionalism in line with his humanistic approach. In his contribution,
Goutam Biswas has a critical look at Karl Popper’s hypothetico-deduc-
tive model of scientific explanation. The next paper by Susantha
Goonatilake is concerned with detecting biases in Gunnar Myrdal’s
work. Pravin J. Patel, in his article, critically looks at Merton’s contribu-
tion to science and its relation with his functional method. The last
article, by Sheena Jain, looks at the Shah Bano case through the concep-
tual lens of Pierre Bourdieu’s theory of the symbolic.

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Appleton-Century-Crofts.
 PART I
ON CONCEPTS AND METHODS
1
Newness in Sociological
Enquiry
André Béteille

M
any of those who entered the profession of sociology in the
last decade, as also those who are entering it today are dissat-
isfied with the existing state of the subject. They are eager to
explore new ways of undertaking their work. The search for newness is
of course central to science and scholarship, and an essential condition
of their progress and even their continuing vitality. At the same time,
nothing new emerges in the world of ideas out of a sheer desire for nov-
elty: newness would amount to little if it did not arise from a careful,
detailed and methodical scrutiny of existing knowledge—its concepts,
methods and theories. It speaks well of a profession when its new
entrants are out of sympathy with the mere mechanical reproduction of
existing and available knowledge in their field. But that cannot justify
the frantic search for novelty for its own sake. And if it be said that those
who hunger for newness do not do so aimlessly, it can also be said that
those who transmit accepted knowledge need not do so mechanically.
On an occasion like this, it is not enough to ask: how does newness
begin? One must also ask how it becomes integrated into the practice of
a discipline. This, I should stress, is a difficult issue, particularly in the
early phase of a discipline’s career when it may not at all be clear that
what seems to have become established is going to last and must there-
fore provide a yardstick for the inclusion or exclusion of new compo-
nents. At the same time, it will be unrealistic to expect that everything
that is new, even if it appears sound, will be automatically accepted and
4 André Béteille

accommodated. The established practice of a discipline is itself a social

fact, and I hardly need to remind this audience that social facts exercise
their own constraints. It is well to remember that practices that are taken
for granted in the discipline today did not get automatically incorp-
orated into it without facing any resistance, I could give many examples
from the work of sociologists of my generation and of the preceding one.
My main interest today is not in individual sociologists and their
personal achievements, but in sociology as a discipline and a profession.
Individual virtuosity has, and in my view ought to have, a smaller place
in scholarship than, let us say, in jazz music. Most sociologists realize
this, particularly as they advance in years, but young scholars find it
hard to accept it, especially when they are highly talented. I do not wish
to devalue the latter but only to point to the need for a proper appreci-
ation of the relation between tradition and individual talent in sociology
as in other branches of scholarship.
Sociology in India, as in many parts of the world, is in need of
renewal. This much we can all agree upon without having to make dire
predictions about the crises that are impending. Much of the work
produced in the last two or three decades is of very poor quality. A great
many things get published that do not deserve to be published, largely
because we have failed to establish an honest, reliable and discriminating
system of refereeing. In many colleges and universities, teaching at both
undergraduate and postgraduate levels is often perfunctory and some-
times dispensed with altogether. At the same time, some work of quality
has been produced continuously in the last 50 years.
The problem with us is not that the small amount of good work
done by preceding generations is unjustly criticized by succeeding ones,
but that it is ignored and then quickly forgotten. In India, each gener-
ation of sociologists seems eager to start its work on a clean slate with
little or no attention to the work done before. This amnesia about the
work of their predecessors is no less distinctive of Indian sociologists
than their failure to innovate. My main argument today is that the
amnesia and the failure to innovate are two sides of the same coin, we
will not be able to understand the one unless we understand the other.
It would be rash for me to point my finger at anyone, for I know very
well that someone else can point his finger at me. I simply draw atten-
tion to this as an obdurate condition of our discipline and our profes-
sion with no intention of singling out any individual sociologist or
group of sociologists for blame.
NEWNESS IN SOCIOLOGICAL ENQUIRY 5

II

I will now run quickly through some of the work produced by sociolo-
gists and social anthropologists in the recent past in India. My broad
objective will be to see if any newness was introduced by this work and
to ask, incidentally, how this newness came into being. Naturally, my
treatment will be selective and illustrative, for it will be impossible—and
also inappropriate—to attempt an exhaustive survey of research in the
subject in India. Further, I will confine myself to the work done in the
last 50 years, that is, since independence, without any judgement on
the quality and significance of the work of earlier scholars.
The first thing to note is that there was a tremendous burst of work
in the years immediately after independence, associated to some extent
with the expansion of institutions of advanced study and research,
namely, the universities and the newly-created institutes of research. The
sheer volume of work in the first two or three decades after indepen-
dence far exceeded what had been produced in the entire period before
independence. Fifty years ago, sociology was still a young subject, and in
retrospect, the scope for innovation appears to have been large. But of
course, much of the work produced even then was stereotyped and triv-
ial, and only a small part of it was of lasting value. In research, whether
at the level of the individual scholar or the profession as a whole, most
of what is done falls by the wayside and only a little endures; it is well to
remember that research is in this sense a costly undertaking.
The first two decades after independence may be described as the
great age of village studies. I am sure that the work of this period appears
dull and uninspiring to those who are entering the profession today, but
this is because the very success of that work led to its routinization in the
70s and eighties. That is not at all how it appeared to those of us who
were entering the profession in the 50s and 60s before the work became
a part of established sociological practice. The first full-length mono-
graph on an Indian village was published in 1955 by S. C. Dube (1955).
I was still a student in the Department of Anthropology in Calcutta
where everybody or almost everybody studied tribes. The new book,
along with the two collections edited by Srinivas (1955) and by Marriott
(1955), opened up new possibilities of research, and within a matter of
years young social anthropologists, myself included, took up detailed
and intensive studies of the Indian village which was at that time a
whole new field of enquiry and investigation.
6 André Béteille

Village studies established not only a new domain of research, but

also a new way of looking at Indian society and culture as a whole.
Through a series of writings in the 50s and 60s, Srinivas (1962) estab-
lished the distinction between the ‘book-view’ and the ‘field-view’ of
Indian society, advocating the primacy of the latter over the former in
sociological enquiry. The thrust in these studies was on life in the village
as it was actually lived, and not on that life as it had been ideally conceived
to be. The concept of the village as a harmonious and integrated unity was
found grossly inadequate in the light of careful ethnographic studies. It
gave way before accounts of the divisions visible everywhere and the con-
flicts of interest associated with them. Moreover, the idea of the village as
a self-sufficient unit was replaced by one in which the many links of the
village with the outside world were carefully examined and recorded.
Village studies were important in another way. They became for many
sociologists and social anthropologists the basis for training in the craft of
their discipline (Beteille and Madan 1975; Srinivas et al. 1979). Sociology
is an empirical discipline in which the observation, description, interpre-
tation and analysis of facts is of central importance. In earlier accounts of
Indian society and its institutions, facts were used for apt illustration rather
than detailed and methodical enquiry. Village studies established high
standards of enquiry through participant-observation. Unfortunately, sim-
ilar standards were not established as extensively in survey research, the
other principal mode of empirical investigation. It may even be argued
that the standards of empirical investigation through participant-observa-
tion established in the 50s and 60s have tended to become somewhat
relaxed over the years. In my own very limited personal experience, the few
students from overseas whose research I have supervised have produced
better empirical work than the majority of their Indian counterparts.
The field-view of society transformed the study of caste. This had
implications for the understanding of caste not only in the present but
also in the past. Here, a landmark was the paper published by Srinivas
in 1956 on ‘Varna and Caste’ (reprinted in Srinivas 1962: 63–69).
Srinivas argued that the operative units of the system were not the four
categories of the idealized scheme of varnas, but the innumerable jatis
which provided the real basis of social identity on the ground. Whereas
the varnas were the same four throughout the country and throughout
its history, the jatis varied from one region to another, and split,
amalgamated, emerged anew or even disappeared over time. By closely
examining the dynamics of caste, sociologists in the 50s and 60s were
NEWNESS IN SOCIOLOGICAL ENQUIRY 7

drawing attention to the declining role of caste in religion and ritual and
its increasing role in politics. Here I ought to point out that sociologists
were in advance of journalists who began to appreciate the great signif-
icance of caste in democratic politics only in the 80s and nineties.
One particular aspect of the dynamics of caste drew considerable
attention among sociologists at first and then among students of Indian
society and culture as a whole. This is the process whereby individual
castes change their social rank after a change in their economic and
political conditions. If one takes the book-view and sees castes as varnas,
one gets a picture of a hierarchy that is completely frozen and static. If
one takes the field-view and sees castes as jatis, one gets a picture of
castes continually changing positions, although this is almost always a
change in slow motion, not easy to detect in the particular case while it
is taking place. This new representation of caste, with its own patterns
of mobility, has encouraged historians and indologists to take a fresh
look at their data relating to the past.
I have described two major shifts of perception brought about by
sociological studies in the 50s and sixties. But there were also many
minor shifts, too inconspicuous for attention in each individual case,
whose cumulative effect has been considerable. As a result, our present
understanding of family, kinship and marriage, of religious belief and
practice, of local-level politics, and of economic arrangements and
transactions is both richer and deeper than it was 50 years ago. Thus,
newness in our discipline does not come about solely or even generally
through a sudden and dramatic breakthrough; more often it is the
unforeseen consequence, over a long stretch of time, of collective effort
that is at best loosely organized. What I wish to stress here is that some-
one may in fact contribute to newness in his discipline without himself
being aware of it while making his contribution.
The work to which I briefly referred above, and particularly the
enthusiasm for village studies and the field-view of society, created
something like a community of scholars who actively influenced if not
interacted with each other. Disciplinary boundaries became porous, and
although sociologists and social anthropologists took the lead in village
studies, they were joined by political scientists, historians, geographers,
economists and others. It is also important to note that the community
included Western as well as Indian scholars, and it will be false to say
that the flow of ideas was only in one direction. Looking back on that
experience, it can be said that indigenous and foreign scholars worked in
8 André Béteille

more active and fruitful collaboration, and on more nearly equal terms,
in the study of society and culture in India than perhaps in any other
country in the world. What I would like to stress is that this collabor-
ation, with all its strains and stresses, had become an established fact
before the theorists of hegemony had had time to agonize over its moral
and political implications.

Ill

Thus, it is quite clear that some new ideas, new concepts and new
approaches did emerge in the study of Indian society and culture in the
last 50 years. But of course all of this was embedded in routines of study
and research that were for the most part dull, monotonous and repeti-
tive. Would it not be marvellous if we could henceforward dispense with
the dull routine and simply get on with the pursuit of innovation? To
someone who has chosen the vocation of scholarship, such a desire must
appear both shallow and frivolous. In sociology, whether in India or in
the West, we cannot achieve significant innovation if we disregard the
routine of scholarship.
If we acknowledge that sociological knowledge is cumulative, it will
be clear that the growth of that knowledge cannot be left solely to indi-
vidual creativity. Every intellectual discipline is at the same time a craft,
with its own requirements of training and apprenticeship. The outgoing
generation cannot teach the incoming one to be original, and it should
not even try; but it does have the responsibility of handing down to it
the traditions of its craft. By the traditions of a craft I mean something
more than a set of technical procedures, important though they are, that
can be acquired directly from the kind of manual that comes with the
personal computer. These traditions are assimilated in and through the
institutions, such as universities and centres of research, where the voca-
tion of sociology is collectively practised.
It may be useful to pursue the metaphor of the craft a little further.
Here I would like to refer very briefly to the work of Meyer Fortes who
was an acknowledged authority in the field of kinship studies and whom
I had the good fortune to know personally. Towards the end of his life,
he wrote an account of his career which he called ‘An Anthropologist’s
Apprenticeship’. Following the philosopher A. J. Ayer, he divided
anthropologists into two types, the ‘pontiffs’ and the ‘journeymen’,
saying that he himself was of the second and not the first type. The
NEWNESS IN SOCIOLOGICAL ENQUIRY 9

journeyman is devoted to his craft rather than to some grand creative

project. Fortes (1978: 1–2) saw his own intellectual career thus:

A journeyman’s eyes are on his material, not on higher things. His aim is to
turn out a particular product at a time using the best tools at his disposal.
What he has by way of skill and technique are directed strictly to the job in
hand, to making the most of the material he has to work with in the light of
whatever good ideas happen to be appropriate to his task.

It was through work done in this spirit that he made his most significant
contribution to his discipline; and he did in fact bring much newness
into the study of kinship.
I had of course read some of Fortes’s writings as a student in Calcutta
in the 50s for he was then already an established scholar. When I came
to know him many years later, I naturally tried to find out from him
what he considered his most significant contribution to social anthro-
pology. But I never got very far. He somehow managed to turn the dis-
cussion around to Malinowski and Radcliffe-Brown who had been his
teachers or to younger persons who had been his pupils. He was by no
means approving of all the work they had done, for as a man and a
scholar, he was of a critical, not to say a carping, disposition, but till the
end he kept himself informed about the work being done in his field.
He read everything, took out whatever little he found to be of value, and
attacked the rest relentlessly; in this attack, he spared neither his teachers
nor his pupils. He always spoke respectfully of his seniors, even those
who had entered the field only a few years ahead of him, but he had an
unforgiving hostility towards those who sought to project themselves as
pontiffs, mahants or creative geniuses.
Like N. K. Bose, my teacher in Calcutta, Meyer Fortes believed that
anthropology was a science. What place can tradition have in the work of
the scientist? It is easy to be misled by the antithesis between tradition and
modernity into the belief that the progress of science must take place
wholely outside of tradition. The falsity of this belief becomes immedi-
ately apparent if we look at the experimental sciences where no one can
hope to achieve significant results without first acquiring the culture or the
tradition of the laboratory in which he is initiated into his craft. It is true
that this tradition can become a constraint and an obstacle to further pro-
gress; it is also true that individuals emerge from time to time who recon-
stitute the tradition of their science; but today no individual genius can
begin to do this without first mastering the existing tradition of his craft.
10 André Béteille

While no intellectual discipline can dispense with apprenticeship in

its craft, the form and duration of this apprenticeship varies from one dis-
cipline to another. I am told that in the experimental sciences, a Ph. D
degree is no longer enough, a young scientist has now to do an additional
spell as a ‘post-doc’ in the laboratory of a mature scientist before he can
strike out on his own. In our discipline, the conditions of apprenticeship
are somewhat different, and sometimes they appear excessively lax and per-
missive. The requirements of Ph. D work as a form of apprenticeship are
not always taken seriously by either the student or his supervisor. It is nat-
ural that a fresh entrant into the Ph. D programme should be eager to
make a breakthrough in his discipline, and so he tends to choose somewhat
grandiose topics for his dissertation. It is then his supervisor’s responsibility
to bring him down to earth, to explain to him that the ground must first
be prepared before any significant contribution can be made, and that this
preparation is a slow and laborious process. In our universities today, this
responsibility is seen more often in its breach than in its observance.
In India, the apprenticeship that is indispensable to the formation of
the sociologist is subverted by a variety of factors. Professional standards
are not sufficiently well established to discourage work of poor or even
very poor quality. There is inadequate attention to detail in the collec-
tion and arrangement of empirical material, and the data collected
through both participant-observation and survey research are often
insubstantial and unreliable. Concepts are not always clearly defined or
rigorously applied, and frequently what is presented as a new concept is
only a new term. Arguments of the most sweeping kind are dressed up as
new arguments, without any firm support of either data or reasoning.
If the craft of sociology had been well developed, there would be some
check against this. In its absence, technical requirements are easily set aside
in the interest of social relevance. Many sociologists, both young and old,
feel that the real problem is not to interpret the world, but to change it.
Changing the world is indeed a noble objective, but it is doubtful how
many of us have the intellectual tools for making that change. In the first
two decades of independence, many sociologists and social anthropolo-
gists expected to contribute to social transformation by working through
the government in such fields as rural reconstruction, community devel-
opment, Panchayati Raj, and so on. The Planning Commission was then
the mecca for social scientists working for the transformation of society.
Then a disenchantment with what could be done through the government
set in, and in the 80s and 90s, many found a new appeal in programmes
NEWNESS IN SOCIOLOGICAL ENQUIRY 11

of active intervention through voluntary or non-governmental organiza-

tions. There is of course no reason why sociologists should not work with
either the government or non-governmental organizations if they are
convinced that their work will be made more socially relevant in that way.
But they must first ensure that they have, as sociologists, the technical
equipment required for attending effectively to the problems set before
them by the agencies with which they work. Some of this equipment can
be improvised on the job, but not all of it.
Someone who values autonomy in intellectual pursuit must be
mindful not only of his own individual autonomy but also of the auton-
omy of his profession. Professor P. C. Mahalanobis, one of the most influ-
ential intellectuals of independent India, is reported to have said, on
being provoked by Nehru, that ‘scientists should be on top, not on tap’.
Today most young sociologists will perhaps agree that they should not be
on tap for ready use by agencies of the government. But many of the same
persons seem to believe that their profession has a tacit obligation to meet
the demands of Leninists, feminists, environmentalists, eco-feminists and
other promoters of radical social change. Professional integrity requires
some measure of autonomy from both government and opposition.

IV

Of those who say that it is desirable, at least initially, to work within a

tradition of scholarship, one might well ask whether there is indeed an
established tradition of sociological enquiry in India. One might point to
certain distinctive features of the tradition in France, in Germany, or in
the United States. But if such a tradition exists in India, its essential
ingredients are by no means clear to everyone. One might say at best that
there are several and diverse traditions, with little or no agreement on
their relative merits, so that one has to pick one’s way through a thicket
of terms, concepts, techniques and procedures, and in the end rely mainly
on improvization. This is by no means a happy state of affairs, but such,
according to many, is indeed the current state of sociology in India.
Why have Indian sociologists, despite continuous effort for three
quarters of a century, failed to develop firm traditions for the systematic
study of society and its institutions? Many would say that this is because
they have depended too heavily on borrowed theories, borrowed concepts
and borrowed methods of enquiry. This is true to a greater or lesser extent
of all branches of modern science and scholarship in India, but it manifests
12 André Béteille

itself in a particularly acute form in the discipline of sociology. For several

generations, Indian sociologists have agonized over the mismatch between
the concepts and methods on which they draw from the common pool of
their discipline and the data to which they seek to apply them. That this
mismatch is widespread and pervasive can hardly be denied. Moreover, it
is a good thing that we should be troubled and concerned about it, pro-
vided that our worry does not lead to paralysis in the practice of our craft.
The fact that most of the basic tools of sociological enquiry and
analysis used in the study of Indian society and culture were devised
outside India does not disturb all Indian sociologists equally. Some
would say that one should use such tools as are available, adapt them to
one’s use as well as one can, and improvise to the extent possible.
Whether we engage in participant-observation or in survey research, the
basic procedures have to be broadly the same everywhere, so why worry
about where or by whom they were first devised? Again, there are broadly
similar concepts and methods for interpreting and analysing social strati-
fication and mobility, family, kinship and marriage, religious belief and
practice, political processes, and economic transactions wherever they
exist and operate, and we would be foolish to turn our backs on the
available concepts and methods in the hope of devising new ones by our
own unaided effort. Why, they would ask, try to reinvent the bicycle?
But perhaps the majority continue to be disturbed by the mismatch
between the tools available to them and the material on which they have
to work, and they seem to oscillate between two alternative courses. The
first course is to work within the system, keeping the mind open to the
possibility of small, incremental changes in the hope that the cumulative
effect of such work by many scholars over several generations will lift the
subject to a higher plane theoretically and methodologically. This prob-
ably is how most of us work, in the spirit of the journeyman, although
few of us can reasonably hope to achieve the success of Meyer Fortes to
whose work I earlier referred.
The second response is articulated by a smaller number of persons,
but they are more radical and more assertive. Their views raise echoes in
the minds of many scholars, particularly in the younger generation, and
therefore deserve attention. They assert that the poverty of our social
theory follows inevitably from our unreflective adherence to a frame-
work of enquiry and analysis that is altogether inappropriate. Working
within the framework leads to its further entrenchment and to a con-
tinuing dissipation of intellectual energy. They call for a replacement of
NEWNESS IN SOCIOLOGICAL ENQUIRY 13

the established framework with its entire baggage of concepts, methods

and procedures by an alternative sociology or, even, an alternative to
sociology. In this view, if I were to put it starkly, newness does not
emerge bit by bit, it has to be created all at once.
What is to be the shape of this new, alternative sociology? Naturally,
there are different voices that seek to express different views and
impulses. These voices are more agreed about what is to be set aside than
about what is to be put in its place. One source of this call for the rejec-
tion of the existing framework is radical Marxism which has trained its
guns on ‘bourgeois sociology’ for nearly a century. Another source of it,
more specific to our intellectual climate, is radical nationalism whose
target is Western, rather than bourgeois, sociology. In our contemporary
context, the second source is more potent than the first one, although of
course the two may be combined, either consciously or unconsciously.
The search for alternatives to existing theories, concepts, methods,
procedures and techniques will no doubt continue, for that search is a
part of intellectual life everywhere. It will lead to the opening up of new
areas of substantive enquiry, as it has already done in the last couple of
decades in gender studies, in environmental sociology and in the soci-
ology of science. The real question is how this search will connect itself
with the existing body of knowledge that has already accumulated. I am
not convinced that a radical disconnection between what has been done
in the past and what is to be done in the future is either feasible or desir-
able. Those who wish to create a whole new alternative sociology will no
doubt go their way, at least for some time, but my instincts tell me that
their work too will in due course of time either fall by the wayside or fall
in line. Experience shows that the idea of paradigm shift is operationally
less useful in the social than in the natural sciences.
The discontent with existing approaches and the search for rad-
ically new alternatives has had paradoxical consequences. It has led able
scholars into extreme forms of the very weaknesses they attack most
mercilessly in others. It is doubtful that we will ever be able to lay to rest
the ghosts of ‘bourgeois sociology’ and ‘Western sociology’, and the
attacks against them are often misdirected, and they backfire with
unfailing regularity.
Twenty-five years ago, Seminar magazine devoted one of its issues to
the discussion of the social sciences, and in particular to the demands of
quality and of relevance within them. In a forceful article on ‘The Question
of Relevance’, P. C. Joshi pointed out that ‘the lack of relevance of social
14 André Béteille

sciences constitutes one of the key problems in many underdeveloped

countries including India’ (1972: 24). He questioned ‘the relevance of the
entire Western intellectual heritage to the underdeveloped countries’, and
attacked the ‘mere borrowing and transfer of knowledge from the Western
to the non-Western world’ (Ibid.). However, he then proceeded in the
main part of his article to give a vivid exposition of the views of four major
thinkers, Gunnar Myrdal, Wassily Leontief, J. K. Galbraith and Simon
Kuznets, all acknowledged Western authorities. Apart from a brief and
passing show of deference to Gandhi and Mao, there was no discussion of
any Indian or other Asian social scientist.
These contradictions reveal themselves in discussions not only of
research but also of teaching. In a paper on the teaching of economics in
India published some ten years ago, Sukhamoy Chakravarty drew
attention to the many shortcomings in the existing practice (1986:
1165–68). These he attributed to three main factors: the extensive use
of texts written outside India, the pervasive desire among Indian econo-
mists to catch up with the West, and the generally lackluster quality of
Indian teachers of the subject. The essay provides a very scholarly expo-
sition of the ideas of the world’s leading authorities on the subject, but
there is no discussion of the work of any Indian economist. Reading the
paper one might justly wonder what there is to teach to students of
economics in India other than the works of those European and
American authors to whom Chakravarty gives his exclusive attention.
He does mention that there are some important exceptions to the gener-
ally poor quality of Indian economists, but he does not tell us who they
are, or, more importantly, what makes them exceptional. How can we
begin to raise the level of the subject in India if we pay such scant regard
to even the important exceptions among the four or five generations of
economists who have taught and written about the subject in India?
It is evident that the ablest among our social scientists are unable to
discuss the works of Western authorities without a sense of guilt. That is
understandable and not necessarily undesirable, but unfortunately the
sense of guilt is almost always overlaid by a thick coat of self-righteousness.
We are too quick to throw stones all around without paying any heed to
the glass houses we erect for our own habitation.
We have all encountered some advocates of autonomy and self-
reliance who quote extensively from the works of Western scholars pro-
moters of new alternatives who are never too shy with their references to
NEWNESS IN SOCIOLOGICAL ENQUIRY 15

Foucault and Derrida. If there is nothing wrong in borrowing from

Malinowski and Parsons, there should be nothing wrong in borrowing
from Foucault and Derrida, but this must be understood on both sides.
The adoption of new ideas can be healthy and fruitful only if it does not
lead to a complete disregard of what was going on before. It is here that
we find the weakest link in the chain. Every new generation of Indian
sociologists acts as if nothing had gone on before, it does not ask what
its own fate will be when another new generation takes its place.
Being attentive to what has been done before does not require one
to close one’s mind to new ideas. One should pursue the search for ideas
according to one’s interest and inclination, and not be unduly concerned
over the intrinsic worth of the places in which others are pursuing their
search. One should be prepared to look for new ideas wherever they may
be found, and some of the best scholars. I have known have been diligent
scavengers, retrieving very good ideas from other people’s dustbins. But
it is not enough to find new material, we must then undertake the slow
and laborious effort of finding a place for it in the existing practice of the
discipline. Only then will that practice change in a significant way.

Note
This is a revised version of the inaugural lecture given at the seminar on ‘Recasting
Sociology’ at the Jawaharlal Nehru University on 20 March 1997.

References
Beteille, Andre, and T. N. Madan. (eds.) 1975. Encounter and Experience. New Delhi, Vikas.
Chakravarty, Sukhamoy. 1986. ‘The Teaching of Economics in India’, Economic and Political
Weekly 21 (27) 1165–68.
Dube, S. C. 1955. Indian Village. London, Routledge & Kegan Paul.
Fortes, Meyer. 1978. ‘An Anthropologist’s Apprenticeship’, Annual Review of Anthropology.
Joshi, P. C. 1972. ‘The Question of Relevance’, Seminar, 157 (September).
Marriott, McKim (ed.) 1955. Village India. Chicago, University of Chicago Press.
Srinivas, M. N. (ed.) 1955. India’s Villages. Bombay, Asia Publishing House.
———. 1962. Caste in Modern India and Other Essays. Bombay, Asia.
Srinivas, M. N., A. M. Shah and E. A. Ramaswamy (eds.) 1979. The Fieldworker and the
Field. Delhi, Oxford University Press.
2
Paradigms and Discourses:
New Frontiers in the
Sociology of Knowledge
Dipankar Gupta

K
nowledges, and the modalities of their generation are the
primary concerns of the sociology of knowledge. Karl
Mannheim has for several decades and rightly so, strongly
influenced the understanding of the sociology of knowledge in sociol-
ogy and anthropology. His claim that he was responsible for transcend-
ing the somewhat prescientific understanding of epistemology and
production of knowledge, is not an empty boast. After all, given the
period in which he made his contributions, and given the fact that he
was working within academic sociology, his claim that knowledge was
socio-culturally and existentially bound, flew in the face of a rather
universal, though largely tacit, acceptance that knowledge was simply a
product of the mind.
Naturally, Mannheim was not to have it very easy. The groundswell
of opposition against him came from diverse quarters peopled always by
irate intellectuals, who, felt, perhaps that he was undermining their
genius or, worse still, the genius of their intellectual heritage. The resist-
ance to Mannheim was to a great extent fuelled by Mannheim’s prevari-
cations on several issues and the looseness with which he employed some
of his terms. At one extreme he seemed to believe in the ultimate system,
or even the system of systems which may exist “independent of our
PARADIGMS AND DISCOURSES 17

contributions”. Mannheim 1953: 22–26), while at the other end asserted

the absolute truth of his contention that knowledge is existentially deter-
mined and validated (Ibid: 39, 74; Mannheim 1952: 36). Similarly,
while on the one hand, truth, for Mannheim was relative and bound to
existentist reality, on the other hand, he argued that truth should be
understood “relationally”, in the sense that multiple perspectives and
viewpoints should be used complementarily to afford “the best chance
for reaching an optimum of truth” (Mannheim 1960: 71, 243–4).
Ambiguities such as these probably exist because, Mannheim true to his
own criterion of “relational” thinking, was influenced by the contrary
traditions of Hegalianism and sociologism. To escape from the former he
came to embrace the latter, and to free himself from the narrow perspec-
tives of the latter he, almost carelessly, slipped into the former.
This ambivalence made him susceptible to criticism from both the
traditions. The fiercest attacks probably came from his one time associ-
ates in the Frankfurt school whose calumination was particularly dam-
aging. Horkheimer pointed out quite lucidly the Hegelian and ‘Gestalist’
connotations of Mannheim’s apparent sociologism, especially with
regard to the use Mannheim makes of concepts like relationism, and
free floating intellectuals—the “intelligentsia” (See Jay 1976: 64; See
also Mannheim, 1952: 104; Mannheim, 1956: 157). Marcuse criticised
him for not being enough of a Marxist (Jay 1976: 63–65) and the posi-
tivists belaboured him for depriving sociological truths, that they had so
painstakingly gathered, of any general validity.
The sociology of knowledge stood in this uncomfortable position
for a very long time. Even now, as it lacks, a resolution on the problems
of generation and validation of knowledge, it periodically resurrects all
of Mannheim, or partially resorts to his notion of relationism, before
quietly moving on to a safer subject. But the sociology of knowledge has
received a boost over the last two decades, not directly from sociologists
as much as from the historians of science, from the structuralists and
from students of the philosophy of science. The problem of the soci-
ology of knowledge is also now more focussed and the endless debate on
relativism vs. absolutism, has by and large been jettisoned. The jettison-
ing of this nettlesome issue has, however, not occurred simply because
scholars felt that the least said about it the better, but mainly because of
the fall out of researches, primarily in the field of the history of
science.
18 Dipankar Gupta

This happy denouncement has therefore taken place somewhat as a

byproduct. When Mannheim used the term “relativism’’ his audience
was by and large unprepared to accept it. Though Newtonian views of
absolute time and space and Linneus’s fixism had been severely mauled
in physics and natural history respectively, the waves of this destabiliza-
tion had not quite reached the shores of the social sciences, especially
those of sociology. The theory of relativity and quantum theory in phys-
ics gave “relativism” an entirely different connotation (as it gave “prob-
ability”) and also spurred a fresh approach to the history of sciences.
Here I would take a position with T. S. Kuhn (1970a) and not so much
with Karl Popper (1976). A body of knowledge, if I were to reformulate
Kuhn, is never considered to be false because of the development and
modification of theories. Knowledge is viewed in terms of its location in
a paradigm as well as in terms of its degree of applicability. That is, dif-
ferent bodies of knowledge grant different positions to certain constitu-
ents, and any logical postulation becomes valid (and not just tenable)
only in the specific locus that it finds itself in the theoretical structure in
use. Further, every scientific achievement is goaded by, what Kosambi
once called, the cognition of necessities. And as science is under con-
stant use and repair (Bernal 1948–49), no knowledge is considered
false, or limited, simply because a current body of knowledge enjoys
greater applicability over a wider area or enjoys greater efficiency over a
limited sphere, unless it can protect or consolidate the earlier develop-
ments as well.
Kuhn, for instance, reminds us that a new paradigm is accepted
only after it has logically accommodated all the accomplishments of the
earlier paradigms, and solved most of the anomalies which the earlier
paradigms unearthed but failed to resolve. If the new paradigm fails to
do this it is forced into a situation of protracted combat with the earlier
paradigm(s) and cannot expect universal obeisance to its decritals, no
matter how pompously they may be proclaimed or how many class
interests it may subserve. Relativism becomes a non-issue in this case as
new paradigms must build on the old and hence accomplishments of an
earlier period are not all considered fake (a la relativism) but are absorbed
and recast in a new mould. Very often the notion of a “paradigmatic
break” has been interpreted to mean that with every new paradigm,
science starts anew. This is not only untrue but also impossible. But it is
probably those who interpret it such that call Kuhn a radical relativist
(See Phillips 1974: 65). I must confess here that such a thought never
PARADIGMS AND DISCOURSES 19

entered my head when I read Kuhn several times over. This can perhaps
be explained by the fact that many scholars like Phillips understand
relativism only in a radical sense. Whenever there exist certain frame-
works for analysing and positing a problem, Phillips detects relativism at
work. In that case not only would Kuhn be a relativist but so would
Kant and Levi-Strauss, and as I suspect, so would Phillips himself. This
however, makes the term relativism banal, or if you like, radical, but all
the same quite embarrassing. And in any case if one were to study the
development of the earth sciences, the biological sciences or the herme-
neutic disciplines, where one operates with multiple hypotheses from
multiple paradigms (breaks and all), the question of relativism, as under-
stood in its “radical” sense, becomes entirely redundant (See Rosen
1958: 85).
Relativism in sociology has a more specific content and Mannheim
is primarily responsible for this. It argues first of all that social (or exist-
ential) conditions determine knowledge. It then postulates that the con-
cept of truth has no other referrent but the already existing type of
knowledge (Mannheim 1960: 262). On both these counts, I believe,
Kuhn is not only far from being a relativist, but has actually, perhaps
unconsciously, shown us a way out of the relativist trap. In a later section
I propose to return briefly to the question of relativism again, and I hope
the resolution will seem much more convincing then.
To continue with our discussion on the impact of the history of
sciences on the sociology of knowledge, it appears now that the soci-
ology of knowledge has also limited its focus. It is now rarely called
upon to examine the existential roots of ideologies and beliefs, i.e., of
those cognitive systems outside the portals of “science”. It is now more
concerned with the generation of scientific knowledge, or the genera-
tion of knowledge in those unities or disciplines that claim to be
scientific. Whether we study Bernal or Needham, or Debiprasad
Chattopadhyay or Althusser, it is “science” and its progress, its systems
of validation and internal tension, that constitute the primary focus.
Only at a certain remove are social factors outside of science, or knowl-
edges not specific to science proper, entertained. There is however little
reason to lament this as the study of culture and beliefs, and their con-
nections with social reality has since Marx degenerated to very blase’
formulations. Some interesting work is still being done in these areas,
but such works are stimulated by rises that arise within the society at
certain flash points of the political process.
20 Dipankar Gupta

This does not necessarily mean that the sociology of knowledge as

a discipline allows the term “sociology” to enter its domains only as an
after thought or as a retrospective gesture. What it simply means is that
one would be hard put to view the multiple groupings of knowledge,
their co-existence, autonomy, and tension, as products of society, per se.
One has to now accept that though certain bodies of scientific know-
ledge have been made possible by social factors, once brought into
motion, science does not follow the trajectory of ideologies. It has its
own criteria of validation and its own temporal rhythm. Nor do the
different sciences, which between themselves group the multiple and yet
finite modes of knowledge, surface together or disappear together. Nor,
even when their moments of parturition are simultaneous, do the differ-
ent sciences speak of the same message with different tonalities, nor are
they the product of identical stimulations.
And yet there is a sociology behind all this. It is worthwhile to recall
Bernal at this stage lest we succumb to a technicist solution which even
Mannheim fell victim to. “It is a mistake”, Bernal said, “to imagine that
this inner nature of science is an autonomous system completely isolated
from the social world; that it is intrinsic, and pure knowledge—a unique
approximation to a absolute truth (recall Mannheim’s “relativism”—
D. G.), to be achieved by a sure method and guarded by a passionate
rejection of alternative ways of looking at things” (Bernal 1948–49:
193). He went on to argue in a near Kuhnian style (a minor irony!) that
the Aristotelian-Thomist synthesis of the Middle Ages or the Newtonian
synthesis of the 17th century though undoubtedly “triumphs of human
industry”, were criticized and abandoned because they were blocking
further advance in thought and action, in the sense that anomalies could
no longer be resolved within their confines (ibid). But a note of caution
should also be inserted here. It is not always the interests of a new soci-
ety, say the industrial society, that anthropomorphically ‘assumes a
voice, or by an unseen hand, dictates terms. Instead, the new society
creates new sets of conditions which create new urgencies, facilities, as
well as novelties in the perceptual field, all of which influence science by
altering its setting. Some of the products of science are quickly appreci-
ated and disseminated in the non scientific field, some are used as legit-
imizers and standards of rationality or of culture, while others find only
technical manifestations while their philosophical ethos is quickly and
quietly snubbed. As an example of the former we might cite Bernal’s
example of how Newton’s absolutism ballasted the British constitution
PARADIGMS AND DISCOURSES 21

(Ibid: 195). Other examples could be how Darwinism (though soon

after its formulation in 1869, it was stifled by Mendel’s theory of genetic
mutations) was appropriated by T. H. Huxley for his Bishop baiting, or
even how it served to legitimize the theory of free competition under
capitalism. And yet neither the philosophical tenets of relativism, nor
the ideological persuasions of its founder, has found direct expression,
let alone acceptance in non scientific domains. Therefore, if one is to
apply sociology to knowledges and to the modalities of their generation,
it has to be done cautiously. Care must be taken to weed from within its
elements of positivism, traces of intrigue and conspiracy, and postula-
tions of the hidden hand. Science, like ideology, must breathe in society.
But science, unlike ideology, is characterised by rarity and careful exclu-
sions as well as by conscious and controlled practice. It would be of little
use to slur over this important distinction. I find it difficult for this
reason to accept the point of view Capra puts forward in his book The
Tao of Physics (1976), where he tries to equate eastern mysticism with
the theory of relativity and quantum theory. Capra unfortunately does
not realise the specificity of science, where, to fall back on Kuhn again,
knowledge develops in the course of normal science by the solution of
puzzles denoted by the paradigmatic grid (Kuhn 1970(b): 9). Neither
Taoism, nor the Gita is ever cornered by this compulsion. Besides, as
Debiprasad Chattopadhyay (1977) has shown, eastern mysticism was
clearly aimed against science in ancient India making any comparisons
of identity between theoretical physics and Taoism implausible.

II

In what follows in this paper I will consider how the works of T. S. Kuhn
and Michel Foucault (1974) have changed the contours of, and indeed
opened up, new frontiers in the sociology of knowledge. I shall not dwell
on Kuhn for long as there have been enough critical scholarship on
Kuhn’s contributions. I shall, on the other hand proceed from Kuhn to
the infinitely more difficult work of Michel Foucault, The Archaeology of
Knowledge (1974), to show how one and then the other contributed to
the posting of new frontiers in the sociology of knowledge. As Foucault’s
work has had very few book length adaptations (perhaps Edward Said’s
Orientalism (1979) is one of the very few examples) and as his work has
occasioned only a small number of reviews and critiques in English lan-
guage journals, I will take this opportunity to simply elucidate Foucault’s
22 Dipankar Gupta

Archaeology and present him as sympathetically as possible to an audi-

ence sensitized to the issues in the sociology of knowledge.
First, and very briefly, Kuhn. The Structure of Scientific Revolutions
helped the sociology of knowledge to overcome in a clean, dignified and
systematic way, the contretemps of the Mannheimian sociology of
knowledge. The question of truth or validity of knowledge, which
seemed unsolvable earlier, was recast by Kuhn in a different analytical
structure making it possible to arrive at a solution.
Kuhn. I think, tells us, that the constituents of knowledge become
active only within a paradigm. A scientific paradigm may change
through a process of intense and extra-ordinary theoretical (philosoph-
ical) activity, without rendering all the achievements of the earlier para-
digm false. A new paradigm can be accepted by the scientific community
when it can adequately include all the achievements of the older para-
digm and more. When it includes the achievements of the past, it
rearticulates them with more current formulations, at a different theor-
etical level, achieving thereby a paradigmatic break. So knowledges pro-
duced earlier are not all discarded as a matter of course with the birth of
a new paradigm. Only some are, but many more are accepted under a
different theoretical structure. “Relativity”, then, as it was understood
by Mannheim, is rendered non problematic by Kuhn.
Nor does Mannheim’s “relationism” get a better deal. It is possible,
even in Kuhn, for different paradigms, articulating different world
views, and subsequently entirely different traditions of normal science,
to co-exist. But this co-existence is purely temporal and does not entail
any question of complementarity. Different paradigms not only pre-
scribe radically different ways of understanding and explaining reality,
but also render the digits of observation dissimilar. Newtonian mechan-
ics can hardly be used complementarily with quantum theory, nor can
Marxism and organic functionalism be seen “relationally” as comple-
mentary ways of grasping the ultimate system. It is in this way that the
history of science contributes towards resolving some of the issues raised
by the earlier sociology of knowledge.
But as many critics of Kuhn have pointed out, there is very little
sociology in Kuhn’s Structure of Scientific Revolutions (See for instance,
Cohen 1973: 331–336). Though Kuhn acknowledges that science does
not proceed in a vacuum, and that the result of scientific work have to be
communicated to a scientific community in order to be realized, and also
that there are certain social imperatives at times which tilt the scientific
PARADIGMS AND DISCOURSES 23

community towards one or the other paradigm, the dynamism of the

structure of scientific revolutions is by and large located within scientific
activity alone. Sociology and philosophy enter, the former somewhat
surreptitiously, during the phase of extra ordinary scientific activity, but
disappear without leaving any trace in the period of normal science.
With regard to this I should like to raise two issues which will be
elaborated further when we take up Foucault’s contribution. The first,
and most obvious, objection is that a scientific paradigm is often influ-
enced by an ideological or aesthetic temper which does not find ade-
quate realization within the unities of a scientific discipline. One more
example, again borrowing from Bernel (1948–49) is the artistic move-
ment of the Renaissance which broke up the Aristotelian world pic-
ture, or the influence of the romantic period on earth science (Huxley
and Huxley 1947: 6–7). Such impulses are sometimes quite important,
and Kuhn’s analytical framework cannot adequately account for them.
The second objection is that the period of normal science need not
always be philosophically neutral as Kuhn alleges (Kuhn 1970b). In
contemporary history normal science has undergone several shifts pri-
marily because of philosophical problems which have bombarded it
from outside. These philosophical issues need not necessarily bring
about an alternative paradigm but may bring about philosophically
induced researches within the ambit of normal science. This has been
best exemplified in the development of a new discipline, that of social
medicine and community health. The development of this discipline
did not entail a paradigmatic shift. It primarily questioned the complete
reliance of medicine on clinical factors for the assessment and cure of
morbidity. What philosophical activity did was to open up a new per-
ceptual field to those who had undergone normal scientific training in
tissular lesions, morbid anatomy, anatomo physiological correlations
and so forth. This resulted in the shifting of research priorities within
some sub-units of the larger discipline. Epidemiology moved from a
secondary position and came to be adopted as a major analytical tool for
the prescription of alternative curative packages. But these prescriptions
still had to depend for their scientific validity on the traditions of normal
science. Other examples are to be found in the field of nuclear technol-
ogy and information systems. If normal science is considered as a period
of lull for philosophical speculations and impulses, then the pathway of
normal science can only be purely technicist in character. This is prob-
ably a conclusion that Kuhn himself would find distasteful.
24 Dipankar Gupta

III

It is at this point that we are forced to make a serious assessment of

Foucault’s Archaeology of knowledge. The reasons for this will be clear as
we proceed with our review of Foucault. But the most fundamental
reason is that Foucault attempts to tell us how it is possible for us to
make the scientific statements that we make. And to tell us this he steers
clear off the simple rule of thumb sociologism of traditional sociology of
knowledge, while at the same time avoids purely technicist solutions
typical of an internalist discourse. Foucault’s book is a difficult one,
embarrassing in its frequent reiterations, careless in its many definitions,
and is unnecessarily lapidary in its style. It is a book which would
instinctively offend the sensibilities of an English language audience.
His labyrinthine passages, do nevertheless create the false excitement of
being told something fresh and new. And as Foucault tells us later in his
work, it is not easy to say something new in a discursive formation.
Because of the complexity of Foucault’s Archaeology. . . . he has gen-
erally not been understood fully, nor when appreciated, applied carefully.
The mistake that is made is to draw a uniform set of inspirations from all
of Foucault’s major works. The Archaeology . . . , which is by far his most
important work, is also directed against his structuralist past when he
wrote The Order of Things (1970). Therefore, it would not be in the fit-
ness of things to flit from his Archaeology . . . to his other works, as
Edward Said does (1979: 22), without raising methodological problems’.
The Archaeology . . . I would submit should be seen as a distinct contri-
bution marking a break in Foucault’s intellectual development.
Foucault’s primary concern in Archaeology . . . is the generation of
knowledge. Though the primary target of his attack is the structuralist
school (especially of the Althusserian variety), he also takes up cudgels
against the internalist historiography of science, against anthropologism
(where knowledge is traced to its founders), against attempts to group
sciences and knowledge thematically, as well as against those who simply
seek social factors (like industrialization, or class interests) to understand
the generation of knowledge. With this brief introduction I will now try
to summarize Foucault as simply as possible, and to the degree it is pos-
sible at all to render his Archaeology . . . somewhat lucid.
Early in his book, Foucault tells us that traditional questions in
historical analysis which seek to connect causally disparate events in the
search for totalities are now being given up. The constant endeavour to
PARADIGMS AND DISCOURSES 25

somehow paper over discontinuities and to search for systems that gen-
erate a unified set of outcomes is now being forsaken. The search in
history now is geared towards accepting discontinuities, maintaining the
distance between events, isolating one strata of events from another,
establishing chronological tables relevant for each series of events. Only
then are attempts made to construct a large scale chronological table,
where these events can find their place, but not by attenuating the dis-
tances and discontinuities that separate them (Foucault 1974: 4).
History has thus turned its attention “away from the vast unities like
‘periods’ or ‘centuries’ to this phenomena of rupture of discontinuity”
(Ibid). History concurrently refuses to participate in recalling the
founder, or the “single mind”, nor does it accept the validity of the col-
lective mentality. Nor is it willing to consider a hidden teleology of a
science whose potentialities are known at the outset (Ibid-A, 21–23).
History, whether of ideas, of science, of literature or of philosophy, now
looks for breaks and thresholds. These discontinuities halt the slow
development and accumulation of knowledge. They “cut it off from its
empirical origins and its original motivations” (Ibid), and redirect it thus
bringing about a “displacement and transformation of concepts . . .”
(Ibid). The problem, as Foucault sees it, is that once we recognise these
ruptures or breaks, how are we to talk of unities like disciplines, or sci-
ence, or even a book or an oeuvre (Ibid: 5)? For, all the traditional uni-
ties, like periods, disciplines, and even books, crumble under Foucault’s
scrutiny, and reveal breaks, ruptures and epistemological thresholds.
This, Foucault believes, is the result of a new history which transforms
the document into a monument. By this Foucault means, that the analysis
of documents as documents, and the use of documents as a historical
tool, belong to the project of “total history” where the document is to
reveal, under questioning, a memory that has been long overlaid by time
and its minions. Foucault’s history, on the other hand, strives to convert
documents into monuments and thus “aspires to the condition of
archaeology” (Ibid: 7–8). This conversion, effected by new history of a
document into a monument allows the historian to study the document
itself, arrange it at various levels, divide it, discover relations between
elements, and try to “define, within the documentary material itself,
unities, totalities, series, relations” (Ibid: 7). This transformation also
removes the stigma attached to discontinuities by traditional history,
and the project of “total history” disappears (Ibid: 10). This transform-
ation also solves the errors of anthropologism where the subject is
26 Dipankar Gupta

guaranteed that whatever is lost will be restored to it when unity is

eventually reconstituted (Ibid: 12).1
On what basis can we say that literature, philosophy, science, reli-
gion, etc., are unities? Literature and politics are, for instance, recent
groupings; further, the fields of discourse that literature, politics, science
or philosophy, articulated in the seventeenth century are vastly different
from their fields of discourse in the nineteenth century. These groupings,
Foucault suggests, are clearly retrospective in character. They were made
possible by surface resemblances between concepts and by an extended
application of analogies. But the unities that must first be eschewed are
those of the book and the ceuvre. The book is after all “a node within a
network” (Ibid: 23), and the space between the first line and the last full
stop is not characterized by a unity. How is one then to read a book, and
how is one then to understand the various levels within a book?
In attempting to answer these questions. Foucault comes out with a
clear indictment of structural reading or ‘Lecture Symptomale’. Althuser’s
symptomatic reading recommends that a book should be read conjointly
with its “problematic”, i.e, by keeping in mind the theoretical means of
production responsible for the statements made in the text. By this
method Althusser contends we can understand the ‘lapses’, ‘silences’ and
‘semi-silences’ of the text and also unearth the secret discourse from the
manifest discourse, to draw from the depths that which is buried, yet
active (See Althusser 1977: 32, 66, 69; Althusser and Balibar 1970: 15,
17, 18–30). Foucault, on the other hand, feels that to seek unities
between statements by a search for the “already said” which is never actu-
ally written, i.e., a ‘never said’ a presence which is absent, to construct an
“incorporal discourse” (Ibid: 25), is against the method of archaeology
and anathemic to the understanding of discourse. According to Foucault:
“Discourse must not be referred to the distant presence of the origin, but
treated as and when it occurs” (Ibid: 25). Once we suspend the unities of
a book a vast field is set free. This field “is made up of the totality of
effective statements whether spoken or written in their  dispersion as
events and in the occurrence that is proper to them” (Ibid: 27).
The raw material of a discourse is made up of these effective state-
ments. One is immediately reminded of Wittgenstein who said in the
last aphorism of Tractatus . . . “What we cannot speak of we must be
silent about”. But again, to be fair to Foucault, this is only a surface
resemblance. A statement for Foucault is not merely a sentence.
Foucault’s raw material is made up of statements that relate to one
PARADIGMS AND DISCOURSES 27

another, bring into focus an adjoining field populated by other

statements, and so on. But these statements may not always refer to the
same thing. They are not multiple ways of expressing an identical sign,
nor are they the many signifiers of a single signified. These statements are
finite and can be grouped in a discursive formation as they all submit to,
and are indeed made possible by, a certain set of rules. These rules, which
may be called the rules of formation, constitute the conditions to which
the elements of a statement (its concepts and its objects), the mode of a
statement and the thematic choices of a statement are all subjected (Ibid:
38). A discursive formation can be individualised on the basis of its
system of formation, that is, by means of a “complex group of relations
that function as a rule” (Ibid: 74). A “rule lays down what must be related
in a particular discursive practice, for such and such an enunciation to be
made, for such and such a concept to be used, for such and such a strat-
egy to be organized” (Ibid). A discursive formation can be understood
then as “a limited number of statements for which the group of condi-
tions of existence can be defined” (Ibid: 117). A rule, therefore, only
refers to the conditions which make it possible to articulate a specific
statement, not just to an isolated sentence as in language analysis. But a
discursive formation does not neutralize the specificities of a statement.
It preserves the “specific existence that emerges from what is said and
nowhere else” (Ibid: 28). A statement is thus more than a language, or a
sentence. It is related to a field of memory, to records, to books and to the
situations that provoked it and to the consequences that follow (Ibid ).
This is all very well. But how are we to demarcate a discourse? We
have already dispensed with traditional unities. How then should we
proceed? As an answer to this Foucault says that we should provide de
facto privilege to the existing unities as starting points, but only provi-
sionally, for they are to be “subsequently demolished” (Ibid: 29, 30).
There are four obvious ways in which one can be tempted to group
a discursive formation. The first method is to group all statements which
refer to the same object, say “madness”. But as Foucault points cut, such
a group of statements do not open up the same correlative field, and do
not, therefore, refer to the same object. From Pinel to Esquirol to Bleuler
the objects of psycho-pathological discourse have been modified. “We
are not dealing with the same madmen” (Ibid: 32).
The second probable method of grouping could be based on a
certain style of making statements which presupposes the same way of
looking at things. But this method is also unsuitable for Foucault. In the
28 Dipankar Gupta

medical discourse, for instance, the scales and guidelines have been
displaced. The information system, the mass of documentation, the
instruments of correlation have all modified the position of the doctor as
an observing subject in relation to the patient (Ibid: 34). All this naturally
brings about an entirely new discursive field. The third method of group-
ing is the architectonic method where a unity is established among a
group of statements by “determining the system of permanent and coher-
ent concepts involved” (Ibid ). But this is unacceptable for this does not
account for all the concepts in all the statements of a discursive field, nor
does it account for the appearance of new concepts. The fourth hypo-
thetical method of grouping statements is on the basis of themes, such as
the evolutionary theme or the physiocratic theme. But, we soon realize,
that the evolutionary theme of Benoit de Maillet, Borden, or Diderot
and the evolutionary theme of Darwin, are not the same (Ibid: 35).
All the four hypothetical attempts at grouping a discourse are thus
unacceptable to archaeology. Archaeology does not “reconstitute chains
of inference (. . . as in the history of sciences or of philosophy)” (37), nor
does it proceed, as linguists do, by drawing up tables of difference,
instead it proceeds by describing the specificities of statements in their
dispersed form and then plots this system of dispersion (Ibid ). Therefore,
“whenever, one can define between objects, types of statements, con-
cepts, or thematic choices, a regularity (an order, correlations, positions,
and functioning, transformations) we will say, for the sake of convenience,
that we are dealing with a discursive formation” (Ibid: 38).
In the discourse of psychopathology, for example, new objects
emerged in the nineteenth century such as sexual aberrations, behavioral
disorders, and the phenomena of suggestion and hypnosis. They did
not, however, emerge from the same source. Some emerged from the
family, others from religion, others from the work place. In addition,
new surfaces of emergence also characterised the objects of nineteenth
century psychopathology, like sexuality, panelity and even art. These so
called surfaces of emergence of objects have first of all to be mapped out.
Secondly, a discourse is also delimited by certain authorities. In the
case of madness besides the doctor, the penal law and religious authorities
are also involved in designating and delimiting madness as an object.
Lastly, we must also study the system by which different kinds of “mad-
ness” are divided, related, regrouped and reclassified and derived from
one another. What are, in other words, the “grids of specification” (Ibid:
42)? As these objects do remain constant, once they are formed, they are
PARADIGMS AND DISCOURSES 29

amenable to transformations because of the existence of a complex group

of relations between the various “surfaces on which they appear, on which
they can be delimited, and on which they can be analysed and specified”
(Ibid: 47). These complex group of relations are called discursive relations
(or rules). They do not connect objects deductively, nor do they serve as
conduits for economic or institutional interests and structures. These
relations “are, in a sense, at the limit of discourse” (Ibid: 46). The mark
the outer reaches of a discursive formation, and that is why it is not easy
to say something new within a discourse (Ibid: 44).
It is in this very complicated manner that Foucault distances him-
self from the earlier traditions of epistemology and of the history and
sociology of knowledge. He refuses to look for an interiority of inten-
tion of a thought or a subject. Neither does he seek to trace every state-
ment to the moment of its birth, nor discover a foundation which
provides a rationale and gives meaning to a statement. Likewise, he
argues that the subject of a statement is not the author of the statement,
or the first mind that thought of it. The subject of a statement is a pos-
ition from which those authorized to speak can speak. This position
depends on the sites from which they can make their discourse. For the
doctor, in the twentieth century, the primary site is not the bed side, but
a hospital or a laboratory. The position of the subject also depends, in
addition to the institutional sites of discourses, on the situation he
occupied in relation to the group of objects of the discourse and the
domains they occupy. This is a question of the perceptual field, where
the subject occupies different positions. Thus with the change of the
perceptual field in medical discourse in the nineteenth century, the posi-
tions a subject could occupy in this discourse also changed. He could
now be a listening subject, or a seeing subject, or an observing subject.
But these positions are not “subjective” positions, but can be likened to
incumbencies2, that the discursive formation allows and affords. The
situations that were possible for a subject to occupy in medical discourse
after the nineteenth century were modified and altered among other
things, by medical statistics, organizations of data banks, the integration
of the laboratory with the hospitals, and by the philosophical concerns
arising out of the necessity to provide health care to congregated masses
at industrial work-places (Ibid: 51–53).
Foucault is at pains to point out repeatedly that a discursive forma-
tion is not a unity. There are points of “diffraction”, or incompatibility,
in this formation. This is not a defect of coherence in a discourse but
30 Dipankar Gupta

indicates instead the existence of “discursive sub-groups” (Ibid: 66). At

this point, it seems, Foucault is turning pointedly against Kuhn and his
understanding of paradigms as world views constituting breaks in sci-
ence. According to Foucault, different theories, strategies, choices, world
views can be drawn from a discursive formation. What theoretical
choice is to be adopted depends on non discursive practices such as in
the domain of politics and state governance. But the openings for differ-
ent theoretical choices, of different philosophical options, are interior to
the discourse. They arise out of the systematically different ways of treat-
ing objects of discourse, choosing them, constituting series, arranging
them and manipulating them. A discourse allows diverse conceptual
architectures and multiple levels of coherence (Ibid: 70). But these
choices are possible, not because of the dominance of the writing or
speaking subject, but because of the points of divergence between con-
cepts. And these concepts, Foucault reminds us, were formed and made
possible by the co-existence between statements (Ibid: 72), and not by
the original founder of a world-view. This point is important for it can
account for the philosophical and enunciative shifts that occur within a
discourse, which as we noted earlier, Kuhn’s paradigm fails to do. As an
example of this Foucault elucidates: “It is not that the physiocratic
option can modify the group of rules that govern the formation of
economic concepts in the eighteenth century; but it can implement
some of the rules (or relations between the different planes of emer-
gence, authorization and specification—D. G) and exclude others and
consequently reveal certain concepts (like that, for example, of the net
products) that appear nowhere else” (Ibid: 73).
This brings us back to Foucault’s original formulation regarding a
discursive formation. As this formation is made up of statements, and as
each statement is linked to a referential (Ibid: 91), grouping of state-
ments cannot be done solely on the basis of a logical structure. It is for
this reason that Foucault says: “For a statement to exist: it must be
related to a whole adjacent field . . . (O)ne cannot say a sentence, one
cannot transform it into a statement, unless a collateral space is brought
into operation” (Ibid: 97). This collateral space is obviously not the same
as the logical interaction of statements, nor does it refer merely to the
context (Ibid ). This collateral space is the enunciative field (Ibid ). As an
example, Foucault hastens back to Gresham’s Lockes and the Marginalists
understanding of the quantitative relation between prices and monetary
mass in circulation, to tell us that these understandings are obviously
PARADIGMS AND DISCOURSES 31

not “enunciatively identical” (Ibid: 145). Moreover, this enunciative

field never sleeps but is always alert, without discriminating; against
different structurations of a statement of a discursive formation. It is this
regularity and alertness of the enunciative field (Ibid: 146) that makes a
statement different from a sentence.
Instead of a paradigmatic break, Foucault offers us a enunciative or
“archaeological break”. This break occurs differently for different dis-
courses. It does not, however, begin with either undemonstrable axioms,
or fundamental themes (Ibid: 147–148), but may, like Natural History,
begin with certain governing statement that only prescribe forms of
description and perceptual codes which consequently open up a whole
domain of concepts, strategic choices, etc. (147–148). At the same time,
however, it needs to be asserted, that paradigmatic breaks often do coin-
cide with archaeological breaks, though the processes are entirely differ-
ent. A paradigmatic break is a break from one controlled derivative
structure to another. But an archaeological break occurs when a different
enunciative field is alerted. This does not automatically entail that the
erstwhile theoretical (or strategic) choices become defunct (Ibid: 173).
This new enunciative field brings about new concepts, enabling the exis-
tence of newer theoretical options. In this new condition the elements
(and not the logic) of earlier choices have to undergo transformations
failing which they receive their final placements in the earlier archaelog-
ical Period. The tendency, however, is that with an architectural break-
through new theoretical choices, which may be incompatible with one
another emerge, they are related by statements which limit them to an
enunciative field. Therefore, unlike Kuhn’s paradigmatic break, the
archaeological break of medical discourse from 1790–1815, for instance,
occurred because new objects like organic lesions, deep sites, tissular
alternations, were revealed, new techniques of observation and methods
of detecting pathological sites were made possible, and a new set of
descriptive vocabulary came to dominate. The theories and strategic
choices developed later, and what is more, developed in relation to an
identical enunciative field, and not the other way around (Ibid: 170).
Nor is it simply a matter of societal, or political and class interests dictat-
ing the division and delimitation of the medical object. Political practice
did not impose on medicine anatomo physiological correlations, or the
examination of tissular lesions. It merely opened up a new field for the
mapping of medical objects (Ibid: 163). It was because a new domain of
objects emerged, from the exigencies of compartmentalizing and
32 Dipankar Gupta

administering large population settlements, by the use of statistics, and

new methods of recording and notation, that old theories such as those
of inflammation and fever could be finally abandoned (Ibid: 168). So
unlike Kuhn, it is not the existence of anomalies within paradigms
whose successful resolutions effect a paradigmatic and theoretical break
and thus facilitates the adoption of new theories and world views, but
the opening of a new perceptual field, which inaugurates an entirely new
discursive formation that facilitates this adoption through the process of
“normal” discursive practice.

IV

In the penultimate chapter of the book Foucault gathers together his

rather cumbersome archaeological apparatuses and declares war against
the Althusserian understanding of knowledge. Althusser (1970, 1977)
has clearly distinguished science from ideology, and is of the view that
an epistemological break occurs when by theoretical transformation
science detaches itself from its ideological past and reveals this past as
ideological (See Foucault 1974: 5). It is only science that, Althusser
believes, deserves to be called knowledge. Against this Foucault con-
tends that knowledge is not only found in scientific demonstrations,
and in propositions that obey certain laws of construction, but can also
be found “in fiction, reflexion, narrative accounts, institutional regula-
tions and political decisions” (Ibid: 183–184). In other words the entire
discursive formation reveals knowledge, and “science” proper, is just
one mode of articulation. Further, Foucault argues, as no science exists
outside a discursive formation, epistemological breaks of the
Althusserian variety are quite fantastic. It is also wrong to say that as
science increases, ideology decreases (Ibid: 186). “Knowledge not an
epistemological site that disappears in the science that precedes it.
Science (or what is offered as such) is localized in a field of knowledge
and plays a role in it” (Ibid: 184). The implications of this attack on the
structuralists is far reaching and will not be gone into here (See for
instance Williams 1974: 41–68).
Foucault’s penultimate chapter also reverses quite unambiguously
Kuhn’s fundamental arguments, even though Kuhn is not mentioned by
name even once by the author in the entire book. Foucault posits four
different thresholds for the emergence of a discursive formation. The
first is the “threshold of positivity”. This is the moment when a new
PARADIGMS AND DISCOURSES 33

perceptual field is demarcated and characterized by a certain enunciative

regularity (Ibid: 186). The second is the “threshold of epistemologiza-
tion”. This is when a group of statements exercises a dominant function
over knowledge, as models, critiques, etc. (Ibid: 186–187). The third is
the threshold scientificity, “when the epistemological figure . . . obeys a
number of formal criteria, when its statements comply not only with
archaeological rules of formation, but also with certain laws for the con-
struction of propositions” (Ibid: 187). The fourth and final threshold, is
the “threshold of formalisation”. This is the moment when the scientific
discourse is able “to define the axioms necessary to it, the elements that
it uses, the proposition structures that are legitimate to it” and consti-
tutes a “formal edifice by taking itself as a starting point” (Ibid ). Having
said all this Foucault postulates, in stark opposition to Kuhn, that every
discursive practice need not go through these different thresholds, and
further that the succession of various thresholds is neither regular nor
homogeneous. In this process, the priority that Kuhn gives to paradigms
over rules (Kuhn 1970a: 43–51) is brought seriously into question.
A final word on relativism, this time with reference to Foucault. If
Kuhn has suggested ways of wriggling out of the relativist trap, Foucault’s
solution is far more forthright and leaves nothing to a false slip or a
chance misinterpretation.
A discursive formation, Foucault writes, is made up of objects
which do not logically or temporally hang together. Moreover they
have different sites of emergence, and these sites cannot be compressed
within any one socio-historical period. Foucault after all wishes to con-
struct a “table of tables”. But this does not mean that social epochs do
not leave their traces on a discursive formation. They do and sometimes
on some discursive formations (e.g. the medical discourses) Foucault
feels they may even exercise a primary influence. This however, does
not mean that the discursive formation is fully known, or that all its
objects have been mapped out. A discursive formation is characterised
by gaps and discontinuities and these distances have to be recorded as
such, along with their planes of emergence, their enunciative field, and
so on. Further, a discursive formation allows not only distances, but
differactions, as well, which accounts for the existence of two or mare
world views emanating from the same discourse. Finally, as a coup de
grace to the relativists, Foucault discloses the four major thresholds of a
discursive formation, and that not all discursive formations reach the
final threshold of formalizations, where they are able to formulate their
34 Dipankar Gupta

axioms and demonstrate their “positivity” as a truth. Surely these are

shuddering blows, and the crunch of disintegrating word-work con-
cealing the relativist trap carries to the entire enunciative field.
The principal aims of this paper were to denote (i) where sociology
of knowledge stood before Kuhn; (ii) how Kuhn succeeded in cleansing
the sociology of knowledge of its many ambiguities and also brought
about a refocussing on certain critical issues; and (iii) to place before the
reader the hidden debate between Foucault and Kuhn and what impli-
cations it has for the sociology of knowledge. The major portion of this
paper was devoted to placing before the readers as simply as possible
Foucault’s contribution in the Archaeology of Knowledge. I have, there-
fore, desisted from the temptation of quoting at length from Foucault,
as this would defeat, I believe, my express purpose. And even when I
have quoted from Foucault, I have taken care to quote his simpler pas-
sages. In this process I may have misinterpreted Foucault at many vital
points, but I think I have succeeded in making the contribution con-
tained in this important and difficult book a little more accessible to a
wider audience. I would agree with Karel Williams, that there are some
complete mysteries in Foucault’s Archaeology . . . (Williams 1974: 62).
One lasting mystery for me is how Foucault understands “rules of for-
mation”. Sometimes these rules are used synonymously with “complex
group of relations”, which are in turn conditions for the existence of a
discursive formation. Sometimes I feel this is a prime example of circu-
lar or tautological reasoning, while at other times I get the eerie feeling
that the “rules of formation” will forever remain a mystery to me.
However, if Foucault has been intentionally tautological then that is
another matter. In which case perhaps Immanuel Kant’s Critique of Pure
Reason can help us in furthering our understanding of Foucault’s rules of
formation, without necessarily explaining it fully. Kant had deliberately
constructed his table of Categories so that the “conditions of the possibil-
ity of objective experience (were) at the same time conditions of the possibil-
ity of the objects of experience . . .” (Korner 1955: 76; emphasis given).
Further, according to Kant, “The table of Categories quite naturally gives
us a lead in constructing the table of principles for the latter are nothing
but rules for the objective use of the former” (Ibid: 76). If for Kant “every
object must be a sub stratum of the Category” (Ibid), then by analogy we
may say, that for Foucault every object of a discourse must be within the
limits of a discursive formation. Or in other words, the rules of forma-
tion of objects guarantee these objects their status as objects of
PARADIGMS AND DISCOURSES 35

knowledge within a discursive formation. The advantages of this tautol-

ogy is that it does away with the “thinking subject”, which after all has all
along been Foucault’s intention. Like Kant’s consideration of a priori
concepts the rules of formation, in this case, only elucidate the discursive
formation, without saying anything new. I am not very confident of this
philosophical dodge, because Foucault does not acknowledge Kant any-
where, nor does he seem to be aware of his tautological formulations.
But in spite of these misgivings and mysteries I do not think
Foucault’s Archaeology of Knowledge is “extravagantly unsuccessful”
(Williams 1974: 64). Foucault’s contribution sensitises us for the first
time to a new direction in the understanding of the generation of
knowledge. This is evident even from the little I have been able to under-
stand of Foucault and was able to present in this paper. Eventually, if
Foucault has to be clarified and is to enter the discourse of the sociology
of knowledge, he should be seen in relation to T. S. Kuhn. This, I con-
sider a more fruitful and better option, if one is to build on Foucault
rather than to centre on the arguments that Foucault raises against his
more obvious opponents—the structuralists Between Foucault and
Kuhn there is an “intrinsic contradiction”, a contradiction that belongs
to the same discursive formation. It is not an “extrinsic one”, such as the
one that characterised the opposition between Linnaeus and Darwin
(Foucault 1974: 153). Admittedly, there are times when Foucault and
Kuhn seem to be talking past each other. But this is more a function of
their diverse backgrounds. Kuhn shies clear of mentioning Darwin, and
Foucault can’t help but recall him every now and then. Kuhn draws
largely from examples in physics, whereas Foucault draws from natural
history, psychopathology, grammar and clinical medicine. But the points
at which these two scholars face each other with alternative choices are
much more important and almost “electric”. The contradictions between
the two are, however, not terminal. If our paper has any validity, it is to
show how the contribution of one can be utilized to understand and
resolve the problems of the other. It is, therefore, in this face-off between
Kuhn and Foucault, between paradigms and discourses, that new fron-
tiers can be opened up in the sociology of knowledge.

Acknowledgements

I am grateful to Sanjay Chandra and Rajiv Bhargava for discussions and

comments.
36 Dipankar Gupta

Notes
1. This barb is clearly against Lukacs postulation on the eventual unity between subject
and object once the existing and unjust social order is rid of its contradictions.
2. The subject of a statement “is a particular vacant place that may in fact be filled by
different individuals, but, instead of being defined once and for all . . . this place
varies” (Foucault 1974: 95).

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3
Relevance of the Marxist
Approach to the Study of
Indian Society*
A.R. Desai

The Fifteenth All India Sociological Conference is being held at a very

crucial period in the history of independent India.
It is being held on the threshold of a new decade, the eighties of this
remarkable century, a decade which is likely to be crucial not merely for
the Indian society, and the third world countries, but also for the entire
humanity, a decade which is likely to be a period of gigantic disillusion-
ments, titanic turmoils, stormy struggles, and according to some, a
decade of cyclonic social explosions.
During the last three decades, the Indian society has experienced a
crucial transformation in its various domains of social existence. The
post-war partition, the communal holocaust, the unparalleled migra-
tions of Hindus and Muslims, the elimination of Princely States, the
formation of the Indian Union, the framing of the Constitution of
India, and the active participation of the State in undertaking the task
of overcoming backwardness, through Industrial Policy Resolutions and
a series of Five-Year Plans based on the postulates of mixed-economy
indicative of capitalist planning, have brought out significant changes in
the Indian society, its economy, polity, education, class and caste
38 A.R. Desai

configuration as well as its social and cultural spheres. The broad

contours of these change are becoming clear exhibiting alarming trends
with the passage of decades, causing grave concern about the nature of
this transformation. Sensitive minds have started categorising the three
decades of planning successively as “Decade of Hope”, “Decade of
Despair” and “Dacade of Discontent”. Some of the scholars wedded to
modernizing theories as formulated by ideologues of advanced capitalist
countries of the West, have started prognosticating “Breakdown of
Modernization” in the Third World countries including India. In fact,
futurologists, who sometime back were working out ‘detailed forecasts’
about the configuration of various aspects of human society and their
national sections, have started becoming concerned about the possibil-
ity of social explosions during the coming decade, which may upset all
their calculations about the profile they have worked out about a.d.
2000 and onwards.
One of the major events, relevant to our profession, that took place
during the last thirty years is a relatively massive growth of higher edu-
cation in the form of large-scale expansion of university and other spe-
cialised institutional complexes. More than hundred universities, with a
few thousand colleges attached to them, dozens of specialised research
and other institutions, have emerged with social sciences gaining con-
siderable respectability. Trained human power in social sciences, in the
form of sizable body of teachers, researchers and students has emerged.
It can be counted in terms of a few lakhs. Knowledge generators and
knowledge transmitters are operating on a big scale on the national
scene. Even in sociology and social anthropology there is a sizable
growth of this trained human power, whose number will run into thou-
sands. Funds for research have also been made available on a fairly big
scale compared to that during the British period. The publications such
as Survey Reports of Indian Council of Social Science Research, other
institutions and individuals recording and reviewing the researches done
in sociology, social anthropology, social demography, social work and
other related fields reveal massive output of researches, carried out
during the last thirty years. Researches cover numerous fields and diverse
themes. Caste, family, scheduled tribes, scheduled castes, election, edu-
cation, village communities, land reforms, urbanisation, industrial rela-
tions, demography, health, family-planning, position of women, and a
host of other themes have been covered as listed and analysed in great
RELEVANCE OF THE MARXIST APPROACH TO THE STUDY OF INDIAN SOCIETY 39

detail in some of the reports and survey documents. The list of

micro-studies, either of specific survey type or involving intense field
work, adopting sophisticated tools of data collection and involving
complex statistical techniques of correlations would run into thousands,
revealing vast proliferation of such studies in different domains of Indian
social reality. During the last thirty years, as stressed by a number of
eminent scholars, the pursuers of the discipline, have acquired greater
technical skills in data generation, fair amount of sophistication and
precision in observing and recording the data, and skills in processing
and analysis of data generated, Recent publications such as the
“Experiences and Encounters” or “Field Workers and the Field” reveal
the anguishing experiences of the researchers conducting micro-studies
in terms of field work difficulties, and value conflicts involved in field
and other researches. They also reveal poignantly the technical, finan-
cial, and organisational hurdles and pressures involved in conducting
these micro-studies by individual or team of researchers. They thus indi-
cate the growing awareness about methodological issues involved in col-
lecting data in such micro-surveys and field studies.
It can be said with a sense of assurance that the institutional frame-
work, in the form of universities and other research centres which has
emerged after Independence, has acquired the shape of gigantic know-
ledge factory, engaged in large-scale manufacture of knowledge products
comprised of micro-surveys and micro-field reports.
Of late, it is increasingly being realized that there is something
basically disturbing about the entire enterprise of knowledge production
and dissemination in social sciences. The quality of, the objective
behind, the function performed and interests served by the massive
products churned out by social science knowledge industry, exhibit very
undesirable features. It is also being felt that a proper appraisal of the
social function of this emerging knowledge has become urgent.
Some of the practitioners of this discipline have realized the need to
examine at a deeper level, whether the knowledge generated by them
through researches and transmitted through teaching and publications,
helps to grasp the real nature of the transformation that is being brought
about in the Indian society and to locate the central tendencies of trans-
formation that is taking place in it. It is also felt necessary to examine
whether the knowledge generated helps to unravel objectively and pre-
cisely the impact of this transformation on various classes and sections
40 A.R. Desai

of population. Some concerned social scientists have developed genuine

anxiety about the efficacy of the knowledge generated by sociologists
and other scientists. Does this knowledge help one to clearly discern the
essential pattern of configuration of the society which is being created
by the rulers of India, through the basic normative postulates codified in
the Constitution and the property premises accepted in the strategy of
development embodied in the Policy Resolutions for different fields and
in the Plans? Some of the sensitive scholars have even started question-
ing the basic objective of the entire educational system, which generates
certain type of knowledge-products in India. Is the educational system,
the main industry involved in knowledge generation and knowledge
transmission, not a device of pedagogy of the oppressor, instead of con-
sciousness raiding pedagogy of the oppressed?
We will summarize the assessment made by sociologists and social
anthropologists about the quality, direction, relevance, and significance
of the knowledge generated upto now. The chief ingredients of the feel-
ing of unease expressed about the state of our discipline are culled from
the writings of various scholars, the presidential addresses during the last
two All India Sociological Conferences, and from the special numbers of
certain journals including the October issue of Seminar entitled
“Studying Our Society”. We will enumerate the major limitations
pointed out in these writings, in phrases almost taken bodily from the
writings of the scholars.

1. Growing feeling of unease about the very direction and purpose of this
pursuit.
2. “Many of the cherished assumptions that informed and inspired the discip-
line, now leave the practitioners cold and unconvinced.”
3. Theoretical models and conceptual frames of reference coveted upto now
appear of doubtful validity.
4. Several methods of research to comprehend social reality of India found
inappropriate and of doubtful value to unravel the true trend of
transformation.
5. Sociological teaching and research cast in colonial mould even after three
decades of Independence. This sets limits to its range, constricts its vision,
blunts its purpose and saps its creativity. The discipline finds itself in the
tragic situation because it has opted to function within a framework of
dependency, as a satellite system rather than autonomous.
6. Lack of awareness of Indian sociological tradition.
7. Sociology torn from Indology and history.
RELEVANCE OF THE MARXIST APPROACH TO THE STUDY OF INDIAN SOCIETY 41

8. Over-scientific and consequently dehumanized tone of much of

contemporary sociology.
9. Sociology upto now has been a science not imbued with social concern “a
discipline without human meaning and purpose”.
10. Sociologists “unresponsive to the advent of freedom in significant manner—
showing unmistakable symptoms of captive mind, imitating Western pat-
tern under the guise of cultivating “international science” without any
sense of guilt or even qualms of conscience.
11. Sociology in India, largely a discipline of borrowed concepts and methods
derived from high prestige centres of learning in the affluent West, espe-
cially in the U.S.A. and U.K. resulting into chasing the high prestige
models and plunged into quick sands of pseudo-intellection.
12. Uncritical acceptance of foreign models and techniques without assessing
their relevance for or suitability to Indian conditions leading to distortion
of perspective and stunted growth of Indian sociology.
13. Imitating the Western models and keeping in view the type of work that
enjoys popularity and prestige elsewhere rather than what country needs.
(1) This determined the priorities of research. (2) Significant part of the
work is addressed not to the people, or even professional colleagues in India,
but to peers and mentors abroad.
14. Involved in hardening the boundaries of discipline, carving out its own
empire, developing restrictive segmental perspective, and developing an
allergy towards insights and postulates of other disciplines. Similarly
involved in fruitless debates over artificial distinction between pure and
applied research.
15. Engaged through a series of logical acrobatics, tortuous statistical proced-
ures, and mystifying model building, and arriving at convoluted generaliza-
tions that often turn out to be statements of obvious, their pseudo-profound
terminology notwithstanding.
16. Consciously cultivating only a few styles of sociology, and investing far too
much effort in the pursuit of the trite and the trivial.
17. The mask of profound scholarship often hiding puerile and vacuous ideas,
only offering terminological satisfaction with no operational guidelines.
18. Sociologists have to shed their Narcissism and misdirected quest.
19. Sociologists have not still related themselves to the people and their prob-
lems and are still reveling in counter-productive intellectualism.
20. Our sociology does not address itself to the living concerns of today and
tomorrow. It is not identifying critical problems, pose right questions and
device appropriate procedures of investigation. As a result they are not able
to contribute meaningfully towards resolving many dilemmas of
development.
21. Indian sociology has yet to establish its credibility with people and policy
makers.
42 A.R. Desai

22. Adoption of value-free stance and posture of neutrality, but still consciously
or unconsciously accepting uncritically the values adopted by policy makers
about the “desired type of society”.
23. Indian society is subjected to a conscious transformation and change in a
specific direction by policy makers. The social scientists pursue their
researches of this changing social reality on the basis of accepting a historic,
static, synchronic, structural-functional model based on an equilibrium
assumption. Sociology has been more at home in the equilibrium system
and stability models.
24. The discipline as it is practised is ill-prepared for meaningful handling
of  the ferment within the Third World and convulsion that it is
experiencing.
25. The discipline generally confines its concerns to small-scale units and seg-
ments as autonomous systems, torn of its context of the larger society.
26. Adopting a value free posture, it is shaky in determining the criteria of rele-
vance of research, avoiding undertaking of analytical handling of gut issues,
developing a tendency to skirt around them and get distracted towards
activities that have limited scientific value and of peripheral interest.
27. In action strategies, the discipline supports the tendency which is more
towards the maintenance of status quo through minor adjustments and
modifications here and there.

The list though not exhaustive is formidable enough to cause grave anx-
iety about the state of discipline, at least among those who are practi-
tioners of this discipline. It demands a thorough examination of the
causes which have led to such a state of affairs in the profession that has
proliferated so extensively during the last thirty years.
It should also be noted that unease about sociological research and
teaching indicated above is voiced ironically by the very sociologists and
social anthropologists who have played crucial role in shaping the very
approaches for teaching and research in sociology, and have been largely
responsible in expounding the paradigms that have shaped sociological
studies, which have resulted in the production of knowledge products
described earlier. The unease is basically voiced by the very scholars who
have acted as influential entrepreneurs, who have played important role
in establishing the institutional enterprises called sociology depart-
ments, research centres, and institutions, which were infused with the
RELEVANCE OF THE MARXIST APPROACH TO THE STUDY OF INDIAN SOCIETY 43

very paradigms that resulted in the present type of studies. Further, the
discontent is voiced against only some elements of the accepted para-
digms. The scholars do not break away from the major assumptions
underlying the paradigms which dominate sociology after the second
World War. The conservative and liberal paradigms systematized by
Talcott Parsons and Robert Merton in the U.S.A. and parallely crystal-
ized by Radcliffe-Brown and others in anthropology in U.K. still under-
lie the practice of sociological discipline refined further by Dahrendorf,
Rex and some other scholars. The critics themselves, by and large, still
operate on the basis of the same framework of approach against which
they voice discontent. They do not go deeper and examine the real rea-
sons as to why the paradigms which they pursued have resulted either in
the debacle that has taken place in sociological enterprise or has been
playing a supportive function for the rulers of this country.
I would also like to draw attention to some features of the descrip-
tion of limitations as formulated by these scholars.
The limitations are presented in phraseology which takes a very
nebulous form such as “colonial framework”, “western models”, “lack-
ing Indianness”, “lack of social concern”, “super-scienticism”, ‘“sterile
intellection”, “not establishing credibility with people and policy
makers”, “generally confining its concern to small-scale units and seg-
ments as autonomous system torn of its context of larger society”, “not
addressing itself to living concerns of today and tomorrow”, “not iden-
tifying critical problems”, “pose light questions”, “value-free posture”,
“in action strategies”, “the discipline supports tendency which maintain
status quo through minor adjustments and modifications here and
there”, etc. There is no clear spelling out of what all these mean. Further,
there is no deeper discussion of whether the maladies described here are
rooted in the dominant “style of sociology” which is being overwhelm-
ingly pursued in the country and based on specific paradigms men-
tioned earlier.
I have drawn attention to these aspects of the problems for two
reasons:

(1) The dominant approaches which shaped sociological studies have been
basically non-Marxist. The practitioners and advocates of dominant
approaches have always adopted an attitude wherein the potential of
Marxist approach to understand the Indian reality has been bypassed,
44 A.R. Desai

underrated or summarily dismissed prima facie by castigating it as dog-

matic, value biased and, therefore, lacking objectivity and value neutrality.
(2) In spite of recognizing the sorry state of affairs to which sociology has been
reduced, there is a furious endeavour, excepting by a few scholars, to seek
other sociological approaches which would somehow or other bypass the
Marxist approach, such as phenomenological, ethno-methodological or
other subjectivist, idealist, culturo-logical approaches, which are taking
these scholars farther from the relevant sociological inquiries on crucial
issues which the Indian society is experiencing, namely its immense pov-
erty, growing inequality and other aspects of its backwardness.

The basic tasks facing the sociologists in our country are therefore:
(1) To search for a relevant approach which will uplift the sociological
studies from the morass in which they are bogged down. (ii) To discover
or evolve an approach which will pose relevant questions with regard to
the Indian society as it is existing and transforming today. (iii) To evolve
an approach which can discover the specific structural features of the
Indian society, by properly comprehending the nature and type of soci-
ety which is in the process of being transformed in certain direction, and
help us to grasp the central tendency of transformation with its full
implications in terms of removing backwardness and eliminating pov-
erty and inequality. (iv) To evolve a relevant approach which will help us
to assess the impact of measures adopted, the policies pursued, the
classes relied upon by the Indian State, which is the most active agency
of transformation of the Indian society by adopting a policy of Indicative
Planning based on mixed-economy postulates for development pro-
claimed to overcome backwardness of the Indian society. (v) To adopt
an approach which will examine the transformation within different
sub-domains of the Indian society, treating them not as autonomous
isolates, unconnected, but as part of totality of Indian social system
experiencing changes in the context of the needs of transformation that
is being brought about in the society as a whole.
It means that social scientists shall have to get out of the clutches of
the social science as it is practised today, which is characterized very
aptly by C. Wright Mills as a social science of narrow focus, the trivial
detail, the abstracted almighty, unimportant fact, a social science having
little or no concern with the pivotal events and historic acceleration
characteristics of our immediate times . . . the social science which stud-
ies ‘‘the details of small-scale milieu” knowing little history and “study-
ing at the most short run trends”.
RELEVANCE OF THE MARXIST APPROACH TO THE STUDY OF INDIAN SOCIETY 45

Is there an approach in social science which can fulfill these

functions so essential to understand the social transformation that is
taking place in India? Is there an alternative paradigm, model of inquiry,
conceptual structure, a framework which would help in understanding
the Indian society, b) raising appropriate questions, appropriate evi-
dence to answer the questions, and which would elaborate appropriate
methods and use adequate techniques to undertake research to correctly
comprehend the transformation of the Indian reality?
As practitioners of science all of us are aware that “for a scientific
discipline to progress, it is necessary to do a great deal of work on the
basis of a specific paradigm. A paradigm specifies many things that are
needed to do scientific work. It specifies basic assumptions, about nature
of the subject matter to be studied, and the basic concepts to be used in
studying it. It specifies the range of phenomena to be considered, the
central problem to be studied, and specific theories composed of
hypotheses and laws about the phenomena. It also specifies the research
methods to be used in providing hypotheses and the basic values that
guide inquiry. Of all these things the basic assumptions and concepts are
most central since they tend to shape everything else.”

It is my submission that the paradigm evolved by Marx, if adopted con-

sciously, even as a heuristic device, would provide this alternative
approach for conducting fruitful and relevant researches about the
Indian society. On the basis of a few studies adopting this approach,
including my own, I can emphasize that the adoption of the Marxist
paradigm is the most relevant framework that can help in comprehend-
ing properly the transformation that is taking place in the Indian society
and its various sub-systems. The Marxist approach helps one to raise
relevant questions, to conduct the researches in the right direction,
enables one to formulate adequate hypotheses, assists one to evolve
proper concepts, adopt and combine appropriate research techniques,
and can help one to locate the central tendencies of transformation with
its major implications. It can also help to explain the reasons why aca-
demic establishments evolved to subserve certain functions in capitalist
societies both of the First and the Third World countries adopt an atti-
tude of basic reluctance to accept Marxist paradigms and permit studies
46 A.R. Desai

on that basis as a small struggling current and that too under certain
historic conjunctures.
It will be appreciated that it is not possible for me to unfold here,
the basic ontological, epistemological, and other underlying assump-
tions, constituting the Marxist paradigm. Nor is it possible to elaborate
on categories of concepts, range of phenomena considered significant
for studying specific domain, the crucial hypotheses projected in differ-
ent spheres, propositions about certain specific correlations, the distinc-
tion and also connection between essence and appearance, embodied in
the Marxist paradigm. Nor is it possible to explain about formulation of
certain law-like propositions applicable across ages with regard to the
human species as a distinctive entity, which has evolved on the planet
earth, retaining some basic essential ingredients, distinguishing it from
other species; nor sociological generalizations, applicable to all class
societies, and specific laws applicable only to capitalist societies and still
more, other law-like statements pertaining to sub-domains belonging to
particular socioeconomic formation. It is also not possible to discuss the
insights provided for understanding the mechanism of transformation,
embodied in the Marxist paradigm.
I wish the social science practitioners in India breakthrough the
atmosphere of allergy towards this profound and infuential approach
and create climate to study the growing body of literature articulating
various aspects of Marxist paradigm. This will also be necessary if mean-
ingful and relevant researches are to be carried out in India.
I will highlight here certain crucial aspects of the Marxist approach,
which will prove relevant for explaining the type of transformation that
is taking place in the Indian society.
The Marxist approach to understand any society and changes
therein, distinguishes itself by emphasizing the need to initiate an
investigation of social phenomenon in the context of the basic, and pri-
mary, almost life giving, activity carried on by human beings viz. pro-
duction through instruments of production, to extract, and fabricate
products from the nature so essential for the survival and persistence of
human species. Marx himself has formulated the basic significance of
this activity in the following words: “Men can be distinguished from
animals by consciousness, by religion, or by anything one likes. They
themselves begin to distinguish themselves from animals, as soon as they
begin to produce their means of subsistence. In producing their means
RELEVANCE OF THE MARXIST APPROACH TO THE STUDY OF INDIAN SOCIETY 47

of subsistence men indirectly produce their actual material life. The way
in which men produce their means of subsistence depends in the first
place on the nature of the existing means which they have to reproduce.
The mode of production should not be regarded simply as the reproduc-
tion of physical existence of individuals. It is already a definite form of
activity of these individuals, a definite way of expressing their life, a
definite mode of life. As individuals express their life, so they are. What
they are, therefore, coincides with their production, with what they pro-
duce, and with how much they produce it. What individuals are, there-
fore, depends on the material condition of their production”. Further
“This conception of history, therefore, rests on exposition of real pro-
cesses of production, starting out from the simple material production
of life, and on the comprehension of the form of intercourse connected
with and created by this mode of production i.e. of Civil Society and its
various stages as the basis of all history.”
“The whole previous conception of history has either completely
neglected this real basis of history or has considered it a secondary
matter without any connection with the course of history . . . We must
begin by stating the presupposition of all human existence and there-
fore, of all history, namely, that men must be in a position to live in
order to be able to make history. But life involves before everything else,
eating and drinking, a habitation, clothing and many other things. The
first historical act is, therefore, the production of material life itself. This
is indeed a historical act, a fundamental condition of all history, which
today as thousands of years ago, must be accomplished every day, and
every hour to sustain human life”. And Marx emphasizes: “Therefore,
the first requirement is to observe this basic fact in all its significance
and all its implications and to give its proper importance.”
The Marxist approach demands from every one, endeavouring to
understand social reality, to be clear about the nature of means of pro-
duction, the techno-economic division of labour involved in operating
the instruments of production, and social relations of production or
what are more precisely characterized as property relations. Marxist
approach considers property relations as crucial because they shape the
purpose, nature, control, direction, and objectives underlying the pro-
duction. And further property relations determine the norms about who
shall get how much and on what grounds. As rightly pointed out by
Robin Blackburn, what defines the specificity of any society is its
48 A.R. Desai

property system. Marxist approach to understand post-independent

Indian society will focus on the specific type of property relations which
existed on the eve of independence and which are being elaborated, by
the State, as the active agent of transformation both in terms of elabo-
rating legal-normative notions as well in terms of working out actual
policies pursued for development and transformation of Indian society
into a prosperous, developed one. The Marxist approach adopting the
criteria of taking property relations to define the nature of society, will
help the Indian scholars to designate the type of society, the class char-
acter of the State and the specificness of the path of development with
all the implications.
I would like to draw attention to a deep prejudicial attitude among
scholars to the Marxist approach. It is commonly believed that Marxism
is a form of naive economic determinism, or that it treats economic
factor as the sole factor determining every aspect of human life. Marx,
as we have seen even in his preliminary formulation, is not trying to
reduce everything in economic terms. In fact, he was engaged in point-
ing out crucial importance of the basic activity, namely, the activity of
producing things, for survival and persistence of mankind. He was
rather attempting to uncover the inter-relationship between this basic
activity, characterized as “economic” activity, and other activities, and
forms of organizations commonly described as ‘“non-economic” in the
totality of social existence by pointing out how social relations of pro-
duction i.e. property relations which shape the vital activity needed for
very survival, persistence and development of human species, should be
viewed as axial for understanding any society and the changes that take
place within it. Marx also pointed out that different subformations
within a society would be understood adequately if seen in the context
of the historical level of means of production and the nature of property
relations which shape and provide the resource availability and resource
allocation for different institutions constituting that society. As Paul
Sweezy has aptly put “Historical Materialism is above all a method of
approaching social questions not as a set of formulas. The kernel of this
approach is examination of the contradiction between the forces of pro-
duction and relations of production”.
The Marxist approach has conceived social science in a comprehen-
sive manner, and is not inhibited by the boundary lines of academic
disciplines. It also does not study various aspects of specific social
RELEVANCE OF THE MARXIST APPROACH TO THE STUDY OF INDIAN SOCIETY 49

formation, torn of the total context, and autonomously, but examines

them in the context and specifically related to and basically shaped by
the totality of specific society. In the Marxist approach, history is “the
shank” of all well conducted studies of man and society. The Marxist
approach also demands that specific society should be studied as a his-
torically changing system, comprised of contradictory forces, some of
which sustain and others which change that society. It views specific
society as emerging, developing, subsequently declining and ultimately
either emerging into a qualitatively new higher type of society or disin-
tegrating. The Marxist approach thus endeavours to locate, within a
specific society, the forces which preserve and forces which prompt it to
change, i.e., the forces driving it to take a leap into a new or a higher
form of social organization, which would unleash the productive power
of mankind to a next higher level.
In short, the Marxist approach gives central importance to property
structure in analysing any society. It provides “historical location or
specification of all social phenomenon”. The Marxist approach develops
a matrix for concrete studies of a particular phenomenon of a specific
type of society in the context of all pervading property relations. The
Marxist approach “recognizes the dialectics of evolutionary as well as
revolutionary changes, of the occurrence of breaks in historical continu-
ity in the transition from one socioeconomic formation to another”.
The Marxist approach, in contrast to other sociological approaches
exhibits one distinguishing feature. By and large, modern sociology has
ignored property relation or has assigned it a secondary place, in analys-
ing the total social system. In fact sociology almost prides in appearing
as a science of non property aspect of social life. All other sociological
approaches avoid making “mode of production of material life” as one
of the fundamental categories. The Marxist approach adopts “mode of
production of material life” as one of the fundamental categories.
During the last thirty years, Indian society is actively being reshaped
to overcome backwardness, poverty, inequality to be transformed into a
“prosperous”, “developed” and “‘culturally” advanced modern society.
The Constitution of independent India provides the major outlines of
economic, political, social and cultural norms and values which would
underline the framework of emerging social order. The State has under-
taken the responsibility of initiating various measures—economic,
political, administrative, educational, social and cultural—to augment
50 A.R. Desai

resources, to distribute resources, to apportion resources to various

classes, groups and organizations and also to elaborate varieties of insti-
tutions and create new ones to bring about this transition. It has laid
down certain major policy decisions; has declared to rely upon certain
classes to be the active agents of augmenting resources, and has provided
them all types of incentives, inducements, subsidies, facilities, as well as
created a state sector comprised of various elements, which is to func-
tion to suit the needs of these classes for augmenting resources. It has
unleashed a number of currents, in the course of pursuing this path of
development, which have during the last thirty years convulsed the
entire social fabric, and have given rise to grave doubts about the capac-
ity of the path pursued, to realize the objective of making India prosper-
ous and developed.
The scrutiny of differently oriented massive information about the
course of development that has taken place during the last thirty years
has revealed certain major trends

1. India has remained one of the poorest countries in the world both in terms
of GNP and per capita income, even after thirty years of development.
2. India’s population has remained poor and continues to suffer the most
acute inequality. The inequalities of wealth and income distribution are
increasing. The same is true of social and educational opportunities. In the
context of the caste system inequalities have tended to assume sharper,
more weird, and anguishing forms.
3. The rate of economic growth has remained low and has proved in the six-
ties and seventies that even this rate has experienced jerks and at times even
some retrogression.
4. As revealed by several studies, even according to the most conservative esti-
mate, approximately 40 per cent of the population live below poverty line
at 1961 price level. These studies also reveal that developmental process, as
viewed in the total context, has been aggravating the problem of poverty.
5. Accumulating evidence points to concentration of income in the upper
circles. The growth of inequality is reflected also in the trend of asset con-
centration This seems to be true of ownership of land or other assets in
rural India, as well as of capital, income, of ownership of houses and other
durable goods.
6. As studies relating to monopolies clearly reveal, concentration of assets,
resources and income is growing at a very rapid rate even among the cap-
italist groups.
7. Small-scale industries with higher capital investment and using power are
expanding at the cost of handicraft industries of the rural artisan classes.
RELEVANCE OF THE MARXIST APPROACH TO THE STUDY OF INDIAN SOCIETY 51

8. Concentration of landholding and other assets in the hands of a tiny

minority of landlords and rich farmers, corresponded by pauperization and
proletarization at the bottom, has emerged as a distinct trend after
independence.
9. Unemployment has increased at a very rapid rate. Volume of unemploy-
ment can easily be placed in the range of eighteen to twenty million. In the
context of market and money economy, such a dimension of unemploy-
ment reveals an alarming growth of inequality and misery.
10. Studies assessing the condition of women, the scheduled castes and sched-
uled tribes reveal further deterioration of economic conditions and growing
social oppression of the overwhelming majority of these groups.
11. Educational opportunities are so created as to be accessible to those who
have resources to buy them. This tends to accentuate social inequality in
the country.
12. Studies on urbanization reveal that the evolving urban socio-cultural pat-
tern enables a small minority of affluent section to claim a lion’s share of
urban amenities at the cost of the bulk of the population.
13. Studies reveal that the State, with the growing discontent and assertion of
the masses is increasingly retrenching its welfare functions, expanding its
repressive functions and is resorting to measures which curb the civil liber-
ties and democratic rights at an accelerating tempo.

These developments clearly reveal that the State has assumed prop-
erty norms of capitalist society as the axis of developmental strategy.
Sociologists wedded to non-Marxist approaches have not explicitly
defined the path of development pursued by the State as capitalist path
and the State of India as capitalist State. If the scholarly sociological
fraternity had adopted the Marxist approach which inaugurates any
enquiry about any society by examining the underlying nature of the
property relations it could have given them the clue about these central
tendencies that have emerged in India during the last thirty years as
almost a logical consequence of the capitalist path of development pur-
sued by the State.
I pose a question before the social scientists who have assembled
here. Can these emerging central tendencies be explained in proper
causal form without adopting Marxist approach, which distinguishes
itself from others, by posing gut questions, namely the questions about
the nature of property and class relations which provide the axis of spe-
cific society, and which is accepted as the framework within which
India’s development has been undertaken? Can this pattern of develop-
ment be explained, unless it is grasped that the State has assumed only
52 A.R. Desai

certain classes, as approved and chief ones to operate as main agents for
augmentation of wealth and overall development? And can this be
explained except by adopting the Marxist approach? Can the central
trend of development which hurls vast mass of toiling People in the
fathomless abyss of pauperization, proletarianization, unemployment,
underemployment and even lumpen existence be understood except by
locating this trend as caused by the State pursuing capitalist path of
development in poor ex-colonial Indian society? Without recognizing
that the path of development is capitalist path of development can one
explain non-inclusion of enormous amount of use values produced by
women during their domestic work in the national income of the coun-
try? Marx has given the explanation of this phenomenon in the opening
sentence of the epoch making Das Kapital. “Wealth of societies in which
capitalist mode of production prevails appears as an immense collection
of commodities”. Is the very fact that use values produced by women in
their homes are not included as wealth because they are not commodi-
ties, in contemporary India, a positive proof that the path pursued is
capitalist path of development and the society which is emerging is a
capitalist society? Similarly can the expansion, diversification and even
transformation of market into a bizarre, weird octopus-like network
comprised of ration, fair, open, black, super black categories during the
last thirty years be understood except by acknowledging that the path
pursued by the State is capitalist path of development?
It is unfortunate that overwhelming sections of the practitioners of
our discipline, pursuing non-Marxist approach have never defined
clearly the nature of path of development pursued by the State in India.
Nor have they undertaken studies attempting to explain this vital phe-
nomena of the Indian society.
The Marxist approach considers that focusing on the type of prop-
erty relations prevailing in the Indian society as crucial-axial element for
properly understanding the nature of transformation that has been
taking place in the country. This approach does not demand crude
reducing of every phenomena to economic factor; it also does not deny
the autonomy, or prevalence of distinct institutional and normative fea-
tures peculiar to a particular society. For instance it does not deny the
necessity of understanding the peculiar institution like caste system, reli-
gious, linguistic or tribal groups or even specific cultural traditions
peculiar to the Indian society. The Marxist approach in fact endeavours
RELEVANCE OF THE MARXIST APPROACH TO THE STUDY OF INDIAN SOCIETY 53

to understand their role and the nature of their transformation in the

larger context of the type of society which is being evolved, and under-
stand them in the matrix of underlying over-all property relations and
norms implicit therein which pervasively influence the entire social eco-
nomic formation. It is my submission that adoption of the Marxist
approach will also help to study the industrial relations, not merely as
management-labour relations, but as capital-labour relations, and also
in the context of the State wedded to capitalist path of development,
shaping these relations. Similarly the Marxist approach will help to
understand the dynamics of rural, urban, educational and other devel-
opments, better as it will assist the exploration of these phenomena in
the larger context of the social framework which is being created by the
State shaping the development on capitalist path of development. The
Marxist approach also will help to understand why institutions generat-
ing higher knowledge—products, sponsored, financed and basically
shaped by the State, pursuing a path of capitalist development will not
basically allow the paradigms and approaches to study, which may
expose the myth spread about State as welfare neutral State and reveal it
as basically a capitalist State.

The Conference is being held, as indicated earlier on the threshold of a

very explosive decade, wherein the Indian society will unfold gigantic
convulsions and titanic struggles, which will affect not merely the
discipline of social science, but also the life of practitioners of this disci-
pline, in their role as researchers, teachers, students and citizens. At this
juncture I am reminded of a significant observation made by Don
Martindale about origin and function of sociology as a discipline.
“Sociology was born as a conservative answer to socialism . . . . Only
conservative ideology was able to establish the discipline. The linkage
between science and reformist social attitudes (e.g. Scientific Socialism)
was served. In renouncing political activism, sociology became respect-
able into the ivy-covered halls of Universities. It was received as a scien-
tific justification of existing Social order . . . as an area of study for stable
young men (rather than as a breeding ground for wild-eyed radicals).”
Is this observation not equally true for sociology as a discipline in
India today? Will the dominant gestalt of the academic establishment
54 A.R. Desai

permit actively the growth and blossoming of an approach, which does

not renounce political activism, and which is relevant but critical of
existing social order? Even if the academic establishment permits it to a
limited extent, will the Stare, which is becoming a hard State towards
those who oppose its path of development, tolerate for a long time this
critical approach?
Practitioners of social science will have to face a serious intellectual
and ethical dilemma to seek security and respectability by evolving jus-
tification for the path pursued by the rulers in the country, or develop
courage, and readiness for consequences involved in adopting an
approach, which would generate and disseminate knowledge, relevant
to those who suffer and have intensified their struggles against the forces
led actively by the State wedded to capitalist path of development, to
counteract the consequences of the path, and to create conditions for
pursuing an alternate non-capitalist path of development which would
unleash the productive potentials of vast working population and ensure
equitable distribution.

Note
* Presidential Address delivered at the 15th All India Sociological Conference, Meerut
(U.P.) Jan. 81.
4
Altruistic Suicide:
A Subjective Approach
Lung-Chang Young

A
lthough Durkheim’s general theory of suicide has inspired
numerous studies, the particular topic of altruism and altruistic
suicide has remained somewhat underdeveloped. This paper,
therefore, has a twofold objective: (a) to present a critical review of
Durkheim’s analysis of altruism, deriving therefrom some tenets that
would contribute to a new framework for analyzing the behaviour of
altruistic suicide; and (b) to illustrate the efficacy of the suggested frame-
work with an historical investigation of the suicide of chaste females
recorded in the Ch’ing period of China (1644–1912).

A Review of Durkheim’s Altruism

Durkheim’s analysis of altruism constitutes an integral part of his typ-

ology of suicide, which is too well-known to warrant a summary here.
The following review centres around four sets of coordinate concepts
that require further clarification: (a) existence and extent of suicidal
behaviour; (b) objective types and subjective meanings; (c) altruistic
behaviour and fatalistic behaviour; and (d) primitive society and Eastern
civilization.
Existence and Extent of Suicidal Behaviour. Sociological studies of suicide
have been focused upon the problem of variable rates. While a few of
56 Lung-Chang Young

such studies may be cited to support the thesis of altruism that the sui-
cide rate varies directly with the extent of social integration or the degree
to which a society is closely structured (e.g. Strauss and Strauss 1953),
the majority tend to adhere to an inverse relationship between the two
variables. This relationship is prominent whether the factor of integra-
tion is inferred from the strength of interpersonal relation (Henry and
Short 1954) or status configuration (Gibbs and Martin 1964). The case
of altruism thus posed as a barrier for contemporary sociologists in their
quest for a unified theory of suicide. In an attempt to remove this bar-
rier, two views have appeared in the literature. One view accepts the case
of altruism as valid and treats it either as a special case of social integra-
tion (Gibbs and Martin 1964) or as an inherent part of a U-shaped
function of over- and under-involvement in the dominant ideology of
the society (Powell 1958). The other view rejects altruism as “proper
object of study” (Johnson 1965).
The first view assumes a reversal of the general trend of decline in
the suicide rate when the pressures of group life and its ideology
increase to certain extent. Yet the argument lacks adequate factual sup-
port. Basically, the question whether high integration would cause
high rate of suicide is not satisfactorily answered in Durkheim’s own
work, as Johnson (1965) challenged that “in the absence of statistics
an inference of a high rate from norms alone is of dubious validity.”
Recent studies have illuminated little the historical past. The “rare” or
“common” case of altruistic suicide found in already disintegrated
societies is not an adequate basis for the construction of a rate (Labovitz
1968). To be sure, detailed studies of suicide in various highly
integrated primitive groups are available, but they show a marked
variation in suicide rate, ranging from 0.7 per 100,000 for the New
Guinea population (Hosking, et al. 1969) to 53 on Tikopia island
(Firth 1961).
The second view seems more acceptable if our major concern is
suicide rate only. Yet, by questioning the problem of rate, one does not
have to deny the validity of Durkheim’s brilliant analysis of the altruistic
suicidal behaviour observed in highly integrated societies. This analysis is
too significant to be ignored. In Durkheim’s work the problems of sui-
cide rate and suicidal behaviour are often intermingled. But these prob-
lems for Durkheim do not necessarily refer to the same dimension of
social phenomena, as Firth (1961) has clarified:
ALTRUISTIC SUICIDE: A SUBJECTIVE APPROACH 57

The behavior of suicide is an index of social rigidity, but the incidence—that

is, rate—of suicide is an index of the degree of deviance in the society. With
societies of equivalent rigidity in norms of conduct there may be different
degrees of deviance, depending, for example, upon the character of personal
goals, variation in the resources available for satisfying them, and so forth.

Thus, the existence and extent of the altruistic suicidal behaviour

alone deserve attention because they can be taken as a useful indicator
of social rigidity, even if they reveal little about the degree of social
deviance.

Objective Types and Subjective Meanings. As Parsons (1949: 385–388)

noted, in following out the problem of social control Durkheim has
progressed through the conception of control as subjection to naturalis-
tic causation and that of avoidance of sanctions, to laying primary
emphasis on the subjective sense of moral obligation, and his theory of
moral obligation was derived by a process of analysis of the action of the
concrete individual from the subjective point of view. Perhaps nowhere
is his concern with the meaningful individual act more evident than in
his treatment of the altruistic suicide. The typical actor is described as
the one who “must consider he has no life of his own;” whose “melan-
choly springs from hope, for it depends on the belief in a beautiful per-
spective beyond his life;” who “must possess the serene conviction
derived from the feeling of duty accomplished;” and finally, “a burst of
faith and enthusiasm carried the man to his death” (Durkheim 1951:
225, 283). Assuming that such a hypothesis was close to the true state of
mind of some Christian martyrs, we are still far from being sure that the
same kind of serene feeling could be shared by the pale and quivering
Brahmin widow walking slowly around her husband’s pyre, or by the
publicly denounced young incestuous lover of the Trobriand Island on
the verge of jumping to his death from the top of a palm tree (Malinowski
1926).
Clearly, individuals performing the ostensibly same act of altruism
might differ from one another in the subjective meaning they ascribe to
the acts. The meaning assigned by Durkheim is merely a reflection of
the collective values cognizant only to the social scientist. It might not
correspond to the typified meaning understood by the members of the
group. Nor could it be the real meaning emerged from the psycho-
dynamics of the individual at the time he decided to kill himself.
58 Lung-Chang Young

As Schutz (1962: 48–66) argued, all scientific explanations of the

social world can, and for certain purposes must, refer to the subjective
meaning of the actions of human beings from which social reality orig-
inates. In this regard Durkheim was no exception, especially when he
sought to explain suicidal behaviour, which is after all a meaningful act.
But Durkheim’s subjective-meaning constructs need to be improved,
because they were formed on the basis of his grand theoretical assump-
tions without taking into account the common-sense experiences of the
actor on the social scene.

Altruistic Behaviour and Fatalistic Behaviour. Sociologists are aware of

Durkheim’s ambiguous use of the term “social”, referring it indiscrimin-
ately to what we now call social and cultural spheres. This terminologi-
cal flaw is minor and it has been rectified in current literature. The
major shortcoming, however, stems from his overemphasis on the dis-
tinction between the two spheres without working out systematically
the logical interrelations between them (Bellah 1959: 460). On the the-
oretical level it is important for Durkheim to emphasize this distinction
in order to construct his typology. However, students preoccupied with
empirical problems are often puzzled by the question: how can persons
be socially integrated without being culturally regulated or vice versa?
(Gibbs 1966). Various writers have pointed out the difficulty in empir-
ically separating anomic from egoistic suicide (Johnson 1965; Gibbs
1966; Bohannan 1960). Johnson (1965) even went further by arguing
that there is no conceptual distinction between them. If it is generally
true that anomic and egoistic suicide constitute a conjugate pair, we
should also expect that altruistic suicide (high social integration) and
Durkheim’s briefly mentioned fatalistic suicide (high cultural regula-
tion) may not be easily distinguishable on the empirical level. In our
view, these two types should be treated as twin sisters nursed in the same
type of socio-cultural system. Their differences can be sought only from
the subjective meaning of suicidal action (Dohrenwend 1959). If a
person commits suicide to fulfill his duty, his psychological state may
either be one of “serene conviction” (altruism), or it may be one of
extreme fear or despair (fatalism). The difference, of course, depends on
the degree of his internalizing the values of the society that provide
meaning for his act. Judging from the fact that moral values (or the col-
lective conscience) are always segmentally internalized and differentially
ALTRUISTIC SUICIDE: A SUBJECTIVE APPROACH 59

interpreted by members of a society, we share the criticism that

Durkheim has underestimated the frequency of fatalistic suicide
(Hendin 1969).

Primitive Society and Eastern Civilization. Durkheim has been criticized

for his ambiguity about what he called “lower societies” from which
examples of altruism were drawn (Johnson 1965). Under this general
title were lumped together elementary tribal groups and such major civ-
ilizations as India and China. It was assumed that these various societies
were similarly characterized by a highly integrated network of human
relations and a rigid system of norms. By emphasizing the similarity,
Durkheim left little room for discussing the major differences between
simple and complex societies relevant to his thesis.
Variations in both suicide rate and suicidal behaviour among these
societies must be explained in terms of their differences. In the first
place, if group size and degree of division of labour have anything to do
with the nature of social integration, the complex societies in the East
could not have been as highly integrated as the small preliterate tribes.
In traditional India, for example, the numerous sub-castes and linguistic
groups did not constitute an integrated society. The traditional Chinese
society rather resembled “a heap of loose sand,” to use a turn-of-the-
century characterization by Dr. Sun Yat-sen. With regard to the nature
of the normative system, the differences between simple and complex
societies were even greater. Moral ideals of the Eastern civilizations were
usually crystallized through a long process of dynamic synthesis between
what Redfield (1960: 42ff ) called the great tradition and the little trad-
ition. In preliterate societies, however, the great tradition was usually
nonexistent. As a result of the vertical diffusion of norms in a large
society, those idealized normative elements developed directly from the
philosophical or religious thought of the great tradition tended to limit
their regulative power to a small segment of the population and move
further away from the actual rules of conduct observed by the masses. In
the process of change there would also appear conflicting norms that
could neutralize the effect of the constraint of the collective
conscience.
With regard to the problem of suicide, the foregoing remarks indi-
cate that in comparison with simple societies the Eastern traditional
societies might have had more varied forms of suicidal behaviour. They
60 Lung-Chang Young

would also indicate that the incidence of the altruistic type of suicide
might have dwindled continuously over the centuries in spite of short-
term fluctuations. This view agrees with the psychoanalytical theory of
altruistic suicide developed by Zilboorg (1936, 1938). According to this
theory, an altruistic suicide impulse is inherent in human nature; it is
still the basic self-preservative instinct that drives the human ego to the
fantasied ego-preservation through death. The lower the cultural milieu
of the race, the more deep-seated the suicidal impulse appears. The
primitive ideal of immortality has long been evolved into a sense of
immortality that features prominently in the theoretical elaboration of
social salvation. The fantasied immortality today can be achieved by
means of books, monuments, and works of art rather than through sui-
cide. By taking such an evolutionary perspective, Zilboorg gave insight
into the problem of cultural similarities, as well as into the differences
in  altruistic behaviour and suicide rate which Durkheim failed to
elaborate.
We conclude from the foregoing review-critique that (a) altruistic
suicidal behaviour as an index of social rigidity deserves further study;
(b) the study of behaviour requires an understanding of the subjective
meaning of suicidal action; (c) altruistic and fatalistic suicide tend to
occur together in a society but they carry different subjective meaning;
and (d) primitive tribes and Eastern civilizations do not constitute a
single type of altruistic society.

A Conceptual Framework

This conclusion calls for a theoretical synthesis of the Durkheimian and

Weberian approaches to sociology to provide a new framework for the
analysis of suicidal behaviour. Both Firth (1961) and Douglas (1967)
have contributed to this synthesis in their respective studies of suicide.
Firth attempted to equate the behaviour of self-destruction with osten-
sible motives. From the large number of suicide cases in Tikopia society
he identified four categories of dominant motives: loyalty, shame, anger,
and grief. These motives were then fitted into Durkheim’s types of altru-
ism and egotism respectively. Firth (1961: 11) noted that these motives
and types were all ideal-type constructs, since “every suicide is in some
respect an egoistic act. Yet nearly every suicide displays some regard for
the norms of society.” Loyalty and shame revealed stronger elements of
ALTRUISTIC SUICIDE: A SUBJECTIVE APPROACH 61

altruism, while the other two motives were more egoistic in nature.
Firth did not mention fatalistic suicide, but he did describe many cases
of suicide by means of swimming or canoeing out to sea to escape from
the isolated small island with no regard to the eventual outcome. These
cases were described by the local term forau, which in meaning
corresponds roughly to that of fatalism.
Douglas, in his recent work, also made an effort to bring Durkheim
and Weber together by stressing the “shared meaning”—belief or lack of
belief—as the fundamental cause of suicide. Included in his common
patterns of meanings (Douglas 1967: 284–319) were suicide action as a
means of transforming the substantial self, as a means of achieving
fellow-feeling, and as a means of getting revenge.
Both Firth’s categories of motives and Douglas’ patterns of mean-
ings were constructed on a relatively lower level of abstraction. They do
not cover all possible variations in suicidal behaviour. Limiting the
sphere of inquiry to altruistic behaviour alone, this paper suggests a dif-
ferent conceptual scheme consisting of the following elements:

(1) We shall follow Durkheim’s basic thesis by stressing the overall socio-
cultural forces as the cause of suicide and accept his types as highly useful
constructs. We hypothesize that a rigid social-cultural system tends to gen-
erate suicidal behaviour with strong elements of both altruism and
fatalism.
(2) We shall differentiate fatalism from altruism by means of socially attributed
motives. To conceptualize the variety of human motives, we shall borrow an
idea from Schutz (Wagner 1970: 126–129) and classify all motives into two
basic kinds: the “in-order-to” motive and the “because” motive. The former
kind, from the point of view of the actor, is embodied in fantasied goals or
aims of the actor that are yet to be realized. The latter kind, on the other
hand, refers to the actor’s life history, his past or immediate experience
which induced him to act as he did.
(3) Since the “real” motive for the suicide is usually unknown (unless it is
revealed by the actor rescued from an unsuccessful attempt), the ostensible
motives are merely typified meanings attributed to the actor by members of
the social group. These motives or meanings are typified in the sense that
they are always limited in scope in a given culture. The group members
ascertain the motive on the basis of their knowledge of immediate events
leading to the suicidal action. The motive may also be revealed by checking
such clues as the life history of the actor, or by determining the method of
suicide the actor has employed. From the “common-sense” interpretation
of motives the social scientist is able to make a distinction of the
62 Lung-Chang Young

“in-order-to” and the “because” motives and relate them to Durkheim’s

objective types of suicide.
(4) When the objective types of suicide and motives are cojoined in a property-
space arrangement, as shown in Table 1, the result is a taxonomy for classi-
fying empirical data of individual suicidal behaviour which can be best
expressed in terms of Weber’s famous classification of social action according
to its mode of orientation. Now we have four subjective types of suicidal
behaviour constructed on a higher level of abstraction: value-rational,
purpose-rational, traditional, and affectual.

The value-rational type covers most cases of altruistic behaviour

cited in Durkheim’s work. The action of suicide is oriented toward an
absolute value, be it loyalty to one’s master, duty to one’s spouse, or a
firm belief in the immortality of the soul in the afterlife. The action is
rational because it is deliberately chosen as a means to reach the goal.
And for the same reason we must classify the actor’s motive under the
“in-order-to” type.
The traditional type covers those cases of suicide which outwardly
resemble the first type but carry different meanings from the actor’s
point of view. There is no evidence that the actor has internalized the
value that legitimizes his conduct. The actor wants to kill himself for
some trifling reason, because, without recourse to other alternatives pro-
vided by the culture, he regards suicide as the traditionally sanctioned
behaviour under given circumstances. The way in which the individual
interprets the tradition is primarily determined by his rigid personality
moulded in an authoritarian type of family. For this reason his motive
should be classified under the “because” category.
The purpose-rational type refers to suicides occurring in a physical
or domestic environment intolerable to the individual, according, of
course, to what he regards as tolerable. Self-destruction is then a means
to escape or a form of protest. This type of suicide is frequently observed

Table 1
Subjective Types of Altruistic and Fatalistic Suicidal Behaviour

Type of Suicide
Type of Motive Altruistic Fatalistic
“In-order-to” Motive (1) Value-Rational (3) Purpose-Rational
“Because” Motive (2) Traditional (4) Affectual
ALTRUISTIC SUICIDE: A SUBJECTIVE APPROACH 63

in simple societies (Elwin 1943). It may also occur in the army camp, in
prison, on a slave ship, or even in the contemporary black ghetto
(Hendin 1969). The unbearable situation may also be created by chronic
or severe illness, which was listed as the number one cause of suicide in
some African societies (Faller 1969) and accounted for more than
one-fourth of all suicides each year in modern India (Pandey 1968).
Also included in this type are the so-called “samsonic suicides” as an
exercise in revenge (Jeffrey 1952) and the “manipulative suicide” as a
means of controlling another’s behaviour by inducing guilt (De Vos
1968; Beall 1968). In all these cases the action is undertaken for the
attainment of the actor’s own rationally chosen ends unrelated to cultur-
ally defined absolute values.
The affectual type approximates the behaviour characterized by an
overflow of emotions, such as fear or anger, that overshadow other fac-
tors as motives of suicide. The behaviour of the individual is determined
by his immediate experience; its impulsive and violent form indicates
the absence of clearly formulated goals. This type of suicide is often
observed in a highly integrated and regulated society, where normative
deviations are strongly sanctioned and permissible channels for releasing
tension are limited (Strauss and Strauss 1953).
As Weber put it, it would be very unusual to find concrete cases
which were oriented only in one or another of these ways. These subjec-
tive types are ideal-type constructs with which we interpret reality. The
term “rational” must not be misunderstood. A subjective rational action
may be judged as completely irrational from an objective point of view.
This is especially true of suicide cases.
The usefulness of this classificatory scheme will be shown in the
following analysis of female suicidal behaviour recorded in the Ch’ing
period of China.

Female Suicide in Ch’ing China

Some writers have inferred from fragmentary data that in traditional

China the female suicide rate was higher than the male rate and that the
rates for both sexes tended to decline with age (Levy 1949: 117).
Although this estimate is subject to question (Goode 1963: 309), one
often gets the unmistakable impression that the altruistic type of suicide
committed by women of the younger age group represents the most
64 Lung-Chang Young

frequently mentioned tragic event in such 19th century popular novels

as the Dream of the Red Chamber.
The real source of this type of behaviour must be traced to the basic
features of Chinese society and culture. Very crudely and briefly stated,
the social structure of traditional China was featured prominently by
familism as contrary to individualism. The subordination of individual
interests to family values may be exemplified by the institution of
arranged marriage as well as the strongly sanctioned norms against
divorce and widow remarriage. As subordinate members of the family,
women and juniors were expected to perform their roles according to
the popularized Confucian principles such as filial piety and chastity.
These are some of the general features applicable to all social classes.
In describing other features, we must take into account the class differ-
ential in behaviour. Members of the gentry class, for instance, could
afford to reach the ideal of the extended family, and establish close ties
with the larger kinship group. And in order to maintain their respected
style of life they had to pay close attention to the Confucian rules of
conduct. The peasant class members, on the other hand, were less inte-
grated with the larger kin group, and for obvious reasons less regulated
by the ideal norms than the upper crust of the stratified society.
The meanings of the Confucian moral ideals were subject to
manipulation by experts in legitimation from the gentry class. These
ideals tended to become increasingly rigid in prescription and, there-
fore, increasingly difficult to attain. Developed to their extreme, these
ideals literally demanded that individuals should sacrifice their own lives
in order to preserve the Confucian values. Originally, suicide for moral
purposes was restricted to certain categories of upper class male mem-
bers under certain unusual circumstances. A defeated general, for
example, would rather kill himself than surrender. A disappointed offi-
cial would use suicide as a form of censure to awaken an ill-advised
emperor. A condemned high-ranking official would accept suicide as a
privilege granted to him by the ruler. With the popularization of the
Neo-Confucian ideology developed in the 12th century, female suicide
in the name of chastity began to share the spotlight (Young 1970).
Gradually, the idea was diffused from the ruling class to the common
people through the media of oral literature and folk plays. In the process
of diffusion, transmitters of folk literature had evidently shifted their
interest from stories about suicidal generals and officials to the more
ALTRUISTIC SUICIDE: A SUBJECTIVE APPROACH 65

sensational events of chaste-female suicide which could have happened

in the neighbourhood of common people.
Yet, the idea of suicide as a justifiable form of moral behaviour was
by no means in accord with the general spirit of the great tradition. In
both Confucianism and Taoism the major instruction was to accept life
as it is, and to adapt oneself with the natural and social world. More
strongly, the idea was in direct conflict with the practical prescriptions
originated in the little tradition. Death, including suicide, was after all a
sad thing which should be avoided. In folk superstitions the suicide is
symbolized by a fearful-looking ghost wandering about and settling
nowhere, neither in heaven nor in hell. The conflict between moral
demand and actual practice was truly reflected in the way the society
reacted to suicide. Indeed, members of the society were not united in
praising or condemning it. Their reactions varied with their social dis-
tance from the victim. In traditional China different reactions came
from three different levels of social organization: the community, the
clan, and the family. At the community level a suicide as an act of chas-
tity inspired admiration. If the victim was a widow or an unmarried
young girl, she would be glorified as a model of supreme chastity. In
praising the victim the community reaffirmed the group value, and at
the same time gave consolation to the victim’s family. The reaction of
the clan varied with the attitudes of the leadership. Some clans had
made it clear in their rules that suicide for whatever reasons should be
prevented by all means. When the tragic event happened, the clan
reacted with shock and regret. But there were also some clan leaders who
would tacitly encourage suicide committed by a young widow, because
the event would qualify the whole clan to receive some formal citations
from the imperial government in honour of the virtuous victim (Young
1970). From the viewpoint of the family, however, there was no reason
whatsoever to tolerate suicide committed by its own members. According
to the social norm observed by all classes, the family head must take
pains to watch closely his widowed daughter-in-law lest she make a sui-
cide attempt. If the guard was too negligent to prevent the tragedy, the
victim’s own agnates might demand redress for the wrong done them
(Freedman 1966: 156.)
Having sketched the external conditions under which the type of
altruistic suicide would occur, we shall now turn to the problem of esti-
mating the extent to which an external regulative force had been
66 Lung-Chang Young

translated into a motivational factor by members of the group. The esti-

mation will be made on the basis of female suicide data collected during
the Ch’ing period. The period is significant for our purpose because it
exemplifies much of what we regard as the orthodox Confucian state
and society (Ho 1967). The Manchu rulers of this period had made an
effort to popularize the extreme moral ideals by giving honour and
rewards to clans and families whose members had personified the ideal
of loyalty or chastity by means of suicide (Young 1970). The female
suicide cases were listed in a large number of available local gazetteers
(fang-chi) from which we selected seven county gazetteers (hsien-chi)
and two provincial gazetteers (T’ung-chi) for making detailed docu-
mentary observation. The method of selection was that of “expedient
choice” (Stephan and McCarthy 1958: 44–45), but the chosen sample
did include small and large counties located in different regions of
China.1
Value-Rational Type. This type refers to suicides committed by widows
and betrothed young girls whose fiancee had died. Widow suicide was
well-known in Ch’ing China, but contrary to what Dublin (1963: 94)
asserted, it had never become as ritualized as India’s suttee. As numerous
descriptions show, the act was always performed several days or even
several months after the funeral, at a time when family members had
relaxed their guard over the widow, least expecting her to commit the
final act. Local recorders took her calmness as an indication of the
absence of irrational elements in her behaviour.
According to the actual norms of the society, a widow should choose
to live and remain unmarried in order to fulfill her other duties for her
husband’s family. The widow who committed suicide was usually
described as a childless woman who had lost one or both of her parents-
in-law. By observing the value of absolute chastity, she had not ignored
her familial obligations defined by the society. Yet the situation was also
one of physical and emotional isolation. It is interesting to note that the
socially interpreted altruistic behaviour might have contained strong
elements of egoism in Durkheim’s terms.
Traditional Type. As local records revealed, many women killed them-
selves because they felt their unblemished reputation as chaste women
had been damaged. The dominant emotional element in such cases was
ALTRUISTIC SUICIDE: A SUBJECTIVE APPROACH 67

shame. The incidents that led to the tragedy varied from a harmless flirt,
or an unjustified blame to an attempted rape. The typical victim was a
single or widowed young woman from a lower rank gentry family or
from the retainer class. She had heard some legendary stories about
chaste behaviour without being fully informed of the socially prescribed
pragmatic methods for resolving value conflicts. She took a slight moles-
tation from a male as a serious threat to her chaste status and regarded
suicide as the only alternative to a life of shame. The community paid
tributes to her act as a manifestation of moral conviction, but regretted
her obvious foolishness. The impulsive manner of her death suggested
the absence of a clearly formulated goal in her behaviour. She merely
followed the traditional pattern as she understood it; her personality,
formed in a rigid family setting, pushed her to destruction.
Purpose-Rational Type. As frequently reported in local gazetteers, a
forced remarriage arrangement by the family head could cause a young
widow to commit suicide. This type of suicide took place in an eco-
nomically depressed region where the practice of widow remarriage was
widespread among lower class people in spite of the normative restric-
tions placed on the practice by the gentry class. A poor family might
consider a widow in the house a liability, and would not hesitate to sell
her to someone who was in need of a wife but could not afford to marry
a virgin. From the widow’s viewpoint, the remarriage could mean a
further degradation of her life condition, because it was generally the
case that a man would not be willing to marry a widow unless her social
and economic status was at least a little higher than his. Under such
circumstances the majority of the unwilling widows would resign to
their fate; a few of them would be driven into desperation that led to
suicide.
In glorifying the suicide as loyal and chaste behaviour, local histor-
ians often added a few lines in their eulogies to indicate the intensive
state of family conflict preceding the suicidal event. The blame was
always on the heartless mother-in-law who made the remarriage arrange-
ment against the widow’s will. Such descriptions strongly implied that
the victim’s action was not really motivated by the internalized value of
chastity. Rather, she had a definite purpose. She wanted to protest
against the authoritarian parents-in-law as well as to escape from a hope-
less situation. The dominant emotional elements in her behaviour were
68 Lung-Chang Young

anger and despair. Judging from these assumed subjective meanings, we

classify this type under the category of fatalism rather than altruism.
Clearly, this fatalistic type was not limited to widows. Numerous unre-
corded female suicides were perhaps of the same nature of protest against
existing conditions (Levy 1949; Goode 1963).
Affective Type. As many local gazetteers show, when war or an invasion
by armed bandits disrupted a community, there would be a sharp rise in
the incidence of female suicide. Some of the war victims killed them-
selves after they were held as captives by the invading rebels; others
committed suicide in anticipation of the approaching terror. These sui-
cides, together with other victims of war, were listed under the same title
of “heroic-virtuous women” in the local record. They received the post-
humous honour for their determination to preserve chastity through
death.
Obviously, in this type of suicidal behaviour the dominant emo-
tional element was fear. The so-called chaste woman died in panic. The
behaviour of a panic-stricken person was not regulated by norms and
values. In a state of extreme fear the individual tended to view the situ-
ation as a total chaos and follow the suggested pattern of impulsive
action. We call this suicide a typical case of fatalistic behaviour deter-
mined by purely affectual factors.
The percentage distribution of these four subjective types of suicide
in our sample is shown in Table 2.

Table 2
Percentage Distribution of Suicide Cases by Subjective Types

Objective Type Subjective Type Percent (N = 626)

Altruistic—
“In-order-to” Value-Rational 48
Altruistic—
“Because” Traditional 11
Fatalistic—
“In-order-to” Purpose-Rational 15
Fatalistic—
“Because” Affectual 26
ALTRUISTIC SUICIDE: A SUBJECTIVE APPROACH 69

Table 3
Choice of Method by Type of Suicide1

Type of Suicide
Method Altruistic (percent) (NW/7) Fatalistic (Percent) (N = 45)
Hanging 71.8 28.8
Starvation 14.5 22.2
Drowning 9.4 22.2
All others1
4.3 26.8
Total 100.0 100.0
x2 = 19.551 df = 3 p < .001.
1. Includes leaping from a high spot and poison. Lu-an Fu and Feng-chou in Shansi T’ung-
chi, 181.

In view of the class differential in the internalization of moral ideals,

we expect that the upper class would be over-represented in the two
categories of altruistic suicide. Unfortunately, we are unable to confirm
or reject this hypothesis, because the local records gave little information
on the background of individual suicides.
In the course of our investigation we found that instruments of
death can be taken as a crude indicator of suicide types. As the records
of two regions in our sample indicate, over 70 percent of the altruistic
suicides chose hanging as the method, while less than 30 percent of the
fatalistic suicides used this method. The difference between these two
types of suicide was also reflected in the choice of other methods such as
starvation, drowning, leaping from a high spot, and poison.
Durkheim (1951: 290–294) observed that the choice of instru-
ment of death was primarily determined by the general customs of the
group, the particular means lying nearest to the individual and the rela-
tive dignity of the method attributed by the culture. But he did not
detect the hidden relations between the methods of death and the vari-
ous types of suicide. Firth (1961) in his study of Tikopia suicide empha-
sized the importance of social factors in the choice of methods. He came
out with the conclusion that different age and sex groups tended to
employ different methods and most attempted suicides (the less deter-
mined ones) were inclined to use hanging and swimming out to sea.
The present study provides some evidence in support of Firth’s
conclusion.
70 Lung-Chang Young

Summary and Conclusion

This paper concentrated on altruistic suicidal behaviour as an index of

social cultural rigidity. In doing so, we have deliberately ignored the
problem of suicide rate with which most sociological studies of suicide
are concerned. An inquiry into the typical behaviour led us to take the
subjective approach by assuming the individual motives on the basis of
common-sense interpretations given by the community members them-
selves. These patterned motives enabled us to make a distinction between
the two ostensibly similar types of suicide, the altruistic and the fatalis-
tic. In each type the motives might be further identified as either “in-
order-to” or “because” according to Schutz’s scheme of classification.
When related with the two classes of motives, the two objective types of
suicide were transformed into four subjective types which could be best
expressed in terms of Weber’s ideal types of social action. We have made
use of this framework in our analysis of female suicidal behaviour
recorded in the Ch’ing period of China. We have argued that altruistic
and fatalistic suicides tended to occur together in a highly integrated
society. Further studies of suicidal behaviour will show whether the
premises in our argument are justified.

Note
1. The selected local gazetteers include Fu-yang Hsien-chie (1918 rev.), P’ing-yang HC
(1928 rev.), Chang-li HC (1931 rev.), Chou-t’ung HC (1923 rev.), Huang-kangHC
(1882 rev.), Fan-yu HC (1869), Hsang-cheng HC (1911 rev.), Kiangsi, T’ung-chi
(1881), and Shansi T’ung-chi (1893). The last two are provincial records from which
three regional gazetteers—Nanchang, Lu-an and Feng-chou—were selected. The
sample was drawn by skip intervals from the incomplete collection of Chinese gazet-
teers in the East Asia Library of Columbia University.

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5
Rational Social Action as a
Basis for Creative
Comparisons
Prakash N. Pimpley

A Brief Review of Rationality in

Sociological Theory

S
ociology, like other sciences of human action before it, has been
concerned with developing generalizations, i.e., general, abstract
theoretical statements, with a view to staking a claim to the status
of a ‘science’. This, at a period when the natural sciences had been estab-
lished on a firm footing in western societies, is understandable in its
historical context. The task of the natural sciences was made easier by
(a) historical factors such as the breakdown of feudalism; (b) the philo-
sophical foundations laid down by Descartes, Kant and Bacon; and
finally, (c) by the demonstrable validity of their formulations in technol-
ogy. Paradoxically, the very philosophical foundations (especially in
Descartes and Kant) which helped establish the natural sciences, hin-
dered the development of a science of human action. The dualism
between subject and object, between noumena and phenomena, demar-
cated sharply the domains of the world of man and the natural world.
The world of man was credited with subjectivity which was deemed, to
be idiosyncratic by definition. From this premise it followed that, since
74 Prakash N. Pimpley

generalizations are a sine qua non for the sciences and since human
actions are subjective and idiosyncratic, generalizations about them are
impossible. Hence, a science of human action was also regarded as
impossible.
In the history of the development of sociological theory, we find
three major early efforts to refute the ‘impossibility of social science’
thesis (Giddens, 1977,1978). First, the positivists denied the essential-
ity of the subjective for the definition of the social, as against the indi-
vidual, phenomena. They opted for an examination of observable
regularities—based on natural reason—of relationships that obtain
between social phenomena and for the generation of ‘universal laws’
based on these observations. This was typically the position adopted by
Comte and Durkheim. They thus staked a claim for sociology as a sci-
ence primarily by demonstrating the possibility of generalizations. This
possibility arises by driving out the subjective meanings from the realm
of the social. It may be added in parenthesis that they did not dispute
the contention that it is impossible to generalise about the subjective.
The objections to a positivist sociology are too well known to be
recounted in detail here (Parsons, 1937). However, the main objection
was to the fundamental tenet of positive sociology namely, the irrele-
vance of the subjective meanings to the study of social phenomena.
Social relationships, whether of the dyadic variety or of a highly institu-
tionalized nature, are based upon actions of and interactions between
individuals. Take away the subjective meanings from human action and
you take away the very constitutive element of it. Human action is then
reduced merely to the level of a reflex, an event.
The second line of attack on the ‘impossibility of social science’
thesis came from what has now come to be known as interpretive soci-
ology, especially from the work of Max Weber (1949). Weber made the
subjective meanings of the actor, the defining attribute of human action.
The problem was generalizability. This, Weber solved, by showing that
the subjective meanings are not idiosyncratic but are, on the contrary, of
only four basic types: the purposive-rational, the value-rational, the
traditional and the affectual. It is possible, Weber argued, to rationally
comprehend and typify, i.e. generalize the meanings. Since human
actions follow from the meanings, it is possible to construct generaliza-
tions about them. Hence, the possibility of social science.
Contemporary sociological theories tend to combine, bend and
oscillate between the positivist and the interpretive positions. There is
RATIONAL SOCIAL ACTION 75

now perhaps a greater shift towards the interpretive rather than towards
the positivist.
According to Gouldner (1971), a third position is also gradually
finding its place in academic sociology—namely the Marxist position.
There is an increasing realization that the positivist interpretation of
Marxism found in the works of Plekhanov, Bernstein and Kautsky and
projected as the valid version of Marxism by its western critics, is not
borne out by an examination of Marx’s own writings, especially his
Economic and Philosophical Manuscripts. The availability to the
English speaking world of the writings of Gramsci (1971) and Lukacs
(1976) and the growing influence of the Critical Theory of the Frankfurt
school, especially that of Habermas (1971) have been added factors.
Whereas the other theories are based upon the subject-object dualism,
the Marxist theory is based upon the unity of subject and object.
Human praxis is neither completely constituted by nor is it entirely
constitutive of, the material reality; it is both, in a dialectical manner.
The foregoing brief overview of the theoretical positions in socio-
logy has been attempted to help place the main problem of this note in
its perspective. The objective of this note is to examine the theoretical
status of rationality or reason in theories of social action. All of the three
aforementioned theoretical perspectives, despite the apparent and real
counter-positions, appear to share two assumptions. First, that general-
ization in social sciences is possible and second, that human beings
differ from other forms of life in that they possess reason and are capable
of rational action. They differ considerably in the formulation of the
relationship between the two, though. What I would like to do is to see
if the rationality of social action can be used as an acceptable basis for
comparison across cultures. My discussion is based upon two assump-
tions. First, I am assuming that the rational cannot be equated with the
logical. Equating the two is demonstrated to be untenable, among
others, by Toulmin (1980). It is argued that logical syllogisms merely
provide a formal system. A rational argument, even though it may
assume the form of a syllogism, is based upon substantive major and
minor premises. These premises are not valid in themselves but are pre-
sumed to be so by the authoritative sanction of society. To the extent
that societies can be shown to hold different premises to be true, what is
rational in one society, may not be so in another. Secondly, what I am
going to talk about is social action by which I mean, meaningful conduct
on the part of human beings in relation to other human beings. Social
76 Prakash N. Pimpley

action is voluntary, purposive and goal oriented. It is not a response to a

stimulus: a release of tension and/or a process of a social structure.

Max Weber on Rationality

Any account of rational social action should begin with the contribution
of Weber (1978). He discussed rationality at two distinct but related
levels; first, at the methodological and then, at the substantive level. He
argues that one can generalize, and formulate concepts, rationally. The
ideal types are so constructed. But this is not our concern here. What is
relevant is his discussion of rational action and the processes of rational-
ization. He identified two types of rational action; the purposive and
value oriented. Purposive-rational action is based upon the premise of
optimization of utility. As such, from a subjective point of view, the actor
evaluates ends and means and finds a fit between the two. Modern tech-
nology and primitive magic both belong here. The value-rational action
on the other hand, eschews calculation of costs. Given the absolute ends,
rationality consists in fitting appropriate means to the ends. Substantive
rationality, on which such ‘fitting’ is to be carried out, is culture specific.
The value postulates cannot be used cross culturally. Thus, for Weber
what is rational action in one society, may not be so in another.
Many commentators on Weber, chief among whom is Talcott
Parsons (1937) believe that a culture-free, sufficiently abstract, analyt-
ical and hence universal principle has been discovered in the
purposive-rational type of action. This belief is based upon the assump-
tion that there is an invariant relationship or ‘best fit’ between means and
ends. Numerous arguments can be offered against the universality of the
instrumental, means-end rationality. In the first place, this type of ratio-
nality involves evaluation of not only the relative advantages of means
but also of ends. An evaluation of ends implies, necessarily, a hierarchy
of priorities for the actor. Hence, the preference for one end as against
the other is variable either as a form of subjective choice of an actor or as
a social norm. Secondly, the concept of unanticipated consequences of
action has amply demonstrated that a given means can have diverse con-
sequences (many of which may be downright undesirable) thereby giving
a lie to the invariance postulated for the means-end scheme.
I have, however, a more substantive objection to the characteriza-
tion of instrumental-rational action as social action. A social action, for
Weber himself, is one in which the subjective meaning incorporates the
RATIONAL SOCIAL ACTION 77

meanings and probable actions of other actors and is guided in its course
by these considerations. Simultaneously with this formulation, Weber
would have us treat the other as a means to an end. Let us look at the
implications of this formulation and for the sake of exaggeration in a
conflict relationship.
If an ego has to treat the other human being as an actor like him
and then orient his actions accordingly, he will be caught up in an
infinite regress. Ego knows that the alter knows the meaning of his
action and will therefore take recourse to action to avoid it, which is in
turn known to the actor—ad infinitum. If, on the other hand, the ego
were not to take note of the probable reactions of the alter, the action
ceases to be social action.
In other words, instrumentally rational social action is an anachron-
ism. Not that we have not had empirical examples of this approach.
Those of us who remember recent world history, I am sure, will recall
Pax Americana, a la Project Camelot or the Civic Action Programme in
Vietnam. On the other hand, value-rational action qualifies as social
action but is seen by Weber himself as culture specific—“what is rational
for one society may be irrational for the other”.
In sum, value-rational social action because of its alleged cultural
specificity cannot become the basis for cross-cultural comparisons. On
the other hand, instrumental rational action fails to qualify as social
action.

Rationality and Sociological Relativism

More or less as a reaction to the claim to universality of reason, an

avowedly relativist position has been advocated in social science. Inspired
by Wittgenstein’s works, rationality means ‘making sense’. Reason
becomes reasons. One of the major philosophers in this area is Peter
Winch (1958). In his book titled The Idea of Social Science, he insists
that there is a fundamental difference between the world of nature and
the world of man in so far as the latter is meaningful and can be com-
prehended as such. Men speak and live their lives and pursue their
myriad interests in the context of ‘forms of life’—a phrase borrowed
from Wittgenstein. The concepts they employ, the rational manner in
which they accomplish their tasks, derive their validity from, and only
from the place they possess in these ‘forms of life’. Therefore, what is a
rational action in one form of life may not be rational in another. There
78 Prakash N. Pimpley

is no common standard of rationality with reference to which ‘rational

practices’ of different societies can even be compared.
Garfinkel’s (1967, 1978) ethnomethodology is another variant of
this theme. It has the added influence of Schutz’s phenomenology. In a
recent article he has reiterated his claim that the rationality of science
and of everyday life belong to two different genres. The rationality of
everyday life is in the nature of ‘accountability’. Its stability and validity
depends not on scientific rationality but upon the mores and folkways
of a society. Obviously, therefore, what is considered as a rational action
in one group pertains to it alone.
The case for the relativity of rational social action appears to be
fairly strong. It does not however, satisfy one for two reasons. The first
is a purely intuitive feeling that the rational ‘ought not to be’ so relative
and fickle. After all, we became interested in the examination of ration-
ality in our search for the universal elements of our existence. The
second objection is more substantive. The case of the relativists is based
upon two premises. First, that the group, the society and the culture or
the form of life is a closed system and second that it is internally homo-
geneous and stable. Both premises are demonstrably false. Howsoever a
group may be isolated, it is never insulated against external influences,
particularly those of technology. It has been argued that at least in this
one case, superiority and inferiority of practices can be judged univer-
sally (Gellner, 1978). Gellner is partially right when he draws our atten-
tion to the spread of technology from one culture to the other. It is,
however, equally well-known that the adoption of alien technology is
not based on the criterion of technical efficiency alone. It must be con-
gruent with or be made to be congruent with the symbolic system and
the system of social relationships which surround the extant technology
of the host society. It must, however, be admitted that societies, however
closely integrated within, receive cultural traits from outside and thus
change. The alleged internal consistency of the cultural system is a
myth. Perhaps barring a few exceptionally small tribal societies, most
societies are differentiated internally, both social structurally and cultur-
ally. Not only is there heterogeneity, there is also conflict and contradic-
tion. What is the implication of internal heterogeneity for the cultural
relativist position?
Assuming that there are two opposing groups in a society with con-
flicting belief systems, whose actions are to be taken as rational? One
cannot say that both are equally rational. The opposition is usually
RATIONAL SOCIAL ACTION 79

sought to be resolved by invoking the non-cognitive political authority

reminding one of Lewis Caroll’s characters. Quite apart from the sharply
defined positions of antagonists, Foucault (1972) has shown how
human communication is fractured. There are no smooth, systematic
modes of communication corresponding to aesthetically satisfying
modes. On the contrary, there are enclaves rupturing communicative
interactions. The point I wish to make is that there is no one mode of
‘making sense’ in a cultural system. It is always problematic in that two
or more modes of making sense compete for acceptance, thereby neces-
sitating a comparison, calling into operation standards which must
transcend the competing systems. We cannot accept a given system as
rational just because it exists. The relativist position suffers a further
setback when we look at the phenomenon of change.
A change in the belief system brings out the paradox of the relativist
position quite clearly. The question to be answered is which of the two
conditions of the same society is rational? If the first, then, by defin-
ition, the second is irrational and vice versa.
I am referring here to endogenous changes which may have come
about in the structure, either due to the processes of the system includ-
ing, inter alia, the dialectical or the consciously planned ones. In either
case, the fact remains that human beings choose one mode of ‘making
sense’ because it is deemed to be “better” than the other. This implies
that some standards are used for comparing one rational system with
another. Thus, the fact that there are diverse systems of ‘substantive ratio-
nality’, ‘life worlds’, and cultural enclaves, and that people live their lives
in them, does not mean that these are autonomous, non-comparable,
non-evaluable systems. If this were not so, we should be willing to accept
the ‘rationality’ of apartheid in South Africa or the genocide of Jews in
Nazi Germany because they made sense in those societies. I am sure
none of us is willing to take this position. This forces us to go beyond
cultural relativism and find a basis for comparing, evaluating, choosing
and discarding social arrangements, norms, cultural items and if neces-
sary, a whole social system. Not that such attempts have not been made
in the past. But these were based on homogenization through the exer-
cise of power. Successful creative comparisons can be made not by
imposing the standards of one powerful society on the rest but on the
shared characteristics of human beings. And I am still willing to rely
upon the human capacity for rational social action. In the following
section, the possibility of transcending the cultural relativity of
80 Prakash N. Pimpley

substantive rationality which, in my opinion, is alone relevant for social

action will be explored.

Towards a Model of Universal Rationality

We are faced with a situation where we must take cognisance of cultural
pluralism resulting in a diversity of systems of rationality on the one
hand and the recognition that it should be possible to transcend the
boundaries of these systems and make them comparable without
destroying their distinctiveness on the other.
A clue to the possible solution to this dilemma comes to us from the
study of language. A near identical condition obtains there also. Each
language is a complete and distinctive system in itself. Yet, through a
process of translation a person belonging to one linguistic group is able
to comprehend another language and engage in communication (Steiner,
1975). Granted that such comprehension is never complete and that
there is always room for learning further nuances, the fact remains that
it is possible to go beyond the bounds of at least two languages and to
make them comparable and comprehensible without violating the dis-
tinctive identity of either of them. The objection that one never fully
grasps the meaning in another language is not all that significant because
we can show that even within a given linguistic group status differences
do not allow everyone equal linguistic competence. Hence intercommu-
nication even within that group requires translation.
Translative understanding, communication and interaction obvi-
ously are not random. The translative process is based upon the exist-
ence of a second order, transcultural system. If we want to make use of
the strategy of translation in the sphere of social action, the second order
of cross-cultural rationality has to be located in the anthropological and
historical characteristics of human beings. I believe Habermas’ work
provides us the basis for identifying the kind of methodology we are
looking for (1971). For him, as for Weber, rationality is multitypical.
Based on three types of knowledge constitutive interests (the technical,
the practical and the emancipatory) he identifies three types of rational-
ity involved in three types of action. These are: (i) purposive-rational
action or work (ii) interaction and (iii) critical self-reflection.
The purposive rational action takes place at the man-nature
interface. Action is governed by technical rules based on empirical
RATIONAL SOCIAL ACTION 81

knowledge. Interaction occurs within an institutional framework based

on the man-man interface. Communication and consensually held
norms provide validity to competence in this field. He further argues
that historically both become distorted: the former because of alienation
of labour and the latter because of domination leading to systematically
distorted communication. Critical theoretical rationality steps in as an
ideological critique. Both the man-nature and the man-man interfaces
are the domain of this dialectical reason. It aims not only at a theoretical
comprehension of these two interfaces but also at transcendance and
emancipation of man from domination. This is universal rationality, the
vehicle of which is the proletariat.
Like Weber, Habermas also sees the universality of purposive ratio-
nal action, but unlike the former it is confined to man’s acting upon
nature and not upon other human beings. One of the implications of
this formulation for us is that the social organization of work can vary
from one culture to another and within the same society from one
period to another. Following Marx, Habermas finds that the initial
nature of the social organization of work is holistic and cooperative. In
course of time due to historical factors, exploitation and alienation
destroy this essentially cooperative venture. Similarly, the communica-
tive interaction based on consensually shared norms loses its consensus
through systematically distorted communication. Consensus, instead
of  being real, is contrived in that it is hegemonic. The ruling class
imposes its normative structure upon the rest of the society. Both of
these distortions again could take diverse forms.
From the above discussion two principles seem to emerge which
satisfy the condition of cross-cultural applicability because they are pres-
ent in all of them.
The first concerns itself with the social actions of man as oriented
in the man-nature relationship. Man acts on nature with a view to satis-
fying his needs. If, in this process he were to destroy nature, it will be
self-defeating. Hence, rationality consists in satisfaction of needs,
through preservation of nature. Coming now to the social aspect of it,
one can see that any arrangement that results in alienation is a deviation
from the true nature of man and is, therefore, irrational.
The second field is that of social interaction where freedom from
domination can serve as a trans-cultural criterion. Social action can be
seen as rational to the extent to which it enables an individual to
82 Prakash N. Pimpley

participate in collective life. Any arrangement that deviates from it can

be shown to be irrational to that extent.
I should like to reiterate that the formulation of rational social
action following Habermas does not require homogenization. Cultures
and forms of life can still be shown to have their distinct identity. The
common characteristics of work and communicative interaction are
abstracted to make them comparable. This is a distinct improvement
upon the evolutionary postulates of Talcott Parsons who would like to
see human societies falling in a single mould, that of American society
(1966).

References
Foucault, Michel, 1972. Archeology of Knowledge (tr. from French by A.M. Sheridan Smith),
London, Tavistock.
Garfinkel, H., 1967. Studies in Ethnomethodology, Englewood Cliffs’ New Jersey, Prentice
Hall.
———, 1978. “The Rational Properties of Scientific and Commonsense Activities” in
Giddens (ed.), Positivism and Sociology, London, Heineman Educational Books.
Gellner, E., 1978. “The New Idealism in Giddens”, (ed.), Positivism and Sociology, London,
Heinman Educational Books.
Giddens, Anthony, 1977. New Rules of Sociological Method, London Hutchinson University
Library.
———, (ed.). 1978. Positivism and Sociology, London, Heineman Educational Books.
Gouldner, A., 1971. The Coming Crisis of Western Sociology, London, Heineman.
Gramsci, A., 1971. Selection from the Prison Notebooks Ed. & Tr. bj Q. Hoare and G. Nowell
Smith, London, Lawrence and Wishart.
Habermas, J., 1971. Towards a Rational Society, London, Heineman.
Lukacs. G., 1976. History and Class Consciousness, London, Merlin Press.
Parsons, Talcott, 1937. The Structure of Social Action, New York, The Free Press.
———, 1966. Societies: Evolutionary and Comparative Perspectives, Englewood Cliffs,
Prentice Hall.
Steiner, G., 1975. After Babel: Aspect of Language and Translation, London, Oxford University
Press.
Toulmin, S., 1980. Human Understanding, Oxford, Oxford University Press.
Weber, Max, 1949. The Methodology of the Social Sciences, New York. The Free Press.
———, 1978. Economy and Society, (2 vols.) Berkeley, University of California Press.
Winch, P., 1958. The Idea of a Social Science, London, Routledge and Kegan Paul.
6
Feminist Social Theories:
Theme and Variations
Beatrice Kachuck

I
must begin with a comment on feminism and political agendas. I am
from the United States of America (US), a nation born with the
virus of colonialism and seen by critics as reinventing its birth as it
matured. Some suspect that feminism is a symptom of that virus. But
when you compare that suspicion to others, feminism appears to be an
opportunistic disease. In the US, for example, the orthodox Left calls it
a bourgeois diversion from the true class struggle and the Far Right says
it is a socialist disease.
Although the word ‘feminism’ evokes Western stereotypes for many
Indians (Kishwar 1990), Indian women are credited with having resisted
patriarchal oppression for more than 2,000 years (Thara and Lalita
1993). The coalescence of isolated resistance into a movement in India in
the 19th century emerged at about the same time as in the US (Donovan
1985) and Europe (Anderson and Zinsser 1988). Explanations of this
synchrony are beyond the parameters of this paper. I will note only that
travel by women was multi-directional then and communication has
increased substantially since common concerns across the continents as
well as differences are evident in the work of many feminist scholars
(e.g. Enloe 1990; Gandhi and Shah 1991; Leonardo 1991; Lorde 1984;
Mies 1986; Minh-ha 1989; Mohanty et al., 1991; Rowbotham 1992;
Sen and Grown 1987; Soundararajan 1993).
84 Beatrice Kachuck

The work of these feminist scholars testifies to the diversity of fem-

inist theories. In a variety of ways, they break into silences in predecessor
theories specially those which do not specify women’s and men’s relative
positions in society and they reveal distortions in what has been said
(Jaggar 1983: 21). They agree on one point however: that gender, the
socially constructed definitions of what it means to be a woman and a
man, is a fundamental category of any analysis of social life. (For clas-
sical Marxist feminists in the US as in India, gender is subsumed under
class analysis.) They raise new questions and provide new epistemologi-
cal insights, some crossing disciplinary boundaries, others remaining
within them. Among the latter, they contest sociology’s male perspective
on experience (Smith 1979). Paradigmatic concepts of work and family
illustrate this point. Traditionally, sociologists have defined work as
labour performed in a public domain as distinct from activities within
the family (a private) sphere. Feminists demonstrate the fallacy of the
paradigm, pointing out that women’s work crosses the two realms with
no neat divisions into work and leisure time. They enable us to look at
a mother and an ayah playing with a child and ask: Who is working? We
can see the permeability of family and state borders from evidence col-
lected to show that national policies favouring the wealthy exacerbate
conflicts between poor rural women and men (Agarwal 1988). The
Marxist division of labour between production of use values for home
consumption, and exchange values for markets, disappears for rural
women who produce both (Nickols and Srinivasan 1994).
In other words, the ontological public/private dualism is contested.
The shield against public scrutiny of households, enshrined for liberals
as a man’s private estate by Locke (1963[1690]: 308, 390−3), gets dis-
mantled. A window is opened on Marx and Engels’ ([1846]1970): 51)
assumption that gender relations arise from a natural, heterosexual ‘divi-
sion of labour in the sexual act’. Such an assumption establishes the
male’s ownership of the female in a private realm in a correlated concept
that all division of labour entails property ownership (Ibid.: 43).
As feminists dismantle the shield and open the window, they
explore the nexus of women’s domestic and labour force subjugation
(Jogdand 1995; Young 1981) and violence against women in both sites
(MacKinnon 1986; Rege 1995). They analyse differences in women’s
relationship to men within and across groups defined by race (Joseph
1981) and caste (Gupta 1990).
FEMINIST SOCIAL THEORIES: THEME AND VARIATIONS 85

This paper presents four major feminist theories: liberalism,

essentialism, Marxism/socialism, and postmodernism. I discuss them in
terms of their intellectual roots, critiques, and political implications, offer-
ing a basis for identifying underlying ideas in past work on various topics
and a location for future studies. The critiques invite new theorizing.
The practice of categorizing theories as a method of inquiry into fem-
inist projects is more common in the West than in India. In the US this is
attributable to the larger number of academics expected to engage in the-
orizing while also doing research and teaching women’s studies courses.
The numerous courses, more than 16,000 at college and graduate levels,
stimulate publications, which, in turn, encourage theoretical writings.
In India, crystallizing issues and activism has been more urgent. Thus,
a book-length discussion of women describes issues with no reference to
theoretical perspectives (Desai and Krishnaraj 1990) However, the need
for theorizing to comprehend and guide activist work comes at the con-
clusion of a major review of issues published a year later (Gandhi and Shah
1991). Here the authors provide some theoretical lenses, pointing out, for
instance, liberal and Marxist views of violence against women. At the same
time, it should be noted, US feminist academics see a gap between their
work and the real needs of women (Messer-Davidow 1991). Critical
encounters of Indian and American thought promise to enrich both.
This paper can be read as a critical review of prominent US feminist
theories. Its attempt at perceiving that context by indicating common
threads and divergences in Indian and US feminist thought adds another
dimension. While the paper’s theoretical concerns also emerge in Indian
work, the categories are derived from US feminist literature. However,
readers are cautioned that the paper does not include all the theoretical
developments in the US. That would not be possible in one paper.
Moreover, the field is dynamic; new analyses emerge from theoretical
and empirical encounters. No single paper can map important path-
ways. This one offers signposts to routes, not a definitive forum, and
invites new directions.

Feminist Liberalism

I begin with feminist liberalism, the most prominent feminist strand in

the US and prevalent in India. It invokes theoretical liberalism, the US’s
dominant ideology which is so entrenched in most Americans’ thinking
86 Beatrice Kachuck

that no other seems viable. Americans are schooled in the Enlightenment,

liberalism’s wellspring, the cluster of doctrines that emerged triumphant
in the 17th and 18th centuries to sustain indigenous and global coloni-
zation. The popularity of the theory in India is evident in its accelerated
moves to a capitalist market economy, an offshoot of liberal thought. Its
relevance is evident in arguments linking India’s distant past and con-
cepts in the Gita with capitalism (Srivastava 1980).
US schools teach students to revere the era for its generative con-
cepts, the foundation of their Age of Reason, the pinnacle of man’s [sic]
evolution. Feminist liberals argue that women evolved equally with men
and participate in the Cartesian ontological dualism at least its norma-
tive form. That is, like many contemporary liberals they view human
beings as especially valuable for their mental capacity for rationality
(Jaggar 1983: 40−42), without committing to Descartes’ ([1637]1960)
mind/body polarity.
The linkage of the Cartesian ontology with dominant theologies
merits comment for its illustration of continuity in historical change.
Descartes explicitly and elaborately grounded his elevation of the
human mind in the Roman Catholic Church’s divine/secular opposi-
tion. He attributed human cognitive capacity to a divine gift of a mind
limited to knowing the secular world, attempting to avoid a threat to
the Church’s authority and the condemnation Galileo had suffered.
Locke ([1690]1956), supported by aristocrats demanding liberty from
Church-ordained monarchs, revised the dualism along Protestant
lines. His revision retains the divine/secular order, but asserts a rational
man’s natural right to prove all truths, including the ‘Eternal Being[s]’
(Ibid.: 298−9).
Feminist liberals appropriate this assertion for women. Their argu-
ments merge with liberalism’s assumption of a Newtonian cosmos where
one god sets natural processes in motion and all objects, including
minds, are governed by laws discoverable by human reason (Donovan
1985: 2–3). They argue that women’s minds are formed in nature like
men’s—free to find truth.
The power of the natural rights argument can be seen in Elizabeth
Cady Stanton’s rejection of a sacred text in the 19th century struggle for
women’s rights in the US. When opponents drew on Locke’s claim that
the Christian-Judaic bible authorizes sovereignty for Adam’s descend-
ants but not for Eve’s, Stanton derided the book. She said it projects a
FEMINIST SOCIAL THEORIES: THEME AND VARIATIONS 87

tribal morality ‘emanating from the most obscene minds of a barbarous

age’ and wrote a women’s bible (Donovan 1985: 36–37).
The US context of such heresy, in Stanton’s era and now, is signifi-
cant. It violates the Christian command not to ‘suffer a woman to teach,
nor to usurp authority over a man, but to be in silence’ (Holy Bible
1978: 1234). It does not, however, renounce the divine/secular dualism
and it invokes the liberal concept of pre-social individual rights, to
which society must bend. The concept’s abstract quality and natural
origin makes it ambiguous, permitting selective application, but it is
commonly asserted as a cultural norm.
In India, the rights argument encounters more varied norms.
Consistent with their national constitution, Indian feminists claim
women’s rights as individuals to, for example, education (Chanana
1988), pay equity (Gandhi and Shah 1991), and land control (Agarwal
1994). But the legitimacy of personal authority goes against the concep-
tion of individuals within family and kinship networks, where they have
to consider others’ expectations and meet responsibilities to them
(Karlekar 1988). Within those networks rights have been understood in
association with status positions, generally privileging men over women,
some men over other men, and some women over other women. Outside
the networks similar understandings regulate relationships between, for
instance, land owner and landless labourer and higher and lower caste
members. The relationships can seem part of the natural social order, of
traditions which are beyond questioning (Agarwal 1994: 58–59). Given
this array of understandings, women’s natural rights can be more diffi-
cult to claim here. Meanwhile, the link of the Western concept of
abstract rights with colonial subjugation makes claims to rights suspect
(Tharu 1995). Tharu’s requirement that claimants scrutinize their own
subject position seems appropriate in both India and the US, since each
has its own versions of hierarchies. Her requirement highlights the slip-
pery ground beneath the natural rights claim, that is, the ontological
dualism. It generates perceptions of reality in terms of hierarchies:
white/black, male/female, high/low, pure/polluted, fair/dark, self/other.
The first element is absolute, located by its subordinate opposite. It is a
system of thinking that defines you, for example, as free by someone not
free, as good by someone considered bad.
Some US experiences can help to illustrate the problem. As a pre-
sumed free agent, you can choose occupants of each element. Stanton
88 Beatrice Kachuck

and other women’s rights leaders did. They rejected Locke’s ([1690]1963:
211) choice of women as persons to be denied the right of consent to be
governed. They also rejected his exclusion of slaves and their sons
[adding daughters] from Adam’s legacy, who were, he thought, naturally
subject ‘the Arbitrary Power of their Masters’ (Ibid.: 365–6).
However, when slavery was abolished, the new material reality
brought into play its ontological logic. How should the newly freed
persons be perceived? In a politics that constructed ‘Americanness’ by
defining African Americans as the Other (Morrison 1993: 5), many
white feminists assumed the privileges of the Self. Not all did. Enough
have, so that the history of African and European-American feminists’
relations is replete with episodes of hostility, equivocation, tolerance,
and partnership (Davis 1983; Giddings 1984; Hooks 1984).
The same logic across race/ethnic lines also emerges in the US fem-
inist liberals’ endorsement of the Lockean private/public split. They
project the family as a unit with a gender-neutral head or heads rather
than ‘a man’s private estate’ (Locke [1690]1963: 308, 390–393).
However, the unit remains a private preserve, sometimes seen as a bul-
wark against an overweening state.
How, then, given the intellectual ground, can one develop a politics
of equality? How, given the premium on mind, can one address the
physical realities of reproduction, presumably a family matter, sexual
orientation, and domestic violence against women?
The liberal feminists’ solution is to improve women’s access to the
‘public’ realm. They demand state protection of women’s right as indi-
viduals to determine their lives, thereby becoming the equals of men.
US liberals assume, as their Indian counterparts do, that women choose
between careers and full-time family life for personal reasons (Singh
1990). The assumption disregards myriad pressures and overgeneralizes
the choice of middle-class women with income from a spouse or another
source. However, the demand for economic equality with men resonates
across class, as in the Tamil Nadu women’s call for equal wages for
‘coolie’ work (Gandhi and Shah 1991: 183).
The basic political programme in the US is outlined by the National
Organization for Women (NOW), the country’s largest feminist organi-
zation (Friedan 1976: 124–130). It demands equality for women and
men in all phases of society, emphasizing opportunities for jobs, partic-
ularly the better paying positions, and education; child care centers; and
FEMINIST SOCIAL THEORIES: THEME AND VARIATIONS 89

sharing of income production and housework in marriage. The demands

give all women the same voice and goal. Yet, NOW acknowledges dif-
ferences. Attempting to bridge them, NOW notes the large proportion
of Negro [sic] women in the lowest paid jobs and the need for equal
rights for all deprived groups. More recently, NOW also champions les-
bians’ rights and focuses on staving off attacks on abortion rights.
Violence, including rape, is protested in terms of lawful protection.
A major sticking point is the actual private-public link. Conceptually,
the state mediates the individuals’ private interests. But the state, com-
prising elected individuals and their appointees, depends on corpora-
tions and other large financial contributors for its own survival. Thus, it
has an interest in preserving and expanding capital within its borders
and wherever capital travels in the world. The state, then, resists demands
for women’s equality if its financial mainstays consider themselves better
served by hierarchical gender relations: women as primary housekeep-
ers, men as primary breadwinners.
On the other hand, since women are voters, they are able to achieve
compromises, a fact well illustrated by the US Family Leave Law of
1993. The law requires businesses with more than 50 employees to offer
leave without pay for parental and other immediate family needs. What
kind of compromise is this? It preserves existing gender-class-race power
relations in a heterosexual paradigm. Note the law’s gender-neutral lan-
guage. It avoids the physical realities of childbirth. Men may, in prin-
ciple, take the leave. But since women usually earn less than men, which
spouse takes the leave is predictable. Wives and husbands seem to make
a private decision, but the political economy constructs their choice.
This way heterosexuality is also rewarded, since lesbian and gay couples
are not permitted to marry; they are not lawful families. Again for low-
waged women, disproportionately drawn from race/ethnic minorities,
the law’s unpaid feature makes it virtually useless.
A second, related, problem is garnering women’s active support for
liberal feminist causes. In the US, this comes mostly from the middle
class with its relatively small proportion of race/ethnic minority women.
But most women belonging to the working class or the underclass are
again drawn disproportionately from the minority women (Amott and
Matthaie 1991).
Interestingly, while liberals deplore the ‘feminisation of poverty’,
their theory tacitly accepts it as an outcome of natural egoism. Sociality
90 Beatrice Kachuck

in this framework becomes a matter of negotiating contracts. Realistically,

some come to the negotiation with less power than others. Historically,
winners have created a political economy, capitalism, which requires
losers in the acquisition of social goods. In the US, capitalists have cre-
ated losers and winners by constructing competition between women
and men, African and European American women, new and earlier
immigrants within the country (Kessler-Harris 1984), and in worldwide
expansions (Mies 1986).
At best, feminist liberals promise equal numbers of women and
men in gendered-raced-classed levels—not a great prospect for women
who sew garments in sweatshops in the US or break stones in India.
Indeed, without restructuring the economy and education to establish
respect for their humanity and an equal distribution of social goods,
they may lose places in ‘feminized’ occupations.
Nonetheless, the call for individual rights reverberates. It puts
women’s rights on the public agenda, bolstering their negotiations in
important aspects of life. Rape and other violence, religious prejudice,
and household inequities at least get contested. The most visible benefi-
ciaries, unsurprisingly, have been middle-class women. For example,
many are now admitted to colleges and universities where some develop
feminist theories.
NOW’s work does not, of course, constitute all feminist efforts in
the United States. Diverse women there organize on behalf of women
and also to benefit both women and men. In the latter, feminist issues are
often downplayed. Women campaign, sometimes in coalitions, against
rape and battering of women, sexism in employment and education,
racism and imperialism, war, poverty and homelessness, and environ-
mental destruction; they work within political parties and unions. Each
campaign seeks reform within the country’s system, as single-issue cam-
paigns do elsewhere. Despite the diversity, NOW has become identified
as ‘the US feminist movement’. In contrast, the Indian ‘women’s move-
ment’ is conceptualized as comprising diverse campaigns (Kumar 1993).
In the US the cumulative effect of women’s public visibility and the
economic advance of a relative few has unleashed a backlash. University
professors ‘discover’ female defects and the media inflates women’s,
especially feminists’, deficiencies (Faludi 1991). The religious and polit-
ical right denounces feminists for destroying ‘family values’ (Eisenstein
1982), making them seem women’s enemies.
FEMINIST SOCIAL THEORIES: THEME AND VARIATIONS 91

Feminist Essentialism

Another school of feminist thought rejects the liberals’ claim that

women and men possess the same epistemological resource, the tran-
scendent mind. Instead, it locates an aspect of females which makes
them essentially different from males. Dubbed ‘essentialists’ in feminist
literature, advocates counterpose a Universal Woman to the
Enlightenment’s Universal Man. In various ways they project her world
view to show that the Enlightenment’s asymmetrical ordering of reality
is a male construct validating masculinity and social paradigms of dom-
inance and subordination. In contrast, the female perceives reality in
terms of unities. Her rational mind is embodied, has feelings, and is
engaged with, not in opposition to, other persons and things. These
feminists celebrate aspects of the human being which have been depre-
cated and ascribed to women.
They are intellectual kin to phenomenology in that they prepose an
original female self. Like Husserl (1983), they assume that the self inter-
acts with internal and external contingencies, but do not reduce it to
atoms for a revivalist science as he does. Like Heidegger (1927/1962),
many analyse the authentic self ’s (females’) existential struggle, a self
without the historical birthplace and Volk that are clues to his affinity
with Nazis.
The theme of essential womanhood emerges in various forms. I
describe prominent variations, four that originate in the US, one in
France, and one in India. Gilligan (1982) in the US valorizes women’s
morality, contesting the historical verity of their defective ethical sense.
She targets psychology’s pre-eminent stage theorists, Freud, Piaget, and
particularly her Harvard professor, Kohlberg, for claiming that women
do not attain men’s level of moral reasoning.
The similarity of her inquiry process and theirs is notable. Like
them, she assumes an invariant sequence of development, biologically
and socially programmed, and relies on interview evidence. But,
Kohlberg had identified women’s deficiencies after establishing norms
based on interviews with males—a common practice in psychology.
Gilligan reversed that procedure. She developed norms by studying
women, then investigated females’ and males’ moral reasoning. Her
conclusions: her predecessors confused men’s notions of morality with
human values. Women’s moral development is not deficient but
92 Beatrice Kachuck

different from men’s. Women possess an ethic of care, which peaks

when they consider their own needs as well as others’. In contrast, boys
and men reason from rules that permit no exceptions for individuals’
needs. Although Gilligan’s Sita-like figure survives to acknowledge her
needs alongside Rama’s, the characterization of dedication to another
offers a strikingly similar female model. It provides an alternative to
psychology’s male, not a challenge to its construction (Fraser and
Nicholson 1990).
Ruddick (1989) attributes women’s caring to their maternal experi-
ence, which generates maternal thinking. It does not necessarily entail
physical childbirth. She argues that anyone who does what mothers do,
cares for young children and prepares them for social acceptability, has
an epistemological resource for developing maternal thinking. Thus,
everyone is a potential maternal thinker. Unlike Gilligan, she takes her
argument to a political level to include men rather than offering an
alternative model of morality. In maternal thinking she sees a route to
world peace. To reach that point, she urges men to share child care with
women, thereby becoming maternal thinkers.
Also unlike Gilligan, she acknowledges lapses in women’s caring,
avoiding a false universal. But she attributes the gaps to political pres-
sures, a gesture recalling Sita forgiving the Raakshasis who were her
prison guards because they had simply obeyed their king. Both instances
propose that women are socially determined relative to others, leaving
no ground for adjudicating conflicting interests.
Chodorow’s (1989) account of mothering suggests an origin of the
caring function that Gilligan and Ruddick believe determines women’s
lives, though her picture is less benign than theirs. A psychoanalyst, she
believes with Freud that the human psyche is formed in infancy in a
family drama. Her scenario retains his Oedipus scene but highlights an
earlier one in which mothers determine unconscious desires. Mothering
becomes the cause of not only the female’s lifelong search for close rela-
tionships, but also men’s avoidance of intimacy.
In an elaboration of object relations theory, scarcely known outside
psychoanalytic circles until Chodorow popularized it, she has mother
and child alone on stage with no scenery to suggest a context. They are
subject and object for each other, motivated by sex difference or same-
ness. The mother pushes the son away, impelling him to reject intimate
caring as her feminine role. Presuming some likely consequences,
Chodorow thinks the rejection prepares men for masculine power
FEMINIST SOCIAL THEORIES: THEME AND VARIATIONS 93

conflicts and rules of capitalist competition, traits reinforced in the

Oedipal scene. Her mother and daughter develop a ‘prolonged symbi-
osis’, implanting the daughter’s desire for continuity with others.
Ultimately, the daughter must seek intimacy with a man, the Oedipus
effect, but he shuns emotional closeness. She desires a baby to find it,
but then reproduces the mothering of daughters and sons. In other
words, the mother-child scene constructs the political economy.
Chodorow’s theory presupposes a father earning income and a mother
isolated at home with a child in a nuclear family.
Whereas Freud creates a female trapped into neurosis by her anat-
omy and morally defective because she misses his Oedipal lesson,
Chodorow’s female is the instrument of her own and all humanity’s
oppression. As a preventive, Chodorow recommends shared parenting.
This, she believes, would free women to experience the external world,
becoming less dependent on relationships, and would teach men to
appreciate intimacy; everyone in society would value caring. Beyond her
lens are lesbians, single mothers, married mothers earning income,
mothers who must rely on sons for status and future financial support,
mothers who prepare their daughters for self-reliance, women who do
not want children, and mothers for whom any child is a burden, another
mouth to feed.
While the feminists discussed above assume women’s attachment to
men, Mary Daly (1978) thinks our liberation requires separation from
them. As evidence of the male’s invariable oppression of women, she
points to Western gynaecology, European witch burning, Hindu sati,
and Chinese foot-binding. Her vision of emancipation has fired the
imagination of many women. It involves an escape from male—defined
femininity that turns them into domesticated, cosmetized, caged birds
in order to realize their inherent creative energy. For a key to open the
cages, she provides a lexicon redefining words that convey patriarchal
values. For example, a ‘spinster’ becomes a passionate spirit spinning
imaginatively through life, not a pitiable unmarried woman; a witch is a
wise woman with healing powers, not an evil, ugly one.
Irigary (1980, 1985), in France offers a more complex analysis that
weaves critiques of Western philosophy, its political economy, linguis-
tics, and psychoanalysis. Sometimes considered a postmodernist because
she addresses multiple oppressions, her identification with essentialists
comes from her location of women’ sensitivity to interrelatedness in
their biological sexuality. Neither Irigary’s nor other French theorists
94 Beatrice Kachuck

who focus on sexuality, it should be noted, represent the entire French

feminist movement, a mistaken impression in the US and India. The
topic is one strand in the political and intellectual movement (Moi
1987). Although Irigary, like Chodorow, is a psychoanalyst, both their
accounts of gender and its connection to the political economy are very
different. Irigary locates the origin of men’s consciousness in their pos-
session of a singular erotic resource and interprets capitalism as an
expression of their use of the genitals as an instrument for penetration
and oppression. Women’s multiple sites of erotic pleasure, she assumes,
give rise to a psyche that prefers caring relationships. As a way to explore
this, Irigary uses a metaphorical speculum, the medical instrument for
examining a female’s internal organs. Where Freud sees a lack, a missing
penis, Irigary sees pairs touching, a resource for a sensibility of connect-
edness. Where Lacan sees an absent phallic sign for an Imaginary lock-
ing men into the father’s Symbolic Order, the world that excludes
women, Irigary sees a potentially different Imaginary.
To develop and emancipate themselves from male visions, Irigary
urges women to discover their sexual potential in autoerotic and lesbian
relationships. They would work with men and initially experience het-
erosexuality. To protect themselves in patriarchal society, they could
practice mimesis, flaunting and exaggerating, mimicking the femininity
that men define. Irigary concedes that this is risky since they may
become what they play. But the greater risk she sees is to define the
‘feminine’ and slide into patriarchal terms. In other words, she wants
women to withdraw from the patriarchal process while living in it.
In India, Shiva (1988) develops an ecofeminist account of women’s
caring, associating their tendency to preserve life with their use of natu-
ral products. Her analysis of the economy centers on ecological con-
cerns, the destruction of resources women need to feed and care for their
families. She shows how corporations clearing land for factories to pro-
duce products for export destroy forest products, wrecking women’s
subsistence economy. But her women are not willing victims. She offers
a model of women’s activism in response to threats against their life-
sustaining work. In the Chipko campaign, mostly women hugged trees
to prevent men from chopping them down for a factory, then moni-
tored the use of the forest. The extent to which such campaigns can
affect national and global policies on the environment and poverty,
Shiva’s larger goal, is an open question.
FEMINIST SOCIAL THEORIES: THEME AND VARIATIONS 95

More commonly, Indian feminists deplore assumptions of women’s

inherent caring function as an ideology that impedes their full human
development. Thus, essays on education critique practices that socialize
girls for dedication to family service (Chanana 1988). This puts them in
opposition to calls for women’s devotion to families as their national
identity (Jain 1993) and to Indian psychoanalysts’ functionalism. The
Sita and Draupadi ideals of female self-denial, assumed to create bound-
aries for women in both traditional and modern sectors in India (Kakar
1988), are shown to be harmful and changeable norms. The Freudian
view that female’s ‘penis envy’ generates self-hatred, motivating hostility
to other females as in mother-in-law/daughter-in-law conflicts (Nandy
1988), is undermined by displays of the contexts that demean both.
In the US, criticism of essentialists’ thought by other feminists
revolves around three points: 1) It universalizes women, assuming erro-
neously that all experience gender alike; 2) It confuses natural phenom-
ena with women’s strategies for coping with patriarchal demands; 3) It
invites continued perceptions of women as social housekeepers in worlds
that men build.
The essentialists, however, generate profound questions. Should we
understand women in terms of patriarchal constructions or value their
models of human ideals? How is women’s sexuality to be comprehended
outside of patriarchal visions? How do women resist control?

Feminist Socialists

Feminist socialists view the essentialist and radical feminist definitions

of patriarchy as generative of human oppression as being anti-theoretical.
However, many unanswered questions have stimulated them to revise
their Marxism so as to account for gender, something which Marx
ignored. They want sexuality and gender relations included in analyses
of society. Thus, they reject the doctrine expressed in Lenin’s (1934:
101) rebuke to Clara Zetkin for permitting discussions of sexual and
family matters instead of focusing on the class struggle. This rejection
differentiates socialist and Marxist feminists, a distinction made explicit
in the US. It should be understood, however, that both camps accept the
basic tenets enunciated in classical Marxian texts (e.g. Engels 1972;
Marx 1973a, 1973b; Marx and Engels 1970). Both socialist and Marxist
feminists agree that humans are defined by their production of the
96 Beatrice Kachuck

means of their existence. Both see humans, not as liberals do,

differentiated from animals by their rational capacity, but as biological
beings in a continual process of praxis to solve problems of existence.
Work is considered the essence of humanness, changing in form as
people perceive new needs, devise ways to satisfy them, and develop
appropriate social relations.
Sociality, then, is seen as the human condition. Therefore, the lib-
eral problem of explaining why autonomous beings come together is
averted. Instead, the problem posed is how to regain a natural sociality
which has been spoiled by social systems, currently exemplified in
capitalism.
Underlying Marxist tenets is a vision of a dynamic material founda-
tion of perfectible human thought. Since each solution to meeting needs
is negated by a new one, a dialectical analysis is required to understand
history. Its contents would consist of contradictory forces that precipi-
tate change in the economic base of each period in society.
Unlike liberalism, which assumes we have already attained our
evolutionary peak by conceptualizing transcendent reason, Marxism
projects two more stages. It sees in capitalist class structure the setting
for a final synthesis of the contradiction in capitalism: Technology to
satisfy human needs has reached a high point, but most benefits accrue
to the few who own the means of production through their exploita-
tion of the workers who actually produce goods. It is assumed that if
the workers seized the means of production, they would reap the bene-
fits and continue to develop technology. In the new system of owner-
ship, (i.e., socialism), benefits would be shared equitably because
thinking would change. Instead of the competitive epistemology gen-
erated by capitalism, the socialist economy would stimulate coopera-
tive thought and social relations. This would bring history to the last
stage of progress, a communist society where work and leisure are cre-
ative activities.
A problem which needs to be solved in this scenario is how to per-
suade the workers to engage in the conflict required to capture the
means of production. The Marxist solution envisages vanguard revolu-
tionaries instilling class consciousness. These vanguard revolutionaries
have to help workers overcome their false consciousness by showing how
capitalist hegemony has misled them into thinking that they voluntarily
exchange their labour for meagre wages.
FEMINIST SOCIAL THEORIES: THEME AND VARIATIONS 97

Given the monocausal account of social arrangements, conflicts

such as those in gender, race, and caste relations are regarded as
by-products of class. They reside, in Marxist terms, in society’s super-
structure, not its economic base. Presupposing a unitary class of work-
ers, it is anticipated that by overthrowing capitalism all other conflicts
would be dissolved. In other words, classical Marxism envisions a
second-stage liberation of women; it comes after capitalism is
eliminated.
Marxist and socialist feminists part ways here. Their disagreement
revolves around definitions of women’s domestic labour, and everything
they do at home. Both see this activity as providing capitalists with prof-
its extracted from congealed labour, invisible but necessary to the econ-
omy. This analysis strikes a chord in many women, as it argues that their
undervalued daily tasks of cleaning, cooking, and nurturing are crucial
to reproducing the labour force, energizing adults and producing a new
generation of workers. Despite experiencing discomfort with the impli-
cation that giving birth and rearing children is equivalent to producing
objects, chairs or spoons, the labour involved takes on a new
significance.
For Marxist feminists, domestic labour produces use value since its
products are consumed within the family; in the economy outside prod-
ucts with exchange valour produced. Their answer to what they call ‘the
woman question’ is to bring women into the public labour force, make
them available to learn class consciousness and join the struggle to
hasten the arrival of socialism. At that point their domestic labour would
be socialized, and therefore would be real work. Each step is seen as
dissolving the separation of public and private realms (Zaretsky 1973).
Meanwhile, in Zaretsky’s proposal, defining wive’s labour as somehow
productive would make it seem valuable. His point (1974) is to per-
suade women that their enemy is capitalism, not men. Underscoring the
point, he argues that women are attached to either bourgeois or prole-
tarian men, and thus are on either one or the other side of class struggle
with no class of their own.
In what has emerged as a Marxist feminists’ domestic labour debate,
Western advocates of wages for housework offer a different solution. As
opposed to Zaretsky, they propose that the state pay housewives, hence
constituting them as workers ready to join others in the class struggle
(Costa and James 1972).
98 Beatrice Kachuck

Neither side of the debate addresses overlaps of women’s domestic

and market work. The production of food and other items for sale as
well as for family use (Nickols and Srinivisan 1994) falls outside their
dichotomy. The proposal of wages for housework leaves women in their
domestic position, adjuncts in the class struggle. Like the other side of
the debate, it positions women in relation to the economy and ignores
female-male relationships.
That omission is addressed in a benchmark discussion among 14
US socialist feminists, aptly subtitled ‘The Unhappy Marriage of
Marxism and Feminism’ (Sargent 1981). The discussion shifts the
‘woman question’ to feminist questions on the sources of women’s
oppression and directions for change. Hartmann (1981: 1–42) opens
the discussion with an analogy of a defunct British system that had cre-
ated a single legal entity in marriage, the husband. She calls for a health-
ier marriage of feminism and Marxism or a divorce. The Marxists’
concern about whether women work for men or for capitalists she dis-
misses as misdirected: it is not attitudes that need changing, as Zaretsky
would have it, but realities. Accepting Marxist insights into the laws of
history and the economy, she complains that it fails to understand
sexism. For that, she insists, a feminist analysis is necessary.
Applying Marxist insights, she locates a material base of patriarchy,
shifting it out of the superstructure in which was simply regarded as a
psychological consequence of the economy, and points to dialectical
moments in history. With these tools, she presents patriarchy as a struc-
ture parallel to capitalism, its partner. Its material base is in men’s con-
trol of women’s labour power, sexuality, and biological reproduction.
The historical dialectic is in patriarchy’s working in different ways at
different times with different economic systems, for example, feudalism
and socialism. In capitalism, she points to men’s moves to benefit materi-
ally from women’s labour: 1) male workers’ demands that females be
excluded from the labour market and stay home attending to men’s
needs; 2) male workers’ collusion with male capitalists for a family wage
instead of joining in women’s demands for equal pay with men; and 3)
the male Left’s refusal to take women’s issues seriously. Her reasoning
brings her to a definition of patriarchy: a system of social relations with
a material base, and which though hierarchical, establishes solidarity
among men to dominate women. In effect, Hartmann attacks the
Marxist claim to working class women’s and men’s solidarity. Her
FEMINIST SOCIAL THEORIES: THEME AND VARIATIONS 99

solution for feminists is to develop new analytical categories for

understanding the intersection of class struggles and patriarchy.
For Young (1981: 43–70), Hartmann has created a dual-system
theory that retains the flawed liberal concept of a public/private split.
She sees it as placing patriarchy in the family and capitalism outside,
avoiding the interconnected division of labour. Given men’s control
over women in both spheres, which Hartmann concedes, Young consid-
ers it more useful to conceptualize a single system that encompasses
gender, class, and race. The dual-system theory seems to her to require
two political campaigns, with women attending twice as many
meetings.
Joseph’s (1981: 91–108) response to Hartmann is to attack her
racism. She makes two major charges. One is the neglect of the central-
ity of racism and the specific oppression of black women in the labour
force. The other is the failure to understand the difference in white and
Black women’s relationship to men. Neither as enslaved people nor in
the racist polity since then, she points out, has Black men’s control over
Black women been comparable to white men’s over white women.
Instead, Black women and men are united in combating the racism of
both white women and white men and in caring for each other. That
unity is disputed by Black feminists who acknowledge Black men’s
oppression of Black women, though they agree with the main thrust of
Joseph’s analysis (Hooks 1984).
Riddiough (1981: 71–90) takes on Hartmann’s assumption of het-
erosexuality, directing attention to lesbian and gay liberation struggles.
Including these centrally in theory, she argues, would strengthen it, illu-
minating the utility of heterosexuality in the economy.
These four arguments illustrate the direction in the essays. They
also illuminate gaps. For instance, there is no conceptualization of global
inter-twining of patriarchy and capitalism. The theorizing does not
admit to such problems as recent upward moves of some Black women
in the US, while others (along with Black men) lost jobs to lower-paid
workers in other parts of the world (Brewer 1993).
The arguments can usefully be compared to those developed by
Indian left feminists. The Western distinction between Marxists and
Socialists is not explicit. However, some trends can be discerned.
Bypassing the question of new analytical categories to connect the
domestic-public division of labour, Indian feminists construct new
100 Beatrice Kachuck

categories within each realm. The material and ideological bases of

both patriarchy and capitalism is taken as a fact. While some are con-
cerned with the scope of theorizing (e.g., Sangari 1993), others concen-
trate on analysing specific economic practices and gender relations
(e.g., Agarwal 1994).
Kalpagam’s (1994) conception of a multi-structural Indian econ-
omy dispenses with the US debate on single-versus-dual system theor-
ies. Her analysis of the complexity of the structure’s hierarchy illuminates
vertical interactions. This reveals the depression of lower forms of pro-
duction by the higher ones in British colonial and post-independence
capitalism, with state agencies mediating economic development.
In  that process, it is the effect on women’s labour force participation
which interests her rather than female-male relationships, suggesting
adherence to classical Marxism. This is clearest in her case studies. For
example, her analysis of the informal labour sector focuses on women’s
positioning for class struggle; their condition as women is not
discussed.
Sangari (1993) postpones confronting Marxist analytical categories.
She enters the domestic labour debate to examine the context of domes-
tic work, reasoning that such an analysis is a necessary precondition for
considering whether that work can be assimilated into classical Marxist
categories. In a richly textured study, she shows how gender elements in
class and caste structures affect marriage, family relations, and women’s
work and also how education is factored into domestic settings.
It appears that selecting features from Indian and US leftist theor-
ists could strengthen studies on patriarchal gender relations and social
change. Sangari models the kind of analyses US socialist feminists have
not undertaken. Her approach could also enrich analyses of tribal groups
whose land has historically been held in common but not controlled
equally by women and men (Chauhan 1990). Kalpagam’s concept of
multi-structural contexts could usefully inform US analyses of its own
stratified divisions and its informal sector, which has been ignored.
Joseph’s point on inter- and extra-group solidarity suggests looking at
caste/class relations, for instance, between Dalit women and men, high
caste women and men, and their common interest in opposing Western
colonialism. A combination of these features could improve the cur-
rently unsatisfactory definitions of household labour to account for long
and short-term migrations (Boorah 1990).
FEMINIST SOCIAL THEORIES: THEME AND VARIATIONS 101

But several critical issues remain unaddressed. There are descriptions

but no theoretical explanations of the privilege of heterosexuality, race,
ethnicity, caste, and religion in relation to the economy; Kalpagam’s
concept of multiple structures only suggests possibilities. There is no
adequate account of the gendering of multinational corporations abroad
and in their home countries, for instance, in the US and India. Missing
also, despite widespread concern about population control, are theories
explaining policies on family size, it restriction as in India and China
and its expansion as in Singapore. Analyses of patriarchy have not yet
shown why women are ‘resubordinated’ after joining men in liberation
struggles, for example, in India and Algeria. Fundamentally, there is not
yet a clear vision of a democratic society to which to aspire and no polit-
ical programme to go from here to there.
Some of the difficulty lies in Marxist precepts. Assuming that an
external factor changes the cognition of Marxism on social conditions,
it leaves open questions on whether economic rationality is identical
with all rationality and progress (Harding 1986: 214–215). Harding, a
US theorist, suggests that the Marxist story of progress contains distor-
tions, just as origin tales about positivist science do. The concept of
external factors is also, she points out, threatened by relativism: the
claim that changes in economic arrangements improve sociality cannot
by itself support one idea about change as better than another.
The concept of practice altering thought is also vulnerable to empir-
ical evidence of a reverse sequence. Actually, Marx’s expectation of a
vanguard which helps to change workers consciousness to stimulate
them to action argues the reverse. That self-initiated thought can lead to
action is demonstrated in women’s active opposition to patriarchy after
consciousness raising sessions (MacKinnon 1989: 83–106). MacKinnon,
a radical feminist in the US, calls consciousness raising the feminist
method. This method discards what she considers Marxist scientism,
which positions an expert outside a social situation to analyse it. In her
post-Marxist analysis, she argues that in the feminist method women
draw on their material being and thought, which is inextricably inter-
twined, to examine their own social context, where the two elements are
similarly interconnected.
Consciousness raising, MacKinnon believes, helps each woman rec-
ognize that all women’s sexuality is expropriated by men and that it
constructs gender in families, at work, and on the street. The
102 Beatrice Kachuck

conclusion, summed up in the feminist slogan, ‘The personal is political’

is for MacKinnon a cue for action to liberate women. Along with her
larger analysis it serves her critique of rape, sexual harassment, and por-
nography as well as her own activism on these issues and informs her
proposal for a feminist theory of the state (1989: 237–49). While she
links each issue to economic power relations between women and men,
her cultural concern is describing capitalist practices, sexual exploitation
rather than the capitalist system. But her assumption that all women
draw on the same epistemology is disputed as a European American
presumption. Thus, King (1988) particularizes African—American
feminist consciousness in the multiplicative, not simply additive, experi-
ence of race, gender, and class oppression.
This tension surfaces again in feminist standpoint theory, formu-
lated initially by Harding (1986). Its research agenda, resonating
group-consciousness raising, calls for researchers and respondents jointly
analysing the contents of the lives to be studied and its context (Smith
1979). Smith, a Canadian, seeks to assemble the results of studies of
diverse groups to find commonalities among them. Her design is altered
in a proposal that the Black feminist standpoint represents collective
sources within the African-American community (Collins 1990). In
effect, one approach risks totalizing all women, the other attempts to
universalize a group with its own diversities.
The Marxian assumption of evolutionary progress is also contested
on grounds more specific than Harding’s (1986), above. MacKinnon
(1989: 13–36) disputes Engels’ account of the onset of women’s subor-
dination. It is not plausible to her that women willingly yielded their
economic power and sexual freedom, preferring monogamy in privat-
ized families, at a time when men accumulated property and made it
private. To think as Engels does seems to her a characteristic male bias.
Her charge reiterates her central theme that sexuality is the crucial
dimension of social relations.
Ecofeminists Shiva, an Indian, and Mies, a European activist in
India for many years, criticize the economy/culture dualism in Marxism
(Mies and Shiva 1993: 11–23). They argue that privileging the econ-
omy belies the significance of culture in most non-European societies
and resonates the thinking of multinational corporations. In fore-
grounding culture, however, Mies and Shiva avoid relativism. They
insist on the necessity of value judgments, citing dowry, female genital
FEMINIST SOCIAL THEORIES: THEME AND VARIATIONS 103

mutilation, and India’s caste system as examples of objectionable

customs. In their view, accepting injurious local customs as simply dif-
ferent accords with multinational corporate interests working through
the state as linchpins in a patriarchal system. Contradictorily, though,
while they recognize the structural forces, their solution is individualis-
tic. They expect women and men to re-educate themselves to develop
sexual relations as part of loving and caring for the environment, ignor-
ing the effects of constructions of gender relations.

Feminist Postmodernism

Feminist theorizing is postmodern in its rejection of the Enlightenment’s

fundamental proposition: the assumption of a self abstracted from its
contingencies (body, emotion, and social location) knowing universal
laws of nature. Each feminist theory—those discussed above and
others—at least calls the proposition into question.
They all, however, position women as subjects, a contested location
in postmodernism. Its theoretical variations converge on a view that
such positioning, necessarily subjective, presupposes the self ’s objectiv-
ity. In their spatially oriented terms, assuming a subject position con-
structs a centre of power and margins occupied by SOMEONE. To
avoid this, they advocate indeterminacy, a stance of uncertainty admit-
ting to multiple viewpoints. They point to such disastrous consequences
of centralizing power as colonialism, the Holocaust, and the Vietnam
war. The problem of postmodernism centring itself to monitor over-
sights of other theories is not analysed.
A summary of postmodernism’s main features by a feminist propon-
ent, Flax (1990), enables a comparison with other feminist views. Most
generally stated, it abjures the Enlightenment’s ground for explaining
human experience and promising human progress. Rejecting the belief
in a rational self functioning according to universal laws, postmodern-
ism denies that science—and its philosophy—can provide an objective,
reliable foundation for knowledge. It scorns science’s claim to neutral
methods that produce universally beneficial results. Language is consid-
ered less a transparent medium through which the real is represented
than a strategy for controlling behaviour. It disputes contentions which
hold that conflicts between truth, knowledge, and power can be
104 Beatrice Kachuck

overcome on the grounds of reason. No truth is seen as neutral, capable

of serving power without distortion and leading to freedom.
From these perspectives, meta-narratives are not to be trusted.
Truth claims of Marxism, humanism, religion and feminism are seen as
bids for power. Among Indian feminists, postmodernism may be per-
ceived equivocally. Its rejection of a dominant centre is consistent with
their own rejection of the idea of negotiating a space for Indians within
feminism, which presumes that feminism is ‘Western’ (Kumar 1993:
195). Kumar claims for Indian feminists ‘a kind of universalism, of
which Western feminism is one stream and Indian feminism another’, a
claim discredited by postmodernism.
Among US feminists, postmodernism is highly controversial. Some
embrace the emphasis on discourse as a process of creating subjects and
the meaning of experience (Scott 1992). Others see a threat not only to
feminists but also to other previously silenced groups now redefining
themselves as subjects (Hartsock 1990).
The threat seems less serious when interpreted as a call to interro-
gate a subject’s identity (Butler 1992). An interrogation can lead to the
evaluation of testimony in the spirit of Tharu’s (1993) recommendation
to scrutinize a subject’s claim to rights. The point would be to abandon
the homogenization of women and address differences in race, class,
sexual orientation, and ethnic identities (Hooks 1984), a list to which
Indian feminists would probably add caste and religion. Still, a question
remains. How can women justify their demands without situating
themselves as women?
An argument for the mind’s contingencies offers an answer. Bordo
(1990) points out that the body is materially situated in a particular
place. It cannot be everyone and everywhere, endlessly flexible with no
stopping point—or it is nowhere. Postmodernism’s refusal to accept
such a limitation strikes her as inevitably ending up with the politics of
individualism.
Postmodern critiques of science, on the other hand, are shared by
feminists. Harding (1986) denounces the androcentric bias in science’s
‘context of discovery of problems, to study hierarchical production sys-
tems, definitions of concepts, collection and interpretation of data, and
justificatory strategies’. None the less, she accepts feminist empiricism for
its strategic value (1986: 24–26). Disputing its practitioners’ claim that
sexist results are simply instances of ‘bad science’, she sees it as subvert-
ing science’s claim to objectivity: its methods can reach opposite
FEMINIST SOCIAL THEORIES: THEME AND VARIATIONS 105

conclusions and the significance of researchers’ social identity becomes

visible. While admitting that this leaves in place a powerful source of
social bias, feminist empiricism, she notes, provides data in political
arenas where only traditional science is acceptable.
Harding prefers a feminist standpoint to produce knowledge (1986:
26–28, 150, 158). It is grounded in women’s subjugated position, medi-
ated by analyses of masculine domination and a search for a successor to
Enlightenment science. Researchers treat women as subjects, not objects of
inquiry as in empiricist methodology. This, she argues, provides the possi-
bility of more complete and less perverse understandings. An example is
the women’s health movement. She points to its use of data from women’s
perspective which makes its findings more reliable than those emanating
from men; their dominant social positions explain harmful conclusions.
Disrupting her assumption of a standpoint, Harding proposes a
third epistemological route, feminist postmodernism. It accepts women’s
‘hyphenated’ identities: Black, Asian, Native American, working class,
lesbian (1986: 27–9, 163–4). Rather than dismiss her standpoint theory,
however, she embraces ambivalence, a stance she considers preferable to
theorizing an incoherent world to make it seem coherent.
Although difference is acknowledged, there is no theory of differ-
ence, reflecting the difficulty of locating women in extant paradigms.
The female subject disappears into he in the rationalist framework and
dissolves into a plurality in postmodernism (Stefano 1990). Postmodernists
attempt to simplify the problem by arguing for local perspectives, where
homogeneity is assumed. This renders useless any cross-cultural work on
gender and leaves invisible patriarchy and other macro level structures of
power (Benhabib 1990). Rather than abandoning such projects or writ-
ing off feminism because some feminists falsely universalize female
behaviour, a better solution lies in giving closer attention to axes of social
constructs intertwined with gender (Fraser and Nicholson 1990).
Questions on power, however, would remain. In Foucault’s (1979)
theory, lauded by feminist and other postmoderns, vivid analyses of
regimes of power alert us to symptoms of coercion elsewhere. Each
regime, however, remains discrete and with no perceptivity of its gen-
dering. Foucault hides males’ invention of prisons and asylums and their
valorization of masculinity. In a telling example of his gender bias, his
history of sexual repression recalls with nostalgia an earlier era of males’
free exploitation of females. A man’s sexual abuse of little girls was once
natural, he thinks, simply part of rural life (Foucault 1980).
106 Beatrice Kachuck

Power seems inescapable to Foucault. In his argument that unmask-

ing power can only destabilize, not transform it, Hartsock (1990) per-
ceives a colonizer’s perspective: He resists power, but never risks a
comfortable relationship with his peers to suggest ways to comb at them.
The reverse seems true. As Hartsock points out, Foucault thinks power
is discoverable through ascending analyses, suggesting it comes from
below. For her this tantamounts to blaming victims without analysing
the coercive means used to make them comply with power. What
women need, Hartsock (1990) argues, is a theory of power that will help
them and subjugated men change relations of domination. Instead of
the total coerciveness portrayed by Foucault, she calls for attention to
women’s strengths and abilities.
In contrast, Weedon (1987) locates useful clues for feminists in her
discussion of post-structuralism, the branch of postmodernism emphasiz-
ing textual analysis. She finds a method of comprehending signs that com-
municate gender relations in Foucault’s concept of discourse as a ‘field’ in
which to examine the relation of institutions, subjectivity, and power.
Dress and demeanor become signs in a ‘discursive field’. From this per-
spective, Western women’s stiletto heels, restricting their gait and deform-
ing their leg muscles, would be compared to Western men’s low heels and
open stride as signs of institutionalized power. The saree of Indian women,
constraining their movements, would similarly be compared to Indian
men’s Western corporate style suits, which permit free movement.
Analysing linguistic discourses, signifiers and the signified, can help
make sense of contradictions, as Weedon suggests. But her definition of
post-structuralism, a standard one, reveals its limitation. It says experi-
ence has no meaning without language, denying the material reality of
unarticulated experience, for example, sexism.
Because feminism has unanswered questions on the meaning of
gender, Flax (1990) considers it only an entry point into comprehend-
ing social reality. Focusing on the universalizing done in feminist essen-
tialism and overlooking other theories, she wants feminism situated
within postmodernism to avoid that problem. For understanding
gender, she looks to psychoanalysis despite its reductionism.
Post-Structuralism can be understood as the French intellectuals’
assumption of responsibility for the West’s crisis of legitimation (Jardine
1985). According to Jardine, they seek to fill the space of intellectuals’
‘non-knowledge’ that permitted the devastation of so many people. That
space, she says, is coded by Derrida, the leader of the deconstructionists’
FEMINIST SOCIAL THEORIES: THEME AND VARIATIONS 107

as feminine, a horizon towards which thought moves but cannot be

reached. She claims that the presence of text-sexuality in Derrida’s work is
lost in their translations into English, but that his insistence on deferring
certainty reflects a deeply political and sexual stake. Applying his own
deconstructive method, she reads his work as not preferring the absence
of knowledge, but wanting to think about why Western philosophy could
not find the gap in its knowledge. In her reading, Derrida and his follow-
ers play on the female body as the space they could not find.
Jardine’s interpretation of the Derridean project is supported in a
defining monograph (Derrida 1985). As a writer, he claims to encom-
pass male and female, the inheritance of his dead father and his mother,
producer of his life. His fantasy of a female who becomes a bad real
woman, a vagina-as-ear-mouth, leads him to warn women to remain
mothers to retain their purity, losing themselves in anonymity and sur-
viving only if they remain submerged. Obviously his male aspect dom-
inates the female, the subject with no visible position.
Although there is strong opposition among feminists to Derrida’s
presumption (Jardine 1985), he also has a feminist following. Spivak
(1988) stands out for her agreement with his doctrines. Yet, she suspends
them for ‘practical exigencies’. She joins him frequently in warning that
the positioning of a central subject inevitably marginalizes others.
A  self-identified feminist, deconstructionist, and Marxist, she applies
each school of thought selectively. Thus, she takes a stand against her own
marginalization by a group of men, explaining the necessity of shuttling
between the centre and the margins to make a point (Ibid.: 103–117).
That is, she advises reading the postmoderns with a pinch of salt.

Conclusion

To summarize the review presented above, feminist liberalism identifies

women as a class entitled to rights as women, but leaves economic and
social structures intact, with no way to redress inequitable distributions
of social goods among women—and men. The essentialists’ useful
attention to hitherto unappreciated qualities of women is gravely flawed
by failing to notice artefacts of their status in a patriarchal society. They
also err in ignoring the diversity of gender experience. Their analyses
present women as biologically, socially, and/or psychologically deter-
mined. While the essentialists recognize gender power relations, wom-
en’s agency to change their status emerges in impractical programmes.
108 Beatrice Kachuck

The postmoderns provide important cautions against privileging

some women at the expense of others. When they insist on prohibiting
all truth claims as equal threats of dominance, women’s demands for
relief from oppression can only be seen as no more justified than that of
their oppressors. The endless deferral of conclusions, as a critic suggests,
can be seen as constructing a ‘feminine’ space where intellectuals aggres-
sively play out tentative ideas.
Feminist socialism seems the most promising of the theories
reviewed. It overcomes the limitations of the others. The requirement
for material historicity grounds accounts of women in diverse realities,
countering the essentialists’ universalizing attempts. The concept of
socially constructed thought discards the liberal assumption of a natural
substrata of mind, entitling an elite group to control those who deviate.
The vision of the end of capitalism offers hope of eliminating not only
gender but all oppressions by eradicating hierarchical social structures.
More thorough revisions of the Marxist monocausal account of society
and its related definitions, however, seem in order. The economy is an
important pillar of social arrangements but does not stand alone. What
is needed are feminist syntheses of economy with its dimensions of con-
sciousness, sexuality, procreation and child rearing, and cultural phe-
nomena that are at least partially independent of the economy, such as
race, religion, and ethnicity. The relationship of individuals to the com-
munity needs to be thought out. Finally, to fulfil the promise, a political
programme is necessary.
The critical review of feminist theories in this paper argues that
each has merits and limitations, some with more of one than the other.
As indicated in the introduction, the review presents a limited array of
theories and only summarizes each one. There is a need to explore these
and others more fully, select one or a combination of useful elements, or
improve on the choices here. Given the critiques noted, theorizing anew
seems in order.

Note
Earlier versions of this paper were presented at Jawaharlal Nehru University (JNU),
New Delhi, Jadavpur University, Calcutta, and Kurukshetra University, Kurukshetra. The
argument developed during my tenure as Visiting Professor at JNU in 1994–95. Helpful
comments on a previous draft by M. N. Panini are acknowledged with thanks.
FEMINIST SOCIAL THEORIES: THEME AND VARIATIONS 109

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7
Social Structure
M.N. Srinivas

D
uring the last twenty five years, the concept of social structure
has come to occupy a central place in social anthropology.
This concept is to be found in Montesquieu (Evans-Pritchard,
1951, 22F) and in later times, in Herbert Spencer and E. Durkheim,
Radcliffe-Brown used it consistently in his lectures since about 1911
and, as the years went by, he gave an increasingly important place to it
in his teaching. Modern British social anthropology is not intelligible
without it. “All British social anthropologists are structuralists in their
use of the analytical principles developed by this method.” (Firth,
1955).
Although sociologists such as Durkheim had pointed to the import-
ance of social morphology or structure, a new departure was marked in
the thirties of the present century by the works of a number of British
social anthropologists. Field studies by these anthropologists, mainly in
Africa, produced a succession of monographs in which the concept of
social structure was used as the central theoretical frame of reference.
These studies, mainly by reason of the small size of the communities
investigated, were able to present successful accounts of the total social
structure by delineating the principal enduring groups and categories in
a tribe and their interrelations.
In a way it could be said that social anthropology had been group-
ing for some time for a well-defined field of its own, and a criterion of
114 M.N. Srinivas

relevance, and found both in the concept of social structure. The delin-
eation of social structure is a primary task, and even when such delinea-
tion does not actually take place, the social anthropologist views
institutions or institutional complexes against the structural matrix. In a
word, he regards institutions as part of the social structure, being both
influenced by the total structure as well as influencing it. The concept of
social structure and the bringing to bear of a structural point of view
into the study of social phenomena are the specific contributions of
social anthropologists.
It is well-known that while there are several brilliant studies of the
social structure of primitive and peasant communities, there are no com-
parable studies of the social structure of a big, modern country. This is
due, in the first place, to the difficulty and complexity of undertaking
such a study. Secondly, in the last twenty years or so, British social anthro-
pologists have been preoccupied with problems of social structure to the
exclusion of almost everything else. This has resulted in several good
structural studies of primitive and peasant societies. It must be men-
tioned here, however, that there are available studies of sections of
modern societies such as village communities and towns in India, Japan,
China, U.K., U.S.A., and Canada. Studies have also been made of
national institutions and problems such as race relations in the U.S.A.
and caste in India.

II
There are different views regarding what is social structure. According to
Radcliffe-Brown (1952, 191–192): “There are some anthropologists
who use the term social structure to refer only to persistent social groups,
such as nations, tribes and clans, which retain their continuity, their
identity as individual groups, in spite of changes in their membership.
Dr. Evans-Pritchard, in his recent admirable book on the Nuer, prefers
to use the term social structure in this sense. Certainly the existence of
such persistent social groups is an exceedingly important aspect of struc-
ture. But I find it more useful to include under the term social structure
a good deal more than this.
“In the first place, I regard as a part of the social structure all social
relations of person to person. For example, the kinship structure of any
SOCIAL STRUCTURE 115

society consists of a number of such dyadic relations, as between a father

and son, or a mother’s brother and his sister’s son. In an Australian tribe
the whole social structure is based on a network of such relations of
person to person, established through genealogical connections.
“Secondly, I include under social structure the differentiation of
individuals and of classes by their social role. The differential social pos-
itions of men and women, of chiefs and commoners, of employers and
employees, are just as much determinants of social relations as belong-
ing to different clans or different nations.”
In my opinion, the two views mentioned above are not as diver-
gent as they seem at first sight. Dyadic relations can be usually referred
to classes or categories which are a part of the structure. The relation-
ships of master and servant, patron and client, and priest and worship-
per, provide examples of such categories while rich and poor belong to
different classes. Dyadic relationships between relatives are not fully
understandable except as part of the wider kinship structure. The
mutual rights, duties and privileges of mother’s brother and sister’s son
vary from society to society and must be looked at as part of the kin-
ship structure which is in turn a part of the total social structure. The
relation between priest and worshipper is part of the religious struc-
ture while the relation between master and servant, and patron and
client are part of the economic structure and the status system. Dyadic
relationships are by and large referable to enduring classes or catego-
ries which are as much a part of the social structure as lineages and
village communities. Any restriction of social structure to enduring
groups only and to the exclusion of enduring categories and classes
would seem to be arbitrary and unjustified. (But on the other hand
dyadic relationships are referable to deeper elements of the social
structure).

III

A social structure may be looked upon as consisting of innumerable

corporations, aggregate as well as sole. “English lawyers classify
corporations as Corporations aggregate and Corporations sole. A
Corporation aggregate is a true corporation, but a Corporation sole is
an individual, being a series of individuals, who is invested by a fiction
116 M.N. Srinivas

with the qualities of a corporation. I need hardly cite the King or the
Parson of a Parish as instances of Corporation sole. The capacity or
office is here considered apart from the particular person who from
time to time may occupy it, and this capacity being perpetual, the
series of individuals who fill it are clothed with the leading attribute
of Corporations—Perpetuity. Now in the older theory of Roman Law
the individual bore to the family precisely the same relation which in the
rationale of English jurisprudence a Corporation sole bears to a
Corporation aggregate”. (H.  S.  Maine, 1871, 155. Italics mine.) The
traditional Indian village community is a good example of a corpora-
tion aggregate while the village headman, accountant and priest are
examples of corporations sole.
The legal mechanism which assures perpetuity to corporations is
“universal succession”. “A universal succession is a succession to a univer-
sitatis juris. It occurs when one man is invested with the legal clothing of
another, becoming at the same moment subject to all his liabilities and
entitled to all his rights . . . In order that there may be a true universal
succession the transmission must be such as to pass the whole aggregate
of rights and duties at the same moment and in virtue of the same legal
capacity in the recipient”.
The corporations aggregate and sole which go to make up a social
structure are perpetuated by means of universal succession. Duties
and rights are attached to every office or role. The concept of office
or role is the link between the individual and the social structure.
Every holder of an office, whether it be that of a village headman,
priest or manager (karta) of a joint family, is expected to behave in a
particular way. There are norms to be observed, and failure to observe
them will result in sanctions being brought to bear on the defaulter.
Sanctions are of many kinds, and of varying degrees of severity and
severity itself is culturally defined. Public opinion and reciprocity are
two of the most important sanctions. Conscience, it needs hardly be
said, is the subjective aspect of the normative system, the result of
persistent training and indoctrination, especially in the first few years
of life.
Corresponding to every role or office in the structure, there are
norms of conduct. Two or three decades ago, among the upper castes in
India, looking after her husband was regarded as the moral and
SOCIAL STRUCTURE 117

religious duty of the wife. He was to be regarded as her god and serving
him as her highest duty. It was a woman’s ambition to be a pativrathu.
This does not necessarily mean that every upper caste wife or even a
majority of them did actually behave in the way they were expected to
behave. In no society is there a perfect overlap between the norms and
actual conduct, and divergence between the two is an important field
for investigation. Again, within the same society, norms may be obeyed
in different degrees in different sectors of social life. It is somewhat
facile to think that such conflicts are always due to the clash of self-
interest with those of duty. There is no doubt that this occurs frequently
but norms may not be obeyed because, often one norm clashes with
another. A woman’s role as wife may clash with her role as mother,
daughter and daughter-in-law. In a situation of social change, there will
be clash between traditional and new norms. An educated girl in an
underdeveloped country often experiences such conflicts. A norm
imposed by the government might clash with the traditional norms of
the people. For instance, in modern India, a Hindu is required to give
a share of ancestral property, including land, to a daughter. This con-
flicts with the traditional norms of the people, which require that land
be passed on only to agnatic heirs.

IV

A distinction has to be made between formal and informal or ‘opera-

tive’ structure. As Firth (1955, 3) observes, “it is one of the discoveries
of modern industrial analysis that such informal structures are often
the most effective in regulating working behaviour. In the ‘primitive’
field the informal structure and the formal structure may merge easily,
if only because of the lack of any means such as charts or other written
records by reference to which the formal structure can be maintained
and established”. Any analysis of social structure which wishes to pro-
ceed beyond the delineation of the formal groups and categories into
the actual functioning of it, must take note of informal structure. The
formal structure is concerned only with the various roles and offices
each, whereas the informal structure deals with the actual alignment of
forces and their relation to the formal social structure. The informal
structure usually operates within the framework of the formal
118 M.N. Srinivas

structure. But individual members try to manipulate the offices and

rules to further their self-interest. The scope for manipulation is
greater when the rules are not clear. If the formal structure alone was
considered individuals would appear to have very little freedom and
initiative, while if the concept of informal structure were also consid-
ered, it would not only give them power, but also bring the concepts
closer to social action and reality. When we consider the way a struc-
ture actually works, individuals have choice between alternative
courses of action, and also, rules and offices become subject to manip-
ulation by members of society. The informal structure does not have
the stability of the formal structure but it is there and it influences the
flow of social life.
Firth is aware of this aspect of social life and his concept of social
organisation meets it to some extent. “In the concept of social structure,
the qualities recognised are primarily those of consistence, continuity,
form and pervasiveness through the social field. But the continuity is
essentially one of repetition. There is an expectation of sameness or an
obligation to sameness, depending upon how the concept is phrased. A
structural principle is one which provides a fixed line of social behaviour
and represents the order which it manifests. The concept of social
organisation has complementary emphasis. It recognizes adaptation of
behaviour in respect of given ends, control of means in varying circum-
stances, which are set by changes in the external environment or by the
necessity to resolve conflict between structural principles. If structure implies
order, organisation implies a working towards order—though not necessar-
ily the same order. There is an arrangement of activity in reference to the
possible reciprocal movements of the factors involved in the situation.”
(Firth, 1955, 2. Italics mine.)

Does the concept of ‘social structure’ necessarily imply that every society
is a unified whole? Such a presumption is probably strengthened by the
frequent reference in literature to the ‘structure-function’ school or
approach. It is true that in the recent history of British social anthropol-
ogy the two most important concepts have been ‘function’ and ‘struc-
ture’, and by and large, the ‘functionalists’ of the twenties and thirties
SOCIAL STRUCTURE 119

are the ‘structuralists’ of today. So it would seem that historically at least

the structuralists are committed to the view that every society is a whole
and that its various parts are interrelated. More, the very concept of
social structure would imply that the various groups and categories
which are part of a society are related to each other. (Terms like ‘web’
and ‘network’ have been used in describing social structure.) The eco-
nomic, kinship, political, legal and religious structures are not unrelated
entities existing by themselves. As a matter of empirical observation it is
known that changes in any one sector of the structure are followed by
changes in the other sectors. But a question that needs to be asked is
whether the existence of inter-relation between the parts implies that the
parts so inter-related constitute a unified whole? If by a unified whole is
meant that the various parts dovetail with each other to produce a state
of equilibrium, then the assumption is unjustified. Tensions and con-
flicts do exist in all societies and they exert pulls in different and oppos-
ite directions. This view is not only in accord with experience, but it is
also free from the teleological implications of the first view, viz., that in
every society each part makes a contribution to the equilibrium of the
whole. Every society may be looked at as striving towards equilibrium,
but rarely actually achieving it.
“But in the ‘organic’ metaphysics of liberal practicability, whatever
tends to harmonious balance is likely to be stressed. In viewing every-
thing as a ‘continuous process’, sudden changes of pace and revolution-
ary dislocations—so characteristic of our times—are missed, or, if not
missed, merely taken as signs of the ‘pathological’, the ‘maladjusted’.
The formality of the assumed unity implied by such innocent phrases as
‘the mores’ or ‘the society’ decrease the possibility of seeing what a
modern social structure may be all about”. (C. Wright Mills: The
Sociological Imagination, New York, 1959, p. 86).
Conflict between different parts of the social structure should be
treated as an essential attribute of it, as the aims and activities of differ-
ent groups do not dovetail. Conflict between an individual’s self-interest
and the groups of which he is a member is frequent. It may be added
here that it is only in recent years that the subject or conflict within the
social structure has received some attention from structural anthropol-
ogists. (See Prof. M. Gluckman’s stimulating booklet Custom and
Conflict in Africa, Oxford, 1955). In fact, under the leitmotif of
120 M.N. Srinivas

function and structure, the dominant emphasis has been on the analysis
of stability and equilibrium conditions. According to Prof. Evans-
Pritchard, “. . . modern social anthropology is conservative in its theo-
retical approach. Its interests are more in what makes for integration
and equilibrium in society than in plotting scales and stages of prog-
ress”. (Evans-Pritchard, 1951, 41). What Prof. Evans-Pritchard says is
specially true of research conducted before World War II, but it should
be added here that not everyone is happy with an exclusive preoccupa-
tion with problems of stability and equilibrium. Dr. Leach, for instance,
writes, “English social anthropologists have tended to borrow their pri-
mary concepts from Durkheim rather than from either Pareto or Max
Weber. Consequently they are strongly prejudiced in favour of societies
which show symptoms of ‘functional integration’, ‘social solidarity’,
‘cultural uniformity’, ‘structural equilibrium’. Such societies, which
might well be regarded as moribund by historians or political scientists,
are commonly looked upon by social anthropologists as healthy and
ideally fortunate. Societies which display symptoms of faction and
internal conflict leading to rapid change are on the other hand sus-
pected of ‘anomie’ and pathological decay.” (1954, 7). This criticism
does not, however, apply to Evans-Pritchard who is one of the few
anthropologists to have undertaken a historical study. (See his The
Sanusi Order in Cyrenaica, Oxford, 1949).
Social anthropologists doing field-research subsequent to 1945
have had to reckon with change. Isolated and stationary communities
are not to be found anywhere in the modern world. But the more or less
exclusive preoccupation of anthropologists with synchronic problems
meant that social anthropologists were utterly unprepared to undertake
studies of changing social conditions. That is why the writings of many
social anthropologists have an air of unreality, and not closely related to
what is actually happening.
The comparative ignoring of conflict by social anthropologists is
surprising as the idea of conflict has been prominent in the intellectual
heritage of anthropology. Conflict has been emphasised by Darwin,
Marx and Freud. Malinowski, applying the idea of Freud to the matrilin-
eal Trobrianders, discovered an “avuncular complex” existing among
them. Such application has been fruitful to both anthropology and
psychology.
SOCIAL STRUCTURE 121

It may be taken as axiomatic that in any social structure both con-

flict and co-operation are prevalent, and that at any given moment there
are pulls in diverse directions. The concept of perfect equilibrium has
only a heuristic value, societies being actually in a state of disequilib-
rium, the only question being the extent or degree of disequilibrium.
The concept of disequilibrium postulates that the various parts of a soci-
ety are inter-related, for disequilibrium is either the result of external
forces acting on the society or due to internal stresses. In the latter case
there is the implication that one part of the society is influenced or
being influenced by the others. Interrelation only means that any part of
the structure issues as well as receives forces from other parts. Thus a
‘stable’ kinship system might be adversely affected by the changing eco-
nomic or religious system, or a changing kinship system might influence
the economic system. This is putting the issue at its simplest.
The existence of inter-relation should not be taken to mean that
every small movement in a part of a social structure will be followed by
movements in other parts. It is more likely that a movement has to
acquire a certain amount of force before it influences other parts. Even
then some parts may be more easily influenced than others. Again the
parts may be more closely linked in some societies than in others and
this would result in easier interflow between the parts in the former.
Speaking generally, the different parts are more closely linked in a primi-
tive society than in a big, highly differentiated, industrial society. One
reason for such close linkage is that relationships are multiplex in a
primitive society, the same people being involved in several relationships
with each other whereas relationships are uniplex in an industrial soci-
ety. The entire problem of the mutual discreteness of the various parts of
a society has not been investigated mainly because of the dogma of the
functional unity of a social system.
A social structure can be looked at from different points of view. So
far I have regarded it as a network of groups, categories and classes. From
the point of view of individual members, however, it consists, on the one
hand, of a set of rules which are to be obeyed and to the violation of
which sanctions are attached, and on the other, of a configuration of
sentiments and values. In a complex society with a highly differentiated
structure, members of different sections have different sentiments and
values though all share certain common values. Thus the different castes
122 M.N. Srinivas

in a village have different sentiments and values though all have a

common attachment to the village and to Hinduism. It is only in a
plural society that the different segments are bound together, if that is
indeed the phrase to use, by nothing more than administrative and polit-
ical bonds.
In describing a social structure, the ideas or images which the mem-
bers have of the social structure are very relevant though rarely taken
into consideration. Every people conceptualize their social structure
though the way in which they do it and the degree of clarity with which
they do it varies from group to group and individual to individual.
Educated Hindus conceive of the caste system as consisting of five
orders viz., Brahmins, Kshatriyas, Vaishyas, Shudras and Harijans. This
is a crude, over-simplified, and inaccurate, picture of the caste system as
it actually exists in any small region of India. For instance, it may be
found that the local caste-group which claims to be Kshatriyas does not
really have the status which Kshatriyas have in the varna hierarchy. The
customs and rituals of this group may be different from the customs of
groups which are generally recognized to be Kshatriyas. More import-
ant, the picture of a five-tiered hierarchy which varna envisages is
inapplicable to a situation which involves a few hundred groups many
of which claim superiority to those with whom they are usually classed.
The hierarchy is clear only at the extremes, and is vague and disputable
in the middle regions. It is also vague between groups which are struc-
tural neighbours. Vagueness permits arguability which in turn makes
possible mobility.
I have said that there are sentiments and values in the minds of
members which are the subjective side of the objective structure. This,
however, is only true of a stable society. In a situation of change the
sentiments of at least some people should be antagonistic to the existing
structure. In India today there are some people who believe that
untouchability should be done away with, and some others who believe
that the entire institution of caste should go.
When the old structure has been replaced by a new one, there will
be a lag between the sentiments which the new structure requires and
the sentiments of a good many people. It is the task of the new rulers to
generate new values and sentiments. Such discordance is a feature of
changing societies. This is quite different, however, from the
discordance which exists when different segments of a society pull in
SOCIAL STRUCTURE 123

different directions. The latter situation might obtain even in stationary

societies.
Social change means change in the structural pattern. In modern soci-
ety the dissemination of social knowledge among members is itself a factor
making for change. In democratic countries such knowledge is in fact used
to support as well as oppose the programmes of political parties. The fact
that there are professional social scientists whose findings reach the public,
is itself an element of the social structure, and their support becomes a
critical factor in “social engineering”, to use an inelegant phrase. The
power of propaganda in modern society is well-known, and in propaganda
the persons using it are aware that they are selecting particular facts and
arguments which support their views in order to achieve a particular end.
The concept of social structure enables us to mark off the special
area of social anthropology and sociology from the other social sciences.
When the sociologist is studying economic, political, legal, moral or
religious behaviour of a group, he views such behaviour in relation to the
total social structure. This is peculiar to the social anthropologist and
sociologist and this is what differentiates their approach from that of the
other social scientists. Social structure may be viewed as being made up
of kinship structure, economic structure, political structure, etc.
As every community lives in a particular part of the world, the attri-
butes of the latter influence the former and vice-versa. “Neither the
world distributions of the various economies, nor their development
and relative importance among particular peoples, can be regarded as
simple functions of physical conditions and natural resources. Between
the physical environment and human activity there is always a middle
term, a collection of specific objectives and values, a body of knowledge
and belief: in others words, a cultural pattern.” (G. D. Forde, 1934,
463) The relation between social structure and ecology is beginning to
be systematically investigated (See Evans-Pritchard, 1940). Certain areas
have yet to be investigated, however: the relation between social struc-
ture and population, and between it and heredity-environment.

References
Evans-Pritchard, E. E. (1940): The Nuer, Oxford.
Evans-Pritchard, E. E. (1949): The Sanusi Order in Cyrenaica, Oxford.
Evans-Pritchard, E. E. (1951): Social Anthropology, London.
124 M.N. Srinivas

Firth, R. (1955): “Some Principles of Social Organisation”, Jrai, 85 III, 1–18.

Forde, C. D. (1934): Habitat, Economy & Society, London.
Gluckman, M. (1955): Custom And Conflict in Africa, Oxford.
Leach, E. R. (1954): The Political Systems of Highland Burma, London.
Maine, H. S. (1871): Ancient Law, Oxford, 1946 (World Classics)
Radcliffe-Brown, A. R. (1950): Structure And Function in Primitive Society, London.
Radcliffe-Brown, A. R. (1958): Method In Social Anthropology, Chicago.
 PART II
ON SOCIOLOGICAL THINKERS
8
Vidyas: A Homage to Auguste
Comte
G.S. Ghurye

“. . . and if anything, is plain it is that during the period that counts—from

Pericles to now—there has been a gradual advance and that our view of life today
is more manifold than it ever has been before. . . . the science is the root from which
comes the flower of our thought. When I have seen clever women who have read all
their lives go off into enthusiasm over some oriental, pseudo-oriental, or spiritual-
istic fad it has struck me that all their reading seems to have given them no point
of view no ‘praejudicia’—or preliminary bets as to the probability that the sign
turn to the left will lead to a ‘cul de sac’.”
Justice Holmes1

I
t is nearly a hundred and thirty five years ago that Comte arrived at
the conclusion that Social Physics was a science which needed to be
formulated and to be crowned the head of the hierarchy of what he
called the Positive Sciences. It was then that he had announced his for-
mulation of two famous laws, namely, that of the Three States2 and that
of the Classification and Hierarchy of the sciences. After the publication
of the first volume of his Positive Philosophy, Comte was hailed in Britain
by some leading scholars—philosophers and historians—as a star in the
intellectual firmament of Europe. People like John Stuart Mill, the phil-
osopher G. H. Lewes and the historian Grote were prominent among
them. So much was this the case that Miss Harriet Martineau published
a condensed translation of the six volumes of Positive Philosophy in 1853,
eleven years after the publication of the last volume of the work in
French. Frederic Harrison, the essayist-historian joined the ranks of the
128 G.S. Ghurye

group that became known as the Comtists and continued to espouse the
cause of Comte’s status and work as an original thinker for long
afterwards.
In the hundredth year of the publication of the second volume of
Comte’s The System of Positive Polity, F. A. Hayek, who has been known
fairly long as an economist, severely criticizes almost everything of his
and tries to show that his influence was due to irrational and emotional
holism.3
In view of Hayek’s exposure of Comte in this manner, it is but
proper that in the centenary year of his death, I, as a sociologist, should
try to assess his real worth, and I cannot do better than begin by refer-
ring to the high appreciation of Comte as a philosopher by the well-
known historian of philosophy, Alfred Weber. Weber’s book, History of
Philosophy, which appears to have been first published in 1898, con-
tained a fairly detailed account of Comte’s work under the category,
Empirical Positivism. R. B. Perry, a Harvard Professor of Philosophy, in
his contribution in 1925 by way of extension of Weber’s work, did not
find it necessary to change much of Weber’s estimate of Comte and his
work. Not only that but he traced the sociological positivism of Emile
Durkheim and other Frenchmen as “continuously related to Comte.”4
Another Continental historian of Philosophy, writing almost at the
same time, is hardly less appreciative. In expounding Comte’s Law of the
Three Stages, Hoffding asks his readers to compare similar theories pro-
pounded by Kant, Fichte, Hegel, Saint-Simon, Rousseau and Lessing.5
He devotes to Comte a whole chapter, little over forty pages, in the
ninth book of his treatise which he designated Positivism. His real criti-
cism of Comte largely centres round his Utopian creation of a new reli-
gion and a new social order.
Another philosopher and this time a mathematician, A. N.
Whitehead, exploring the adventures of ideas in 1933, paid perhaps the
most glorious tribute that has ever been paid to the father of Sociology.
Joining Comte with Jeremy Bentham, Whitehead writes about them:
“. . . they effected an immense service to democratic liberalism. For they
produced a practical programme of reform, and practicable mode of
expression which served to unite men whose ultimate notions differed
vastly.”6 This is not to say that Whitehead has nothing to say philosoph-
ically against the limitations of their thoughts. The appreciation is
almost wholly the appreciation of one humanist for another, for a
VIDYAS: A HOMOGE TO AUGUSTE COMTE 129

predecessor much more emotionally charged. It is as an inspirer of

humanitarian action that Whitehead values the services of Comte and
that is why he associates him with Jeremy Bentham who was definitely
a great inspirer and social thinker. Whitehead admits that the theoretical
foundations on which Comte based his Positivism, which he equates
with the latter’s “Religion of Humanity”, have largely been repudiated
but asserts that “as practical working principles they dominate the
world.”7 I consider this appreciation rather over-done. The other part of
it justifies in a fair manner the treatment that another philosopher, who
was an early collaborator of Whitehead, Bertrand Russell, gives to
Comte and his Positivism in his History of Western Philosophy. He simply
ignores them. Neither Comte nor Positivism figures even in the index.
It means that Russell does not consider Positivism as a philosophical
system and its promulgator Comte as a philosopher to be treated along
with such great philosophers as Spinoza, Hume, Kant and Hegel. The
total omission means even more than this, for Russell’s History of Western
Philosophy is really a history of philosophical thought and even of some
social thought. That is how he comes to include not only Karl Marx but
also Byron. He devotes a chapter to the utilitarians, yet completely
passes over Auguste Comte.
This total omission of Comte by Russell strikes me as rather iron-
ical. The late philosopher George Santayana, while in a reminiscent
mood in 1953,8 blamed his friend ‘Bertie’ (Bertrand Russell) for having
thrown away his splendid gifts in the following words: “I can imagine
two ways in which Bertie might have proceeded to prove how great a
man it was in him to be. . . . The other way would have been by emulat-
ing people like Bacon, Hobbes, Spinoza or Auguste Comte, I do not
mean in their doctrines but in their ambitions. He might have under-
taken an instauratio magna of scientific philosophy. He could have done
it better than Bacon in as much as the science at his command was so
much more advanced.”9
About the beginning of the twentieth century, Lord Morley, who as
Beasly10 informs us was not a Comtist, paid a great tribute to Comte,
evaluating his debt to Saint-Simon in the following words: “We see the
debt, and we also see that, when it is stated at the highest possible,
nothing has really been taken from Comte’s claims as a powerful original
thinker, or from his immeasurable pre-eminence over Saint-Simon in
intellectual grasp and vigour and coherence. “In the long biographical
130 G.S. Ghurye

note on Comte appearing in the 14th edition of the Encyclopaedia

Britannica, Morley’s note contributed to the 11th edition is repro-
duced. It quotes excerpts from a number of British worthies to lead
upto the very laudatory note: “This analysis of social evolution will
continue to be regarded as one of the great achievements of human
intellect.”11
Robert Flint, a student of the philosophy of history, in his History
of the Philosophy of History, published in 1893, devoted maximum space
to Comte among the French contributors. Examining the law of The
Three Stages, or of The Three States as he refers to it, he finds it not
only unproved but to some extent also contradicted in Comte’s work
and ends on a note which implies that the whole philosophy is
confused.12
In the United States, Albion W. Small, one of the four traditional
pillars of American Sociology, reviewing the development and position
of Sociology in the States, not only categorically denied that American
Sociology used the Comtian plan but also pointed out that Lester F.
Ward, another traditional pillar—a sociologist who, of all others, tried
to follow out some of the Comtian ideas in his Dynamic Sociology—was
almost the only one to look up to Comte by 1890.13 Even he severely
criticised Comte for his many errors.14
L. T. Hobhouse, who was a philosopher before he turned a sociol-
ogist, soon after his taking up the Chair of Sociology in London
University, considered Comte’s Law of the Three Stages and declared
that “considerable modifications have to be introduced into it.”15
J. T. Merz, writing as late as 1914,16 reviewed “the celebrated ‘law of the
Three States’ ” of Comte. Merz is one of the scholars who has referred
to this law as the law of the Three States and not as the Three Stages
that most others do. In the footnote, his reference to Comte’s repetition
of the law as ‘endless’ and his tracing it back to Fichte and in France to
a friend of Saint-Simon, really gives his evaluation of it. Nevertheless,
he sees that the central doctrine of the philosophy of Comte is regarding
human progress. And the philosophy of Comte, as a whole, he charac-
terizes as “comparatively simple in its main features” and contains “so
many germs of newer thought.” For Comte’s contribution to the
philosophy of history, he shows much greater deference and even
admiration.
VIDYAS: A HOMOGE TO AUGUSTE COMTE 131

J. B. Bury,17 unravelling the history of the idea of progress, naturally

introduces Comte as the first among the searchers for a law of progress
who attained some definiteness about it. The “law of the Three Stages”
he describes as “familiar to many who have never read a line of his
[Comte’s] writings.” He justly characterizes Comte’s synthesis as only
pertinent to European history. Bury’s final summing up is that Comte’s
positive laws contribute as little to the comprehension of history as
Hegel’s metaphysical categories, categorically stating that “the law of the
Three Stages is discredited.”
The Law of the Three Stages was also the law of human progress
to Comte, and the theological, the metaphysical and the positive
stages were alternatively termed the ‘fictitious’, the ‘abstract’ and the
‘scientific’ respectively. Support for this law was attempted to be gath-
ered from two sources. The third apparent source cannot be consid-
ered to be a real source of such proof. This third source is the
correspondence of the three stages with three different social milieus,
a point the significance of which was pointed out by Barnes in a state-
ment already quoted. But such correspondence as was established by
Comte only raises a presumption in favour of the sociology of knowl-
edge but does not necessarily uphold the stages as a universal law. One
source of support I shall reserve for treatment later. The remaining
source which in Comte’s mind was perhaps the strongest, was based on
his categorical conviction that it was demonstrated in the history of
every science.
As early as 1854, T. H. Huxley who, in the field of biological sci-
ences, was the greatest scientist next to Darwin in the latter half of the
19th century, while dealing with the place of Natural History sciences,
pointed out certain fundamental contradictions in Comte’s methodo-
logical excursions.18 In 1887, reviewing the progress of science, he gave
his conclusions about the development of every branch of physical
knowledge and of the three stages, which in their logical relation are
successive, pointing out inter alia that the order of growth was not met
with in the history of any science.19
The same scientist had earlier in 1869 categorically denied that the
history of the science supported the so-called Law of the Three Stages.
He even pointed out that Comte himself in the fourth volume of his
Philosophic Positive had largely nullified his own statement.20
132 G.S. Ghurye

Now, for the source of proof of the Law of the Three Stages left
over, it has to be very clearly stressed because latterly it does not seem
to be well understood or if understood, not clearly indicated by writers.
Comte postulated his law, not merely in relation to the supposed his-
tory of the origin and development of the sciences but also in relation
to the individual, and I should say, to the social mind or the group
mind as well. Comte observes:21 “Returning to the fundamental law
enunciated at the commencement of this chapter, I think we may sum
up all the observations relating to the existing situation of society, by
the simple statement that the actual confusion of men’s minds is at
bottom due to the simultaneous employment of three radically incom-
patible philosophies—the Theological, Metaphysical, and Positive. It is
quite clear that, if any one of these three philosophies really obtained a
complete and universal preponderance, a fixed social order would
result, . . .” And again: “This general revaluation of the human mind
[from theological to metaphysical and then to positive] can, moreover,
be easily verified today, in a very obvious, although indirect manner, if
we consider the development of the individual intelligence. The start-
ing-point being necessarily the same in the education of the individual
as in that of the race, the various principal phases of the former must
reproduce the fundamental epochs of the latter. Now, does not each
of  us in contemplating his own history recollect that he has been
successively—as regards the most important ideas—a theologian in
childhood, a metaphysician in youth, and a natural philosopher in
manhood.”22
Huxley, who categorically repudiated Comte’s statement that the
history of the sciences provided evidence for his Law of the Three
Stages,* yet thought that Comte’s reasoning which was based on the
growth of intelligence in the individual man or in the human species
was much more plausible though, according to his (Huxley’s) analysis
and understanding of the development of the intellect of a child he did
not consider it a just or even an adequate account.23
In the observation quoted above, Comte had arrived, it appears to
me, through the mediation of the Law of the Three Stages, at ideas
which are fundamental as far as our social problem is concerned. And
their fundamental nature in the tackling of our social problem has
become progressively manifest only since the First World War. It ought
VIDYAS: A HOMOGE TO AUGUSTE COMTE 133

to have been clear to all intelligent people that the so-called lag of
morals behind technology, of the social and mental sciences behind the
physical and biological ones, and of group action behind radical
thought, is largely the consequence of the human mind having strata of
varying rationality. Freud has once for all proved that the conscious
sector of the mind is not the whole mind and that simultaneous with
its operation are active sectors or strata or layers which are not under
the control of the conscious. According to Freud, there are two strata or
layers of the human mind other than the conscious one. Curiously
enough, Comte too postulated three stages or three layers, though his
nomenclature of these layers is entirely different. Their functions pos-
tulated by him, however, are not so very different. The function of the
latest stage or layer may be said to be identical with that of Freud’s
conscious sector.
That the social problem of our age is fundamentally a conse-
quence of the layered nature of the human mind was perhaps first
appreciated by James Harvey Robinson, the American promulgator of
the New History, in his book The Mind in the Making, first published
in 1921. H. G. Wells was so much taken with it that an English edi-
tion of the book with his Introduction, was published in 1923.
Robinson concluded that there are “four historical layers underlying
the mind of civilized man—the animal mind, the child mind, the
savage mind, and the traditional mind.”24 Though postulating four
layers for the civilized mind, he has actually dealt with only three:
1)  our Animal Heritage, 2)  our Savage Mind, and 3) our Critical
Thinking.
Comte does not seem to have developed his observations on this
aspect of the Law of the Three Stages or States but we, the sociological
posterity should be glad to note that he had, by his instrument, however
faulty, managed to articulate the fundamental aspect of our social
problem.
The other fundamental law which Comte formulated is that of the
classification and hierarchy of sciences. It was in virtue of this law that he
postulated the two sciences of Sociology—one a narrower or the proper
one and the other, the wider or the grand one. The knowledge-system
beginning with Mathematics and ending with Physiology or Biology of
his days and extended by him to include the crowning science of
134 G.S. Ghurye

Sociology exhibited to him “a regular gradation from the most general,

simple, and abstract phenomena to the most special, complex and
concrete.” He argued that the science of Sociology was a necessary
consequence of the inherent nature of the subject matter of the sciences.
It will be seen, first of all, that Comte was not concerned with a survey
of all existing knowledge; he concerned himself only with the sciences.
It is clear from his references that he was not only aware of but had also
carefully considered “the numerous Classifications” which were “pro-
posed during the last two centuries as general systems of human
knowledge, regarded in its entirety.”25 He stated categorically that the
“encyclopaedic scales” of Bacon and D’Alembert were “radically
defective.”
Herbert Spencer, in his essay on “The Genesis of Science” in 1854,
criticised Comte’s scheme of classification of the sciences.26 He made his
scheme of the classification of sciences, without attempting to arrange
them in a hierarchy. In the same year, T. H. Huxley in an address on the
educational value of the Natural History Sciences,27 defined science as
“nothing but trained and organized common sense, differing from the
latter only as a veteran may differ from a raw recruit.” Inter alia in his
footnotes appear, at least once or twice, criticisms of Comte’s treatment
of the subject of scientific method.
In 1868, T. H. Huxley delivered a long sermon, which was after-
wards published as “On the Physical Basis of Life.”28 As the subject-
matter of that sermon was severely criticized by Congreve, Huxley
published in 1869 a reply entitled Scientific Aspects of Positivism.29
Criticising Comte’s contribution by pointing out a number of contra-
dictions in the classification and hierarchy of sciences proposed by him,
Huxley observed: “Mr. Spencer has so thoroughly and completely
demonstrated the absence of any correspondence between the historical
development of the sciences, and their position in the Com-tean hierar-
chy, in his essay on the ‘Genesis of Science’, that I shall not waste time
in repeating his refutation.”30 And, he generally endorsed Herbert
Spencer’s classification of the sciences as based on “profound thought,
precise knowledge, and clear language.”31
Karl Pearson, the first grammarian of science, born in 1857, pub-
lished his book The Grammar of Science in 1892, in which he devoted a
whole chapter to the classification of sciences. He passed under review
VIDYAS: A HOMOGE TO AUGUSTE COMTE 135

the systems of classification propounded by Bacon, Comte and Spencer.

His general conclusion can very clearly be stated in his own words: “. . .
we have in Comte’s staircase of the intellect a purely fanciful scheme
which, like the rest of his System of Positive Polity, is worthless from the
standpoint of modern science.”32 He, however, was grateful to Comte
“because he taught that the basis of all knowledge is experience and
succeeded in impressing this truth on a certain number of people not yet
imbued with the scientific spirit, and possibly otherwise inaccessible to
it.”33 For Pearson, Comte’s contribution was not merely defective as a
classification but also unacceptable as a hierarchy. He commended
Spencer’s classification “in particular because he returns to Bacon’s
notion of the sciences as the branches of a tree spreading out from a
common root, and rejects the staircase arrangement of the Positivist
hierarchy.”34 That is, however, not to say that like T. H. Huxley, he
upholds Spencer’s classification. Pearson is convinced that not only
Comte but both Bacon before and Spencer after him have failed.35
However, he schematically presents Bacon’s chart of human learning,36
and omitting the schemes of both Comte and Spencer, offers his own in
a schematic form.
It has been a marked feature of Comtism that its followers have
tended to ignore very authoritative criticism of their contribution to
knowledge and have continued to proceed on their own lines. Frederic
Harrison, one of the staunchest Comtists, represents this attitude even
more than many others. Addressing the Sociological Society of London
in 1910 as its president, he sketchily criticised Herbert Spencer’s classi-
fication of the sciences and upheld Comte’s classification.37 He did not
refer to Pearson’s criticism, much less to T. H. Huxley’s strictures on the
Comtian classification of the sciences and seems to have been hardly
aware of the significance of Comte’s arrangement of the sciences in a
hierarchy.
Franklin Giddings, another of the four traditional pillars of
American Sociology, far towards the latter part of his career in 1922,
brought up for treatment some of Comte’s contributions. And one of
them was regarding the various sciences, their sequence and connec-
tions.38 Generally upholding Comte’s contention about the hierarchi-
cal relation of the sciences, Giddings observes: “The progress of
knowledge, however, has necessitated a revision of the order that he
136 G.S. Ghurye

set down, and new designations. The series as it now stands is:
mechanics, electro-physics and electro-chemistry, chemistry, thermo-
dynamics, astronomy and geology, biology, psychology, anthropology,
ethnology, archaeology, history and sociology.”39 This is about the last
time that sociologists took notice of the classification and hierarchy of
sciences.
Even Hayek in his criticism of Comte, referring to his classification
and the ‘positive hierarchy’ of the sciences, only enters the lists with him
as far as the position of Sociology is concerned. He is eager to show that
sociology does not depend on natural science and need not wait till
these sciences have developed positivism. Finally, he points out the para-
dox posed by Comte’s reasoning about the hierarchy of the sciences,
namely, that the human mind, which, according to the theory, is the
“most imperfect of all phenomena” should have “the unique power to
control and improve itself.”40
The endeavour to classify the sciences, to establish a logical hier-
archy among them, if any, and to state their social hierarchy which gen-
erally exists, is not altogether fruitless.
The consideration of logical hierarchy is, of course, a highly difficult
task. But the fact that it has been attempted more than once in western
European history from the days of Aristotle shows that there is a pecu-
liar fascination about it. And, though latterly, neither scientists nor per-
haps philosophers proper have attempted it, yet, the fact that such a
radical thinker as I. A. Richards—and so recently as 1954—has thought
the attempt necessary to move “toward a more synoptic view” clearly
shows that the pursuit is worthwhile.
Richards arranges the sciences in the following sequence:—
Mathematics, Physics, Chemistry, Biology, Sociology, Psychology,
Anthropology, Poetics, Dialectics and he explains the basis of this
sequence in these words: “The parallelism of this sequence to the scale
of increasing complexity of subject and to cosmic history or evolution
would be not accidental. Furthermore, it might be held, the higher up
you go on the scale of complexity the MORE of the mind you bring in
as apparatus or instrument of the inquiry.”41 The soul of Comte will
surely be disturbed to see his sociology occupying just the middle place
in the hierarchy of nine sciences and not the proud place of the apex of
the hierarchy! And this is not all; for Richards informs his readers that
VIDYAS: A HOMOGE TO AUGUSTE COMTE 137

though “Dialectics would thus be the supreme study” it has to have

“Philosophy as its Diplomatic Agent.” We see in this evaluation that
even the logical sequence of the various branches of knowledge or
knowledge-systems may depend on the needs of the moment or the
crisis of the age.
Richards speaks of Philosophy as an overall synoptic view and he
has evidently in mind some kind of Philosophy of science or at least a
comparative study of the sciences. For, in another essay, lamenting the
use of modern processes of communication for power grabbing as a
cultural crisis, he maintains that only the reciprocal influences of the
sciences and the humanities, in his own words “only a recreated orga-
non, the United Studies,” can save it.42
Soon after the First World War, we begin to have books on the
history of science, evincing the interest of western intellectuals in the
history and philosophy of science.43 The purpose of these books was to
acquaint the intelligent public on the fundamentals of the natural sci-
ences and to arouse the consciousness of responsibility and inter-
relatedness among the votaries of the sciences themselves. It was not
long after it that Bertrand Russell, who was sent down from Cambridge
during the war, was invited back to hold the chair that was being insti-
tuted for philosophy of science. He did not return and I think the
chair was not occupied and the subject did not get going. Since then,
not only histories of science and scientific ideas but a general consid-
eration of what is science and its place in social life has been the topic
of writing for many an eminent scientist. Without going into details I
may select for mention the book, Modern Science and Modern Man by
the famous scientist-administrator James B. Conant. It was first pub-
lished in 1952 and its 3rd printing appeared in 1954. Bertrand
Russell’s History of Western Philosophy, much more popular than
Conant’s book it would appear—first published in 1946, 4th impres-
sion in 1954—though not a book on science, its history or its philos-
ophy, still aims at occupying the intermediate position between
theology and science.44 Philosophy is both a “theory as to the nature
of the world” and “an ethical or political doctrine as to the best way of
living,” and latterly has introduced into its method ‘scientific truthful-
ness’, “one of the few unifying forces in the welter of conflicting
fanaticism.”
138 G.S. Ghurye

Though the move for the institution of a chair and course of stud-
ies in History and Philosophy of Science did not fructify in the nineteen
twenties, it did not completely die out. It has found a place in Part I of
the Natural Sciences Tripos at Cambridge,45 albeit as a subject of the
near future in 1955–56, as one of the ‘half-subjects’ which a candidate
may offer. In London University, the progress of the movement has
been even greater. A whole degree, M. Sc, is now available in History
and Philosophy of Science. One of the headings in the course reads:
“The methods and mutual relations of history, science and
philosophy.”46
The strength of this urge for a more integrated knowledge of man’s
intellectual achievements, of the numerous knowledge-systems he has
created, has been so great that even students of the humanities have
been impelled to attempt to understand and appraise aspects of the
natural sciences. Witness, for example, the endeavour of H. Butterfield,
Professor of Modern History in the University of Cambridge. In
response to the call of the History of Science Committee of Cambridge,
he delivered in 1948 some lectures on the origin of science and
published them in a book form as The Origins of Modern Science
1300–1800 in 1949. The need for such a summing up by a historian,
a ‘non-scientist’ was so keenly felt that the book had to be reprinted
twice by 1951.
In view of these developments, the prophetic vision of Comte
deserves to be applauded rather than its defects to be jeered at as Hayek
does. Comte’s positive philosophy was intended precisely to be the
History and Philosophy of Sciences. And that too to avert a crisis,
though an intellectual one, which he saw. Comte says: “All that is neces-
sary is to create one more great speciality, consisting in the study of sci-
entific generalizations. We need a new class of properly-trained scientists,
who, instead of devoting themselves to the special study of any particu-
lar branch of Natural Philosophy, shall employ themselves solely in the
consideration of the different Positive Sciences in the present state. . . .
There would be a distinct class of men (always open to the criticism of
all the other classes), whose special and permanent function would con-
sist in connecting each new special discovery with the general system;
and we should then have no cause to fear that too great an attention
bestowed upon the details would ever prevent us from perceiving the
whole.”47
VIDYAS: A HOMOGE TO AUGUSTE COMTE 139

Notes
* Huxley was also one of those who referred to it as the law of the Three States.
1. Holmes-Laski Letters, p. 210.
2. That is how Comte first described his law which alternatively he called the law of the
Three Stages and that is how his latest critic, F. A. Hayek, refers to it; and Hayek is
one of the large majority of such authors.
3. F. A. Hayek, The Counter-Revolution of Science (1952).
4. Loc. cit., pp. 491–500, 512.
5. Harold Hoffding, The History of Modern Philosophy, Vol. II (1900), p. 336.
6. A. N. Whitehead, Adventures of Ideas (Penguin 1948), pp. 50, 51.
7. Ibid., p. 49.
8. My Host the World.
9. Ibid., p. 36.
10. The Fundamental Principles of the Positive Philosophy, p. 3.
11. Encyclopaedia Britannica, Vol. VI, p. 194.
12. Loc. cit., p. 615.
13. Albion W. Small, Origins of Sociology (1924), pp. 316, 329.
14. Loc. cit., p. 83.
15. The Sociological Review (1908), Vol. I, p. 277.
16. A History of European Thought in the Nineteenth Century, Vol. IV, pp. 483, 534, 592,
192.
17. The Idea of Progress, pp. 290–301.
18. T. H. Huxley, Collected Essays, Vol. III (1895), pp. 48–9.
19. Ibid., Vol. I (1893), p. 64.
20. Lay Sermons, Addresses and Reviews (6th ed., 1877), pp. 156–57.
21. The Fundamental Principles of the Positive Philosophy, p. 39.
22. Ibid., p. 23.
23. Lay Sermons, Addresses and Reviews, p. 159.
24. Loc. cit, p. 83.
25. The Fundamental Principles of the Positive Philosophy, p. 42.
26. First in the third volume of Essays by Herbert Spencer (1875).
27. T. H. Huxley, Collected Essays, Vol. III (1895), pp. 38 ff.
28. Seventh in Huxley’s Lay Sermons, Addresses and Reviews, p. 120.
29. Loc. cit, pp. 147.
30. Ibid., pp. 168–69.
31. Ibid., p. 170.
32. Loc. cit., (Everyman’s Library, 1943), p. 317.
33. Ibid., p. 315.
34. Ibid., p. 317.
35. Ibid., p. 320.
36. Ibid., p. 314.
37. The Sociological Review (1910), Vol. III, pp. 38–9.
38. Studies in the Theory of Human Society, p. 110.
39. Ibid., p. 134.
40. Op. cit., pp. 173–76.
41. Speculative Instruments, p. 115.
140 G.S. Ghurye

42. Ibid., pp. 104–05.

43. C. Singer (ed.), Studies in the History and Method of Science, (1917–21); G. Sarton,
Introduction to History of Science (1927); W. C. D. Dampier-Whetham, A History of
Science (1929).
44. Loc. cit, pp. 10, 863, 864.
45. The Students Handbook to the University & Colleges of Cambridge, 1955–1956.
46. University of London, Regulations for Internal Students, 1955–56, p. 1479.
47. The Fundamental Principles of the Positive Philosophy, p. 32.
9
Max Weber’s Theory of Social
Stratification: Controversies,
Contexts and Correctives
Rajendra Pandey

Introduction

T
he intellectual origins of the ‘multi-dimensional’ approach to
stratification were usually traced to the work of Max Weber.
Much of Weber’s account of stratification is the product of a
long and intense debate with Marx’s view of stratification. It was an
irony of the fate that Weber’s account of stratification, like Marx’s,
remained fragmentary (Parsons, 1964: 30), short and unfinished due to
his death (Atkinson, 1971: 71–72).
Weber’s theory of stratification is spread merely in twenty odd pages
of his mammoth Wirtschaft und Gesellschaft (Weber, 1922; 1968, 1:
302–307; 11: 926–940; 1964: 424–429; 1970: 180–195). The discus-
sion, though brief, contains a critique of cruder, ‘one-dimensional’
models and provides an important analysis of stratification which is
complex and ‘multi-dimensional’.
Weber’s approach is said to be corrective to, or displacement of, Marx’s
perspective. Hence his view varies from Marx’s in several ways. Firstly,
Weber broke away with Marx’s “mono-dimensional approach” of “eco-
nomic determinism” and replaced it with a multi-dimensional approach by
giving emphasis on social (status) and political (power) dimensions which
142 Rajendra Pandey

operate independently of class. In fact, Weber, while reacting to the limited

approach of Marx, disentangled a number of separate variables conflated in
Marx’s concept of class and added a few more to the list. Secondly, Weber
replaced Marx’s social-structural analysis by social-action analysis. Thirdly,
Weber laid emphasis on the significance of attitudes, values and aspirations
in his perspective which were neglected by Marx in laying emphasis on
rationality. Weber argued that irrational and non-logical motivation and
other attitudes are important considerations for a theory of stratification.
Differently put, Weber held that stratification is not the product of eco-
nomic factors alone but several non-economic factors operate at the root
of it. Fourth, and finally, Weber wanted to counter the Marxist explanation
of the origins of capitalism and celebrate the moral and political superior-
ity of the capitalist hero of the present and future. Weber had all this in his
mind when he advanced his theory of stratification.
The objective of this essay, however, can be more specifically stated.
First, an attempt will be made here to pinpoint the controversies now
current in the field, especially those formulated by neo-Weberians in the
course of discussion of Weber’s theory of stratification in the light of his
metatheoretical principles. Then those particular features of Weber’s
thought will be clarified which are important for an understanding of the
problems posed by the criticism directed against Weber’s stratification
theory. Finally, Weber’s theory of stratification—its nature and content—
will be discussed keeping in view the controversies raised by neo-
Weberians and Weber’s theoretical and methodological principles. To some
extent, this endeavour will involve a defense of Weber’s position against
many—though not all—of the attacks levelled against it. Briefly put, the
essay is divided into three parts—controversies, contexts and correctives.

I The Controversies

Current Conflicting Interpretations of

Weber’s Theory of Stratification

Weber’s multi-dimensional approach to stratification, its elaboration

and further clarification become preoccupation of a large number of
social stratification theorists of the day (Gordon, 1963). As a result of it,
many of the recent scholars, although they have broad affinity with the
Marxian tradition, are more Weberian than Marxist (Wrong, 1976:
47–48). This tendency is visible in the work of C. Wright Mills (1956),
MAX WEBER’S THEORY OF SOCIAL STRATIFICATION 143

Barrington Moore, Jr. (1958), Ralf Dahrendorf (1959), Reinhard

Bendix and S. M. Lipset (1956) and several others (Gluckman, 1955),
all of them except Mills being alive and still at work today.
The neo-Weberian scholarship has brought out certain important
issues with regard to Weber’s principles and theory of stratification.
Important among them are:

1. Social-structural versus social action perspective of stratification,

2. Bi-partite versus tri-partite model of stratification, and
3. Conjunction versus disjunction between different dimensions of
stratification.

1. Social-Structural versus Social Action

Perspective of Stratification

This issue relates to the application of methods and perspectives by

Weber in his analysis of stratification. The neo-Weberian scholarship is
divided into two camps. One group of scholars charges that Weber
departed from his methodological principles and social action analysis
and embraced social-structural perspective to account for stratification.
This group argues that methodological individualism is missing from
Weber’s theory of stratification and his discussions of stratification permit
an adequate explanation in structural terms. For example, Gerth and
Mills write that Weber’s methodological and theoretical principles are not
to be found in his analysis of social stratification and that theory of strat-
ification is explained by structural as opposed to an action analysis. Coser,
like Gerth and Mills, notes that Weber’s methodology employs
social-structural analysis and argues that Weber “did not always follow his
own methodological guidelines. Contrary to his nominalistic stress on
the acting person as the unit of analysis, he advanced a theory of stratifi-
cation based largely on structural explanations” (Coser, 1971: 217–218).
Similar stance has been taken by a number of other writers of Weberian
tradition (Bendix, 1966: XVIII–XIX; Eisenstadt, 1968: XXXIII; Lukes,
1973: 111, n. 3. For a recent attempt, see Fulbrook, 1978).
In reaction to these tendencies, many scholars defended Weber’s
position. This group of scholars rejects the arguments held by the expo-
nents of social-structural perspective. This set of scholars argues that it is
wrong to say that Weber departed from verstehen sociology in his analysis
of social stratification; his theory may better be understood only in terms
144 Rajendra Pandey

of the social consciousness. Aron writes that for Weber “sociological

statements . . . seek to arrive at or re-create . . . human behaviour in terms
of the meaning assigned to it by the actors themselves. Weber’s ambition
was to understand how men have lived in different societies as a result of
different beliefs” (Aron, 1970, II: 192). Bendix also recognizes the same
point when observes that Weber’s “extrapolation of class- or status-
oriented action” means that a preference for economic advantage gives
rise to class stratification and a preference for social honour gives rise to
status stratification although Bendix (1974: 153) holds that Weber
employed social-structural interpretation. Recently Barbalet has argued
that “Weber’s treatment of class and status conforms entirely to his
methodological principles of social action and ideal type analysis”
(Barbalet, 1980: 401–418). So they argue that Weber did not go in for
social-structural interpretation in his analysis of stratification and any
logic to the contrary is faulty and incoherent. To them, Weber’s theory of
stratification is very much within the ambit of his theoretical principles
of social action and methodological model of the ideal-type analysis.
There is a third group of scholars which holds that the explanations
through social structure and social action are not opposites, but two levels
of a single model. To them, the idea of opposition between social structure
and social action is without base. Parsons, for example, argues that the
subjective meanings, expectations and motives of individuals, through
which social action takes place, insofar as it is the orientations of relating
individuals, constitutes the structure within which social action is located
(Parsons, 1964: 22). Cohen seems to be in essential agreement with
Parsons when he proposes that if the conditions “of lateral and temporal
standardization and recurrence” of action obtain, it can then be said that
there exists a structure” (Cohen, 1975: 95). Cohen reasons that if different
actors in a common situation tend to do the same or similar actions, and
if at different times the same actors in similar situations tend to outdo the
same or similar action, and this action is called structured action. Lukes
observes that reasons for making the ‘structure’ an “essentially contested
concept” (Lukes, 1975: 75) are multiplicity of types of constraint and the
proclivity of theorists to select only particular ones for explanation.
Despite the synthetic interpretations, there are scholars, like Allardt,
who insist that “the notions of the participating individuals . . . may not
enter the explanation itself ” of social structure (Allardt, 1972: 59).
Social structure must, therefore, be explained without recourse to sub-
jective orientations, motives or intentions.
MAX WEBER’S THEORY OF SOCIAL STRATIFICATION 145

Before we turn to a consideration of the second controversy, it is

important that the context of issues be enlarged in order to appreciate
fully the discussions to follow. This necessitates the presentation of an
outline of the opposition between a sociology of system and a sociology
of social action.
The idee fixe of social action has always and everywhere generated its
opposition in the concept of social system (for systems theory, see Spencer,
1897; Gierke, 1934; Durkheim, 1950; McDougall, 1928). This could be
witnessed in the fact that sociology has been concerned with the problem
of relationship between the individual and society. One may argue that
the ‘individual’ (For the individualistic idea, see Bogardus, 1950: 54–55;
Locke, 1959; Hobbes, 1962; Rousseau, 1973. For a good criticism, see
Appadorai, 1950: 20–23), and “society” are two sides of the same coin,
but it is a fact that the claims of the two remain in competition (on the
theme of reconciliation between social action and social system, see
Cohen, 1975; Berger and Luckman, 1957: 152–153), whether this per-
sistent tension between them is recognized or overlooked.
The problem of relationship between individual and society is an
existential problem. For example take the everyday experience of indi-
viduals. On the one side, the individuals feel dominated by huge organ-
izations and all kinds of confusing and conflicting social expectations
(Jerkel, 1975: 152–157; Fraser, 1969: 172, 176). The machine, the
bureaucracy, the system denies human attributes and human beings
are, to borrow Dawe’s expression, less than “just human”. On the other
side, society is said to give human being a social experience, purpose,
meaning and life. The moral choices, fundamental character as a cre-
ative enterprise and link of human social experience with other social
forms are all product of the social system (Hoggart, 1970, 1: 26; Dawe,
1973: 25–55).
Differently and precisely put, there has been conflict between two
types of social analysis, variously labelled as organismic vs. mechanistic
approaches, collectivism vs. individualism, holism vs. atomism and so
on. For modern sociology, the same conflict centres on the opposition
between a sociology of social system and a sociology of social action—
or, an opposition between the system and human agency of modern
social experience.
The outlines of the opposition between the sociology of social
system and sociology of social action may be sketched briefly and simply
in a tabular form.
 146
Broad Bases Sociology of Social System Sociology of Social Action
1. The views of It presents a pessimistic view of man which is reflected from It takes the optimistic view of man which is re-which resides in the
human nature the belief that social actors are totally manipulable creatures idea of human control over the system and is reflected from the
and, if left to their own devices, can and will create self- and belief that meaning and action are decisive.
socially-destructive anarchy and chaos.
2. The view of It holds that social actors are at the receiving end of society; The social system is viewed as the emergent product of the social
relationship it is the system which determines men’s subjective meanings action and interaction consequent upon the subjective meaning,
between man and their consequent action and interaction in terms of their the understanding of this meaning and its relation to action.
and society very existence and nature as social beings and their very
sense of personal identity as human beings.
3. The view of Society is supra-human, self-generating, and self-maintaining Society is not a thing ‘a being sui generis’; it is a distinctive kind
society system, or to use Durkheim’s expression, “society” is “a being of entity, its nature residing in its generation by social action and
sui generis.” interaction on the basis of humanely constructed meaning.
4. Metatheoretical Society is a reality sui generis, a thing like things which The human capacity for the construction of meaning is held to
view comprise the subject matter of the natural science upon constitute the subject matter of sociology where natural science is
whose logic the sociology may be modelled. So system can not applicable. The society is not an object on par with those of
be conceptualized in terms of convenient analogies drawn natural sciences. Hence it rejects the methodology of the social
from natural science, such as the organic or cybernetic. system, and use of natural science model of systems. The
Human consciousness makes no difference of this process. distinctive approach to the nature of social inquiry is the
“interpretive”, ‘verstehende” or “Understanding” mode of
sociological analysis.
5. The central The moral and analytic concern to which the doctrine of the The moral and analytic concern is the problem of human control.
concern social system addresses is the problem of social order.
Source: The table has been prepared drawing arguments from Dawe (1979: 362–417).
Rajendra Pandey
MAX WEBER’S THEORY OF SOCIAL STRATIFICATION 147

2. Bi-Partite versus Tri-Partite Model of Stratification

Another issue on which neo-Weberians are divided is that of model of

stratification. One group of scholars argues that Weber adopted a bi-
partite model of stratification based on distinction between only class
and status. It is argued that for Weber the primary foundations of strat-
ification are “class” and “status” and in support of their assertion they
cite Weber’s statement which reads that class and status are the principal
“phenomena of the distribution of power within a community” (Weber,
1970: 181). They, therefore, refuse to recognize “power” as one of the
primary foundations of stratification (Barbalet, 1980: 401–416). They
take the plea that since parties merely represent interests determined by
class or status or some other basis of group formation, they are derivative
phenomena and not germane for stratification.
As against this, other group of scholars is in favour of the tripartite
model of stratification founded on class, and power (Giddens, 1973:
44). They too rely on same source where Weber mentions that parties
also relate to the distribution of power (Weber, 1970: 194). “Classes’”,
“status groups”, and “parties” are phenomena of the distribution of
power within a community” (Weber, 1970: 181). These scholars treat
power phenomenon distinct from class and status in its own right.
According to this set of scholars, Weber maintained that stratification is
an organized manifestation of unequal power in society separated into
three spheres of activity for analytical purposes: economic, social and
political, and, within each sphere, power is designed according to class,
status and party. Weber, then, they say, analyzed the characteristics of
power in each sphere as basis for describing of system of stratification.
The second view—the tri-partite model of stratification—is typical
of many interpretation and we shall follow it.

3. Disjunction versus Conjunction between

Different Dimensions of Stratification

There are two views now current in the field regarding the question of
conjunction between three-dimensions of stratification—class, status
and power, and the difference between the two schools is truly striking
(Pandey, 1982: 210–213). One group of analysts says that Weber did
not regard them as separate dimensions of social stratification. Reissman,
a noted authority on stratification, states that “whatever its form,
148 Rajendra Pandey

stratification was manifestation of the unequal distribution of power”

for Weber (Reissman, 1959: 59).
Another group of analysts, maintains that the three-dimensions—
class, status, and power are separate. Weber regarded power dependent
on political parties as different from the class dependent on market situ-
ation and status dependent on prestige-raking. Hence class, status, and
power give three different meanings (Goldschmidt, 1950; Dumont,
1970: 251–252).

II The Contexts

Weber’s Metatheoretical Stand

Before we proceed to examine the exact nature of Weber’s theory of

stratification in the light of preceding discussion, we must place on
record his metatheoretical view in order to justify our discussion. For we
think that any apparent plausibility which there might be in these objec-
tions and charges stems from a confusion over the nature of Weber’s
concept. We shall clarify what we consider it to be Weber’s views. This
will, we feel, serve as a prologue to the discussion to follow.
To be sure, the central and definitive preoccupation of Weber’s work
was the social action. This is well reflected from his concern with the
process of rationalization. The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of
Capitalism—a complex work concerned with the historical explanation
of capitalism—contains sustained discussion of the meaninglessness of
human existence (1930: 78), a theme which figures most prominently
in his later essay on “‘Objectivity’ in Social Science”. This concept or
rather theme was interpreted with another crucial theme, “rationaliza-
tion” which refers to a world shaped by what Weber called “fine special
and peculiar rationalism of Western culture”. Rationalization is
expressed in the mastery of modern science over nature and of bureau-
cratic organization over society. It signifies the human action in a world
whose structures require action to be calculating, instrumentalist, and
predictable.
The process of rationalisation, says Weber, has led modem indus-
trial society into the “iron cage” (Weber, 1930: 181) of a totally bureau-
cratized society. Weber’s man was everywhere dominated by the
machines, the bureaucracy, and the system in this society.
MAX WEBER’S THEORY OF SOCIAL STRATIFICATION 149

Weber wrote:

This passion for bureaucracy is enough to drive one to despair. It is as if we

were deliberately to become men who need order and nothing but order, who
become nervous and cowardly if for one moment this order wavers, and help-
less if they are torn away from their total incorporation in it. That the world
should know no men but these; it is in such an evolution that we are already
caught up, and the great question is therefore not how we can promote and
hasten it, but what we can oppose to this machinery in order to keep a portion
of mankind free from this parcelling out of the soul, from this supreme mastery
of the bureaucratic way of life (Weber, quoted in Mayer, 1956: 127–128).

Here, then, is Weber’s central concern: the problem of social con-

trol. This decisive concern led him to insist on the social action perspec-
tive consequent upon that concern. Weber wrote:

In general, for sociology, concepts such as “state”, “association”, “feudalism”

and the like designate certain categories of human interaction. Hence it is the
task of sociology to reduce these concepts to “understandable” action, that is,
without exception, to the actions of participating individual men (Weber,
1970: 55).

The clue to which we refer lies in the mention first of “participating

individual men” which is one part of our experience of ourselves, and
second of that ‘participating individual men’ being dominated by such
entities as the “state” and “association”. Here the ‘participating individ-
ual men’ and ‘social entities’ are poised one against the other. Weber
sides human agencies against those entities. This is the notion to which
we shall return soon.
It is in this context that Weber defines sociology and its subject
matter which demonstrates that Weber was the exponent of the soci-
ology of action. For Weber

Sociology (in the sense in which this highly ambiguous word is used here) is a
science which attempts the interpretive understanding of social action in
order thereby to arrive at a causal explanation of its course and effects (Weber,
1964: 88).

There are two emphases in Weber’s definition of sociology: one is on

scientific or objective nature of sociological discourse; and the other is
on the material dealt with by sociology which is ‘subjective’. “Interpretive
150 Rajendra Pandey

sociology”, Weber wrote, “considers the individual and his action as

the basic unit, as its ‘atom’ . . . In this approach, the individual is also
the  upper limit and the sole carrier of meaningful conduct” (Weber,
1970: 55).
Once again, Max Weber provides a clue to his social action orienta-
tion. Here is his conception of action:

We shall speak of “action” insofar as the acting individual attaches a subjective

meaning to his behaviour—be it overt or covert, omission or acquiescence.
Action is “social” insofar as its subjective meaning takes account of the
behaviour of others and is thereby oriented in its course (Weber, 1968: 4).

Social action is linked with the concept of social relationship. To quote

Weber again:

The term “social relationship” will be used to denote the behaviour of a

plurality of actors insofar as, in its meaningful content, the action of each
takes account of that of others and is oriented in these terms (Weber,
1968: 26).

It transpires, then, that for Weber social quality resides in the sub-
jective meaning which their interaction has for other actors, for action is
social when “by virtue of the subjective meaning attached to it by the
acting individual (individuals), it takes account of the behaviour of
others and is thereby oriented in its course” (Weber, 1964: 102). Weber,
thus, ruled out the concept of externality and constraint of the system
over individuals. Weber holds in no uncertain terms that social entities
are understood in terms of meanings, motives and intentions (Weber,
1964: 107–108). Weber reasons that a scientific law of sociology requires
that “typical motives and typical subjective intentions of the actors”
must feature in understanding or explanation of ‘given conditions (in
which) an expected course of social action will occur” (Weber, 1964:
107–108).
Weber then classified social actions and orientations into four types
(1) Zweckrational (instrumentally rational) action is geared to “the attain-
ment of the actor’s own rationally pursued and calculated ends”; (2)
Wertrational (value-rational) action is “determined by a conscious belief
in the value for its own sake of some ethical, aesthetic, religious or other
form of behaviour, independently or its prospects of success”; (3) affec-
tual action “determined by the actor’s specific affects and feeling states”;
MAX WEBER’S THEORY OF SOCIAL STRATIFICATION 151

and (4) traditional action “determined by ingrained habituation”

(Weber, 1964: 24–25).
It will be helpful to introduce at this point his methodological prin-
ciples. Stated simply, Weber defined social science as one of the ‘cultural
sciences’. This enabled him to see the difference between science and
culture. The cultural science was concerned with “meaning” or “pat-
terns” rather than with predictions and regularities in phenomena
(Weber, 1949: 74–86), culture is a value-concept (Weber, 1949: 76).
Weber then talked of construct which he designated as “ideal-types”.
Ideal-types are based on “subjective suppositions” and “formed by the
one-sided accentuation of one or more points of view and by the synthe-
sis” of numerous “concrete individual phenomena”. Weber likened them
to “a utopia which has been arrived at by the analytical accentuation of
certain elements of reality” although they “cannot be found empirically
anywhere in reality” (Weber, 1949: 76).
The subjective element in these one sided ideal type constructs
formed part of Weber’s conception of human life: “every single import-
ant activity and ultimately life as a whole . . . is a series of ultimate
decisions through which the soul—as in Plato—chooses its own fate”
(Weber, 1949: 18). This conception colours the whole of Weber’s
work. Choice for Weber is the essence of true science: “The objective
validity of all empirical knowledge rests exclusively upon the ordering
of the given reality according to categories which are subjective”
(Weber, 1949). Scientific activity, Weber says, represents a series
of  decisions; it is “always” from “particular points of view” (Weber,
1949: 81).
In the passage cited earlier, Weber referred to Plato’s conception of
soul. Plato in his Republic gave a three-fold division of the soul-reason,
appetite, and passion and compared it with “three orders” of that were
“to hold together” his ideal state. For Weber, the politics of the soul
appears in the identical virtue which he ascribed to scientific and polit-
ical man: “objectivity” or “distance”, “passion”, and “responsibility” for
the consequences of one’s choices.
Ideal-types are constructs created by the social scientists to render a
particular historical reality intelligible and coherent. They arc con-
structed by abstracting features of a phenomenon, e.g., capitalism or
bureaucracy and reconstructing them to form an internally consistent
whole. Ideal-types are, Weber emphasized, deliberately constructed to
152 Rajendra Pandey

be “one-sided”. Ideal types “illuminate . . . reality although they cannot

“exhaust its infinite richness”. “They are all attempts . . . to bring order
into the chaos of those facts which we have drawn into the field circum-
scribed by our interest” (Weber, 1949: 105) where there is no construct,
there is the construct of the past, inherited constructs are “in constant
tension with the new knowledge which we can desire to wrest from real-
ity. The progress of cultural science occurs through this conflict” (Weber,
1949: 105).
Having briefly sketched the manner in which Weber sought to
employ his initial epistemological presupposition and methodological
principles, let us turn to a consideration of Weber’s theory of
stratification.

III The Correctives

Weber’s Theory of Stratification: Nature and Content

Weber maintained that stratification is an organized manifestation of

power in society. Power, for Weber, can be separated into three spheres
of activity for analytical purposes: economic, social, and political, and,
within each sphere power is designated according to class, status, and
power (Weber, 1970). Let us analyse each of these dimensions of strati-
fication one by one.

1. The Class Concept in Weber

For Weber, “‘classes’ are stratified according to their relations to the

production and acquisition of goods. . . .” (Weber, 1970: 193) and
class  is “any group of persons occupying the same class situation”
(Weber, 1964: 424). While moving to a definition of ‘class situation’
Weber says:

We may speak of ‘class’ when (1) a number of people have in common a spe-
cific causal component of their life chances, in so far as (2) this component is
represented exclusively by economic interests in the possession of goods and
opportunities for income, and (3) is represented under the conditions of the
commodity or labour markets (Weber, 1970: 181).
MAX WEBER’S THEORY OF SOCIAL STRATIFICATION 153

This passage contains almost all the essential ideas of Weber’

concept of class. In it we get three significant terms in relation to class:
“life-chances’ ”, “economic interests” and “market conditions”. We must
explain these concepts to underline the basic postulates of Weber’s con-
cepts of class.
The notion of life-chances, which is central to Weber’s formulation
of class, refers to “the kind of control or lack of it which the individual
has over goods and services and existing possibilities of their exploita-
tion for the attainment of receipts within a given economic order”
(Weber, 1964: 424).
Note that the concept of “life-chance” does not refer to class situ-
ation. It is not the objective structure of life-chances as such which
determines the class, but only those life-chances that are represented by
market determined interests. That Weber was of this view further
becomes clear when we look at his treatment of the economically condi-
tioned life-chances of slaves—not entering the property and labour
markets as sellers—only as the property of others. Weber says that slaves
“whose fate is not determined by the chance of using goods or services
for themselves on the market . . . are not, however, a ‘class’ in the tech-
nical sense of the term. They are, rather, a “status group” (Weber, 1970:
183). Here, then Weber is adding the ‘subjective meaning’ to the class
through the concept of life-chance and it would be wrong to conclude
that he was using this word in the objective sense.
“Economic interests” determine the class for Weber. “The factor that
creates “class” is, says Weber, “unambiguously economic interest, and
indeed, only those interests involved in the existence of the “market”
(Weber, 1970: 183). In his essay The Social Psychology of World Religions,
Weber states that “the specific and typical cases of class situation are
ones determined by markets” (Weber, 1970: 301). But he hastens to add
that “such is not necessarily the case: class situations of landlord and
small peasant may depend upon market relations in a negligible way”. In
saying so, Weber wants to convey that it is not any intrinsic property of
the market as such which determines class, but rather it is what market
conditions impose upon the formation and nature of economic
interests.
Weber’s concept of “market situation’ ”, like earlier two, also oper-
ates predominantly in terms of social action rather than in social struc-
tural terms. Weber observes: “By the “market situation” for any object of
154 Rajendra Pandey

exchange is meant all the opportunities of exchanging it for money

which are known by the participants in the market situation to be avail-
able to them and relevant in orienting their attitudes to prices and com-
petition” (Weber, 1970: 181–182). It implies then that insofar as the
market is a component of class situation, it is premised on the concept
of class subjectively determined orientations of action.
Insofar as Weber holds that economic interests create the class, and
largely those interests found in the market, he seems to be insisting
upon a definition of class based on an understanding of motives and
intentions of the social actors. For him, market situation interests are
oriented by cognition and attitude of those who participate in the
market. When Weber speaks of life-chances, he means only those life-
chances that are represented by market determined interests. Thus it is
obvious that Weber was following his principles of sociology of social
action in the analysis of class.
It is useful at this point to caution that Weber’s definition of class
situation in terms of life-chance represented by economic interest should
not be misunderstood. One may erroneously conclude that Weber was
falling in the trap of social structural analysis and departing from social
action interpretation. This confusion is likely to be compounded when
Weber and Marx are compared.
Most of Weber’s critics have focused their attention upon the def-
inition of class situation by Weber and Marx’s definition of class posi-
tion and drawn similarity in their treatment. The class situation, writes
Weber, is one “in which a given individual and many others find their
interest defined” (Weber, 1964: 424). This statement of Weber tallies
well with Marx’s definition of class which gives the impression that
Weber was following the social-structural perspective. Marx, you will
remember, proposed that persons have their interests assigned to them
by their class position. Class interest to Marx “does not exist merely in
the imagination . . . but first of all in reality, as the mutual interdepend-
ence of the individuals among whom the labour is divided”. (Marx,
1968: 44). This observation of Marx is well within the parameters of
structural approach, for it holds that the class interests are social attri-
butes objectively derived from social relations of production. But critics
overlook that despite a definition of class position in structural terms,
Marx was very well aware of the role of man, and of his actions: “History
does nothing, it “possesses no immense wealth”, it “wages no battles”. It
MAX WEBER’S THEORY OF SOCIAL STRATIFICATION 155

is man, real living man, that does all that, that possesses and fights”
(Marx, 1965: 125). Marx’s this focus on social action sounds that class
is the product of social action of the real men. Similarly for Weber the
social actors’ significance was most important. It is wrong to equate
Weber’s interpretation of class falling in social-structural trap on the
basis of Marx’s first assertion at the exclusion of the second.
In other words, Weber is well within his verstehen sociological ana-
lysis in the analysis of class in several ways. First, Weber treats class pos-
ition as purely empirical concept which signifies the interest of
individuals and which takes an ‘average’ form for those persons sharing
a common class situation (Weber, 1970: 183). Here Weber is not per-
ceiving an entity external to and superordinate over man, but quite
simply, in the actions of other actors, or to paraphrase Sartre, the con-
straint is ‘other people’. Weber feels that the bearers of ‘average’ class
interest—the other people—pursue their interest variously and these
variations in the pursuit of interest are themselves the consequence of
social actors. Class interest is nothing else but the individual interest for
Weber. Class interest is the consequence of the real living man’s motiva-
tion, subjectively determined.
One need only to recall Max Weber’s famous statement about class
interest which is only the average interests of discrete individuals sharing
a common economic position: “classes” are groups or people who, from
the standpoint of the specific interests, have the same economic posi-
tion” (Weber, 1970: 405). Weber does insist that the “basic categories of
all class situations” are ‘property’ and ‘lack of property’. However, he
quite explicitly states that it is not the possession or non-possession that
determines the class situations of individuals, but rather “the ‘meaning’
which they can and do give to the utilization of property” (Weber,
1970: 182).
It is further interesting to note that for Weber class relationship—a
relationship between those sharing a common economic interest—is
“associative” relationship. According to Weber, the associative relation-
ship is one in which “the orientation of social action within it rests on a
rationally motivated adjustment of interests or similarly motivated
agreement” (Weber, 1964: 136). Class relationship, that is to say, is
explained by Weber in terms of actor’s orientation and not in economic
terms which is structural and which is supposed to act independent of
actors. For Weber, the social dimension of economic activity is its
156 Rajendra Pandey

appreciation of the ‘others’ action, (Weber, 1964: 112–113). Class

action is rational-instrumental action (Weber, 1964: 115). The concept
of social action, which focuses upon orientations, meanings and inten-
tions is the basis of the concept of class. Class is a ‘social world’ created
by “man, real living man”.
Let us consider now Weber’s class categories. We have said earlier by
quoting Weber that he explained ‘class situation’ in terms of individual
orientation and conditions. It is quite logical for Weber to assume that
as individual orientations and conditions are many, so are the structura-
tion of class situations.
For an understanding why and how Weber adopted a pluralistic
conception of classes let us look at his wider categories of class situations
corresponding to social groupings. It was logical for Weber to assume
that “control over different combinations of consumer goods, means of
production, investments, capital funds or marketable abilities constitute
class situations which are different with each combination and vari-
ation” (Weber, 1964: 424–425).
As combinations of property and skills are innumerable, so are class
situations. There are, therefore, infinite class categories on the basis of
infinite class situations. How to cope with this situation?
In order to contain this situation, Weber developed a two-fold dis-
tinct schemas for the structuration of class categories: one is the partic-
ular nature of different types of market situation and the other is the
possibilities for mobility between class situations.
In Weber’s view, class categories based on the nature of different
types of market situation are many, but it could be reduced to two for
analytical purposes: property market and market for service. Basing on
the distinction between the property market and the market for services,
Weber differentiates between “property classes” “primarily determined
by differentiation of property holdings” and “acquisition classes” “pri-
marily determined by their opportunity for exploitation of non-property
resources such as skills on the market” (Weber, 1964: 424–427).
In each of the specific classes—‘property class’ and ‘acquisition
class’, Weber observes, there are two different classes around an axis of
‘privilege’. He distinguishes “property class” into ‘positively privileged
property classes’ made up of the owners and direct controllers of prop-
erty, deriving their income from property rent and securities and the
‘negatively privileged property classes’ made up of those without prop-
erty consisting of outcasts, debtor class and the poor, and slaves—who
MAX WEBER’S THEORY OF SOCIAL STRATIFICATION 157

are themselves the property of others. Similarly Weber distinguishes

‘acquisition class’ into the ‘positively privileged acquisition class’ made
up of those who control the management of productive enterprises and
whose security of position derives from their ability to infuence economic
policy in their favour, and the ‘negatively privileged classes’ made up of
skilled, semi-skilled and unskilled workers. Between these two classes are
those groupings which are labelled as “middle classes”. Thus Weber devel-
ops a complex typology of classification which gives impression of his
pluralistic conception of classes (Giddens, 1973: 42)—a theme contrast-
ing to Marx who thought that there remain ultimately two classes—
proletariat, consisting of those who possess only their labour power and
bourgeoisie, who appropriate a portion of surplus value and own and
control the means of production.
It needs to be noted that in categorization of the class on the basis
of the market situation, Weber preserves his principle of social action by
separating the structure from action in his analysis of class structure.
Weber does not hold that the expropriation of the worker from the
means of production in the transition from feudalism (Estate society) to
capitalism (Class society) may be explained in class terms (Weber, 1964:
246). Likewise, the process of exploitation of labour for him is a non-
class phenomenon (Weber, 1964: 233–238, 245–261). He also does not
regard class struggle as a relation between classes, but merely as “an
action between members of different classes” (Weber, 1970: 185)—a
type of ‘conflict’, a form of relationship between particularly oriented
individuals (Weber, 1964: 132–66). In fact, conflict and struggle were
endemic in society as well as between societies. “Peace” is nothing more
than a change in the form of conflict” (Weber, 1949: 27).
In effect, Weber invokes his notion that the actors in class struggle
cannot be reduced to classes as such. He refuses to reduce class relations
to the structural form. He insists upon understanding the actions of
individuals occupying different class situations. Classes as structural
form are the product of actions of social actors.
The second schema of Weber’s structuration of class situation is
that of social class to be understood in terms of the possibilities of
mobility between class situations. According to Weber, “the social class
structure is composed of the plurality of class situations between which
an interchange of individuals on a personal basis or in the course of
generations is readily possible and typically observable” (Weber, 1949:
424). This implies that a number of groupings whose class situations are
158 Rajendra Pandey

sufficiently similar—largely in terms of mobility chances—justify the

aggregate being termed a social class. Social classes will vary across the
whole range of class situations and may be positively or negatively priv-
ileged property or acquisition classes. Here social class refers to a specific
content of life chance, namely, the range of movement through a
number of class situations which individuals may pass.
For Weber, mobility is a market dependent phenomenon in the
same way as he defines ‘social class’ as a “plurality of class situations”
which themselves are defined in market terms. As the economic interests
determine the class situation, so the social class must refer to the avail-
able range of economic interests within a social world created by social
actors. The common mobility chances as also the economic class alone
could not be the basis of class action. The action depends on individual
orientations and meanings. Weber does not discuss the question of clo-
sure of class and wherever he uses it, he uses it in terms of subjectively
motivated orientations within “social relationships” (Weber, 1949:
139–140). The mobility refers to individual movements within classes.
The concept of social class if supplemented with a notion of closures it
refers to a class barriers between individuals, or what we earlier para-
phrazing Sartre referred to as ‘other individuals’.
Again, in the second classification, the principles of social action is
kept intact by Weber. He perceives mobility in terms of social actors and
barriers to mobility in terms of other actors. In this way, he rejects the
concept of system in the analysis of class.
Furthermore, Weber insists that life-chances, and/or class situ-
ations, are almost never determined by economic factors alone. For
example, a social class may combine so as to protect its privileges, then
it will resemble a status group. Similarly, a status group may attempt to
reserve monopolies or hold property and in this way it would also be a
property class. This shows that Weber maintains multi-dimensional
nature of class, even when he describes economically determined con-
cept of class.
Moreover, in our view, Weber explicitly chose to follow the meth-
odology he developed in his account of the class concept. The concepts
of ‘property class’, ‘acquisition class’, and ‘social class’ are instances of the
ideal-type formulation. It refers to the properties not drawn from any
single society but from a number of phenomena, without regard to their
historical context (Weber, 1949: 429).
MAX WEBER’S THEORY OF SOCIAL STRATIFICATION 159

In a dialogue with vulgar Marxism current in German social

thought at the time at which Weber was writing, Weber wanted to
counter Marx on two counts. Firstly, Weber wished to negate Marx’s
assumption that objective class membership leads to common class
action. He instead argued that it was subjective meaning and its conse-
quent social interaction that give rise to common class action. Secondly,
Weber refuted Marx’s assumption of causal priority of economic factors.
He contradicted what he considered to be the “economic determinism”
which he perceived in Marx’s work and advanced the significance of
non-economic factors.

2. Status Concept in Weber

Power in social domain is designated as social status. All persons who are
accorded the same estimations of social honour or prestige and who live
the same style-of-life generally fall within the same status group of
“status-situation”. A person’s power in the social sphere derives from the
amount and the extent of prestige that he receives from others. Here is
the typical passage from his famous essay, “Class, Status and Party”:

In contrast to classes, status groups are normally communities. They are, how-
ever, often an amorphous kind. In contrast to the purely economically deter-
mined ‘class situation’, we wish to designate as ‘status situation’ every typical
component of the life fate of men that is determined by a specific, positive or
negative, social estimation of honour . . . But status honour need not necessar-
ily be linked with ‘class situation’. On the contrary, it normally stands in sharp
opposition to the pretensions of sphere property . . . In content status honour
is normally expressed by the fact that above all else a specific style-of-life can be
expected from all those who wish to belong to the circle. Linked with this
expectation are restrictions on ‘social’ intercourse . . . With some over-
simplification, one might thus say that ‘classes’ are stratified according to their
relations to the production and acquisition of goods; whereas ‘status groups’
are stratified according to the principles of their consumption of goods as rep-
resented by special styles-of-life (Weber, 1970).

The concept of status then is defined by Weber through the social

estimation of esteem. Status conceived as a dimension of stratification
which is functionally distinct and separate from class, or to use Bendix’s
expression, class and status were defined in “terms that are mutually
exclusive” (Bendix, 19: 153). Weber’s theory of stratification draws
160 Rajendra Pandey

distinction between class and status which may be presented in tabular

form as follows:

Class Status
1. Class is a function of market situation. 1. Status operates in the absence of the
market.
2. Class is a mere economic situation. 2. Status originates from social community.
3. Opportunities for possession 3. Status is typified by consumption
characterize class. patterns, styles of life and social honour.

Elsewhere, in his Religion of India, Weber perhaps expressed the relation

between class and status more succinctly;

Social honour (status) can adhere directly to a class situation and it is also;
indeed most of the time, determined by the average class situation of the
status group member. This, however, is not necessarily the case. Status mem-
bership, in turn, influences the class situation in that the style of life required
to status groups makes them prefer special kinds of property or gainful pur-
suits and reject others (Weber, 1958: 39).

To be sure, in Weber’s analysis of stratification, status has been

given not one, but three different contextual meanings turning it to be
a controversial concept.
The first meaning which Weber gives to the concept of ‘status’ is
that of an ‘epoch’. He conceived the status as a dimension of stratifica-
tion historically preceding the advent of society. To this. Weber calls the
“epoch of status groups” (Weber, 1970: 193). Here he refers to Hellenic
and Roman antiquity and the Middle Ages. In the words ascribed to
Weber, status groups “develop and subsist most readily where economic
organization is of a monopolistic and liturgical character and where the
economic needs of corporate groups are met on a feudal or patrimonial
basis” (Weber, 1964: 429). Weber uses the concept of ‘status group’ in
discussion of the limits of competition in the medieval guild in contrast
to the capitalistics ethos of Christian sects (Weber, 1970: 321–322).
Here Weber poses very clearly class and status as mutually exclusive
categories—status group referring to the societies where household and
work group are undifferentiated and class referring to the societies where
they are differentiated (Bendix, 19: 156–158; Fallers, 1974: 143; Parkin,
1972: 29, 38–39; Therborn, 1978: 141).
MAX WEBER’S THEORY OF SOCIAL STRATIFICATION 161

The second meaning of status refers to the social estimation of

honour. In this sense, status, according to Weber, “may be connected
with any quality shared by a plurality, and, of course, it can be knit to a
class situation: class distinctions are linked in the most varied ways with
status distinctions” (Weber, 1970: 187). Although class and status refer
to two different dimensions of stratification, Weber suggests a relative
dependence of status on class when he writes that “today the class situ-
ation is by far the predominant factor, for, of course, the possibility of a
style-of-life expected for members of a status group is usually condi-
tioned economically” (Weber, 1970: 127). However, Weber is frying to
consider class and status distinct even though he notes dependence of
the latter on the former. Weber states that status “is not . . . determined
by (class situation) alone” even though it “may be based on class situa-
tion directly or related to it in complex ways” (Weber, 1964: 428). For,
while “present-day society is predominantly stratified in classes . . . (it)
contains a very tangible element of stratification by status” (Weber,
1970: 301). It is clear, then, that Weber considers class and status as
dissimilar and distinct even though the status may be socially related to,
and even conditioned by, class (The defenders of class hold this pos-
ition. See Marshall, 1972: 45; Runciman, 1972).
The third meaning of status refers to purely distinct character of
status. Class and status for Weber are connected with each other even
when they are distinct. Weber says, “social status may partly or even
wholly determine class situation without, however, being identical
with it” (Weber, 1964: 428). The same point is made elsewhere
(Weber, 1970: 405). Given that this is so, status retains its own iden-
tity as a precondition of class; it is instrumental in class formation. But
some confusion creeps in when Weber designates occupational groups
as status groups (Weber, 1970: 405), even though he considers occu-
pational group also as a part of the class structure (Weber, 1964: 250).
Critics say that class and status here refer to one phenomenon and no
distinction between them is maintained, although both are sharply
distinguished. However, Weber’s such treatment is simply to show that
at times one determines the other, although they are different from
each other.
Even the account of status illustrates the point that Weber does
not allow his principles of social action slip from the analysis of strati-
fication. Status, for Weber, is the judgement of men by men, “that is
162 Rajendra Pandey

determined by a specific, positive or negative, estimation of honour”

men bestow on men. Furthermore, status has also pluralistic nature
like class divided into positive and negative types of status. Status
groups as of an amorphous kind speaks of his application of ideal-type
method.

3. Power Concept in Weber

Political power, last of three dimensions, least developed by Weber, does

not belong to either economic or the social sphere; but political order.
Weber was profoundly political man. At several points in his life he
seriously thought of abandoning academic life. Weber once wrote: “I am
born for the pen and the speakers tribune, not for the academic chair”
(Monmsen, 1959: 279; Beetham, 1974: Giddens, 1972; Wolin, 1981:
401–424). He was deeply involved in politics and wrote a great deal
about politics. He has a bourgeoisie outlook and was fully aware of it.
However, he was aware that “To take a political stand is one thing, and
to analyze political structures and party positions is another” (Weber,
1970: 145). One need to recall this famous declaration to perceive the
direction in which his thought was moving. However, we are concerned
here with what he wrote about power per se.
The definition of power offered by Weber in his Wirtschaft and
Gesellschaft is of central importance. Weber distinguishes between power
(Macht) and leadership or rule (Herrschaft). There are many variations
in the meaning among the more prominent commentators on Weber’s
definition of power or Macht1. Not so clearly conceptualized as class and
status, power (macht) is defined by Weber as follows:

Within a social relationship, power means every chance (no matter whereon
this chance is based) to carry through one’s own will (even against resistance)
(Walliman, et al., 1980: 266).

One reason of confusion in various definitions of commentators is that

they are not referencing the identical portion of Weber’s Wirtschaft and
Gesellschaft which Wallimann and his associates claim to do.
Like status, Weber recognizes the “amorphic” character of power
and the innumerable situations wherein an individual may be in a pos-
ition to carry through his own will. It should be noted that Macht is also
MAX WEBER’S THEORY OF SOCIAL STRATIFICATION 163

applicable to the will of both a single person or actor as well as

individuals.
Weber distinguishes between Macht and Herrschaft. Herrschaft is
defined by Weber as “The chance for an order with a certain content to
find obedience with designatable persons” (Weber, 1925). While Macht
includes Herrschaft, it is not limited to it. Weber’s definition of power
does not imply the necessity of legitimacy. Only in that kind of Macht
called Herrschaft is legitimacy a consideration. This distinction negates
political analysts’ statement that ‘‘Weber dealt only with authority, that
is legitimate power” (Dahl, 1963: 20; Gurr, 1970; Deutsch, 1963).
Weber uses Herrschaft often translated as ‘authority’ but it is not an
exact equivalent of die Autoritat. The meaning of Herrschaft typically
connotes “mastery” and “domination”. Weber would write about the
“domination (Herrschaft) of man over man”. It implies that while in
some contexts it may be perfectly appropriate to translate Herrschaft
as  “authority” or “imperative control” and to emphasize the element
of legitimacy, it is also important to attend to the harsher overtones of
Herrschaft as domination that is, of humanly constructed structures of
power and domination. The harsher meaning of Herrschaft is connected
to more universal plane. Weber wrote: “The decisive means for politics
is violence . . . who lets himself in for politics, that is, for power and
force as means, contracts with diabolical power” (Weber, 1970: 121,
123). Conflict and struggle was recognized by Weber everywhere
(Weber, 1949: 27). Weber used a large number of ‘power-words’ such as
struggle, competition, violence, domination, Machtstat, imperialism.
Weber put forward a three-fold classification of ideal-types of legit-
imation. He stipulates that “there are three pure types of legitimate
domination. The validity of the claims may be based on: (1) Rational
grounds, (2) Traditional grounds, and (3) Charismatic grounds”.
Rational-legal type of authority rests on “a belief in the ‘legality’ of pat-
terns of normative rules and the right of those elevated to authority
under such rules to issue commands” (Weber, 1968, 1: 215). The tradi-
tional authority is defined as “resting on an established belief in the
sanctity of immemorial traditions and the legitimacy of status of those
exercising authority under them” (Weber, 1968, I: 215). “Charismatic
authority” rests on “devotion to the specific sanctity, heroism, or
exemplary character of an individual person, and of the normative pat-
terns or order revealed or ordained by him” (Weber, 1968, I: 215).
164 Rajendra Pandey

Most of Weber’s interpreters argue that Weber’s concept of power

was limited to ‘legitimate power’ and that it can be explained in struc-
tural terms. We disagree from both these general views. Max Weber’s
concept of power “is restricted to wholly human relationships . . . It is a
the chance of carrying through the will of a person, or a group of per-
sons, within a social relationship” (Walliman, 19: 226). This shows that
Weber thought of power in terms of subjective meaning of social actors.
Furthermore, the notion of legitimacy is not included in Weber’s power
definition and becomes consideration only in discussions of Herrschajt.
“Macht (power) includes Herrschaft but is not limited to it. . . . Weber
conceived of power as a process taking place in social time and space,
both in its potential state and in actions that are oriented toward real-
ization of this potential” (Walliman, 1980: 226).
As one element in Weber’s definition of power is the concept of
chance, some scholars, say Luhmann, note the inclusion of the element of
structure. The usage of chance in Weber, as interpreted by Luhmann, is in
such a way that it smacks of a structure, of a kind of catalyst, amenable to
manipulation by those specific actors possessing what Weber terms power.
Hence the chance implies a ‘given’ of social interaction that is persistent
feature of social life; it is not a random occurrence (Luhmann, 1975: 118).
Although said in a sense of a critique, there is a nice fit between the
argument of Luhmann and Weber’s social action approach. A probabi-
listic definition of power excludes any sense of the structural context
whatsoever (Burr, 1973: 189; Perrucci and Pilisuk, 1970: 1042). In fact,
power is an action state for Weber initiated and carried through in social
time and space. Weber’s sociology is characterized by a keen awareness
of the reflexive relationship among process, actors and the social milieu.
Weber places the person at the centre of the concept of power. In the
power-analysis as well, Weber keeps his metatheoretical position intact.

Conclusion

We have maintained in this essay that there is an inextricable link

between the specific features of Weber’s metatheoretical argument and
stratification theory. Weber has followed his verstehende method of
understanding social stratification in terms of subjective meanings and
social action consequent upon it. He has also kept himself along the line
of methodological principles of ideal types.
MAX WEBER’S THEORY OF SOCIAL STRATIFICATION 165

In examining the nature and exploring the dimensions of

stratification, Weber struck to a ‘three-dimensional’ view of class, status
and power. The critics’ contention of ‘two-dimensional’ view of class
and status’ is rejected. At the same time, Weber treated class, status and
power as distinct phenomena and held the notion of disjunction among
them. Both features of Weber’s thought on stratification are well
expressed in the social bases of choice or preference between alternatives
which lead to different types of social action generative of either class or
status or power stratification.

When the bases of acquisition and distribution of goods are relatively stable,
stratification by status is favoured. Every technological repercussion and eco-
nomic transformation threatens stratification by status and pushes the class
situation into the fore-ground. Epochs and countries in which the naked class
situation is of predominant significance are regularly the periods of technolog-
ical and economic transformations. And every slowing down of the shifting of
economic stratification leads, in due course, to the growth of status structures
and makes for a resuscitation of the important role of social honour” (Weber,
1970: 193–194 . . . Power derived from a constellation of interests that devel-
ops on a formally free market, power derived from social estimation and power
that derived from established authority (Weber quoted in Bendix, 1960: 294)
are different.

Note
1. Talcott Parsons, “On the Concept of Political Power,” in Talcott Parsons (ed.),
Sociological Theory and Modern Society (New York: Free Press, 1968), p. 656: “The
probability within a social relationship of being able to secure one’s own ends even
against opposition”; Talcott Parsons and A. M. Henderson (eds.), Max Weber’s The
Theory of Social and Economic Organization (New York: Free Press, 1965), p. 152 “The
probability that one actor within a social relationship will be in a position to carry out
his own will despite resistance regardless of the basis on which this probability rests’;
G. Roth and C. Wittich (eds.), Max Weber, Economy and Society, p. 53, presents the
version similar to Parsons and Henderson above, Reinhard Bendix, Max Weber. An
Intellectual Pomait (New York: Anchor, 1962), p. 290: “The possibility of imposing
one’s own will upon the behaviour of other persons”; Julien Freund, The Sociology of
Max Weber, trans, by Mary Ilford (New York: Vintage, 1969), p. 221: “The probabil-
ity that one actor within a social relationship will be in a position to carry out his own
will despite resistance”; Peter M. Blau, “Critical Remarks on Weber’s Theory of
Authority”, American Political Science Review, Vol. 57 (June, 1963), pp. 306–316, esp.
p. 221: “The ability of a person to impose his will upon others despite resistance”;
Raymond Aron, German Sociology, trans, by Mary and Thomas Bottomore (New
York-Free Press, 1964); p. 101 “The chance of obtaining the obedience of others to a
particular command”, Dennis H. Wrong, Max Weber (Englewood Cliffs, N J.: Prentice
166 Rajendra Pandey

Hall, 1970), p. 54: The Probability that one actor within a social relationship will be
in a position to carry out his own will despite resistance, regardless of the basis on
which this probability rests”, H. H. Gerth and C. Wright Mills (eds.), From Max
Weber: Essays in Sociology (New York: Oxford, 1958), p. 180: “In general, we under-
stand by power the chance of a man or of a number of men to realize their own will
in a communal action even against the resistance of others who are participating in
the action”.

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10
Malinowski on Freedom and
Civilization
Vinay Kumar Srivastava

This paper deals with one of the last contributions of Bronislaw Kasper
Malinowski (7 April, 1884—16 May, 1942) entitled Freedom and
Civilization (1944 U.S. ed. 1947 U.K. ed.)1
This work, written during the Second World War (1939–45) when
Malinowski had come to the United States of America in 1938 on sab-
batical leave, is a cogent example of the relevance of anthropology to the
study of crucial problems that confront all of mankind. To quote him:

In these times of sophistication and relativism it is the duty of an anthropologist

to restate and reaffirm the existence of certain values and principles which are
indispensable to the very process of maintaining and advancing culture (p. 4).2

The tremors, ravages and devastations of the war can be felt in his
text—a collation of the lectures he delivered during the war. It is a trea-
tise on peace, outlining the programschrift through which peace and
freedom could be restored permanently.
Did this work have a minority status because he was a Pole, or
because he was an ‘outspoken opponent of National Socialism’ (p: V),
which in those days was Hitler’s ideology? Did he view anthropology as
a discipline that could contribute to issues like freedom, peace, liberty
and equality? We submit that his Trobriand studies had already paved an
anthropological way for a judicious examination of freedom and
culture.
170 Vinay Kumar Srivastava

The Second World War deeply pained him. He wrote: “At present,
an international war, like World Wars I and II, is a civil war of mankind
divided against itself ” (p. 293). This was an expression of his abhorrence
for war. Totalitarian regimes were condemned by him as ‘states organ-
ised for the supreme mobilisation of national resources for war effi-
ciency’ (p. 305). His unceasing attacks on war and totalitarianism led to
the imposition of a ban on his books in Germany. Sir Raymond Firth
writes:

War—at least in the civilized sphere—seemed to him (Malinowski) a negation

of cultured behaviour; destructive of the finest flowering of the creative arts.3

Malinowski died before the holocaust of Hiroshima and Nagasaki—

an event which terribly shook the value-neutrality of scientists.4 Had he
lived through it, his writings would have been more poignant.
In this essay, we propose to discuss Malinowski’s ideas on freedom,
war, totalitarianism, democracy and his pragmatic efforts to establish
peace and freedom. The last deals with what he called ‘practical anthro-
pology’. Before this, however, we will discuss Malinowski against the
background of anthropological paradigms.
The greatest strength of any social science, said George Homans,5
lies in its analytical abilities. This conviction is corroborated by theoret-
icians deeply concerned with rendering analytically holistic paradigms
for comprehending—with as much approximation to truth as possible—
the past (diachronic or obliterated) and existing realities of human
society.
Anthropology has contributed significantly to analytical perspec-
tives. Without glorifying anthropology, lest it provoke the protaganists
of other disciplines, let us state that it championed a holistic approach,
or to use the phrase coined by Stanley and Ruth Freed ‘holistic ethnog-
raphy’.6 This places the discipline in a position to offer both a theoretical
approach and methodological insight for a meaningful understanding
of human behaviour. Again, anthropology contributed several analytical
perspectives that had their genesis in the study of the so-called primitive
cultures, and that permeated other disciplines and were harmoniously
assimilated by them7. Therefore, Homans’s observation about the prime
contribution of the social sciences applies more so to anthropology.
It is our belief that the future survival of anthropology will be less
dependent on ethnographic studies of pre-literates than it will be on the
MALINOWSKI ON FREEDOM AND CIVILIZATION 171

analytical-cum-methodological system that it presents for an under-

standing of the world in which traditional obsolescence, nuclear
resources, robots, technocracy, materialism and consumerism are prom-
inent features.8
One may ask how can an anthropological perspective extracted
from the study of a primitive society, be applicable to a mass-industrial
society. This is a criticism also of functionalism. It has been argued that
as functionalism is the product of a small, integrated, undivisive, trad-
itional and almost changeless society, it could not be applied to the
understanding of a large, relatively mal-integrated, divisive, stratified,
modern and fast-changing one.9 Those who make this criticism forget
that societies can be aligned on a continuum rather than in terms of
clearly divided polar categories. Once the continuum approach is
adhered to, certain fundamental properties of human society—as a
whole—stand out. These are characteristics that exist irrespective of any
gradual or radical social transformation. If change and a loose integra-
tion of institutions characterize a modern society, it should not be for-
gotten that orderly persistence is equally an indispensable characteristic.
It is widely recognized that consensus as well as conflict are dialectically
related in any social system.10
Of course, an approach emerging from the simple society for its
fuller application in a complex society may require some degree of
modification in theoretical propositions. The fact that all human societ-
ies, because of a common and intrinsic subject matter form a unified
whole, means that there are several basic threads that cut across apparent
dissimilarities. Hence, a total rejection of functionalism, with the
onslaught of conflict and change approaches (including the dialectical
methods), also means a rejection of certain fundamental and universal
characteristics in all human societies. We are not in favour of an approach
that falls short of explanatory potency, but its rebuttal should not be
done at the expense of its better attributes. Functionalism, in a similar
vein, has some important aspects that must be taken care of while alter-
ing and/or rejecting its premises.
An inspection into the history of anthropology reveals the emer-
gence of several theoretical and methodological perspectives, which
were revolutionary from the point of view of the anthropological prac-
tice hitherto prevalent. One such perspective, a vociferous criticism of
the speculative construction of evolutionary stages, was functionalism.
172 Vinay Kumar Srivastava

Critics might argue that the functional theory of society emerged

immediately after the French Revolution (1789) in the writings of
Auguste Comte. They have the freedom to trace the metaphorical usage
of organic analogy (one that provided initial strength to functionalism)
from St. Paul or other Biblical sources. But the pith of our argument is
that what is known as the ‘empirical justification of functionalism’11 was
the result of the cumulative efforts (though carried out independently)
of two social anthropologists, A. R. Radcliffe-Brown and Bronislaw
Malinowski, who later were labelled as the respective founders of British
Social Anthropology tradition. Both, in their own rights, established the
field work tradition and the synchronic study of small societies.
It is however, not to deny that the founder of Annee Sociologique,
Emile Durkheim, was one of the first brilliant contributors to the study
of social facts. In his studies of division of labour (1893), suicide (1897)
and religion (1912), he expounded sociological explanations, that went
unchallenged for quite some time.12 Although Durkheim’s definition of
function—based on organic analogy and the beneficial contribution of
a part to the well-being and maintenance of the whole—was substan-
tially adopted by Radcliffe-Brown13 and his approach—called ‘socio-
logistic positivism’ by Talcott Parsons14—had reverberating influence on
anthropology as a whole, he did not contribute to the field-work trad-
ition. In his study pertaining to simple social organizations, he relied on
the data collected by travellers.15 Therefore he could not escape from
some of the weaknesses that applied to most of the classical evolutionists
and diffusionists.16
If Thomas Kuhn’s distinction between ‘normal’ and ‘revolutionary’
science is recapitulated, it emerges that when ‘normal’ science is prac-
ticed, there are multitudinous competing paradigms, equally versatile—
or at least claim to be so—for the explanation of reality. Here the truth
of the existing paradigms is invariably asserted albeit its capability to
explain a given array of phenomena. When the paradigms comprising
‘normal’ science. Kuhn asserts, glaringly fail and the dissatisfaction con-
nected with them thickly precipitates, there is a pressing need to change
them in a revolutionary way, thus, giving birth to ‘revolutionary’ sci-
ence17. The academic dissatisfaction emerging from the classical varieties
of evolutionism and diffusionism, changed the focus from a conjectural
to a scientific study: from a diachronic one to an essentially synchronic;
from a ceremonious reliance on itinerants, missionaries and travellers to
MALINOWSKI ON FREEDOM AND CIVILIZATION 173

an objective cognition of a field worker; from just what people think to

what people think and do; from an ‘arm-chair anthropology’ to a ‘field-
work anthropology’ and from a pedagogy based on academic romanti-
cism to an anthropology which understood a primitive not as an exhibit
but a human being who craves to survive in a differential setup.
The field work paradigm—scientifically shown by Radcliffe-Brown
in his study of Andaman Islanders (1906–08) and Malinowski in the
study of eight thousand people of Boyowans (1914–18)—was nothing
short of a ‘revolutionary’ science. Functionalism, which later acquired
prominence, was empirically founded by these two protagonists. One
tends to agree with Adam Kuper who said that the year 1922, when
Radcliffe-Brown’s The Andaman Islanders and Malinowski’s Argonauts of
the Western Pacific were published, should be regarded as the annus mir-
bilis (year of wonders) of functionalism18. The angels of this year of
wonders were able to show, in their respective ethnographies, how func-
tional studies are to be carried out and the meaning of institutions dis-
cerned. The methodology pioneered by them was qualitatively different
from their predecessors.19
Malinowski commenced his field work eight years after Radcliffe
-Brown had embarked on to the study of the Andamanese. He was a
great field worker, who endeavoured to study the natives not by observ-
ing them from without, but by participating in their socio-cultural
system (participant observation—participation requires a knowledge of
the vernacular language).20 The supreme aspect about his ethnography
was that he depicted Trobrianders in their vivid group life,21 by taking
into cognizance a ‘full account of the complexity of human nature’22. He
did not, like his predecessors, consider the Trobrianders a fine example
of ‘primitives’23. He vehemently stated that the ‘myth of primitivism
should be exploded once and for ever’.24 Hence his ethnography—
understanding the natives in a complete social system—was a candid
depiction of man ‘in the round and not in the flat’.25. This was a sharp
contrast to the bloodless, prosaic and dry ethnographies of the past26.
For him, the Trobriander was not a bizarre creature whose oddities
required intellectual discourses, but a human being to be recognized in
his full humanity. Like all human beings, he is endowed with a bio-
logical equipment and a cultural apparatus. He struggles with nature for
subsistence; is involved in various sorts of conflict; has a sense of
humour; lives amidst a complex social organization; has nefarious goals
174 Vinay Kumar Srivastava

and aims; sings, dances and possesses strong aesthetic qualities, and is
endowed with human sensibilities, drives and aspirations, although they
are determined and conditioned by his cultural milieu. In a nutshell, the
principle humanum est errare (to err is human) can be fully applied in his
case. This recognition of humanum was certainly a contrast to the ethno-
centrism nurtured by others. It was ‘out of a deep respect for cultures
other than our own that the doctrine of cultural relativism evolved’.27
Malinowski was its ardent supporter. An anthropological recogni-
tion of humanum at the Trobriand level was extended at the methodo-
logical one in his A Scientific Theory of Culture and Other Essays (1944a)28
and in Freedom and Civilization (1944b). His vivid Trobriand ethnogra-
phies may depict the Kiriwinian as an epitome of humaneness, but, he
took every care to consider the evil nature of his anthropological sub-
jects. The famous ethnographic fact that the best sorcerer (bwagu’a) is
one who succeeds in committing matricide shows a negative aspect of
the Trobriand culture.29 Although Malinowski tried to explain it in
terms of “generalized psychology and standardized emotions”30, as a ten-
sion between father and mother’s brother, in an overall framework, he
comprehended both good and evil, freedom and slavery, white and
black magic, benevolent gods and virulent witches, beauty magic and
the magic to reinforce social order, non-knowledge of sociological pater-
nity and matrilineality, to name just a few examples, as having emerged
from the culture. In this sense, he was only at a stone’s throw from Emile
Durkheim who said that both the ideal conceptions of society and the
prevailing realities of social structure are unified in the transfiguration
and epitomization of deities.31
The humanum is an underlying theme in his posthumously pub-
lished Freedom and Civilization also. After recognizing his Trobrianders
in full humanity, he undertook the task to apply and extend it to all
beings32: the cardinal yearning of man is to achieve freedom in full
human sense.
Examined in isolation, his Freedom and Civilization may sound, in
the words of Professor Marvin Harris ‘an effulgent paean on “freedom” ’33
(and hence its anthropological worth may be underestimated), but if
seen in the context of humanum, as it grew in his Trobriand studies, it is
a culmination of studies pertaining to the concept of humanity over a
couple of decades. We see the essence of Malinowskian studies in the
latter sense, as he himself stated in his Diary:
MALINOWSKI ON FREEDOM AND CIVILIZATION 175

“What is the deepest essence of my investigations? To discover what

are (the native’s) main passions, the motives for his conduct, his aims. . . .
His essential, deepest way of thinking. At this point we are confronted
with our own problems: Universalgedanke, Volksgedanke (universal ideas,
folk ideas).”34 Malinowski is popularly known as a Trobriand ethnog-
rapher (as Professor Edmund Leach told us for almost fifteen years, it
was believed that anthropology emerged in visits to the islands of Papua
and New Guinea).35 A master field worker (for a long time the anthro-
pology students used to seek apprenticeship under him)36, he was also a
precursor to linguistic anthropology (his semantic analyses are widely
popular)37, and a forebearer of the gift theory (in Malinowski lay its
genesis, Marcel Mauss38 developed it and its full realization came with
Claude Levi-Strauss).39 His functional analysis of magic (‘magic is sum-
moned when mechanical technology ends’)40 was a blow on Sir James
Frazer’s conception of magic as the earliest stage in the evolution of
human thought and a kind of ‘bastard sister of science’41. This analysis
could also stun the followers of Hubert and Mauss, who saw magic as
‘anti-social’.42 Lying at the interface of various social sciences,
Malinowski’s field work approach, consisting of his articulate intellec-
tual programme, attracted various scholars. Professor Ernest Gellner, the
present Chairman of Anthropology at Cambridge, observes:

. . . his (Malinowski’s) position in the history of the social sciences is perhaps,

in one respect, rather like that of Lenin in the history of political thought: it
is impossible or at any rate pointless, to investigate his ideas without at the
same time being concerned with the institutions which were engendered by
them. The importance of Malinowski lies perhaps in this fusion of certain set
of ideas into a kind of whole and, above all, in setting up the institutions, the
traditions and the ethos which perpetuated the application of these ideas in
cumulative and profitable research.43

This, however, does not mean that Malinowski escaped from a crit-
ical (and also denigrating) assessment. He received a sizeable share of
uncharitable comments. In fact, one of his first two students, whom he
lectured in London in 1924, Edward Evans-Pritchard (later Sir Professor)
commented on A Scientific Theory of Culture in the following words:

It is a good example of the morass of verbiage and triviality into which the
effort to give an appearance of being natural-scientific can lead. Malinowski
was in any case a futile thinker44.
176 Vinay Kumar Srivastava

Malinowski’s need theory also roused cheap utilitarianism. Raglan

in his review of 1930 asked: “Does Professor Malinowski really believe
that sub incision was invented to detach boys from their mother’s apron
strings?”45
Professor Firth tells us that Malinowski had a “particular sense of
humour. He delighted in playing with words”. His description of him-
self as “the arch ‘functionalist’ was his idea of a joke”46. If one follows the
context, then Malinowski’s statement in the preface of Professor Firth’s
We, The Tikopia (1936)—“This is certainly not a genuine ‘functional’
preface which functions as a preface should function”47—should better
be taken as a kind of Malinowskian humour. Or his statement, often
quoted to criticise him, in the special foreword to The Sexual Life of
Savages48: ‘the magnificent title of the Functional School of Anthropology
has been bestowed by myself, in a way on myself, and to a large extent
out of my own sense of irresponsibility,’ should be followed in this zeal.
Notwithstanding the critical tributes, our contention is that
Malinowski’s work is relevant in the contemporary age. Undoubtedly its
anachronism, wherever discovered, needs modification. He should not
only be accepted as a Trobriand ethnographer, or a propounder of psy-
chological (or bio-cultural) functionalism, or the formulator of a ‘field
worker’s vade mecum, a wordy Notes and Queries’49, or merely an anthro-
pologist concerned with a simple and pristine culture. There is another
dimension of his work, relevant in an interdisciplinary way, whose
applicability in the modern world is quite high. It is also a good example
of what Professor Harris calls ‘the wedding of functional theory to a
universal theory of evolution’.50 It is concerned with the relationship
between freedom and culture.
The inductive premise that humanness of a simple tribal can be
extended to embrace the entire mankind led Malinowski to look for the
basic characteristics of the whole human kind. All human beings share a
charter of needs and imperatives, which applies in all social organiza-
tions irrespective of spatio-temporal dimensions.51 If generality exists at
this level, there should not be a difficulty in formulating a universally
valid theory of society.52
The humanum of the Trobriander, realized in all monographs per-
taining to him, got a theoretical sacrosanctity in his posthumously pub-
lished A Scientific Theory of Culture. The needs of all human
beings—primitive or modern—are biological, but are fulfilled by
MALINOWSKI ON FREEDOM AND CIVILIZATION 177

cultural mechanisms.53 Malinowski was not very sure whether to call his
scientific theory of culture a theory in the real sense of the term, or just
a guideline (a methodological devise) ‘to equip the field worker with a
clear perspective and full instruction regarding what to observe and how
to record’.54
One may debate on the status of Malinowski’s functionalism. Is it a
theory or just a guideline? But the summary of his thesis that the bio-
logical endowments are satisfied by cultural mechanisms would remain
almost unaltered. Once the biological needs are satisfied, a system of
social imperatives comes to the fore, again requiring the cultural system
to provide the instrumental and consummatory aspects. The sequence,
though endless, can be reduced to a charter of needs and imperatives. In
the whole analysis, culture stands out as a fact par excellence, primarily
directed towards the survival of human species.55 Consisting of an
‘instrumental apparatus’56, it supplies man with material and non-
material entities by which man adapts to the natural and social environ-
ments. It transforms man—the animal into man—the socio-cultural
being and his brain, in the process of enculturation, becomes mind—
the seat of cognitive faculty. Culture provides motivations, knowledge,
systematic (and socially approved) ways of handling various instrumen-
talities, the value-orientation and normative consensus; the goals (prac-
tical or traditional) for which men fight—the altruism at whose altar
they do not hesitate in sacrificing their lives, and the ways in which
nature is tamed. Malinowski believed—and his belief has become an
inseparable part of anthropological thought—that man can only be
identified with the presence of culture.
In other words, culture does not exist at the non-human level (one
is reminded of the culture vs. instinct distinction). Since all conceptual
categories, which facilitate human interaction and give human society a
distinct character, emerge from the all pervasive quota of knowledge57
called culture, it can be deductively argued that freedom, as a concept,
does not have any extraneous existence. It originates with culture, and it
is the culture which defines the content of freedom.
Malinowski’s logic can be presented in the following axioms:

1. All conceptual categories, which direct human behaviour or define the

aspirations of people, have their origin in culture.
2. Freedom is a conceptual category.
178 Vinay Kumar Srivastava

3. Hence, freedom has its origin in culture. To quote Malinowski: “. . . the real
battle ground of freedom, as well as the workshop in which it is produced
in all its qualities, forms and varieties, is culture” (p: 51). And “We refuse
to follow the fictitious detachment of our concept of freedom from its cul-
tural context” (p: 58).
4. The content of culture defines the content of freedom. Man is, Malinowski
believed, an animal with culture. This conception can be compared to Aristotle’s
Zoon Politikon.58 Every act carried out by him has to be comprehended within
the cultural categories. Malinowski says, “. . . not a single human act, relevant to
the science of man, occurs outside the context of culture” (p: 37).
5. Freedom is a cultural category.
6. Therefore, freedom does not exist at the sub-human level. (To use the term
freedom for, say, the movements of the beasts—they may go wherever they
wish to—is wrong). Freedom exists at the human level only, which is nothing
but exclusively cultural. Culture, at every stage in the life of human beings,
imposes a plexus of rules. Every person is directed to abide by them.
Contranormative actional patterns are firmly dealt with the instruments of
social control. Culture, in the Malinowskian sense, can be compared to an
erudite teacher who not only teaches, but controls punitive sanctions: a student
failing to imbibe the teachings within the prescribed limits is corporally, psychi-
cally or socially punished. Man, when culturalized, becomes a human being.
7. Human society is distinguished from non-human organization in terms of
culture.
8. Culture comprises a set of rules and values.
9. The process of internalization of culture, called enculturation,59 transforms
the plastic and malleable human material with the aid of rules and values.
10. Freedom as a value is meaningful only in the context of culture.
11. Therefore man can only be free within the context of culture. (Outside the
threshold of culture, the concept of freedom does not exist).

Freedom is a culture-bound concept. The theme that man’s free-

dom exists within the bounds of culture reminds one of Karl Marx’s
observation that man can only be individuated within a society.60 The all
encompassing role of culture on man can be discerned right from the
time of birth. Therefore man is never free. At this juncture, Malinowski
criticizes the famous statements of Rousseau: ‘Man is born free, but
everywhere bound in chains’. How can a newborn be called free, when
the concept of freedom is culturally determined? A newborn, at every
step, is guarded by cultural mechanisms and instrumentalities.
Malinowski tells us:

Neither ontogenetically nor phylogenetically is “man born free” . . . He (man)

is born to a new freedom which he can only achieve by taking up the chains
MALINOWSKI ON FREEDOM AND CIVILIZATION 179

of tradition and using them, for, paradoxically, these very chains are the
instruments of freedom (p: 33–34). In reality he (man) is not born free, since
a human infant is superlatively shackled and dependent (p: 79). The man of
nature, the Naturmensch, does not exist61.

We call the relation between culture and freedom dialectical.

Freedom can be defined and secured within the range and constraints of
a culture. The dialectics of culture and freedom can be expressed in the
following propositions:

1. Man cannot survive because of his biological apparatus. (‘Were man to rely
on his anatomical equipment exclusively. he would soon be destroyed or
perish from hunger and exposure).62
2. The flint-hearted nature would wipe out man because he does not have an
adequate phenotypic paraphernalia. At this level there is an unremitting
conflict between man and nature where the latter reigns (what Marxists call
the man-nature contradiction responsible for the metamorphosis of the
system from a classless society to a class-ridden one’.63
3. Culture, once improvised, helps man to free himself from the trammels of
nature. Thus culture becomes the cause of the most crucial freedom: the
freedom of survival. Malinowski says, ‘Culture thus means primarily the
freedom of survival to the species under a variety of environmental condi-
tions for which man is not equipped by nature’ (p 30). The freedom of
survival is divided into two categories:
(a) Freedom of security: it includes the ‘protective mechanisms’, like
artifacts, facts of cooperation, etc, which grant the species a ‘much
wider margin of safety’ (p: 30): and
(b) freedom of prosperity: it includes the ‘increased, widened, and diver-
sified power of exploiting environmental resources, allowing man to
prepare for periods of scarcity, accumulate wealth, and thus obtain
leisure’ (p: 30–31).

Let us refer to this function of culture by the phrase: Culture as an

instrument of freedom.

4. Culture provides regulatory mechanisms. Human behaviour is properly

channelized by it; deviance is condemned while conformity is hailed (and
sometimes rewarded). The idiosyncrasies of man are controlled and social
life is regulated for the benefit of all. In this sense, ‘culture inevitably
becomes a source of new constraints imposed upon men’ (p: 34). It per-
forms two interrelated functions:
(a) supplying ‘man with derived potentialities, abilities and power’, and
(b) imposing a number of limitations on man (‘Culture imposes a new
type of specific determinism on human behaviour’).64
180 Vinay Kumar Srivastava

We refer to this task of culture as: culture as an instrument of

constraints.

5. Although culture is the creator of codes of conduct, moral maxims and

precepts, rules of behaviour and ‘conceptual wealth, its malleability in the
hands of a small tyrannous oligarchy, or a selfish sultan, or a handful of
mendicants’ is also noted by Malinowski. If freedom is created out of cul-
ture, so is its antithesis— the denial of freedom. If on one hand, culture
offers the concept of peace, on the other, it gives the concepts of constraint
and war. It can be used ‘for destructive as well as constructive ends. It can
be transformed into an instrumentality of power for power’s sake’ (p: 235).
We call it: malleableness of the cultural base.
6. When the cultural base is transformed by the rapacious intentions of a
minority to its own vested interests and the system of inequality is legiti-
mized at the normative level, a large share of mankind is stripped of free-
dom. Since freedom is the leitmotive of human development, man cannot
languish under the jackboots of slavery forever. History testifies that various
militant movements have grown against cruel emperors, monstrous plutoc-
racies, totalitarian regimes and against all those attempts where authority
was abused to establish slavery or bondage. Malinowski states that human
beings fight against such a malicious transformation of culture. ‘We fight
for freedom’ (p. 3, 43). Thus, the logical steps of Malinowski’s deduction
are clearly formulated.

Non-survivality of man if he depends only on his anatomical

structure.

Man-nature contradiction:
Improvisation of culture:
Organization of social life:
Culture as a dynamic whole:
Manipulation of cultural base:
Culture as an instrument of free-
dom (first of all, trying to ‘liberate
man in an evolutionary scale, from
the shackles of nature’)
Culture as an instrument of
constraints.
Malleableness of cultural base.
Movements to attain freedom.

1. Curtailment of the ‘natural man’ is a movement towards freedom.

2. Denial of the sense of achievement, personal value, and development is an
abrogation of freedom.
MALINOWSKI ON FREEDOM AND CIVILIZATION 181

Malinowski abhorred a system that led to the diminution of

freedom. He used anthropological knowledge to enunciate the ways
through which world peace could be established and the freedom of
survival, achievement and development attained fully. If on one hand
Malinowski justifies cultural relativism (things are meaningful in their
respective cultural contexts) and an ethically-neutral analysis,65 on the
other, he attributes an unflinching support to freedom, thus, expressing
his commitment to this value. The epitome of all cultural achievements,
for him, lies in full realization of freedom, though it also requires a val-
ue-committed (and ethical) understanding of it. The great malleability
of the cultural apparatus often testifies killings, loot, plunder and car-
nage under the name of nationalism.
Racialism may be legitimized by seemingly innocuous linguism in
racially stratified societies. The cultural substratum can also be differen-
tially manipulated. Therefore there is a need to adhere to these values
indispensable for human advancement. A small paragraph quoted below
from Freedom and Civilization shows that activities that are regarded
criminal in non-war times become prize values during war. Please note
the malleability of cultural values and their evaluations depending on
the context.

War is the reversal of the normal constructive rules of human cooperation.

Acts which are prescribed as criminal under normal conditions and within the
tribe, become military virtues during war. In its preparation and in its execu-
tion, war consists in the reversal of most of the principles of human law and
ethics (p: 286).

Contemporary phraseology has normatively welcomed the terms

like equality, liberty and freedom. A consanguinity exists between these
concepts. Equality presupposes freedom and liberty. Respective state-
ments with freedom and liberty as independent variables can be logical
deductions with equality as a dependent one.
In Malinowski’s analysis, freedom is a central and overarching
concept (nowhere has he tried to distinguish it either from liberty or
equality). It seems that in his writings it is intrinsically related to liberty
and equality. It is one for which human beings—individually and
collectively—fight. There are national liberation movements destined
to  free the land from alien rules. Uprisings against exploiting lords,
182 Vinay Kumar Srivastava

rebellions against tyrannous autocratic incumbents, revolutions to erad-

icate a politically oppressive and an economically exploitative structure
are all movements aimed at acquiring freedom in one way or the other.
Freedom in all historical contexts has been celebrated as a virtue. This is
reflected in independence day celebrations, when countries gained liber-
ation from the clutches of metropolitan powers.
A curtailment (and tailoring) of ‘natural freedom’ (if a phrase of this
nature is used) is ‘cultural freedom’. A threat to the latter is reacted back
with immense pressure. If freedom is a primary virtue—and Malinowski
sings its paeans (to remember Harris’s observation) eulogizing it as a
‘double faced goddess, sublime yet ruthless ideal’66—it needs a defini-
tion in precise, objective and comprehensive terms. He laments that a
conceptually clear definition of freedom, which is neither ‘flippant nor
supine’ has, however, not been formulated (p: 43).
One important contribution of Renaissance has been in expanding
the domain of reason. It actually meant the explanation of man, non-
human beings, universe, natural and physical phenomena, theologies,
social phenomena and other entities without bringing god or any
unverifiable entity in the purview of analysis. In other words, our faith
in particular concepts, values, ideologies must be in “harmony with
reason” (p: 43). It is not only that a precise definition of freedom is
enough. It has to be objectively validated, to help independent observers
in analyzing this phenomenon correctly.
Earlier we mentioned that Malinowski is one of the precursors of
linguistic anthropology. His approach, cogently put, implies under-
standing the meaning of an act from the native’s point of view—focussed
on the semantic analysis of the words used by the respondents either to
convey their opinion or in the ‘imponderabilia of day to day existence’.
Along with a semantic inquiry of the verbal actions of the participants
(non-verbal actions also contribute to the cognition of the verbal mes-
sage), the concepts and terms, used to render the analysis anthropologic-
ally meaningful should also be properly defined. Malinowski in his
earlier works had been very careful about the semantic aspects of the
words,67 but his Freedom and Civilization is an outstanding example of
a ‘full length commentary’ on freedom, a word that besides being a con-
cept of sociological value is also a part of layman’s vocabulary. Professor
J. R. Firth, in the festschrift of 1957, finds this analysis ‘not only more
sophisticated but more stimulating than similar general semantic studies
which have appeared in the United states’68.
MALINOWSKI ON FREEDOM AND CIVILIZATION 183

In the semantic analysis of freedom, Malinowski makes two notable

contributions:

1. a delineation of the sociological meaning of freedom from its multiple

meanings imposed both by lay public (following the dictionary meaning)
and the political theorists. A multiplicity of meanings is responsible for the
‘semantic chaos’ hovering around this concept (p: 43, 53); and
2. while deriving an order out of this semantic chaos, he also makes certain
crucial observations about the problem or definition (of terms, concepts) in
social sciences.

Let us discuss the latter theme first. Certain rules (not laid down in
any systematic sequence), grasped from Malinowski’s work, are quoted
below:

1. “There is no inherent wisdom in language. The ontological argument that

the nature of an entity is somehow contained in its name has long been
rejected even in theology. It must be rejected in all scientific thinking. We
have completely to throw overboard any meek acquiescence in dictionary
meaning, in the dictates of epigram, metaphor and linguistic vagary. We
have often stressed that in science we must run counter to linguistic usage. This
is even more important in social science than in the study of matter or organism”
(p: 69; emphasis added). ‘Social science is still burdened with the supersti-
tion that words contain their meanings’ (p: 86).
2. ‘. . . every concept used must be open to objective, that is, universally acces-
sible, public, and factual observation. Hence an entity which by definition
occurs only within the realm of personal introspection cannot be a subject
of scientific discourse. All mental states which are postulated as occurrences
within the private consciousness of man are thus outside the realm of science’
(p: 84; emphasis added). (This rule reminds us of Emile Durkheim’s analysis
of social facts. He stated that individual manifestations of a rule do not
themselves constitute a social fact. Social facts are not psychic facts69). Like
Durkheim, Malinowski also rejects the role of subjectivity in defining the
concepts.

Combining both these rules, Malinowski does not lend credence to

either the dictionary or to the layman’s definition of freedom. He also
rebuts the approach which favours an ‘intuitive meaning’. (We all under-
stand what freedom is, therefore, what is the need to define it. Intuitivists
also feel that a complete definition of freedom is almost impossible to
achieve). The intuitive approach seeks to understand freedom at the
subjective and individualistic plane. For it, freedom means liberation
184 Vinay Kumar Srivastava

from all restraints. Such a conception is entertained not only by the

common public, but, as Malinowski showed, various scholarly writings
fall in this category.70
The intuitive approach (which as Malinowski shows legitimizes
‘free-floating freedom’) as contrasted to the antinomian one (p: 46):

Intuitive Approach Antinomian Approach

(also includes the views of some liberal
and libertarian thinkers)
Liberty is almost synonymous
with the ‘absence of chains, removal of
restraints, and the minimum control of
the individual’ (p: 45).
Freedom is defined negatively
(‘absence of restraint, freedom from
law’)
It is primarily subjective
in nature.
(Malinowski adheres to this definition of
freedom)
This view expresses the idea
that ‘freedom can only be achieved through
restraint (law)’ (p: 46).
Freedom is a positive quality,
as it increases the efficacy of people. It is an
inseparable aspect of human growth and
development.
As a concept to be applicable
in social analysis, it must be defined
objectively.

A subjective definition of freedom is however not amenable to any

scientific or cross-cultural analysis. If, as intuitivists say, it lies at the
deep-rooted psychic level, it cannot be analyzed at the general level.
Malinowski tells us that there is no psychoscope (p: 53) that could help
us in observing the deep psyche. Concept of freedom cannot be oper-
ationalized in cardial terms. At best one has to draw an ordinal scale.
For Malinowski, ‘freedom from law’ is theoretically different from
‘freedom through law’. The former is nothing short of a wild surmise—a
figment of imagination. It is not a scientific concept. Human freedom is
only possible through law because no human capital can ever dream to
survive without a battery of laws. By law, Malinowski means ‘a socially
established rule—a command or rule of conduct sanctioned by orga-
nized constraints’ (p: 175).
Laws are executed through the machinery of power. In every soci-
ety, there is a cadre of officials, who are deemed to enforce law and order.
The term official does not only imply a bureaucrat of modern capital-
ism, but, in general terms, it refers to those entrusted with the task of
MALINOWSKI ON FREEDOM AND CIVILIZATION 185

carrying out a successful administration. In the Trobriand society,

Malinowski reports that the king rarely inflicts any physical punishment
on the criminal. But it is the duty of his sorcerer to punish the offender
through magical rituals. When a man comes to know that the king’s
sorcerer is after him, he would not dare to use any counter-magic.
Instead, he would consider himself doomed in reality. In this situation,
the task of executing the customary law is assigned to a person who
combines the role of a magician with that of an executioner of law.71
The ubiquity of power—there is a hierarchy of people placed in
relation to the differential distribution of power—led Malinowski to
reject the theories of ‘primitive communism’. There is never an egalitar-
ianism at the level of power. There are three principal sources of power:
moral, economic, political. One is reminded of Max Weber’s discussion
of social stratification, where its three forms, viz. class, status and party
are the phenomena of distribution of power in a community.72
Malinowski’s moral power is almost akin to Weber’s status group. It
should be noted that these are only apparent similarities as Malinowski’s
analysis of power is not at all penetrating as is Weber’s, who holds a
classical ground in political sociology.
Power, its birth and development (pp: 244–251), a chapter in Freedom
and Civilization, is rather one of the weakest expositions. Compared to
the semantic analysis of freedom or law, where Malinowski excelled, he
has not tried to sort out the sociological definition of power from its
semantic chaos. Perhaps he did not foresee any debate on this concept. He
used power and authority interchangeably and failed to evolve the differ-
ence between power in the loci of administration and one emerging from
organized politics. Regardless of these lacunae, his conception of power as
a link between institution and law is quite useful in the analysis of culture.
Moreover, the acceptance of power as an organizing principle in all sys-
tems (what some sociologists call the non-zero-sum concept of power)73
denies, even remotely, the possibilities of the emergence of a system—
where men are freed from any political authority, howsoever benign.
We said the concept of power links institution and law. Every insti-
tution, besides comprising the material apparatus and personnel, has a
set of norms, rules and regulations, collectively called laws.74 These must
be reinforced if the social organization has to persist as an ongoing
system. Every institution has its own organs—either inbuilt or external—
that are supposed to exercise power for the maintenance of the
186 Vinay Kumar Srivastava

homeostatis. To reiterate, the function of the power instruments is to

maintain the system of laws and restraints, thereby, establishing, in the
final analysis, the culture. The paradigm of cultural relativism is used to
explicate the equation between power and freedom. If power is used
legitimately, the result is freedom; if it has been maximized and is being
abused, there is a negation of freedom. Malinowski says:

Wherever therefore we find the development of institutions based on violence

and organized power, in which there is embodied a principle of discrimination
as well as compulsory membership we face an abrogation of freedom cultur-
ally established (p: 251).

A relativism of the same nature is observed in the relationship

between institution and freedom. Every institution, in structural terms,
consists of instrumentalities, personnel and norms. It is oriented towards
the fulfillment of certain needs and functions through the medium of
group (institution provides the actional patterns; it is through the group
that the action takes place).
Since an institution is a segment of the system of knowledge, called
culture, in itself, it comprises the ways, modes and procedure, through
which needs are satisfied. [That is why Malinowski believed that: ‘The
study of any culture must therefore be carried out in terms of institu-
tions. This means in other words that an object or artifact, a custom, an
idea or an artistic product, is significant only when placed within the
institution to which it belongs’ (p: 154)]. Like culture, institution is
high in the levels of information but because it cannot act on its own, it
does not possess any quantum of energy (we apply the cybernetic rela-
tionship between information and energy to establish the relation
between institution and individual). Contrasted to this, human beings—
encultured beings—have high energy and insignificant information of
their own.

High Energy Individual performs action, provides

knowledge to
High Information Institution (quota of knowledge)

Institution provides the individual with knowledge, but action (call

it social action) results from individual efforts and processes. In
Malinowski’s perspective, the institution is the seat of actional patterns,
but it is not ‘sui generis’, as is ‘collective consciousness’ in Durkheim’s
MALINOWSKI ON FREEDOM AND CIVILIZATION 187

writings. Undoubtedly, an institution is at the centre of the synoptic

chart of social behaviour, but human control is always exercised over its
functioning. The individual, in Malinowski’s scheme, is as important as
is culture. Therefore he did not accept the theories of Levy Bruhl on
mystical savage, the writings of W.H.R. Rivers and the French School
(Emile Durkheim and others) on clan solidarity. Nor did he accept their
floating concepts—analyzing the simple societies—like promiscuity,
group marriage, primitive communism, on the ground that in all these
there is an assumption (and which has been negated by the empirical
evidence) that in simple societies the individual is completely submerged
in his group (to use Durkheimian expression: ‘the individual conscious-
ness disappears in conscience collective’. His studies of primitive societies
convinced him that it is a hypothetico-deductive picture derived from
the wrong axiom that in simple societies the group wholly prevails over
individual.75
Once Malinowski succeeded in establishing that individual is as
important as is culture, and that human control also prevails over insti-
tutional framework as the influence of culture on man, he saw that
the  way in which institution is manipulated by those who control
the instruments of power, could have deep consequences for freedom.
He says:

The real instrument both of freedom and oppression is always the organized
partial constituent of a community: the institution (p: 153). The denial of
freedom within an institution occurs, therefore, through an abuse of the
authority held by those who organize and control the institution (p: 170).

The explanatory mode is similar to one we discussed at the level of

power. If institution is controlled by a totalitarian minority, its content
will be geared to exploitation, oppression and slavery of human beings.
On the other hand, if it is ruled by a selfless, benevolent and legitimate
authority, which rests on the fundamental postulates of freedom, the
institution itself would be the very instrument of freedom.
Every institution is directly or indirectly concerned with human
freedom or slavery. In line with his general inquiry that the relationship
of an institution with freedom must be sought, Malinowski analyzes
magic and religion, along with other institutions, both as system of free-
dom (freedom of survival) and was also concerned with the abuse of
power.76 But the most important one—that is primary for the discussion
of freedom—is state. Malinowski’s understanding of state is definitely
188 Vinay Kumar Srivastava

superior to that of power. The underlying principle of relativism influ-

ences the analysis of this ‘historic institution’, which he defines as having
a total ‘monopoly of force’ (p: 265). The way in which state is used by
the regime makes the difference between its role as an arbiter or aggres-
sor. He writes:

We see . . . that the state in certain of its forms becomes the best guarantor of
freedom, and in others the worst enemy (p: 268).
All negations of freedom come from a monopoly ‘of the constitution of the
state’ (p: 269).

For him, state exists at all human levels, a fact contested by the
study of stateless societies. He believes that the state in simple societies
is not tyrannical (p: 266, 233) because it is mostly organized on the
basis of kinship ties. Moreover, the ‘instruments of coercion are still
very rudimentary’ (p: 267). Once the coercion instruments are refined
and the kinship ties dissolve as far as the structuration of state is con-
cerned, it can always be mobilized for aggression, as an instrument of
mass scale exploitation, or can be the key instrument of human
freedom.
A nation that cherishes freedom is based on the democratic prin-
ciples and the state furthers it. For Malinowski, democracy is a principle
of cultural constitution, rather than political organization (p: 219) and
is defined on the principle of functional autonomy—institutions are
autonomous, yet interdependent. Such a principle of organization
emerges with the primitive societies (if also we regard them as first in the
scale of development). It consists of ‘a number of largely independent,
yet cooperatively related institutions which conjointly work out and
maintain their culture’ (p: 227). Democracy emerges with the separ-
ation of power or functional autonomy. It ‘implies that administration,
the framing of laws, and the system of administering justice should not
all be in the hands of the same individuals’ (p: 229). Mainly relying on
the parameter of time, Malinowski calls the kind of democracy found in
simple societies, proto-democracy, which extends over the evolutionary
scale, although at several stages, it may be in peril. If democracy is trans-
formed into totalitarianism, freedom is equally abrogated. For any kind
of cultural development, democracy is an essential principle. In simple
societies, based on functional autonomy (although the interpenetration
of institution is much more than in modern ones), the choice structure
MALINOWSKI ON FREEDOM AND CIVILIZATION 189

is of course limited, but a freedom to evolve new mechanisms to handle

nature always exists. He says:

Man therefore undoubtedly loses at each step of his career some of his
possibilities of choice. He never loses his freedom (p: 243; he makes a distinc-
tion between choice and freedom).

This may sound contradictory, but truism lies in a paradox.

Individualism may be less; choice structure may be restricted; but
freedom of human beings—freedom of survival, achievement or
development—does rule. If human society has progressed from the
stage of an ‘unpolished stone’ (p: 273) to the atomic age, it has achieved
these strides because of freedom. In this analysis, Malinowski views that
the essential fabric of a nation is democracy, closely connected with
freedom.
At the international level of relationships, nation as a concept is also
susceptible to the dichotomy of freedom and slavery. Malinowski distin-
guished between the ‘legitimate claims of nationhood and the aggressive
impositions of nationalism or imperialism’ (p: 270). A distinction
between ‘nationalism’ and ‘nationhood’ is of considerable value in
Malinowski’s overall framework. One wonders whether this distinction
will be accepted by students of political science. Both ‘nationalism’ and
‘nationhood’ refer to the emergence of an identity, almost like the pas-
sionate waves of patriotism, which crystallize in the times of war, natural
catastrophe or any accidental happening.
Nationalism is defined by him ‘as the mobilization of the nation by
the state for aggression and conquest’ (p: 271), while nationhood refers
to the ‘‘way of life’’ of a group of people (p: 272). If nationhood implies
the process of unification of a cultural group, nationalism is a social
fact—deliberately constructed and meant to crush the peripheries for
the gain of the master nation. Elites, in the latter case, resort to either
ethnocentrism or racial superiority. This infringes upon the interna-
tional harmony. Hence nationalism inspires a nation to prepare for war
and launch it in an opportune moment.
Contrary to the popular and cherished meaning, for Malinowski,
‘Nationalism today is one of the main courses of humanity’ (p: 271).
This was not only a theoretical critique of nationalism, but also a con-
demnation of Hitler’s ‘National Socialism’. One, however, is not sure
whether his concept of nationalism is a generalized one, or applied in
190 Vinay Kumar Srivastava

the times of Second World War, because whenever he has referred to

this, he had in mind racialism. He wrote: ‘Nationalism indeed in some
of its forms is one of the most pernicious tendencies of our present
world’ (p: 272). Contrasted to this, nationhood—referring to the
unity of a cultural group—is greeted by him, and he regarded it as
‘synonymous with freedom’ (p: 275). For the freedom of the entire
human species, a reliance on nationhood is a prerequisite. It can pro-
duce a world—a cultural mosaic—where unity in diversity is held
high. Underneath the efforts to sustain freedom or to wage a war, the
ideology of a given culture plays an amplifying role. If it favours racial-
ism, the power hierarchy will intend to extradite the members of some
other racial groups, as happened in Nazi Germany. If the ideology
upholds freedom, equality, liberty and justice, it would provide room
for every racial offshoot to survive and contribute wholeheartedly to
the development of the nation, its nutritive maintenance, and its
nationhood.
Freedom emerges from culture. It is essential for the maintenance
and progression of the latter. Cultural progress is thwarted when the
prevailing ideology denies freedom to all components.
Is Malinowski’s functionalism teleological? At several places, he
looks for the functions performed by institutions, and on the other,
in the case of certain phenomena, he does not fail to examine the
negative consequences. In this sense, it is not teleological. A good
example from A Scientific Theory of Culture and Freedom and
Civilization is that of war. If war is the main denial of freedom and
the ‘collective abrogation of law’ (p: 277), it is also functional in some
respects. It unifies various smaller sized units into a larger one, as the
latter generally has a ‘greater scope for development’ (p: 289): it is
‘functionally constructive only when in the long run both sides are
compensated by an integral gain, and when violence is the only means
to break down barriers so that the cultural processes can develop’ (p: 293;
emphasis added).
Besides this, Malinowski believed that anthropology can immensely
contribute to the clarification of various issues. If we take the example of
war, the anthropologist can take up the problem “whether war is pri-
meval”.77 If yes, it becomes indispensable for human affairs. If it is
strictly localized, its applicability as a universal functional proposition is
doubtful. In both the books of 1944, he asserts that the inter-tribal dis-
putes are not settled by armed force. From this, it can be postulated by
MALINOWSKI ON FREEDOM AND CIVILIZATION 191

means of an inductive logic that war ‘is not to be found at the begin-
nings of culture’, implying that it is not essential for settling disputes.78
This reasoning always raises an important question: if war is not indis-
pensable, why does it exist? It seems Malinowski, like other functional-
ists of his generation, failed to see war as a mechanism of social change.
And moreover, inter-tribal wars are not unknown. Remember how Nuer
and Dinka solve their disputes. It is through war.
Malinowski was committed to a functional understanding of insti-
tutions, but he was always sympathetic to an evolutionary and diffu-
sionistic analysis. In Freedom and Civilization, he did try to bring an
evolutionary understanding in comradeship with a functional inquiry.
But his evolutionism was nothing but skin deep—consisting of simple
conjectural statements,79 without being anchored to a firmly placed evo-
lutionary theory. The simple reasoning that since war is not found to
exist amongst the Australian Aborigines or Veddahs of Ceylon or Dyaks
of Borneo (a sample of primitive tribes), it can be hypothesized that the
earliest stages of mankind did not have it, is open to criticism. A logic of
this kind reminds one of Tylor’s idea of ‘social fossils’ or McLennen’s
‘survivals’. In addition, the approach to look for cultural universals is
also fraught with risks.
War may not be a universal category, but its evolution with the
changed socio-economic conditions needs proper historical investiga-
tion. In this modern world, where we live under the constant threat of
war; where our foreign policy has enough place for strategic manipula-
tions; and where scholarly analysis of the probable third war is available,
one cannot resist asking: what does war (or threat of war, or war in ani-
mated suspension) intend to express?
Malinowski not only condemned war, but also its preparedness.
Preparedness refers to the ‘full, determined wholehearted training of a
people, body and soul, mind, conscience and convictions, for war’ (p: 7).
In both these cases, a totalitarianism extolling the virtues of nationalism
emerges—a transient patriotism is emphasized by burying freedom. If
peace and freedom are to be established and the cultural progress vouch-
safed, ‘some fundamental guarantees for freedom, law and honest)’ are
to be posited at the level of ‘international affairs’ (p: 7).
To achieve these goals connected with peace and freedom,
Malinowski puts forward some concrete suggestions, which included a
‘complete disarmament of everyone except for internal police and mil-
itia’, ‘the establishment of an international world police force’, ‘the
192 Vinay Kumar Srivastava

principle of the division of powers’, ‘the establishment of an interna-

tional court and executive offices’, etc. (pp: 334–35). He also insisted
that: ‘permanent peace be restored by the commmonwealth of nations
led by the United States of America’ (p. 11).
This programschrift indeed has some valuable suggestions, but the
problems that need further investigation can be formulated. Most of the
suggestions exist in practice, nevertheless perpetual threat of war exists
as an ominous jinn. A large share of the national income is spent on
arms production and the inventions of sophisticated techniques for a
total holocaust. And this, when an overwhelming segment of mankind
does not have cultural resources for the satisfaction (what to talk of
optimum) of seven basic needs, identified by Malinowski. The con-
founded developing world, always threatened by hostile neighbours and
uncooperative peers, is constrained to arm itself at the gravest cost of the
lowly fed majority. The politics of super powers, various categories of
alliances, neocolonialism, dependence on the developed world, hege-
monism and imperialistic tendencies have several questions before what
is known as the issue of world peace.
Malinowski was a staunch critic of totalitarianism. He defined it in
terms of ‘slavery of most human beings and mastery by one nation, or,
more exactly, by a small group within this nation’80 (p: 314). The most
exact example of totalitarian regime given by him was that of Hitler’s
New Order. It is not very clear whether he intended to include commu-
nism under the rubric of totalitarianism, but he certainly rejected some
of the central aspects of the former. He stated that a ‘new aristocracy’,
existing in the communist system, has enacted a ‘new type of exploit-
ation of the many by the few’ (p: 95).81 If one correctly follows cultural
relativism and examines a system, one may find that most of these value
labels and propositions would be rendered meaningless. A term like
totalitarianism cannot be confidently used for the communist system,
as  the system could always be justified as ‘democratic centralism’ and
not the rule of an oligarchy. When an outsider looks at a system with a
particular value framework, he has to maintain a precarious balance
between ‘respect for all cultures’ and value-commitment. Malinowski in
the analysis of Hitler’s totalitarianism and cultural relativism (as por-
trayed in Trobriand studies) succeeded in combining ethically commit-
ted understanding with a value-free anthropology.
One agrees with Malinowski that freedom of survival, thought,
action and expression are essential ingredients of a multidirectional
MALINOWSKI ON FREEDOM AND CIVILIZATION 193

cultural growth.82 He, in an extremely eloquent language, endeavoured

to show how anthropology can contribute to various vital issues of social
life, thus exorcising the notion that it is only concerned with simple and
tribal societies struggling in inaccessible areas. Malinowski’s study exem-
plifies the statement with which we began: the greatest strength of any
social science lies in its analytical abilities.
If there was a Malinowski who bestowed an anthropological immor-
tality to a small community of eight thousand people, there is another
who was an unsullied advocate of peace and freedom in the world
system.

What linked these two Malinowskis?

Humanum.

Notes
It is a revised version of a paper, which was presented at the Symposium titled
“Functionalism; An Assessment in the Birth Centenary year of Bronislaw Malinowski”,
organized by the Department of Anthropology, Lucknow University from 29 December
1984 to 1 January 1985. I am grateful to Professor Gopala Sarana for extending me an
invitation to participate in this Symposium. I am indebted to my teacher, Professor Andre
Beteille, for various useful suggestions. Page numbers given in brackets are from Bronislaw
Malinowski, Freedom and Civilization, London: George Allen & Unwin Ltd., 1947.
1. I have consulted the 1947 U.K. edition.
2. The invasion of Poland during the Second World War touched him intimately. His
sense of nationality and the feeling of solidarity with Poles were rejuvenated. Before
that he was not ‘particularly conscious of himself as a Pole in any politically national-
ist sense’ (Firth, 1957: 14). Lucy Mair (1957: 235) writes: ‘in part because of his own
experience as one of a subject people in a European empire, he was deeply sympa-
thetic to African discontents’.
3. Firth (ibid.: 13). There were personal as well as intellectual reasons why Malinowski
hated war (See Firth, ibid.: 13–14).
4. See, for example Gouldner (1962).
5. Homans (1967: 5).
6. Freed and Freed (1981). Holistic ethnography can be compared to problem-oriented
research.
7. One may take the examples of functionalism, structuralism, symbolic interactionism,
new ethnography, etc.
8. Madan (1983) provides a good example of how anthropological knowledge can be
used for examining contemporary problems. Among the recent books on this theme,
also consult Mair (1984).
9. For a paraphrasing of this argument and a general critique of functionalism, consult
Martindale (1905), Merton (1968: 73–136).
10. Among the recent publications reinforcing this theme, see Bottomore et al. (1982).
194 Vinay Kumar Srivastava

11. This phrase is from Srivastava and Malik (1982: 222).

12. For Durkheim, sociological explanation comprises the functional and causal-
historical aspects. His chief contribution lay in separating social from psyche, thus
giving a distinctive character to both sociology and social anthropology.
13. Radcliffe-Brown (1952: 178) states that the ‘first systematic formulation of the con-
cept (function) as applying to the strictly scientific study of society was that of Emile
Durkheim in 1895’.
14. Durkheim assigns reality to group and not to individual (sociologistic) and the study
of this reality sui generis should be carried out scientifically (positivism). See Parsons
(1974: 343–375).
15. For his study of religion, Durkheim relied on the data supplied by Spencer and Gillen
on the Australians.
16. For example, he regarded totemism as the elementary form of religious life. See
Malinowski’s review (1913: 525–31; also published in 1963: 283–288) of Durkheim’s
The Elementary Forms of the Religious Life.
17. Kuhn (1902: 169) says that the ‘new paradigm . . . . . . . preserve a relatively large part
of the concrete problem-solving ability that has accrued to science through its
predecessors’.
18. See Kuper (1973: 9).
19. See Leach (1965: VI1I–IX).
20. See Malinowski (1926: 126).
21. See Leach (ibid.: XIII).
22. Frazcr (1922: IX).
23. Though I.each (ibid.: XV–XVI) thinks that Malinowski treated the Trobrianders as
both unique and universal.
24. Malinowski (1922; 60) rejected the title ‘primitive’ for the Trobrianders, but contin-
ued to call them ‘savages’.
25. Frazer. ibid.
26. See Young (1979).
27. Levi-Strauss (1968: 278).
28. Malinowski’s (1944) is a fine exposition of bio-cultural or psychological functional-
ism. Also see Voget (1975: 513–528).
29. Malinowski (1922: 73–74).
30. See Young (ibid.: 10).
31. See Durkheim (1947).
32. ‘Anthropology to Malinowski was not simply the study of savage, but the study
through which by understanding the savage we might come to a better understanding
of ourselves’ (Firth, 1957: 9).
33. See Harris (1969; 522).
34. Malinowski (1907: 119). There are also entries in his Diary where an exasperated
Malinowski, suffering the pangs of ennui, writes all that which could be called
unethical, contrary to the spirit of a value-neutral science. A statement on page 107
can be cited as an example: ‘As for ethnology, I see the life of the natives as utterly
devoid of interest or importance, something as remote from me as the life of a dog’.
On the basis of a number of statements of this type, Young (ibid.: II) writes; ‘But like
everyone else, Malinowski cultivated one kind of honesty commensurate with his
public self, and nurtured another kind for his private self’.
35. See Leach (1961: 1).
36. See Kuper (ibid.: 13).
MALINOWSKI ON FREEDOM AND CIVILIZATION 195

37. See J. R. Firth (1957: 93–118).

38. Mauss (1954).
39. Levi-Strauss (1969).
40. Malinowski (1922: 392–394).
41. See a good paraphrasing of Frazer’s views in Bohannon (1963: 315–320).
42. See Mauss (1972).
43. Gellnar (1973: 126).
44. Evans-Pritchard (1981: 199).
45. Cited in Kuper (ibid.; 34).
46. Firth (ibid.; 9). He (ibid.) writes that Malinowski ‘was never hesitant to show the
comic rather pathetic human figure on the stage of destiny. Harlequin was always to
Malinowski a sympathetic image’.
47. See Malinowski (1936: VII). Goody (1973: 185) described Malinowski a ‘victim of his
self-described irresponsibility’
48. See Malinowski (1929: XXIX).
49. Evans-Pritchard (ibid.: 199).
50. Harris (ibid.: 552).
51. Kuper (ibid.: 35) writes: ‘Malinowski’s greatness lay in his ability to penetrate the web
of theories to the real man. boasting, hypocritical, earthy, reasonable’.
52. For Malinowski’s concept of social organization, see Parsons (1957: 53–70), Sarana
(1983: 57–69).
53. See Malinowski (1944: 75–84).
54. Malinowski (ibid.: 150).
55. Malinowski (1931: 621–646).
56. Malinowski (1944: 150).
57. Parsons (1972) has examined culture in terms of knowledge.
58. ‘Man is a political (i.e. social) animal’.
59. Also called socialization by sociologists and psychologists.
60. See Marx (1976: 10).
61. Malinowski (1931: 621).
62. ibid.
63. See Giddens (1973: 26–27).
64. Malinowski (1944: 119).
65. ‘Ethical neutrality . . . means that the scientist in his professional capacity does not take
sides on issues of normal or ethical significance. As a scientist he is interested not in what
is right or wrong or good or evil, but only in what is true or false’ (Bierstedt, 1957: 10).
66. An interesting statement from Freedom and Civilization (p. 78) can be quoted;
‘Freedom, which is an aspect of the inevitable determinism of human action and of
the conditions under which human beings act, becomes a live object, a status with a
torch, an absolute goddess with a cornucopia of indefinite free choices, of unlimited
possibilities and gifts, real and magical’.
67. See, for example Malinowski (1965).
68. J.R. Firth (1957: 113).
69. See Durkheim (1938: 1–13).
70. Malinowski (1947) mainly discusses Anshen’s edited volume (1940). The article by
Franz Boas in this volume is regarded by him as the first anthropological contribution
to freedom, though in no way a satisfactory exposition (ibid.: VII).
71. Malinowski (1922: 58–60).
72. See Weber (1947: 424–429).
196 Vinay Kumar Srivastava

73. See Giddens (1970). Also see Balandier (1967: 78–98).

74. See Schapera (1957: 153).
75. Malinowski (1926: 3) writes: ‘In short, underlying all these ideas was the assumption
that in primitive societies the individual is completely dominated by the group—the
horde, the clan or the tribe—that he obeys the commands of his community, its tra-
ditions, its public opinion, its decrees with a slavish, fascinated, passive obedience”.
76. See Malinowski (1947: 205–214, 245–247).
77. Malinowski (1944: 216).
78. ibid.; also Malinowski (1947: 277–282).
79. We present few statement’s in which evolutionary bias is very clear: We cannot imag-
ine the earliest beginning of culture without at least two social groupings, the family
and the horde (p. 227). The earliest ways of using wealth is power as related to magic
and religion (p. 247). The principle of authority comes into bring from the beginning
of mankind (p. 234).
80. For an analysis of totalitarianism, see Kornhauser (1960).
81. At few places in Freedom and Civilization, Malinowski has criticized Marxian analysis
and communism (see pp. 10, 58, 94–95).
82. See Mannheim (1951, 1957), Bidney (ed.) (1963).

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Madan, T. N. 1983. Culture and Development, Delhi: Oxford University Press.
Mair, Lucy. 1957. “Malinowski and the Study of Social Change”, in Raymond Firth (ed.).
Man and Culture: An Evaluation of the Work of Bronislaw Malinowski, London: Routledge
& Kegan Paul.
———. 1984. Anthropology and Development, London: Macmillan Press.
Malinowski, Bronislaw. 1913. “Review of Emile Durkheim’s The Elementary Forms of the
Religious Life”, Folklore Vol. 24, No. 4.
———. 1922. Argonauts of the Western Pacific, London: Routledge & Kegan Paul Ltd.
———. 1926. Crime and Custom in Savage Society, London: Routledge & Kegan Paul Ltd.
———. 1929. The Sexual Life of Savages in Worth-Western Melanesia, London: Routledge &
Kegan Paul Ltd.
———. 1931. ‘Culture’, in Encyclopaedia of the Social Sciences, Vol. 4, New York: Free
Press.
———. 1936. ‘Preface’ to Raymond Firth, We, The Tikopia: A Sociological Study of Kinship in
Primitive Polynesia, London: George Allen S: Unwin Ltd.
———. 1944. A Scientific Theory of Culture and Other Essays, London: Oxford University
Press.
———. 1947 (orig. 1944). Freedom and Civilization, London: George Allen it Unwin Ltd.
———. 1963. Sex, Culture and Myth, London: Rupert Hart-Davis.
———. 1967. A Diary in the Strict Sense of the Term, London: Routledge & Kegan Paul.
198 Vinay Kumar Srivastava

Mannheim, Karl. 1951. Freedom, Power and Democratic Planning, London: Routledge &
Kegan Paul.
———. 1957. Systematic Sociology: An Introduction to the Study of Society, London: Routledge
& Kegan Paul.
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Mauss, Marcel. 1954. Gift: Forms and Functions of Exchange in Archaic Societies, London:
Cohen and
———. 1972. General Theory of Magic, London: Routledge & Kegan Paul
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11
Some Reflections on
Karl Popper’s Theory of
Social Explanation
Goutam Biswas

T
he search for the logic of the method adopted in social sciences
is a conspicuous and important preoccupation of the philoso-
phy of social sciences. The principal clue in this pursuit is the
term science which is applied to the study of society. Social science is
viewed as having a methodological alignment with the positive sciences.
The term ‘positivism’ rejects any fundamental distinction in method-
ology between science and social science. It assumes that the same meth-
ods which have proved valuable in the analysis of physical world will
hold well in social scientific inquiries. Auguste Comte (1798–1857)
talked about “Social Physics”. Emile Durkheim (1858–1917) treated
various social and cultural phenomena as ‘things’ in accounting for
them. G.H. Von Wright states that the tenets of positivism are:
(i)  “Methodological monism, or the idea of the unity of the scientific
method amidst the diversity of subject matter of scientific investigation;
(ii) the exact natural sciences, in particular mathematical physics sets a
methodological idea or standard which measures the degree of develop-
ment and perfection of all the other sciences, including humanities; (iii)
casual explanation which involves the subsumption of individual cases
under hypothetically assumed general laws of nature, including human
nature” (1971). Contemporary methodological monism is guided by
200 Goutam Biswas

the third tenet. Karl Popper who is a leading methodological monist

propounds the thesis that all explanations are basically tentative, await-
ing the test of falsification. They consist of hypothetically assumed gen-
eral laws and certain individual tests to confirm these laws and deductions
made out of them to establish the phenomenon to be explained (expla-
nandunx). The epistemological ground of this thesis is of great signifi-
cance in suggesting an alternative to the traditional subjectivistic
approach to knowledge, viz., ‘objective knowledge’. In this paper I
attempt to develop a critique of this concept of explanation and its epis-
temological background in the light of its implications for the problem
of method in the social sciences. The point is whether a viable theory of
social explanation can be envisioned in this framework.
Popper’s hypothetico-deductive model of scientific explanation
demands no unattainable certainty and no induction. It does not
entirely proceed on a priori reasoning nor does it abandon the concept
of truth as part of the scientific quest. There is no finality in it—either
of acceptance or of rejection. The explanation is ‘hypothetical’ in the
sense that it does not make any claim to certainty. It is ‘deductive’ not
because it proceeds deductively from axioms, but because its logical
structure is deductive. For Karl Popper, the aim of any science—natural
or social—is “to find satisfactory explanations of whatever strikes us as
being in need of explanation” (1979: 191) and an explanation proves
satisfactory “in terms of testable falsifiable universal laws and initial con-
ditions” (1979: 192). Falsifiability, while questioning the idea of finality
and certitude of scientific explanations, suggests the possibility of pro-
gressively approximating certainty. From the traditional positivists
Popper imbibes the idea of methodological monism and attempts to
bring particular social sciences under the purview of one general science
and its methodology. In Open Society and its Enemies, Popper says: “The
only course open to the social sciences is to forget all about the verbal
fire-works and to tackle the practical problems of our time with the help
of the theoretical methods which are fundamentally the same in all sci-
ences. I mean the methods of trial and error, of inventing hypotheses
which can be practically tested, and of submitting them to practical
tests. A social technology is needed whose results can be tested by piecemeal
social engineering” (1973: 222). Its impact is very apparent even in the
text books of the philosophy of social sciences. Richard Rudner’s state-
ment is noteworthy in this context: “The structural characteristics of a
social science theory are precisely the same as those of any other scientific
KARL POPPER’S THEORY 201

theory” (1966: 10). Popper’s hypothetico-deductive model of scientific

explanation provides a major exemplar in the philosophy of social sci-
ences. Rudner’s book, for example, is fashioned in that direction.
Acquisition of scientific knowledge, according to Karl Popper, is
based on observations which are always “preceded by a particular interest,
a question, or a problem, in short, by something theoretical [and] we can
put every question in the form of a hypothesis or conjecture” (1979: 342–
343). The hypothesis, again, is constructed by the scientist who is living
in the centre of a “horizon of expectations” by which he means “the sum
total of our expectations, whether they are sub-conscious or conscious or
even explicitly stated in some language” (1979: 345). A scientist’s horizon
of expectations “consists to a considerable extent of linguistically formu-
lated theories or hypotheses” (1979: 345). Though the scientist is amidst
his expectations his horizon of these expectations may be destroyed,
reframed or replaced by a different set of expectations in the course of his
critical process of falsification and testing of his hypotheses. It is this prin-
ciple of falsification which may be broadly termed as the emancipatory
power of criticism, which seems to be, in Popper’s framework, indepen-
dent of the horizon of expectation. Popper’s explanatory ideal consists of
(i) that which is to be explained (the explanandum), (ii) the hypothesis
which introduces something unknown or much less known as a cause of
the explanandum, and (iii) certain specific initial conditions, i.e., inde-
pendent tests. The hypothesis and these initial conditions together consti-
tute an “explanans”. The conclusion which is deduced from the
“explanans” is nothing but the deduction and thereby the establishment
of the “explanandum”. One may put it in the following way:

(i) Explanandum—“This rat here died recently”.

(ii) Hypothesis or universal law: “If a rat eats at least eight grains of rat poison
it will die within five minutes.”
(iii) Specific initial conditions: “This rat ate at least eighteen grains of rat poison
more than five minutes ago.” From (ii) and (iii) together, which form the
explanans, we may deduce the explanandum that this rat has died recently.
This model has its problems and intricacies because the initial conditions
pertaining to the individual case may not be accepted as presenting the
sufficient condition for the rat’s death. In that case some other tests are
required to establish the case and reach a more satisfactory explanation.

The hypothetico-deductive model of scientific explanation applies

straight away to what Popper calls “situational logic” or “situational
202 Goutam Biswas

analysis”. By situational analysis, he refers to “a certain kind of tentative

or conjectural explanation of some human action which appeals to the
situation in which the agent finds himself. It may be a historical explana-
tion; we may perhaps wish to explain how and why a certain structure of
ideas was created. Admittedly no creative action can ever be fully
explained. Nevertheless we can try, conjecturally, to give an idealized
reconstruction of the problem-situation in which the agent found himself,
and to that extent make the action understandable (or ‘rationally under-
standable’), that is to say, adequate to his situation as he saw it” (1979: 79).
The essential feature of this analysis is that it is non-psychological
and objective, and thereby distinguished from Collingwood’s subjectiv-
istic and interpretative approach. For Collingwood it is the subjective
re-enactment of certain experiences of a past character (say, for example,
an emperor) in the investigator’s mind that helps him or her in envisag-
ing the situation of the character which provides a clue to understanding
the particular historical phenomenon under investigation. He says:

when a man thinks historically, he has before him certain documents or relics
of the past. His business is to discover what the past was which has left these
relics behind it. For example, the relics are certain written words; and in that
case he has to discover what the person who wrote those words meant by
them. . . . To discover what this thought was, the historian must think it again
for himself (Collingwood, 1961: 282). Taking the example of some edict of an
emperor, Collingwood says that, for the historian, merely reading the words
and being able to translate them does not amount to their historical signifi-
cance. In order to do that he must envisage the situation with which the
emperor was trying to deal, and he must envisage it as that emperor envisaged
it. Then he must see for himself, just as if the emperor’s situation were his own,
how such a situation might be dealt with; he must see the possible alternatives,
and the reasons for choosing one rather than another. . . . Thus he is re-enact-
ing in his own mind the experience of the emperor; and only in so far as he
does this has he any historical knowledge, as distinct from a merely philosoph-
ical knowledge, of the meaning of the edict (Collingwood, 1961: 283).

Popper rejects this re-enactment thesis and gives it an objective turn.

According to him:

the historian’s analysis of the situation is his historical conjecture which in this
case is a meta-theory about the emperor’s reasoning. Being on a level different
from the emperor’s reasoning, it does not re-enact it, but tries to produce an
idealized and reasoned reconstruction of it . . . the historian’s central metaprob-
lem is: “what were the decisive elements in the emperor’s problem situation”?
KARL POPPER’S THEORY 203

To the extent to which the historian succeeds in solving this meta-problem, he

understands the historical situation (Popper, 1979: 188).

Hence from Popper’s point of view, ‘understanding’ is not a unique

method for humanities and social sciences, it is based on hypothetico-
deductive model of explanation only.
The problem-situation is conceived by Popper against a “third-
world background”. What is this third world? The third world is an
objective world consisting of theoretical systems, problems, problem-
situations, concepts, books, libraries and the like. It exists independently
of the human mind though a large part of it “arises as an unintended
by-product of actually produced books and argument” (Popper, 1979:
17). “We may also say that it is a by-product of human language.
Language itself, like a bird’s nest, is an unintended by-product of actions
which were directed at other aims” (Popper, 1979: 117). It has an auton-
omy and feeds back on the second world which is the mental, psycho-
logical world and even upon the first world which is the physical world.
This feed-back is the most important facet of the growth of knowledge.
Knowledge, in its real sense, is objective; it consists of objective contents
of thought, not the subjective act of thinking.
This model of scientific knowledge when applied to our social-
scientific awareness makes the later dependent on a problem-situation
that belongs to a conceptual world. It is in this sense that a methodolog-
ical unity could be conceived with regard to exact and natural sciences
and human social sciences. It takes the form of P (the problem from
which we start)—TT (the tentative theory which is the imaginative con-
jectural solution which we first reach)—EE (the error elimination con-
sisting of a severe critical examination of the conjecture—P (new
problems which were not thought off earlier). The new problems (P)
emerge out of the error elimination (EE) of a tentative theoretical solu-
tion (TT) of an old problem (P). Popper generalizes this model consid-
erably: “There are no living beings, neither animals nor plants, without
problems and their tentative solutions which were equivalent to theo-
ries; though there may well be, or so it seems, life without sense-data”
(Popper, 1979: 146).
Since the problem which we pick up is objective and has already
undergone the process of human performance (if the problem relates to
humanities and social sciences), one major corollary of this explanatory
model is that the objects of social scientific explanation are not human
204 Goutam Biswas

actions proper, but results (which may be unintended as well) of such

actions. I.C. Jarvie, Popper’s student says: “By and large action is to be
explained by reason, and often these are very simple and straight for-
ward. Those philosophers who identify such giving of reasons with the
activity of doing social science really miss the whole point” (Jarvie, 1972:
3). Even human actions which are conscious can be said to be emerging
from certain institutions and objective contents of thought which tran-
scend such actions and human empirical consciousness. The real world
thereby becomes Popper’s third world. The traditional positivism,
Weber’s pro-positivistic thought1 (which brought into focus unintended
consequences of human action and capitalism) and the present-day sci-
entism of Popper and Hayek ultimately end up with this conclusion.
According to Jarvie, the sorting out of the logic of the social situation is
of utmost importance for the purpose of social scientific explanation.
What follows is that the results of certain human actions and not those
actions as such are of primary significance for the social scientists. The
situational logic brings those actions under a heuristic intellectual exer-
cise to give them intelligibility by means of its hypotheses.
The salient features of the hypothetico-deductive model of explana-
tion as a method in social science could be summed up in the following
way:

(i) It is a scientific method;

(ii) It approximates certainty, but never attains it finally;
(iii) It is preceded by a problem situation which does not essentially evolve from
a human subject, but belongs to a conceptual world. The working out of
situation and a tentative solution to it, in turn, adds to the stock of human
knowledge i.e., the third world: “All work in science is work directed
towards the growth of objective knowledge. We are workers who are adding
to the growth of objective knowledge as masons work on a cathedral”
(Popper, 1979: 121).

While Popper rejects the absolute certainty in knowledge, he absolutizes

his method and its epistemological framework. We may accept the exis-
tence of a conceptual third world which has its impact upon the actual
process of thinking and acquiring knowledge. But, can the latter be com-
pletely subsumed by the former? I fear that Popper’s framework would
have to answer it in the affirmative. The rational argumentative enterprises
of humans are, for him, (a) descriptive and (b) argumentative. The
argumentative function presupposes the descriptive function because
KARL POPPER’S THEORY 205

arguments are about descriptions. The verisimilitude of descriptions

depends on the correspondence with the facts that are described. But grad-
ually descriptive language develops exosomatically outside the body of the
language user and achieves an objectivity beyond the human subject. With
the language becoming so transcendent, Popper says, “a linguistic third
world can emerge; and it is only in this way, and only in this third world,
that the problems and standards of rational criticism can develop” (1979:
120). But this is too wide an implication. Without continuous dialectics
between individual speech-acts and a given linguistic world, it is difficult
for anyone to explain the creativity in language and its growth. Incorporating
Popper’s concept of third world we can conceive of three sources of human
knowledge: (a) man himself, (b) nature and (c) symbols, definitions con-
cepts, theories, etc., the abstract world as reified from human subjectivity.
Very often these sources are intermingled to produce a complex kind of
knowledge. The theorist of knowledge has the enviable competence to
analyze this complexity and isolate its divergent aspects, but, he cannot be
permitted to assign any primacy to any one of these aspects.
Even if we grant that it is the third world i.e., which dominates any
knowledge situation, the problems concerning the translation of any
alien conceptual scheme remains. This problem is crucial as far as the
social scientific knowledge is concerned. Suppose the social scientist is
assigned, or himself wishes to provide an explanation of a phenomenon
that took place in a society or community in which he does not live.
According to Popper’s viewpoint, he has to have familiarity with the
“horizon of expectations”, “the third world” of the people of the com-
munity from where he has to compose his problem situation. Knowledge
of the third world itself is not possible without a direct participation in
the community. Even the knowledge of the language spoken there
would not help, because, as Wittgenstein said “Language—1 want to
say—is a refinement, ‘in the beginning was the deed’” (1980: 31e). In
his Philosophical Investigations Wittgenstein makes an allusion to one’s
coming “into a strange country with entirely strange traditions”, and
even with “a mastery of the country’s language” one may not understand
the people. This happens, Wittgenstein adds, “not because of not know-
ing what they are saying to themselves” (1968: 223), but because “we
cannot find our feet with them.”
So far as social scientific knowledge is concerned, the relationship
between man and man is a prerequisite. This relationship alone can
teach us what a particular concept means. Every explanation of a social
206 Goutam Biswas

phenomenon or social action has a general universal law. We need not

oppose Popper and other propounders of the explanatory model in this
regard. But, Popper himself would perhaps admit that the formulation
of the law itself is problematic. Before one is able to formulate it, one has
to undergo an inarticulate process of relating oneself to the ethos of the
people and period of investigation. The words “scientific” or “unscien-
tific” are adjectives prefixed to an already formulated, articulated theory
or law. In this sense, this inarticulate process is obviously “prescientific”.
As Michael Polanyi (1973: 139) says: “In relying for its own interest on
the antecedent interest of its subject matter, science must accept to an
important extent the pre-scientific conception of these subject matters.
The existence of animals was not discovered by zoologists, nor that of
plants by botanists, and the scientific value of zoology and botany is but
an extension of man’s pre-scientific interest in animals and plants”.
Concepts like “empathy” or “sympathy” would be too narrow and psy-
chologistic to enable us to understand what this process is. More and
more one has to understand what ‘empathy’ or ‘sympathy’ means in a
specific conceptual framework. The communicative competence of man
is innate to him which fulfils another innate urge of his for communion
with other fellow human beings and nature. It reveals itself in various
forms according to the diverse modes of his adjustment and adaptation
to other humans and nature. Acquaintance with any one of such forms
is possible only when one gets into and participates in that specific
mode. Popper’s hypothetico-deductive model of explanation lacks this
foundation of real participation and understanding from which one can
find the road to social explanation.
The realities of social and community living and different conceptual
paradigms growing out of them are not untranslatable. Their translatabil-
ity is the basic presupposition of social sciences. But how is this translation
possible? Its possibility is taken for granted because we can quite naturally
and unquestionably feel that the other is approachable, understandable
and capable of friendship. Our entry to a ‘third world’ is possible by culti-
vating this relationship. Popper contends that even if the actual human
world is destroyed, the existence of its ‘third world’ remnants is possible.
Even if it exists, a one-man investigation into it would make sense to
nobody else. Such a solipsistic situation is fictitious. If they are decided and
explained by a team of archaeologists, a dialogical agreement among the
team workers is surely a criterion for the establishment of their meaning.
KARL POPPER’S THEORY 207

The key to social explanation, which is an argued and reasoned con-

struction, and a consistent formulation is understanding. Instead of putting
explanation and understanding in opposition, as both idealist and positivist
sociologists often do, they should be conceived as complementary to each
other. As G.H. Von Wright rightly points out: “Before explanation can
begin, its object—the explanandum—must be described. Any description
may be said to tell us what something ‘is’. If we call every act of grasping
what a certain thing is as ‘understanding’, then understanding is a prerequi-
site of every explanation, whether causal or teleological” (1971: 135).
Explanation can be viewed as a further enrichment of understanding.
While rejecting the subjectivistic attempts (like those of Dilthey and
Collingwood) to mark the method of understanding as the sole method
of humanities and social sciences, Popper did not consider the problems
peculiar to understanding and also understanding as the beginning of
explanation. The real question is not that of a rivalry between under-
standing and explanation and, consequently, between social sciences and
natural sciences. Rather, it is about the initiation of understanding by
cultivating inter-subjectivity and then the enrichment and establishment
of it through explanatory process. According to Popper, there is no
reason why understanding can be a special mode of intuition or cogni-
tion of human affairs and not of natural and physical matters of fact.
Perhaps he forgets that it is sometimes not the content but the process of
awareness itself that becomes unique. It becomes so by virtue of its rela-
tionship with the content. A poet’s relationship with the stars is obvi-
ously different from a scientist’s or astronomer’s relationship with them.
It is not the ‘third world’ alone which is responsible for different and
unique linguistic expressions of the same content of experience. It
depends on different modes of awareness and relationships. The grasp-
ing of a social phenomenon or social understanding always takes place in
the context of inter-subjectivity. Verbal or explicit understanding, say, of
a phenomenon of racial violence, or magic, or worship in a society is
preceded by a tacit apprehension of the same through participation with
the members of the society or community. Without this participation it
would be difficult for the social scientist to discern whether something is
what he thinks it to be. Popper failed to realise the intricacies involved in
understanding alone and sense the complementarity between under-
standing and explanation. “How is understanding possible” is, of course,
a question to be dealt within a separate discussion.
208 Goutam Biswas

Note
1. Despite Weber’s insistence on a non-naturalistic stance with regard to social under-
standing, his adherence to build sociology as a value-free, objective science is well-
known. In the very definition of sociology offered by Weber it is to be regarded as a
“science whose object is to interpret the meaning of social action and thereby give a
causal explanation of the way in which the action precedes the effects which it pro-
duces” (Weber, 1978: 7). This effort to bring the subjective meaning categories under
the pale of science was definitely due to Weber’s nurturing a positivistic temper. An
observation is worth quoting in this connection: “He [Weber] comes closest to the
rationalistic, positivistic and empirical attitude [of the West]. He ceaselessly ela-
borated more precise definitions, classifications, systematization, and methods for the
testing of objectivity. He believed in the possibility . . . of a methodology by means of
which sociology would mature into a full-fledged, value-free, objective science” (Pelz,
1974: 6–7). Though Weber talked of social understanding through subjective mean-
ing-categories, the specific question about such meanings which was of concern to
Weber was that one must recognize the fact that meaningful behaviour blurs off into
non-meaningful forms. Hence Weber’s actual procedure consisted mainly in the con-
struction of typologies of behaviour. Such meanings tend to run out of concrete exis-
tential perspective and constitute a ‘third world’ of Popper’s kind. These meanings get
disconnected from actual human intentions and survive as self-subsistent entities.
This situation moulds the attention of the social scientist as far as the task of the
theoretical social sciences is concerned. And Popper could not bypass it. In Conjectures
and Refutations he says: “It is the task of social theory to explain how the unintended
consequences of our intentions and actions arise” (Popper, 1963: 125). Can we not
add to the sentence “as Weber showed the development of Capitalism out of
Protestant asceticism?” Hayek (1952: 39) is of the view that “the problems [in the
social science] we try to answer arise only insofar as the conscious actions of many
men produce undesigned results.”

References
Collingwood, R.G. 1961. The Idea of History. Clarendon: Oxford University Press.
Hayek, R.A. 1952. The Counter Revolution of Sciences. London: Allen and Unwin.
Jarvie, I.C. 1972. Concepts and Society. London: Routledge and Kegan Paul.
Pelz, Werner. 1974. The Scope of Understanding in Sociology. London: Routledge and Kegan Paul.
Polanyi, Michael. 1973. Personal Knowledge. London: Routledge and Kegan Paul.
Popper, Karl R. 1963. Conjectures and Refutations. London: Routledge and Kegan Paul.
———.1973. Open Society and Its Enemies. II. London: Routledge and Kegan Paul.
———.1979. Objective Knowledge: An Evolutionary Approach. Clarendon: Oxford University
Press (Paperback, Revised Edition).
Rudner, Richard. 1966. Philosophy of Social Science. Englewood Cliffs: Prentice Hall.
Von Wright, G.H. 1971. Explanation and Understanding. London: Routledge and Kegan Paul.
Weber, Max. 1978. Selections in Translation (Edited by Runciman). Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press.
Wittgenstein, L. 1968. Philosophical Investigations. (Translated by G.E.M. Anscombe). New
York: The Macmillan Company.
———. 1980. Culture and Value (translated by Peter Winch). Oxford: Basil Blackwell.
12
Outsider Bias and
Ethnocentricity: The Case
of Gunnar Myrdal*
Susantha Goonatillake

T
he last ten years has seen a spate of writing emphasizing the bias
that is often inherent in the work of social scientists. One of the
important writers on this subject has been Gunnar Myrdal
(1969, 1972) who has written with feeling on this subject. Gunnar
Myrdal is more widely known in the South Asian region for his massive
work (“ten years in the making”), Asian Drama and this work has been
considered by many to be a good compendium of the development
problems of the area. He is also reputed to be a sympathetic liberal with
Asian development being an area close to his heart. The purpose of this
paper is to apply Myrdal’s methodology to detecting bias in his work on
development, namely Asian Drama, and elicit the hidden ethnocentri-
cities in his work. The aim of this exercise is not purely academic, but to
elicit general principles that can guide Social Scientists in assessing the
output of an outsider’s writings and the nature of the contribution they
can make for understanding of other societies.
This paper is in two parts, in the first we discuss Myrdal’s basic
position on bias and ethnocentricity in Social Sciences, in the second we
discuss his views on Asian development from the perspective of his stric-
tures on ethnocentricity.
210 Susantha Goonatillake

Myrdal’s Approaches to Bias in the

Social Sciences

Among the main sources of bias in social research, Myrdal lists two—the
influence of the cultural, social-economic and political milieu in which
the writer works as well as the influence of the writer’s personality, individ-
ual history, constitution and inclinations (1969: 3–59). Further, he states
that valuations are implicit even before the proper scientific work begins.
An a priori element pervades all scientific work. “Questions must be asked
before answers can be given” (1969: 9). The questions themselves under
evaluations that lie hidden, the valuations being defined as expressions of
our ideas on what ought to be as opposed to what is (1969: 11).
Social scientists, he declares, are no different from other human
beings in that they tend to falsify reality to fill their inner needs. (1972:
1). Even the matters they choose to ignore are the part of this falsifica-
tion process. “All ignorance, like all knowledge tends thus to be oppor-
tunist” (1969: 19). Futher, “we almost never face a random lack of
knowledge. Ignorance, like knowledge is purposefully directed” (1969:
29). The social scientist in his humanness, tends also to aim opportunis-
tically for conclusions that fit prejudices markedly similar to those of
other people in the society (1969: 43).
In this falsification process, hidden valuations have a very strong
role to play, biases arising from concealed valuations that insinuate into
research at all stages from its planning to its final presentation (1969:
50–52). “The only way in which we can strive for “objectivity” in theor-
etical analysis is to expose the valuations to full light and make them
conscious, specific and explicit and permit them to determine the theor-
etical research” (1969: 56).
In a paper calling for a sociology of social sciences and scientists
Myrdal (1972) bemoans the lack of work on this topic. He implies that
an enquiry into the hidden valuations of social scientists is not difficult
for as he says “the corpus deliciti, our writings are on the table” to be
examined. He compares the need for such a study of the “scientific man”
in much the same manner as those that have been made on “economic
man” and which have revealed that the latter ideal-typical economic
man is not identical with the actual business executive (1972).
In his Asian Drama, Myrdal recognises the problems of objectivity
and following his prescription on hidden values, he states his valuations
OUTSIDER BIAS AND ETHNOCENTRICITY 211

openly with the assumption that this will contribute to objectivity. In

the discussion to follow, we will examine the corpus deliciti, namely his
Asian Drama and show how his openly stated valuations are not the only
values that underlie his study.

Myrdal’s Main Conclusions

To obviate the possibilities of bias Myrdal states at the start of his work,
his value premises which are his “modernisation ideals” as given below:
(1) Rationality, (2) Development and Planning for Development, (3)
Rise of productivity, (4) Rise of levels of living, (5) Social and economic
equalisation, (6) Improved institutions and attitudes, (7) National
consolidation, (8) National independence, (9) Political democracy and
(10) Social discipline, and value premises derived from the above.
On the basis of these value premises he analyses the South Asian
condition. His analysis leaves one with a distinct air of gloom as to the
development possibilities in the region and this feeling surfaces in
almost all of his chapters. To discuss this in detail we will refer first to the
model of development he presents in Appendix II. This model is pre-
sented by him without proof and we can discern the conclusions this
model implies colouring in one form or another most of the chapters in
the book.
The model is presented as a circular causation model, where the
situation of a country is viewed as a social system consisting of a great
number of conditions that are causally interrelated in that a change in
one will cause changes in the others (1968: 1860). Those conditions are
classified into six broad categories: (1) Output and income, (2)
Conditions of production, (3) Levels of living, (4) Attitudes towards life
and work, (5) Institutions, and (6) Policies.
Of these six categories, categories 4 and 5 are non-economic ones.
In conventional economic analysis only conditions (1) and (2) are con-
sidered. In the prevalent Asian conditions categories 1 to 5 are unfavour-
able and those keep these nations in a low level of equilibrium. Of these
six conditions he identifies the two social ones of attitudes towards life
and work and institutions as providing the main resistance to desirable
changes (1968: 1873). Thus in Myrdal’s view the main cause of under-
development are the Asian attitudes and institutions, and his gloom as
212 Susantha Goonatillake

to development in Asia is that these factors are not changing and under
the given conditions cannot change fast.
Myrdal distinguishes two broad social strata in South Asia, a west-
ernised elite and an inarticulate mass of common folk. The negative
attitudes he refers to are incorporated among the masses although the
westernised elite are themselves not immune to these attitudes. These
negative attitudes among the South Asians are also largely behind what
he terms the “soft state” which is characterised by an inability of the state
to place obligations on people. They are also behind most of the other
characteristics like corruption, non-rational behaviours etc.

Myrdal’s Methodology

As the presumed social factors among the masses are central to his con-
clusions, it is necessary for us to enquire as to his methodology of data
collection, especially on the attitudes and behaviours of South Asians,
specifically its masses.
Methodologically Myrdal’s approach is that of the outside observer
external to the social system under study (namely South Asia). Myrdal
however does not raise the implications of a pure outsider’s view of the
social system as liable to give a false picture, the fact that the social
system may be perceived differently by the observed from the way the
observer ascribes to him, is not taken into account in his data collection.
Myrdal sees a distinct advantage in the outsider’s view or as he puts it
“There are two ways of knowing a toothache: as a patient or as a dentist”
(1969: 18). He prefers the dentist’s view.
Although he prefers the outsider’s view he requires the insider’s
view when he deals with attitudes of the people he studies. The only
insiders of the South Asian region he knows are the westernised deci-
sion making elite, which he recognises as not representative of the
population at large.
On several occasions he confesses to the lack of data on the ordinary
mass of people. He says that of this area “most data is unreliable” (1968:
25); that the paucity of reliable data hampers proper comparison (1961:
45); that he does not know much about the feelings in the inarticulate
broader strata (1968: 93); that it is difficult to ascertain the values of
ordinary people on the deeper and everyday level (1968: 102); the task
of specifying the value assumptions of the people in the region is
OUTSIDER BIAS AND ETHNOCENTRICITY 213

extremely difficult and more so than in Western countries (1968: 51).

He admits to the ignorance of how people in different occupations,
social and locational positions really feel (1968: 51). Talking about “ide-
ology”, he says that in the absence of empirical studies there is very little
information about the relationship of “ideology” to masses (1968: 101).
Again, he notes that almost nothing is known of how all that is continu-
ally happening in these countries affects the attitudes of different groups
and strata (1968: 112–113). It is evident that on his own admission, he
is very ignorant of the attitudes, feelings and thoughts about the ordi-
nary people.
It should be pointed out that this presumed absence of data is not
borne out by the facts. There is considerable literature on the area in the
sociological and anthropological field. This may not be entirely unin-
tentional (from a Myrdalian analysis of bias view point) for Myrdal rec-
ognises at one stage the vastness of the available literature (1968: 43) but
ignores this, giving as his reason his inability to master it and because he
considers the literature spotty and not entirely relevant.
He admits to the possibilities of erroneous deductions resulting
from this lack of knowledge. He is aware that because of weak data his
study “cannot aspire to high degree of intensity and much encyclopaedic
comprehensiveness” even in the limited field of economics (1968: 43).
The inevitable result, he states, is that “considerable space” in the book
is given over to “generalising judgements, which are presented without
the support of conclusive evidence.” (1968: 44).
Thus, he admits to a data vacuum and an inability to digest the
voluminous available literature. In such a situation a perceptive social
scientist could still be able to extract information about his subjects by a
process of empathy, but as he chooses to look at the toothache from
purely the dentist’s point of view (to use his metaphor), this avenue is
closed.
The masses to whom he has so little access, emerge as having several
negative characteristics. They are seen as passive and resistant to change
(1968: 52), they create obstacles to progress (1968: 56). The masses are
irrational, (he deplores studies which have shown peasants to be other-
wise) (1968: 62); they are static (1968: 73); they have a very limited
historical perspective (1968: 77); the revolution of rising expectations
attributed to the masses is a myth, being purely a projection of the
imagination of the elite (1968: 115–730); they are seen as cowering
214 Susantha Goonatillake

(1968: 138); they are submissive to authority and in addition are sullen,
dissatisfied, resistive and lacks discipline (1968: 724).
They are ignorant of the need for development (1968: 729); they are
inarticulate, very poor, split by caste and community (1968: 767) and in
discussion on the possibilities of an upper class dictatorship for South Asia,
Myrdal brings an underlying tone of regret that the South Asian masses
cannot always be deprived of the vote and brought under heel (1968: 783).
The attitude among the masses which form a crucial element in his
model of circular causation and consequently of his entire thesis on Asia,
are thus assumed to be very negative and inimical to progress. They are
static, irrational, inarticulate etc. These deductions on the masses we
must note are on Myrdal’s own admission based on an absence of
adequate data and he has according to his own account ignored the
“voluminous” literature in the sociological and anthropological fields on
South Asia. Two random examples can be cited indicative of this general
problem from the available literature which gives a contrary and positive
view of the masses; there has been a strong mass participation and fer-
ment for instance, in the political process in Bengal, Kerala, Tamilnadu
and Ceylon not to mention the revolutionary movements of the Naxalites
and the Ceylon JVP. Peasants do calculate rationally (one of such studies
has been done by one of his collaborators on the Asian Drama, Michael
Lipton (1968). Myrdal’s ignorance of such studies suggest here the pos-
sibility of the role of hidden valuations (1969: 50) or more damaging,
that all ignorance like knowledge tends to be opportunistic (1969: 19).
As has been noted Myrdal divides the Asian population into an
English speaking elite and the broad masses (1968: 55, 73, 113, 259
etc.). Myrdal’s modernization ideals (which we will deal with later) is an
abstraction of what Myrdal feels are the significant element of the atti-
tudes of this elite. These ideals he notes are essentially Western derived
and especially are part of the heritage of the Enlightenment (1968: 55).
He however notes another strand of attitudes among the elite arising
from their non-Western background.

The Asian Values

A class of attitudes among the elite belonging to Asian sources are what
he terms the “Asian Values” (1968: 95ff ). He notes that a definite core
of Asian attitudes at the higher level are held to exist both by Asians
OUTSIDER BIAS AND ETHNOCENTRICITY 215

themselves and by Westerners. He deplores this belief, denies the

existence of such values (1968: 102) and even if they exist he evaluates
them negatively and derogatively. (Although the existence of Asian
values among Asians is denied, he however assumes without reservations
the universal existence of the modernizing values in the west vide infra).
The “Asian values” he refers to are those that picture the Asians in a
comparatively positive light as having attitudes of abstention, spiritual-
ism, lack of materialism (1968: 112), glorification of frugality (1968:
1210), appreciation of leisure (1968: 1617), a tradition of tolerance and
nonviolence and an inherited respect for learning (1968: 101). He notes
that the Indian decision making elites have believed in the existence of
these values, have seen them in a positive light and have wished to
incorporate them in the new India that is emerging. The two of the
most profound influences on modern India, Nehru and Gandhi, held
these views strongly (1968: 101, 722, 755, 775, 855).
The Asian values as discerned not to exist by Myrdal have, as he also
notes, been observed to exist by other Western writers specially
Indologists, sociologists and anthropologists because some of these
values are determined by the historical experience of the region. If field
observations and deep historical study was the methodology of these
writers, what is Myrdal’s methodology of discerning the existence of
“Asian Values”? Myrdal’s views on this are largely “based on personal
observation and on comments of journalists and others who do not
pretend (sic!) to write as professional social scientists” (1968: 98).
We have mentioned earlier the methodologically unscientific nature
of Myrdals ‘personal observations’ as compared to some of the accepted
tenets of the social sciences. This, combined with his willful deprecation
of the assumed “pretentiousness of professional social scientists” (1968:
98) leaves him doubtful as to the reliability of his data.
Before we leave the field of Asian values, we should mention the
misconceptions, for example of religion, which Myrdal’s lack of correct
data and approach leads him to. Thus his view of Hinduism is at best
journalistic and ignores that under the umbrella of Hinduism there
lurks a vast array of philosophical and intellectual positions. These posi-
tions, for example, vary from monotheism to polytheism and even to
atheism in the religious field and in the philosophical field, have onto-
logical bases of monism as well as dualism. His ignorance of the vast
research done by Western scholars (there being not a single reference to
216 Susantha Goonatillake

such works) on Asian philosophical traditions is surprising for any

scholar who attempts to study South Asian Society as a whole.
His ignorance of the works in the field make him offer such blanket
and false statements as Indian philosophy not being held together by
logic (1968: 80) or that the Asian religions having never contributed to
change. For instance, “the Buddhist religion is and has not been for
centuries a force for modernization and development” (1968: 1630).
His charge on Asian religions ignores completely that the Indian inde-
pendence movement was an effective alliance between traditional reli-
gious ideas and modern ones. Or his charge on Buddhism again ignores
the fact that the significant changes that have occurred in the two ex-
colonial Buddhist countries of Asia namely Burma and Sri Lanka have
been explained by serious sociologists as due at least partially to
Buddhism, especially to its legitimising power vis-a-vis social change
(Ames 1963, Evers 1964, Singer 1964, Wickmann 1965).
At one stage Myrdal states that the “Asian values of ascetism and
renunciation of material pleasures is a typical example of making virtue
out of necessity in very poor countries” (1968: 98), a plainly untrue
assertion when one remembers that the leit bild of renunciation has
always been that of the rich man giving up his pleasures, from the time
of Buddha down. Myrdal surely reaches absurd heights when he also
seriously states that “some of the characteristics commonly ascribed to
South Asians—their bent to contemplation, their other worldliness,
their passivity and their appreciation of leisure etc . . . may be due in
part to deficiencies in nutrition and health” (1968: 1917).
Myrdal surveying the South Asian intellectual scene generally sums
up his position by prefering African intellectuals, because unlike those
of Asia, “they do not carry the same pretentions (sic) of ancient history,
religion and philosophy” (1968: 78).
The hidden valuations of Myrdal are beginning to emerge. Thus
far, we have demonstrated strong elements of purposefully directed
ignorance (vide Myrdal 1969: 19), a weak methodology of observation
and data collection, and above all a strong streak of ethnocentrism.
This ethnocentrism emerges not only in his biased and uninformed
evaluations of Asia vis-a-vis the West but also with respect to his discip-
line, his country, his religion, etc. For example, “economists have always
been the cavalry of the social sciences.” “Western civilization condemns
corruption” (1968: 50) (Which civilization does not?). Just as Asian is
OUTSIDER BIAS AND ETHNOCENTRICITY 217

presented in exaggerated negative terms so is the West presented in

exaggerated positive terms. The West is not just modern it is “ultra
modern” (1968: 46); specifically the Scandinavian countries are on the
top of the heap, they are the “highly developed countries in North
Western Europe.” Further the countries of North Western Europe are
not simply advanced, they are “the most advanced” (1968: 53); and the
ideal-type of democratic planning exists in the Scandinavian countries
(1968: 865) and Scandinavia represents the ideal towards which South
Asia is striving (1968: 867).
Myrdal’s ethnocentrism branches to other fields, it colours what
he chooses to discuss as well as what judgements he makes. Myrdal,
although he criticises the Western approach in developmental eco-
nomics, he conceives of the order in which events followed each other
in the last two centuries in the West (which order was by no means
identical in all the Western nations), as being the corrects and only
one. Thus he seems the so-called “teloscoping” effect in Asia where
some events like say general education in some countries may precede
industrialization as a “lack of orderliness of historical precedence”,
(1968: 119) the immutable order and scale of judgement being of
course the Western one.
In another instance, he states that the entire population of Denmark
is capable of participating in national debate and discussion where as in
India only the one percent English educated elite is capable of it. The
obviously wrong observation is shown up in instances like Sri Lanka and
Tamil Nadu where the non English educated have effectively partici-
pated in the national debate and in fact have sharply veered their respect-
ive regions away from the wishes of the English-educated. The further
assumption that the entire mass of Denmark’s population, participates
in  national debate must militate against known facts of such
participation.
When Myrdal discusses the animus the educated South Asians have
against manual work (1968: 1129) he ignores that the entire hierarchi-
cal structure of the Western world is built on a decreasing ratio of pres-
tige for the manual content of one’s job. The bottom slot of the Western
social hierarchy is occupied by the unskilled labourer where work is
purely manual and the top slot by a managerial and professional elite
whose work is purely mental (ignoring for the present that the top most
slot is possibly occupied by a capital owning class that often does very
218 Susantha Goonatillake

little manual or mental work). Kusum Nair (1970) who has done field
work in both the United States and India as to attitudes of farmers finds
little fundamental difference between the farmers in the two countries
as to this dimension. Myrdal’s work is studied with “opportunistic
ethnocentricity” and “misrepresentation” (to use the terminology of
Myrdal the theorist on bias). I will now merely list some other examples
of these ethnocentric and biased views, to complete the picture.
The granting of independence to these countries are presented as
largely an external development and the independence movements of
the countries are denigrated (1968: 45 and Chapter 4). The present pace
of history in South Asia is seen as slow (1968: 46), (a contrary thesis
might be that in the effort to catch up with the West the historical pace
is faster than the West). The population explosion is seen as tending to
solidify institutions and attitudes (1968: 114), (the population explo-
sion has been seen by others as resulting in just the opposite, with the
resulting pressure on resources for example, eroding traditional social
relations and attitudes). The weakness of Latin American democracies is
seen as due to internal reasons alone (1968: 774) (ignoring here the
continuing US presence and its preference for pro-American authoritar-
ian regimes). Voters in India are wooed using appeals to ethnic factors
(1968: 776); (the only comparable case of a similar “pluralistic democ-
racy” is America, where appeal to ethnic factors is well documented—in
fact Myrdal did write a book on ethnicity in American society a few
decades ago). He is concerned with the semantics and diplomacy
involved in the use of the word ‘developing’ country, (a part of a chapter,
an appendix, repeated also in subsequent publications) and insists that
these countries are not developing, although their rate of growth (2 to
3%) is more than the 1.5% growth which was the average for the devel-
opment period in the West, namely the nineteenth century.
Space limitations prevent one from enumerating the large number
of other cases, but we hope here in conclusion to bring out three broad
areas of concern in the development problem of South Asia which have
been dealt with by Myrdal and consider them somewhat in detail. These
are (a) corruption, (b) the effect of climate on development and (c)
Myrdal’s concept of the “soft state”. When we discuss these three areas it
is emphasized that what we discuss is not primarily the presence or the
absence of these conditions. Many other recent writers have written
about these symptoms (excepting possibly the climate issue). What we
OUTSIDER BIAS AND ETHNOCENTRICITY 219

wish to explore is the manner in which Myrdal approaches these

problems, his methodology and his unstated biases and the ensuing
prescriptions.

The “Soft State”

Myrdal states that all the South Asian countries are “soft states” in “that
policies decided on are often not enforced, if they are enacted at all, and
in that authorities, even when framing policies are reluctant to place
obligations on people” (1968: 66). In this definition, we would like to
delineate two component strands, one emphasizing administrative inef-
fectiveness and the other, the reluctance to place obligations. We will
deal with them separately.
Administrative ineffectiveness in this region (as well as in other
development settings) have been rigorously studied by many scholars
during the last twenty years or so. In fact in America a sub-profession
grew up associated with this branch of administration studies and a con-
siderable literature based on individual case studies as well as on fairly
sophisticated models have grown up. Well known names in this field are
for example, Fred Riggs, Diamant, Waldo, Presthus, Siffin etc. The
works of these writers are based on field research and they tried to show
how organizations in these countries actually work and attempted to
present explanatory models. These models, although having varying
degrees of explanatory power are sociological in import. Most of these
assume the Weberian concept of legitimate power in organization,
namely that power (authority) in an organisation is not naked power
based on compulsion or force but is power that is perceived as legitimate
by the participants in the organisation. The prescriptive side of the
research of these workers have sought organisational mechanisms differ-
ent from those assumed in the West, that will work in these essentially
non-western social settings. None of them have seen recourse to the
rather naive and crude techniques using compulsion and force.
In contrast, Myrdal brings a very apparent vein of authoritarianism
as a solution to the problem. He regrets that changes in the region are
difficult because “all these countries are reluctant to apply compulsion”
(1968: 68). He further says that the abstention from compulsion in
these countries is made to “masquerade as part of the modernisation
220 Susantha Goonatillake

ideals” (1968: 67). Institutions according to him can only be changed

by compulsion supported by force (1968: 116).
The hidden evaluations of a writer are revealed by not only what he
ignores but also by what problems and alternatives he chooses to discuss;
a question always presumes an evaluation (Myrdal 1969). Myrdal’s ten-
dencies are shown in the alternatives he chooses for possible political
forms in the region. He does not discuss the alternatives of communism,
or a diffuse democratic form like the communes or Kibbuttizam but he
discusses what he terms the “upper-class State alternative” (1968: 783
passim). This is an authoritarian form where a Westernised upper-class
elite controls the masses.
His upper-class state alternative is based on a model existing at the
beginning of industrialization in the Western countries but he is wrong
when he states that in the Western Europe of the early industrial period,
the elite did not have to legitimate their actions in terms perceived by
those that they controlled (1968: 769). Just the contrary position has
been very effectively demonstrated by a well known work of Bendix on
forms of authority during the period (Bendix 1954).
In discussing the “upper-class state alternative” for South Asia
Myrdal regrets that the clock cannot be turned back and a system of
restricted democracy based on education, property rights and income
qualifications introduced (1968: 728). He further states that a military
dictatorship committed to “the idea of reducing the social and economic
inequalities that hamper progress” might well be “the ideal rule for an
underdeveloped country” (1968: 784). The repressive and contemptu-
ous views on the masses we have earlier noted, provides Myrdal’s basis
for the crude authoritarian tendency in his prescriptions.
Some of the examples he gives of the “soft state” could well apply to
contemporary Britain or America. Unions readily give “organized
expression to workers”, “protests against changes in established practices
in the workshop.” Another symptom (1968: 898) is student sit-down
strikes and other examples of student indiscipline which he claims
simply does not happen in the West (1968: 898fn).
The soft-state outlook appears again in his concern with industrial
relations and the fact that management does not instil discipline (1968:
1140) and that efficiency is low (1968: 1144–1146). The prescription is
again heavy handed techniques but does not consider that different eco-
nomic, social and cultural mechanisms may be at work in these settings
OUTSIDER BIAS AND ETHNOCENTRICITY 221

that demand appropriate analyses. (There is for instance the well known
studies of A. K. Rice (1958) who has precisely used such approaches in
Indian industry and has seen dramatic increases in efficiency). To
Myrdal, the measuring rod apparently is always the Western one and if
the measured quantity falls short; the next step is to take the rod in the
hand and use it as a beating stick.
Myrdal’s implied rampant lack of discipline among the masses in
discussions on the soft state is in curious contrast to his discussions else-
where when he labels the masses as submissive and cowering.
We have not been criticising Myrdal for the fact of pointing out the
existence of the symptoms of soft state. These symptoms are well known.
What we have been concerned with is in pointing out Myrdal’s basic
methodology, selectivity of data, authoritarianism, attitudes towards the
masses, ethnocentricity and the resulting conclusion of reliance on
compulsion.

Corruption

In discussing corruption too, we will not concern ourselves primarily

with the issue of corruption as such (corruption exists in South Asia as
also it does in the West) or its degree (probably it exists more in India
than in the West), but in Myrdal’s approach to the problem. He states
that a taboo exists on research on corruption in South Asia and that his
aim is to explain that this taboo be broken and in the course of the
ensuring discussion he hopes to present “some reasonable, though quite
tentative, questions to be explored and hypothesis to be tested” (1968:
959). He further states that it is difficult to assess the extent of corrup-
tion (1968: 942); that the data on corruption is vague (1968: 946) but
goes on to discuss corruption assuming it is widespread, and exists
everywhere, asserts that corruption is growing in recent years (1968:
944) and then suggests remedies (1968: 955).
As a moral issue corruption is exceedingly important but the fact
that it is a taboo subject is no surprise, especially in the event of corrup-
tion close to the holders of power. This perhaps is more true of Western
countries than in the South Asian countries where the peculiar “devel-
opment” relationship laying bare the South Asian countries to examina-
tion by almost any Western academic, does not exist.
222 Susantha Goonatillake

Taking the leader of the Western world, America, as an example,

one could assert the same charge, that in spite of widely publicised and
almost institutionalised corruption, there is hardly any research labelled
as research on corruption—at least above the “local” level.
Institutionalised corruption in America is widespread and acknow-
ledged, the entire political spoils based on concepts of civil administra-
tion and pork-barrel politics being at the core of the American system.
The Watergate affair, the ITT donations to the Republican party as well
as the former company’s attempted interference in Chile, using the
American government are not isolated instances. They are built into the
system, just as oil depletion allowance for Texas oil millionaires, an insti-
tutionalised lobby system that uses such devious means as bribery and
call girls; a New York police system that has a finely graded system of
cutbacks. Mafia reputed to be the largest business in the world but
essentially ignored by Congress, the FBI and the Presidency. The list
could go on.
When discussing political institutions he mentions that the 1952
Indian general election (the most recent election he discusses in refer-
ence to these issues) was fought “with less coercion, fraud and other
illegal practices than in more developed countries” (1968: 269) but
when he discusses corruption he ignores this. Similarly when he implies
that bribe giving Western companies is a significant part of corruption
in India (1968: 947) he ignores the implications that in this context
both the Western bribe giver as well as the Eastern bribe taker are cor-
rupt. Myrdal’s ethnocentricity is not in his pointing out that corruption
is relevant to development, but that he ignores that corruption is pos-
sibly as rampant, if not more so in the West than in Asia.

Climate

Climate has an important effect on economics, it shapes not only the

form of the economy but even the manner in which people within the
economy organise their lives. The monsoons in South Asia stops out-
door construction work for days and the South Asian mid-day sun
makes one more tired than the cooler mornings. Similarly the arctic
wastes of north Sweden makes life and outdoor work extremely miser-
able during the long dark winter months.
OUTSIDER BIAS AND ETHNOCENTRICITY 223

Climate has been, as Myrdal notes, an important ascribed factor in

the racial theories of the colonial period. Myrdal purports to reject the
racialist overtones but he regrets that the “diplomacy” in intellectual
argument that has characterised post-war discussion on the South Asian
countries has driven the climate issue out of useful discussion (1969:
670–680). For as he says, it “cannot be entirely an accident of history”
(1968: 677). The countries to be industrialised are all in the colder cli-
mates including Japan and the Soviet Union.
In other parts of the book he refers to the fact that “India and many
other South Asian countries had advanced cultures and at the time when
the new rich and powerful Western countries were uninhabited, or were
inhabited by barbarians” (1968: 76). He also refers to the extensive systems
of irrigation in the area during ancient times (1968: 420) and also states
that “there is general agreement in the literature that in the pre-colonial era,
many sections of South Asia were not inferior to the countries of Western
Europe in manufacturing of a pre-industrial character” (1968: 453).
Now, the main difference between pre-industrial manufacture and
industrial manufacture is that the latter basically removes physical effort
from work. Where the worker in pre-industrial time used muscle power
and physical effort, the industrial revolution substituted mechanical
power. If climate had any significant effect on physical activity then, it
should reveal itself more in pre-industrial manufacture. A comparison as
to the effect of climate on physical effort would have to be on these
pre-industrial conditions which would seem to indicate that climate
favours the South Asian lands rather than the “most advanced nations of
North Western Europe”.
Climate itself cannot be a serious determinant of industrialisation.
A change of climate did not prepare Western Europe for industrialisa-
tion, neither did change of climates precede and determine the Meiji
restoration or the Russian revolution, the two significant acts which led
to the industrialisation respectively of Japan and the Soviet Unions.
The lack of significant effect of climate and its irrelevancy in com-
parison with other issues is apparent to any visitor to South Asia who
sees chains of women on building sites transporting metal, cement and
sand by baskets and compare how the corresponding worker in the West
has only to press a button on a conveyer belt.
When Myrdal states also that in parts of the US the climate is not
unlike that of South Asia and that this does not significantly affect
224 Susantha Goonatillake

performance (1968: 1081) the suspicion arises whether Myrdal is

perhaps even unconsciously propagating racialist biases. The suspicion
perhaps grows when he at one stage bemoans the lack of research on
effects of climate (1968: 680) only to assume in later discussions that
climate does have an effect. As Myrdal has noted in his pronouncements
on objectivity, the questions one asks and the problem areas one decides
to explore are based on prior valuations. The fact that one does not ask
whether the stars and moon have an effect on industrialisation and the
fact that one does not delineate this as a problem area is because one
does not think that it has any effect. That Myrdal believes in the effect
of climate is of course very apparent and is pointer to some of his hidden
beliefs.
Our aim in selecting a few areas of Myrdal’s work is not to provide
a critique of the whole work, but to discern using Myrdalian methodol-
ogy, if any hidden valuations exists outside his stated modernisation
values. Having shown that such valuations exist in a very obvious fash-
ion it is our intention now to consider his overtly stated values, namely
his “modernising ideals.”

The Modernising Ideals—Rationality

We have already dealt somewhat obliquely with Myrdal’s “modernising

ideals” in the previous discussion on his hidden valuations. Among
them were institutions and attitudes, political democracy and social
discipline (the “soft-state” problem). We have shown that he has a very
simplistic and ethnocentric view as to what the present attitudes among
the masses are. However, the institutions and attitudes he wishes for,
are eminently worthy as they consist also of attitudes which even the
traditional civilization values. The attitudes are almost the common-
sensical one of efficiency, diligence, orderliness, punctuality, frugality,
honesty, self-reliance, rationality and decisiveness (this list could be
almost a page torn directly from the Vinaya Pitaka, the Buddhist
monks’ code of conduct). Of these qualities one, namely rationality,
appears also at the beginning of the list as we will deal with it in detail
as it presents some interesting problems. About the other modernising
ideals there is no basic quarrel as they are overtly stated by the countries
concerned and Myrdal does not bring much unstated valuations in dis-
cussing them.
OUTSIDER BIAS AND ETHNOCENTRICITY 225

We will discuss rationality at length because it holds interesting

possibilities in that many interpretations can be given to this word and
as the rationality concept has been a debated subject even in the case of
the use of it by Max Weber, a far more serious social scientist than
Myrdal.
To Myrdal, rationality takes many forms and interpretations. Firstly
rationality is logical reasoning (1968: 57); it is also that activity which
the calculating “economic man” does (1968: 61); rationality is implied
as a lack of emotion (1968: 88: 89: ?); he denounces as irrational, stud-
ies that have sometimes shown the cow slaughter ban as rational hus-
bandry (1968: 92) whilst he considers the ban on alcoholic drinks as
rational (1968: 93); the flexible use of traditional cultural mechanism to
promote modernisation is irrational (1968: 101); rationalism is inher-
ent in the national planning ideology (1968: 726) and rationality is the
use of individual based reward systems in organisation (1968: 1143–
1144, 1147).
It is seen that the few examples we have given of Myrdal’s use of the
concept of rationality encompasses a wide variety of meanings. There is
also the underlying assumption that these modernising ideals are more
or less realised in the West. As the comparisons are with the masses of
South Asia the assumption is that the masses in the West are rational
according to Myrdal’s criteria. Let us take the definitions one by one.
The assumption that the Western common man bases his decisions
on logical reasoning would if pushed to a trivial but obvious conclusion
implies that the entire advertising industry in the West, which appeals
to the emotions as opposed to logic, would collapse, (compare for
instance the observations that Western man as an individual has grown
increasingly irrational whilst industrial society has become more and
more rational Zijderreld 1970). The modern Western business man
does not act as the fictional “economic man” as shown by numerous
studies in industrial sociology, his actions are governed by such “irra-
tional” factors as conflicts of interest, interpersonal rivalries, the desire
for power etc. Further, the assumption that the cow slaughter ban is
irrational while prohibiting alchohol is not, smacks of ethnocentricity in
that the issue of alcohol in Myrdal’s home country Sweden is in many
ways a sacred cow! Flexible use of traditional cultural mechanisms spe-
cially those associated with feudalism to promote industrialisation have
for instance been effectively used by Japan (in making this observations
226 Susantha Goonatillake

the present writer does not necessarily agree that such uses are a positive
thing) and are in this sense a “rational” means of achieving industrialisa-
tion. The rationalism inherent in the national planning ideology must
surely oppose that inherent in the laissez-fairs concept of the “economic
man”. And finally, individually based reward systems are by themselves
not rational, they may be an irrational device in a cultural setting that
emphasises collective values. For example, rationality in this area would
to a Japanese imply just the opposite for Myrdal’s concept of rationality
(Abbeglen 1958).

Conclusion

We have attempted in this paper to study the values which Myrdal

brings into his study, Asian Drama. We have studied the values at the
overt level as well as at the hidden level. We have also enquired into his
methodology as a social scientist. We have discerned important areas of
hidden valuations which almost pre-determinate Myrdal’s conclusions
and prescriptions irrespective of the particular data. These tendencies
have been ethnocentricity, a weak methodology, a purposeful selectivity
of data, a strong tendency towards authoritarianism and a basic reluc-
tance to see any significant good either among the masses or the elite of
these countries that is not Western in origin.
All the negative qualities which Myrdal ascribes to South Asia with-
out sufficient data have a curious similarity to beliefs held in the West
during the colonial era. In fact he seems to be close to saying that the
worst fears right-wing elements in the colonising countries had of the
wisdom of granting independence seems to have been borne out.
He echoes using different terminology what Mac Cauley in the nine-
teenth century wished for India, Indians without Indianness. The sig-
nificant difference between the understandable ethnocentric valuations
of these writers of the colonial era and Myrdal seems to be that in the
former case there was no mention of value premises and objectivity.
Their value premises were overt and stated openly and bravely; we
cannot truly say this of Myrdal.
Myrdal has consciously attempted to model his work after the clas-
sical economists like Adam Smith and Marshall who brought out a
broad institutional approach. As he points out their economic theories
OUTSIDER BIAS AND ETHNOCENTRICITY 227

were integrated with the social and economic ideas of the times and
grow organically in the intellectual environment of the time. In criticis-
ing the “Western” approach and favouring the institutional approach he
expands his horizons to include some of the other non-economic ideas
of his times. But these ideas all originate from the West and embodies
many conscious and unconscious ethnocentrisms. It is a moot point to
question whether the integration of social and economic ideas should
arise from the intellectual climate where the economics are to be applied
(namely South Asia) on from a foreign environment. Clearly the classi-
cal approach had been to integrate the ideas current within the economy
under study. The fundamental fact is ignored by Myrdal who does not
let the intellectual climate of the region percolate at all into his study.
The major fact that Myrdal’s massive work points to is that even an
allegedly sympathetic and liberal minded writer who took pains to avoid
bias cannot, in such a large undertaking escape from the traps of ethno-
centricity which his own culture brings. This is more so in a work that
utilises a model of circular causation where the manner in which eco-
nomic, social and cultural factors interact with each other have to be
understood properly. Circular causation—which almost says that the
poor are poor because they are poor—is perhaps not the best explana-
tory model for South Asian countries, because it ignores major factors of
historical origin. However, even in a historical materialist model of
development and underdevelopment, which to the present writer
appears to fit the South Asian case better an outsider without empathy
and intimate knowledge of the region is bound to yield an erroneous
and inadequate analysis.

Note
* An earlier version of this paper was read at a conference on “Development, Theory,
Research and Training” organised by the British Sociological Association. I wish to
thank Gavin Williams, David Thorns and Don Monro who gave useful comments.

References
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MIT.
———. 1970. “The Economic Growth of Japan”. Scientific American, 222(3).
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Ames, Michael. 1963. “Ideological and Social Change in Ceylon”. Human Organisation,
XXII(I).
Evers, Hans Dieters. 1964. Kultur Wandel in Ceylon. Baden-Baden.
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Myrdal, Gunnar. 1968. Asian Drama: An Inquiry into the Poverty of Nations. Harmondsworth:
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———. 1969. Objectivity in Social Research. New York: Pantheon Books.
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Research. 37(1).
13
Robert Merton’s Formulations
in Sociology of Science*
Pravin J. Patel

S
ociology of science, broadly speaking, is concerned with the
construction of logico-empirical propositions about the dynamic
interdependence between science and society. In this sense it is a
branch of sociology of knowledge, since the latter studies different types
of idea systems (science, religion, philosophy, ideology, etc.) and their
relations with various societal factors.
Merton’s formulations in sociology of science may be considered as
centred around the following main themes:

(i) Social origin of scientific knowledge.

(ii) Science and the environing social structure.
(iii) Normative structure and reward system of science.

These themes will form the main rubrics of our discussion here. We
will discuss them one by one without suggesting, however, that Merton’s
views are formulated in this sequence.

(i) Social Origin of Scientific Knowledge

Since the adherents of structural-functional theory in sociology consider

man’s behaviour as a response to certain functional problems, man’s
response to science is also seen as a response to his need to generate
adjustive knowledge about the environing empirical world (Barber,
230 Pravin J. Patel

1968: 92). Thus science is considered as a social product rather than the
product of a few gifted individuals.
Being a functionalist, Merton also subscribes to this view. In sup-
port of his stance, that science is a social product, like Ogburn and
Thomas (1922), he also refers to the strategic phenomenon of mul-
tiple independent discoveries, which is quite common in all sciences
and at all times (Merton, 1961). Multiple independent discoveries are
those discoveries which are made by several scientists (at the same time
or at different times). For example, many of the discoveries by an emi-
nent scientist like Cavendish were made independently by other con-
temporary scientists or those who came later. The proof of this lies in
the fact that Cavendish’s discoveries were not known to them, as they
remained unpublished for a pretty long time (Merton, 1961: 478).
In collaboration with Barber, Merton has intensively examined 264
such multiples, out of which 179 were doublets; 51, triplets; 17, quad-
ruplets; 6, quintuplets; 8, sextuplets; 1, septuplet; and 2, nonaries.
Moreover, it is ascertained that 20 per cent of these discoveries occurred
within an interval of one year and some of them on the same day or in
the same week; another 18 per cent occurred within a two-year span;
and 34 per cent involved an interval often years or more (Merton, 1961:
483). Merton has come to the conclusion that, by and large, every dis-
covery is a multiple, either potentially or in actuality; multiple is a rule
rather than an exception (1961: 475–482). While explaining this phe-
nomenon Merton observes that certain social needs of a society,
demanding urgent solutions, pressurise the men of science to do scien-
tific research, which in turn is facilitated by the prevailing culture of the
society, accumulated knowledge, scientific methods, interaction among
the scientists, etc. Therefore, a number of scientists come to the same
discoveries simultaneously (Merton, 1961: 470–75).
While he refutes the excessive claims made by the greatman theory,
which overemphasizes the role of the scientific geniuses, like Kelvin or
Newton, Merton does not completely dismiss the role played by them. For,
scientific genius single-handedly discovers so many scientific truths, which
otherwise require a sizeable number of lesser talents. For example, Kelvin,
the great scientist, made at least 32 such discoveries which were simultane-
ously made by an aggregate of 30 other scientists. Thus, it required the
labour of 30 scientists to contribute what Kelvin alone contributed. Similar
was the case of Freud (Merton, 1961: 485); and the same is true in the case
of Galileo, Newton, Clerk Maxwell, Hooke, Cavendish and many others,
including most Nobel laureates (Merton, 1968a: 60).
ROBERT MERTON’S FORMULATIONS IN SOCIOLOGY OF SCIENCE 231

However, this does not mean that in the absence of great scientists
science would not have advanced. Because, most of the discoveries of
such scientists are always rediscovered, as they are generally involved in
many-fold multiple discoveries. Therefore, Merton says, if any scientist,
including the great one, had failed to make a discovery it would have
been made by other scientists, involved in such multiples. Thus, a
number of lesser talents are a functional equivalent to the great scientist.
In this sense, though geniuses do play an important role in enhancing
science, they are not indispensable.
Thus, Merton has enlarged the conception of scientific genius by
construing him sociologically, rather than psychologically, and thereby
muted the false controversy over the issue of social determination of
scientific discovery versus the role of individual men of scientific emi-
nence (1961: 483–85).

(ii) The Interdependence between

Science and the Social Structure

The above theory of the social origin of scientific discoveries can explain
universal occurrence of at least the modicum of scientific knowledge.
But the variation in the growth of such knowledge from society to soci-
ety, time to time, and discipline to discipline, still remains to be
explained. Posing this problem Merton has observed that in order to
explain such variation it is necessary to understand the reciprocal rela-
tionship between science and other social constellations1.
Agreeing with Max Weber’s proposition that definite cultures, and
not nature, produce faith in scientific truth, Merton adds that some-
times science is opposed by certain socio-cultural structures (1938:
591). Therefore, he has examined the dynamic relationship between sci-
ence and other social institutions at two levels: (1) the functional inter-
dependence between science and other social institutions and (2) the
sources of strains between the two.

(1) The Functional Interdependence

Merton’s analysis of functional interdependence between science and

society is mainly based on, what he calls, the middle range theory of the
interdependence of institutions (1968: 63, 68) on the one hand, and, on
the other, empirical data of the seventeenth century England.
232 Pravin J. Patel

Espousing the hypothesis suggested by Max Weber about the

significant influence of Calvinist puritanism, the ideal typical expression
of “Protestant ethic”, on the development of science and technology
Merton has examined the growth of science in the seventeenth century
England (1936: 628–670)2. Through content analysis of various histor-
ical documents, he established that interest in scientific study was
steadily increasing in the seventeenth century England.
Then he tried to explain this phenomenon by showing value inte-
gration between science and Puritanism. Again through content analysis
of various theological writings, sermons, and books of moral guidance
for laymen he came to the conclusion that Puritanism embodied follow-
ing values:

(a) Rationalism. Men chosen of God, alone possess reason. Reason constrains
the passion. Experience and reason must be the bases for action and belief.
(b) Empiricism. The observation of nature, and unravelling its mysteries by dis-
covering the order in it, is an effective means of promoting the glory of
God—the Creator.
(c) utilitarianism. Social welfare and public service were prescribed as God’s
greatest service.
(d) Secularism. Systematic, methodical labour and constant diligence in one’s
calling were emphasized.
(e) Scepticism and Free Inquiry. Libre-examen was considered not only a right
but also an obligation. Even Bible as final and complete authority was sub-
ject to the individual interpretation.

All these values of Puritanism were obviously in harmony with the

institutional values of science. However, this shows only a certain prob-
ability of the connection between Puritanism and science. But it is not
a sufficient verification. Therefore, Merton sought the crucial test of his
hypothesis in the following behavioural evidences.

(i) The norms of Puritanism were deeply internalized and consciously

expressed in their writings and behaviour by Puritan scientists like Robert
Boyle, John Ray, John Wilking, John Wallis, William Oughtred, etc.
(ii) The Puritans had greater prosperity for science and technology as against
Catholics in proportion to their total population. For instance (a) out of
the ten initial members of the ‘invisible college’, the prototype of the Royal
Society of London, seven were decidedly Puritans; only one was non-
Puritan and about two no information was available regarding their reli-
gious orientations and (b) these Puritan scientists played a very important
role in the Royal Society of London. Out of sixty eight listed members of
ROBERT MERTON’S FORMULATIONS IN SOCIOLOGY OF SCIENCE 233

the Royal Society for the year 1663, whose religious background was
known, forty two were clearly Puritans. Thus, the Puritans formed the hard
core of the scientific corps of the seventeenth century England, though they
were a minority in the total population.
(iii) The inclination of the Puritans for science and technology was likewise
manifested in the type of education introduced and fostered by them. They
established new universities and academies with a pronounced stress on
realistic, utilitarian and empirical education.
(iv) At other places (i.e. U.S.A., France, Germany and other European coun-
tries) and at other times (i.e. even after the seventeenth century) where and
when Puritanism or its variant religion (e.g. Pietism) was effective, its rela-
tionship with science was also found intact. Thus, the elimination of other
extraneous or non-religious factors, like political regime or economy, fur-
ther confirms the hypothesis about the functional interdependence between
science and the Protestant ethic.

By mustering all this evidence Merton has cogently demonstrated

that the ethos of Protestantism induced its members to form socially
favourable attitudes for science, and thereby enhance the growth of sci-
entific knowledge. This also explains that in the medieval era when these
values were absent science did not develop as rapidly as it did later on.
But, it would be incorrect to presume that there was perfect integra-
tion between Puritanism and science. For instance, as Gillispie (1951)
has observed, some of the geological discoveries (e.g. the concept of
geological uniformitarianism) were opposed by the Puritans, since these
came into conflict with Biblical ideas of Puritanism. Though Merton
has paid attention mainly to the positive relationship between the two,
he is not unaware of such conflict. Therefore, he has added the follow-
ing necessary qualifications to the proposition. First, the favourable con-
sequences of Protestantism for science were not intended by the initiators
of that ethic. For example, Luther, Calvin and others, from whose teach-
ings Protestantism emerged, paradoxically did not approve of the scien-
tific activities of their contemporaries. Thus, the increased interest in
science among Protestants was the unintended consequence of a mani-
fest commitment to the Protestant ethic. Second, the mere fact of an
individual being nominally a Catholic or Protestant has no bearing
upon his attitudes toward science. It is only when the tenets and impli-
cations of the religious teachings are deeply imbibed by its followers, the
religious affiliation becomes meaningful. Third, the supporting values
of science tended to be secularized as time passed and science acquired
its autonomy with its proven utility. Therefore, it has continued to
234 Pravin J. Patel

thrive, even after the weakening of the theological base of the religion
which supported science (Merton, 1936: 660).
Further, it must be noted that Merton construed the relationship
between science and religion in the seventeenth century England in con-
junction with other societal factors. For instance, England’s insular pos-
ition, its nascent capitalism, widening markets and military warfares
caused a remarkable expansion of both mercantile as well as military
marine. However, the increased economic and military sea voyages, in
turn posed a series of problems such as finding out longitude and lati-
tude, determining the time of tides, preservation of timber, development
of effective fighting warships, etc. All these problems created a pressure
on the scientists to solve them. Moreover, scientific achievements which
promised profitable application were applauded by the leading men of
the society, including the King, and thereby enhanced the status of sci-
entists. Therefore, the curious men of science were also socially moti-
vated to do scientific investigations in order to solve contemporary
problems. As a result the field of astronomy, geography, mathematics,
mechanics, botany, hydrostatics, hydrodynamics etc. developed fast in
the seventeenth century England (Merton, 1939: 661–681).
But, Merton notes that just as there are certain social and cultural
factors which support science, similarly there are certain factors which
oppose it. Interaction between these two sets of contrary forces account
for the lopsided development of scientific knowledge in different societ-
ies, times and disciplines.
Though, Merton’s analysis of the forces producing strains and ten-
sions between science and the social structure is not based on any sys-
tematic empirical study, it suggests a few significant hypotheses which
can be mentioned as follows.
(a) Value-dissensus between sciences and the socio-cultural struc-
ture produces strains between the two. When other constituent parts of
the social structure try to expand their control and encroach upon the
autonomy of science then strains and tensions develop.
In a liberal social order, where limited loci of power are vested in
several domains of human behaviour, other non-political institutions,
including science, enjoy considerable autonomy. But in a totalitarian or
a dictatorial social structure, where power is centralized in political insti-
tutions, science and other social constellations are not given much free-
dom (Merton, 1938: 591–594).
For example, in the Nazi Germany of the 1930’s it was believed by
the ruling party that, only those persons having ‘Aryan’ ancestry, and not
ROBERT MERTON’S FORMULATIONS IN SOCIOLOGY OF SCIENCE 235

others, were capable of undertaking scientific activities. In accordance

with this dogma of race purity the ‘non-Aryan’ scientists were driven out
of the German universities and scientific institutions. Even the cooper-
ation with a ‘non-Aryan’ scientist or acceptance of his theory was con-
sidered as a symbol of political disloyalty and hence frowned upon. The
latent function of this racialist purge was that the growth of science was
adversely affected in Germany, since many eminent ‘non-Aryan’ scien-
tists were considered as ‘outcastes’.
Thus the demand for primary loyalty to racialistic, nationalistic,
ideological or religious dogma of a dominant institution contradicts
the important values of science like rationalistic utilitarianism and
universalism, and thereby hampers the development of scientific
knowledge.
Similarly, science values scepticism by advocating explicit question-
ing of certain bases of established routine, authority, procedures and the
realm of the ‘sacred’. This may be considered by other organised reli-
gious, political or economic groups as encroachment of science into
their respective institutional domains, since science subjects them to
detached scrutiny. This leads them to revolt against science. According
to Merton, in the past such resistance mainly came from organised reli-
gion. But now as the locus of power has shifted from religious to eco-
nomic and political institutions the source of revolt against science also
has changed.
Another source of tension is a conflict between the value of com-
munication and the value of secrecy. In modern competitive states
(both totalitarian and democratic) secrecy is valued, particularly in the
field of military and strategic research. Besides, certain industrial orga-
nizations in capitalist countries also keep some of their formulae as
business secret. Even a patent is a device to maintain the exclusive use
or often non-use, of invention. This value of privacy is at variance with
the value of science that knowledge should be freely communicated.
Thus it does not accelerate the accumulation of certified knowledge.
However, Merton does not mention the methodological difficulties
involved in observing and measuring the exact damage done to science
by secrecy.
One more barrier to the growth of science is the social pressure to
‘deliver the goods’. Too many utilitarian demands upon science also
affect the growth of science, since its pure branches are neglected in
favour of applied ones. In Nazi Germany, for instance, financial support
was given to those applied scientific researches which had immediate
236 Pravin J. Patel

practical utility. As a result pure sciences suffered very badly and the
growth of science as a whole was hindered in the long run.
(b) Another important surmise by Merton is that the dysfunctional
consequences of science and technology are also responsible for the
social resistance of science (1947: 616–627). Especially, if the effects of
scientific knowledge are considered as socially undesirable then, rightly
or wrongly, science becomes the target of social revolt.
For instance, processual or technological innovations stemming
from scientific inventions require the workers to give up their old work
habits as they become obsolete. Besides, specialization is also increas-
ing and this leads to changes in work routine, meaning of work, social
relations and consequently work satisfaction. Moreover, unplanned
introduction of such innovations also has some adverse consequences.
For instance, the introduction of labour-saving automatic machines at
the time of economic depression may render many workers unem-
ployed and many of them may be reduced to the status of unskilled
workers. This creates an atmosphere of anxiety, uncertainty, distrust
and fear, which may naturally invite a hostile reaction.
Merton feels that such dysfunctional consequences are partly due to
the overcommitment of the scientists to the values of pure science and
disinterestedness.
Nevertheless, it may be mentioned that scientists are not always
indifferent to such dysfunctional consequences of science. As many sci-
entists have expressed their deep concern about the use of poisonous gas,
germs and, above all, the atom bomb in war. Besides, their concern
about air-pollution, water pollution etc. is also well known.
(c) Thirdly, it is conjectured by Merton that the esoteric nature of
science is also a source of tension between science and society (1938:
600–601).
Each scientific discipline has developed its own special language. As
a result, the gap between science and the lay man is ever widening. Thus
in the garb of scientific jargon new mysticism has developed which
helps the business and political propagandists. The borrowed authority
of science becomes a powerful prestige-symbol for unscientific doctrines
produced for the consumption of the intellectually unsophisticated
laity. This creates distrust even in truly scientific statements and thereby
weakens the social support for scientific activity.
Here again Merton has ignored, or perhaps he is not concerned
with the methodological problems involved in measuring the damage
ROBERT MERTON’S FORMULATIONS IN SOCIOLOGY OF SCIENCE 237

done to the status and consequently to the growth of science by its eso-
teric nature.

(iii) Normative Complex and the

Reward System of Science
While discussing the normative complex of science he has pointed out
that the norms of science are moral as well as technical prescriptions.
They are binding to the men of science because they are considered to
be technically efficient and morally right. For example, it is the techni-
cal prerequisite for sustained, true and systematic prediction that evi-
dences should be adequate, valid, reliable and logically consistent.
Generally, scientists follow these standards, not only because they are a
technical prerequisite but also because the deviation from these standards
is morally condemned, since they are institutionalized norms (Merton,
1942: 604–615).
Some of the important institutional imperatives which, according
to Merton, comprise the ethos of modern science are as follows:

(a) Universalism

A scientific statement should be evaluated according to the established

impersonal criteria of science and not according to the particularistic
attribute of the individual who has made the statement.

(b) Communalism

In science collective ownership of knowledge is emphasized. Intellectual

product is not a private property. Therefore, scientists should freely
exchange and communicate their scientific findings. In order to avoid
ideological connotations Barber prefers to call it “communalism” (1952:
9, 268).

(c) Disinterestedness

A scientist should examine the worth of scientific research with detached

objectivity and without emotional involvement.
238 Pravin J. Patel

(d) Organized Scepticism

No scientist is supposed to accept any idea or belief, how-so-ever popu-

lar or sacred it may be, without freely testing it—both logically and
empirically.

(e) Originality

A scientist is expected to contribute something original to the already

existing fund of scientific knowledge.
In addition, humility, intellectual honesty, integrity etc. are also the
cherished norms of the institution of science.
Since these norms are transmitted by precept and example, and
reinforced by operative sanctions, they have not remained merely as
normative prescriptions but have also become institutionally patterned
motives. Moreover membership group of scientists is also their reference
group, because they consider their peers as significant others. Therefore
they always try to conform to the accepted norms of their group and
thereby gain status among their own group members.
Nevertheless, they are not equally internalized by all the scientists.
In this connection it may be noted that in order to understand the vari-
ation in internalization of values it would be interesting to examine the
socialization process of the scientists in different disciplines and in dif-
ferent societies.
However, Merton expounds that these effectively loaded norms of
science are functional because they facilitate the continuity of science as a
large scale social activity. But, he adds that they have some dysfunctional
consequence too. Especially because, like other social institutions, science
also has a hierarchy of values, by which certain values are considered as
more important and therefore highly emphasized in comparison to other
less important values. For example, originality is more important a value
and hence more fully rewarded. Because the main function of originality
is to give an impetus to science with every new discovery or invention.
Therefore, there is a greater cultural emphasis upon it. The manifestation
of this cultural emphasis is found in an elaborate and graded reward
system which is developed to motivate talented persons in a given popu-
lation to do some original scientific work (Merton, 1957: 642–646).
For instance, the eponymy is the highest kind of reward given to a
scientist by which his name is associated with a scientific era (e.g. Newton’s
ROBERT MERTON’S FORMULATIONS IN SOCIOLOGY OF SCIENCE 239

age), or with a science as its father (e.g. August Comte is considered to be

the father of sociology3) or with a law or a theory (e.g. Einstein’s theory
of relativity) or a method (e.g. Bogardus scale), discovered by him. Thus
his name is remembered for ever in human history and thereby he gets
ever lasting fame. In addition to eponymy there are other rewards also,
though less prestigious than the former, such as: Nobel prize, other
medals or prizes, honorary membership of a scientific society, or honor-
ary degree conferred by a university. Besides, the historians of science also
support this reward system by correcting the errors in giving (or not
giving) the reward and thus putting the record straight. The function of
this elaborate reward system is to encourage original scientific research
and thereby to advance science. (Merton, 1957: 658). But, this very
emphasis on the value of originality has some dysfunctional conse-
quences too. These dysfunctional consequences pointed out by Merton,
can be classified in two categories: (1) related to the deviant behaviour of
scientists and (2) related to the opportunity structure of science.

1. Deviant Patterns of Scientists’ Behaviour

Since the social organisation of science allocates highest rewards for

originality, the individual scientist is always motivated to get such
reward. But often this leads to the deviant patterns of behaviour also.
One such pattern is found in the form of priority conflicts (Merton,
1957). These conflicts are centered around the issue of the priority of
one scientist over the other for a discovery, and hence to get social rec-
ognition for the same. Even the great scientists like Galileo, Newton,
Hooke, Civendish, Watt, Darwin, Freud, Comte, and Sorokin, to
mention only a few, were involved in such conflicts. Merton considers
this as a repetitive and regular pattern because the history of science is
full of such bitter disputes over priority; they are found in all sciences
and in all times (1969; 1971). Hence it requires explanation.
However, Merton rejects the psychological explanation which con-
siders the egotism of scientists and their quarrelling nature as respon-
sible for these conflicts. Because, he contends all scientists, who are
involved in priority contests, do not have such quarrelling nature. As a
matter of fact, some like Darwin or Cavendish or Watts were very
modest and shy persons and yet they got involved in such conflicts.
Besides, instead of the affected scientists themselves, sometimes, their
friends and colleagues have fought the battles for priority who had
240 Pravin J. Patel

obviously nothing to gain personally out of these conflicts. As for illus-

tration, it happened in the case of Wallaston, whose friends, rather than
the distinguished scientist himself, involved him in a priority conflict
with Faraday about the experiments on electro-magnetic rotation.
Similar was the case of Cavendish and Watts conflict over the water-
controversy. Moreover, another lacuna of this psychological explanation
is that it does not explain the priority conflicts between the scientists of
different nations putting forward their national claims for the priority of
a discovery or invention. As Merton observes, from at least the seven-
teenth century, Britons, Frenchmen, Germans, Dutchmen and Italians
have urged their countries’ claims for priority; a little later Americans
and Russians also joined this race (1957: 637–642).
In place of this psychological explanation, therefore, Merton has
proposed a more adequate sociological explanation, which can stand the
empirical test. For this he seeks the clue in his own theory of deviant
behaviour. He considers the priority conflict as a form of deviance from
the another important value of science i.e. humility or modesty.
To explain this he argues that because of the phenomenon of multiple
independent discoveries and because of the institutional emphasis on orig-
inality, the scientists involved in such a multiple discovery are putting for-
ward their claims for recognition. This competition for social recognition
leads to claims and counter-claims, asserting the priority of one scientist
against the other over a discovery or an invention. Because there is a cul-
tural pressure on the scientist to prove his originality and because, the only
right of a scientist over his intellectual property is the right of recognition,
(when it is lost he has nothing more to lose) the scientists caught in such
multiples, contest their claims with intense emotional involvement.
This is further complicated by two other factors: eureka syndrome
and cryptomnesia. Eureka syndrome means socially reinforced elation that
comes with having arrived at a new and true scientific idea or result.
Therefore, there is a deep concern about establishing priority or at least the
independence of one’s discovery. Cryptomnesia means unconscious plagia-
rity. Sometimes, a seemingly creative thought of a scientist is based on his
past reading or discussion. But it is not recalled by him and hence he takes
the idea as new and original. This further complicates the already complex
emotions related with multiple discoveries (Merton, 1963a: 270–282).
Thus, according to Merton the culturally induced motives for ori-
ginal contribution and the phenomenon of multiple independent discov-
ery along with eureka syndrome and cryptomnesia explain the priority
conflicts in science and not the psychological dispositions of scientists.
ROBERT MERTON’S FORMULATIONS IN SOCIOLOGY OF SCIENCE 241

However, these conflicts have led to a variety of institutional innov-

ations designed to cope with the strains caused by them. Among these,
following are specially mentioned by Merton: (a) to report the discovery
in the form of anagrams, (b) to publish the abstracts of one’s original
ideas before publishing the detailed account of the same, (c) to deposit
sealed and dated manuscripts with scientific academies while working
on it, (d) to print the date of receiving a manuscript along with the art-
icle published by the scientific journal and (e) some personal expedients
like to write personal letters detailing one’s own ideas to one’s potential
rival, or to circulate preliminary and confidential reports of one’s work
to the select few or to keep meticulously dated personal records of one’s
research (1957: 654).
Moreover, the strains caused by such dysfunctional conflicts on the
social structure of science also have been responsible for some changes
in the behaviour of scientists. As Merton and Elinor Barber have found,
there is a gradual decline in the number of priority conflicts. For
example, as many as 92 per cent of the multiples were subjected to con-
flict before 1700 A.D.; 72 per cent in the eighteenth century; 74 per
cent in the first half of the nineteenth century and 59 per cent in its
second half; whereas only 33 per cent of the multiples were subjected to
the contest for priority in the first half of twentieth century. (Merton,
1961: 483). This shows that there is an increasing recognition by the
scientists that multiples is a fact; that they can be anticipated, or their
contemporaries may arrive at the same result at the same time; and that
others can be truly independent in their discoveries.
Another trend which indicates change in the social organisation of
scientific research is registered in the form of publications. As evidences
show an increasing tendency is found for joint-authorship in research
papers. Besides, proclivity for team research is also remarkably increas-
ing. Of course, the extent of this change varies from discipline to discip-
line (Merton, 1963: 94–95; Merton, 1963a: 278–279).
But, there should not be any misgiving that the value of originality
or even individual work has become less important, or that the scien-
tists have become large-hearted and broad-minded. Furthermore, in
some of the sciences the concern about originality has either led to
intense conflicts or to extreme secrecy (Kaplan: 857–60). Even Merton
accepts that priority conflicts are still prevalent (1971), and that, in the
collaborative works the individual scientists are concerned about the
recognition of their own contribution in the total work (1963: 95;
1963a: 279).
242 Pravin J. Patel

However, priority conflict is not the only form of deviant behaviour

found among scientists. Merton has observed certain other patterns
also (1957: 649–658). The use of fraud to obtain credit is one such
active pattern of deviant behaviour. It is observed that the pressure to
demonstrate the truth of a theory or to produce a sensational discovery
has some times, motivated some scientists to produce fake evidences.
For example, Paul Mammerer, the biologist who was offered a chair in
the university of Moscow had created fake specimens to prove Lamarkian
thesis experimentally. But, when it was exposed, he attributed the fraud
to his research assistant and committed suicide. Another instance of
such fraud was revealed recently when it was found that the skull and
the jaw from which the existence of Piltdown man was inferred were
nothing but a carefully contrived hoax. Similarly, cooking of evidences,
triming closely guarded secrecy of one’s research, plagiarity or even the
false charges of plagiarity are the instances of this type of deviant
behaviour. These patterns of deviancy can be classified as ‘innovation’
according to Merton’s paradigm of deviant adaptations. Because, in this
type of behaviour some illegitimate, or socially disapproved, means are
accepted to achieve the goal of successful recognition of originality.
There are some passive forms of deviant behaviour also found among
the scientists. One such form of behaviour is ritualism, which is expressed
in the behaviour of those scientists, who continuously publish just for the
sake of publication. Thus publication becomes a ritual. Here the means
becomes the end. Another passive form of deviancy is found in the form
of retreatism. That means, to abandon the cultural goal of originality and
also to abandon the means useful to achieve the goal. Here, the scientist
withdraws from the field of scientific research. Either he gives up the
scientific pursuit itself or he accepts another alternative role, such as
teaching or administration. Moreover, in certain cases the scientist’s
ambition becomes too high to be realized and it results into apathy
imbued with fantasy. In such instances, a scientist nourishes, of course
secretly, the hope of making some great discoveries some day in future.
Nevertheless, Merton observes that though there are some such
instances of deviant behaviour in the institution of science it is not a
dominant pattern. Rather, such instances are exceptions from the gen-
eral rule of conformity (Merton, 1957: 657–658). Because, other
institutional norms of science, like, humility, disinterestedness, com-
munism, intellectual honesty and integrity curb the deviant
tendencies.
ROBERT MERTON’S FORMULATIONS IN SOCIOLOGY OF SCIENCE 243

Merton notes that sometimes these other norms do produce ambiv-

alence among the scientists. For example, it is found that scientists
often contest the claim of priority with painful feeling of dislike for
such conflicts. Because they are caught in the conflict between the value
of originality on one hand, and the value of humility on the other. But
the contest between these two values is unequal, as originality is more
important and more fully rewarded than the value of humility (great
modesty may elicit respect, whereas great originality may promise
immortality). Therefore, even very modest persons (like Cavendish or
Watts or Darwin) are dragged into such conflicts. But as they also value
humility they hate or dislike their own behaviour. Thus this ambiva-
lence shows that the scientists are comtemptuous of the very attitudes
acquired by them from the institution which they support. In addition,
motivated neglect to recognize the fact of priority conflicts, or not
expressing the ambivalence (Merton, 1957: 647–649; Merton, 1962).

2. Normative Complex and the Opportunity

Structure of Science

Merton observes three more consequences of the graded reward system

of the institution of science: (a) the phenomenon of the 41st Chair4, (b)
The ratchet effect5, and (c) The Mathew effect6 (1968a).
(a) The phenomenon of the 41st Chair. This is an outcome of the limited
positions at the top of the ranking system.
Particularly in a more productive era quite a few of the talented
individuals are likely to be excluded from the top positions who may be
possibly superior to the ‘tops’ of the low productive era. Of course, there
are other rewards also but because of their low ranking they do not enjoy
the same prestige as Nobel prize or its equivalent.
(b) The Ratchet Effect. Second consequence of the reward system is the
ratchet effect. A belief that ‘once a Nobel laureate, always a laurete’ tends
to induce continued effort on the part of a Nobel laureate or, an equally
honoured scientist. As more and more is expected from him, it creates
its own measure of motivation and stress. Merton concedes that this
social pressure keeps the eminent scientists continuously at work; and
hence it is functional.
But, partly as unintended consequence, this affects the “class struc-
ture” of science by providing honoured scientists some enlarged facilities
244 Pravin J. Patel

for further work. Thus, the scientists are located in varying positions
within the opportunity structure of science which is favourable to some
and unfavourable to others.

(c) The Mathew Effect. Third consequence of the reward system in sci-
ence, which partly stems from the above two, is the Mathew effect. That
is, the eminent scientists get disproportionately great credit for their
scientific contributions, whereas comparatively less known scientists
tend to get disproportionately little credit for their comparable
contributions.
This pattern of recognition, which is more favourable to the estab-
lished scientists, is revealed in collaborative works and also in the case of
multiple independent discoveries.
When a Nobel laureate or an equally eminent scientist writes in
collaboration with less known scientists the entire credit generally, though
not correctly, is given to the former because of his reputation. Similarly
when the same discovery is made independently by various scientists of
distinctly different ranks the more eminent scientists get the recognition
of the discovery and the unknown scientists are deprived of it.
According to Merton, this Mathew effect has both functional and dys-
functional consequences. It is functional for the system of communication.
As an eminent scientist is involved in a collaborative writing or in a multiple
discovery, the visibility of that writing or invention tends to be heightened.
However, it has some dysfunctional consequences too, particularly
for the careers of the young scientists as they are deprived of social rec-
ognition in the early stages of their development when they want it the
most. As for illustration, many young or unknown scholars’ articles or
books are not published by established journals or publishers, in the
beginning of their careers, because they are not considered as capable to
contribute something significant.
Similarly, the centres of demonstrated scientific excellence are allo-
cated far larger resources for scientific research than the centers which
have yet to make their mark. In turn the high reputation of established
centers attracts a disproportionately higher share of the truly talented
and promising students. These processes of social selection help the con-
centration of research funds, facilities and scientific talents in the reputed
centers and create problems for the growth of new centers of scientific
excellence. Thus, the Mathew effect sometimes violates the norm of
universalism and hinders the growth of science, particularly when it is
transformed into an idol of authority.
ROBERT MERTON’S FORMULATIONS IN SOCIOLOGY OF SCIENCE 245

Concluding Remarks

According to Merton, science is a societal product which requires social

support for its continuity and development. Therefore, variation of the
growth of scientific knowledge depends upon the dynamic relationship
between science and the social structure. Neverthless, once science proves
its utility, it becomes autonomous and acquires its own institutional
imperatives along with operative sanctions. However, like the normative
complex of science its reward system also has functional and dysfunc-
tional consequences, which necessitate some organizational innovations.
It is clear from the foregoing that Merton has consistently used his
theoretical frame of reference to formulate a series of propositions
regarding science and the behaviour patterns of scientists.
However, a few words are in order with reference to his theoretical
stance.
1. Since he uses functional approach, his propositions share some of
the limitations inherent in this approach. For instance, he does not con-
sider Protestantism as the cause of the growth of science in seventh cen-
tury England. His contention is modest. He considers that the growth
of science at that particular time and place was the latent consequence
of Protestantism. Thus, religion is neither a sufficient nor a necessary
condition for the growth of science.
Therefore, at the outset he begins with Waber’s hypothesis about the
interrelationship between Protestantism and science but finding it inad-
equate he has to clarify that “Puritan ethic . . . . . . . . . . . . constitute one
important element in the enhanced cultivation of science” (1936: 628) and
has to add other antecedent variables also viz. economic and military needs
of the society, accumulation of scientific knowledge, opportunities for sus-
tained interaction between scientists, development of techniques and
methods of research, reward system of science etc. (1935, 1939, 1961).
2. The growth of science reveals following empirical diversities:
(a) Substantive and methodological growth of science is not mono-
lithic (Kaplan, 1964: 854). The natural sciences are more advanced than
social sciences. Even among natural sciences, some are pretty well devel-
oped than the others. Besides, various sub-branches of a particular sci-
ence also may not be equally developed.
(b) The “normal” growth of science is different from its “revolution-
ary” growth (Kuhn, 1962) as was the case of the seventeenth century
England. The same type of scientific revolution may be said to have
occurred in twentieth century U.S.A. and post-revolutionary Russia.
246 Pravin J. Patel

(c) Even among the societies sharing almost the same type of cultural
background, the rate of scientific growth is uneven. For example, the con-
temporary U.S.A. is much more productive in scientific activities than the
contemporary Europe.
(d) All sciences do not enjoy the same degree of autonomy in all times and
places. Perhaps, as Marx has observed and Mannheim has reasserted
(Barber, 1956: 92–94) the natural sciences are more autonomous than their
social counterparts in almost all societies. (This also raises a methodological
question: is it possible to measure the exact degree of autonomy of a science
at a given time in a given society?)

Perhaps, realizing some of these problems Merton has emphasized

that it is necessary to find out the types, extent and processes of the
non-scientific determinants of science in different social structures
(1939: 661; 1968, 589).
3. Kaplan (1964: 855) feels that the four institutional imperatives
of science formulated by Merton (1942) have not remained uncharged
ever since their early origins. This is a debatable hypothesis. But it must
be mentioned that Merton does not consider science as a perfectly inte-
grated social institution (1963: 77–80). Besides, he has perceived the
changes taking place in the organization of science indicated by the
form of publication, priority conflicts etc. which also suggest that values
do change from time to time.
4. Merton’s use of anomie paradigm to explain some of the deviant
behaviour patterns of the scientists (1957) confirms his assertion that
the middle range “. . . . . . theories are sufficiently abstract to deal with
differing spheres of social behaviour and social structure. . . . . . . . .” and
that “These theories do not remain separate but are consolidated into
wider networks of theory. . . . . .” (1968: 68).
5. Merton very often rejects, in true Durkheimian tradition, the
psychological explanations, and proposes alternative sociological ones.
But his approach is not that of a reductionist. In his sociological expla-
nations he generously incorporates the psychological facts and con-
cepts. For instance, he tries to explain the growth of science in the
seventeenth century England by showing the value-integration
between puritanism and science. Yet he frequently states that the puri-
tan values were internalized by the scientists; that the consciously
expressed motivation was provided by this ethic; that this ethic pro-
duced favourable attitudes for science; that eureka syndrome and cryp-
tomnesis (unconscious plagiarity) play very important role in the priority
ROBERT MERTON’S FORMULATIONS IN SOCIOLOGY OF SCIENCE 247

conflicts; that psychological processes of creative work and psychological

traits of the scientists also are significant in scientific activity etc. Thus,
his propositions become socio-psychological, instead of purely socio-
logical ones.

Notes
* This is a revised version of a paper presented at the research seminar, on September
4, 1974, in the Department of Sociology, M. S. University, Baroda. I am grateful to
Professor Robert K. Merton for providing the reprints of a number of his articles on
sociology of science which induced me to write this paper. I am also indebted to
Professor K. C. Panchanadikar and Dr. (Mrs) J. Panchanadikar for their valuable
comments on the basis of which the earlier drafts of this paper were extensively
revised. However, the final responsibility of the views expressed and errors that might
have crept in, is mine.
1. Although Merton accepts that psychological traits, and the psychological processes of
the creative work along with the interpersonal relations in the formal organization of
scientist’s work-place do affect his scientific activity, he asserts that outstanding sci-
entists tend to be ‘cosmopolitans’ rather than ‘locals’ and that the scientific behaviour
is not merely the result of the idiosyncratic characteristics and the local ambiance of
the scientists. The influence of the wider social and cultural structure is not insignif-
icant (1936: 239–243).
2. Merton’s earliest formulations regarding this are found in his “Science, Technology
and Society in Seventeenth Century England” in George Sarton (ed.) Orisis, 4: 2,
Bruges, Belgium, 1938, pp. 360–632; which are aptly summarized in his “Puritanism,
Pietism and Science” (1936), and “Science and Economy of 17th Century England”
(1939).
3. Though Merton considers eponomy as the highest reward given to a scientist he does
not agree with the belief based on biological metaphor, that a science can be fathered
by one person. He says, polygenesis is the rule in the realm of science (1968: 2).
4. This concept is based on the example of French Academy which earlier decided that
only a group of 40 could qualify as its members and thus emerge as immortals.
As a result, some equally competent persons, excluded from the Academy, have
become immortal by occupying the ‘41st Chair’.
5. Ratchet means a set of teeth on edge of bar or wheel in which a pawl engages to
ensure motion in one direction only.
6. According to Gospel, St. Mathew puts it this way: “For unto every one that hath shall
be given and he shall have abundance, but from him that hath not shall be taken away
even that which he hath” (Mathew, 25: 29, The New Testament).

References
Barber, Bernard. 1952. Science and Social Order. Glencoe, III.: The Free Press.
———. 1956. Sociology of Science: A Trend Report and Bibliography. Current Sociology 5(2).
248 Pravin J. Patel

Barber, Bernard. 1959. “The Sociology of Science”. In: R. K. Merton, L. Broom and L. S.
Cotrell, Jr. (eds.) Sociology Today: Problems and Prospects, pp. 125–288. New York:
Harper Torchbooks.
———. 1968. “The Sociology of Science”. In: David L. Sills (ed.) International Encyclopedia
of Social Sciences 14: 92–100. New York: The Macmillan and the Free Press.
Gillispie, Charles C. 1951. Genesis and Geology. Cambridge: Harvard University Press.
Kaplan, Norman. 1964. “The Sociology of Science”. In: R. E. L. Faris (ed.) Handbook of
Modern Sociology, pp. 852–881. Chicago: Rand McNally and Company.
Kuhn, T. S. 1962. The Structure of Scientific Revolutions. Chicago: University of Chicago
Press.
Merton, R. K. 1935. Science and Military Technique. Scientific Monthly 44(37): 542–545.
———. 1936. “Puritanism, Pietism and Science”. In: R. K. Merton Social Theory and Social
Structure, pp. 628–660. New York: The Free Press, Enl. ed., 1968. (Hereafter referred
to as STSS).
——— 1938. “Science and the Social Order”. In: R. K. Merton, STSS, pp. 591–603.
——— 1939. “Science and Economy of 17th Century England”. In: R. K. Merton, STSS,
pp. 661–681.
——— 1942. “Science and the Democratic Social Structure”. In: R. K. Merton, STSS,
pp. 604–615.
——— 1947. “The Machine, The Worker and the Engineer”. In: R. K. Merton, STSS,
pp. 616–627.
——— 1957. Priorities in Scientific Discovery: A Chapter in the Sociology of Science.
American Sociological Review 22(6): 635–659.
——— 1961. Singletons and Multiples in Scientific Discovery: A Chapter in the Sociology
of Science. Proceedings, American Philosophical Society 105(5): 470–486.
——— 1963. The Ambivalence of Scientists. Bulletin of the John Hopkins Hospital 112(2):
77–97.
——— 1963a. Resistence to the Systematic Study of Multiple Discoveries in Science.
European Journal of Sociology IV: 237–283.
——— 1968. STSS, op. cit.
——— 1968a. The Mathew Effect. Science 159(3810): 56–63.
——— 1969. Behaviour Patterns of Scientists. The American Scholar 38(2): 197–225.
——— and R. Lewis, 1971. The Competitive Pressures (1): The Race for Priority. Impact
of Science on Sociology 21(2): 151–161.
Ogburn, W. F. and D. S. Thomas, 1922. Are Inventions Inevitable? Politcal Science Quarterly
37(32): 82–98.
14
Bourdieu’s Theory of
the Symbolic and the
Shah Bano Case
Sheena Jain

Introduction

B
ourdieu’s theory of the symbolic, and the theory of practice of
which it forms a part, are products of a rigorous dialectic between
conceptual traditions and innovations, on the one hand, and
empirical observations of particular social realities, on the other. The
epistemological status conferred on them by Bourdieu is that of univer-
sally valid frameworks of analysis, capable of yielding sociological truths
in diverse empirical contexts. This assertion is qualified by the under-
standing that the theories are not closed, but open-ended constructs,
and thus subject to change and modification when demanded by subse-
quent research. They are constituted by conceptual tools that are heuris-
tic devices to be used as such. This quality of Bourdieu’s contribution
prompts one to undertake the exercise of exploring in a preliminary way
the strengths and limitations of his theory of the symbolic by viewing it
in relation to the symbolic aspects of a selected social reality distinct
from the ones analysed by Bourdieu himself.1 The reality I have chosen
pertains to an event involving the rights of women in India, namely, the
Shah Bano case. In what follows, I will explore how far Bourdieu’s theory
of the symbolic goes towards illuminating its reality, examining in par-
ticular the fruitfulness of the following conceptions: (i) the notion of
250 Sheena Jain

differentiated societies as characterised by doxa, orthodoxy, and

heterodoxy, (ii) the definition of the state as an institution having a
monopoly over legitimate symbolic violence, and (iii) the understand-
ing that subordinate social groups, including women, are subject to
symbolic violence involving a process of misrecognition.
As a prologue to the exercise of viewing, through the lens of his
conceptual framework, an event located in particular time and space
dimensions, I would like to briefly outline Bourdieu’s concept of history.
According to Bourdieu, every historical action brings together two states
of history: objectified history, that is, the history which has accumulated
over the passage of time in things, machines, buildings, monuments,
books, theories, customs, law, etc.; and embodied or internalised history,
in the form of habitus. The concept of habitus refers, in Bourdieu’s
oeuvre, to systematic propensities to perceive, think, evaluate and act in
certain ways, embodied in individuals, but shared by all those living in
similar social and material conditions. The habitus is the product of a
historical acquisition, which makes it possible to appropriate the legacy
of history. This is so in the sense that

the institution or objectified, instituted history, becomes historical action,

that is, enacted active history, only if it is taken in charge by agents whose own
history predisposes them to do so; who, by virtue of their previous invest-
ments, are inclined to take an interest in its functioning, and endowed with
the appropriate attributes to make it function (Bourdieu 1981: 305–06).

The structures of objectified history constitute part of what

Bourdieu calls fields, and the relation between habitus and field is con-
ceptualised as two modes of the existence of history. The concept of
fields refers to relatively autonomous structures of relations between
agents that emerge in specific socio-historical contexts. They are the site
of struggles between agents, with their own particular stakes and
rewards, and their own logic. Bourdieu clarifies that the notion of field
implies transcending the conventional opposition between structure
and history; conservation and transformation, since fields are sites of
struggle, and the relations of power which form their structures provide
the underpinnings of both resistance to domination and resistance to
subversion.
Moreover, to see how struggles account for a transformation of
structures, one needs to enter into the details of particular historical
BOURDIEU’S THEORY OF THE SYMBOLIC AND THE SHAH BANO CASE 251

conjunctures and analyse the positions in the structure. In fact, Bourdieu

argues for a form of structural history, ‘which finds in each successive
state of the structure under examination both the product of previous
struggles to maintain or transform this structure, and the principle, via
the contradictions, the tensions, and the relations of force which consti-
tute it, of subsequent transformations’ (Bourdieu and Wacquant 1992:
89–91). Indeed history, or time, is at the centre of Bourdieu’s analysis,
in that it is built into his conceptualisation of social space. Thus, the
model of structure of social space put forth in his study, Distinction, for
example, is a three dimensional one: in addition to the volume and
structure of capital possessed by social agents, it takes into account the
evolution over time of these two properties.
By viewing the relation between habitus and field as two modes of
existence of history, Bourdieu is able to found a theory of time that
breaks with two opposed philosophies of time: on the one hand, ‘the
metaphysical vision which treats time as a reality in itself, independent
of the agent (as in the metaphor of the river) and, on the other hand, a
philosophy of consciousness’ (Bourdieu and Wacquant 1992: 138).
This is because ‘far from being a condition a priori and transcendent to
historicity, time is what practical activity produces in the very act
whereby it produces itself ’ (ibid.). At the same time,
Practice need not—except by way of exception—explicitly constitute the
future as such, as in a project or a plan posited through a conscious and delib-
erate act of will. Practical activity, in so far as it makes sense, as it is sensee, rea-
sonable, that is, engendered by a habitus adjusted to the immanent tendencies
of the field, is an act of temporalisation through which the agent transcends
the immediate present in a practical mobilisation of the past and practical
anticipation of the future inscribed in the present in a state of objective poten-
tiality’ (ibid.).

We may note here that Bourdieu, while excluding the category of sub-
ject, which is central to philosophies of consciousness, does not exclude
agents. For, it is as active participants in historical action that agents
either reproduce or transform structures, even as they are products of
these structures. Thus, social agents are the product of history; of the
history of the social field and of the accumulated experience of a path
within the specific subfield. But they also make history.
Bearing in mind this conception of history, and the overall aim of
this paper, which is to view the Shah Bano case in the light of Bourdieu’s
252 Sheena Jain

theory of the symbolic, I will proceed next to an account of the case and
then move on to its analysis.

The Shah Bano Case

The Shah Bano case refers to the events that followed from a criminal
appeal in the Supreme Court of India by appellant Mohammed Ahmed
Khan against respondents Shah Bano Begum and others in 1985. The
appeal was a response to an application filed by Shah Bano, a divorced
Muslim woman, for maintenance under Section 125 of the Code of
Criminal Procedure (CrPC).
Shah Bano was married to Mohammad Ahmed Khan in 1932, had
borne him three sons and two daughters, and was driven out of her
matrimonial home in 1975. In April 1978, she filed an application
against her husband asking for maintenance and, in November 1978
she was divorced by him by an irrevocable talaq permitted under the
personal law of the Muslims. He defended himself against Shah Bano’s
petition for maintenance by stating that she had ceased to be his wife
after the divorce; that he had paid a maintenance allowance for two
years and deposited a sum of Rs 3,000 by way of dower as per Muslim
personal law during the period of iddat (which normally is three men-
strual cycles or the passage of three lunar months for post-menopausal
women). The Judicial Magistrate of the concerned High Court did,
however, sanction a small sum to be paid as maintenance in terms of
Section 125 of the CrPC, and following a revised petition, the sum was
raised nominally. It was then that the husband appealed to the Supreme
Court.
The Supreme Court ruled that a Muslim woman unable to main-
tain herself was entitled to take recourse to Section 125 of the CrPC that
requires husbands with sufficient means to pay maintenance to wives or
ex-wives who are unable to support themselves. The ruling was based on
the understanding that Muslim personal law, which limits the husband’s
liability to provide maintenance to a divorced woman for the period of
iddat does not deal with a situation of destitution, the prime concern of
the provisions of the CrPC.
The judgement provoked widespread consternation in the Muslim
community in the country. The ulema (Muslim clerics) condemned the
judgement as an attempt to undermine the Shariat, the source of Islamic
BOURDIEU’S THEORY OF THE SYMBOLIC AND THE SHAH BANO CASE 253

law. A large number of Muslims took to the streets to register their

protest, accusing the Supreme Court of trespassing on their domain.
What added to their outrage was the reference in the judgement to the
desirability of evolving a uniform civil code, which questioned the suit-
ability of Muslim personal law, as indeed of all religious personal law, as
an agency capable of fostering national integration. This was viewed as
a position contrary to the principles of secularism on the basis of which
different communities were bound together in India, and as particularly
threatening to the Muslims, who as a minority community, had for
long, sought through the preservation of personal law, a means of pro-
tecting their self identity.
The leadership of the movement came from the ulema and the All
India Muslim Personal Law Board (AIMPLB), an organisation estab-
lished in 1974. They were joined by several other Muslim organisations,
and by Muslim politicians in centrist parties, such as the Congress and
the Janata Dal. They mobilised Muslims in Uttar Pradesh, Bihar,
Kashmir, Andhra Pradesh and Kerala, and their campaign spread
through religious institutions, mosques, newspapers, and local commu-
nity leaders. While initially, when it focused on the issue of maintenance
rights for women, the movement failed to gain popular support, it
gained momentum towards the end of 1985, when it shifted to the
much larger issue of the status of the Muslim minority and its right to
exist as a religious community in a secular society. Passions were aroused
with protests against interference with Muslim personal law and by the
fuelling of fears of its substitution by a common civil law, which, it was
suggested, would spell the death warrant of Muslim identity in Hindu
India.
In April 1985, G.M. Banatwala, a Muslim League member from
Kerala, introduced a private bill in Parliament to ensure the continuance
of the regime of personal law. In May, six Muslim organisations issued a
joint statement expressing fear of the extinction of personal law. The
Secretary of the AIMPLB explicitly demanded that the government
should nullify the judgement by reiterating its commitment to uphold
the Muslim personal law. The organisation warned the government that
‘it would be unwise and against the interests of national unity to arouse
fears and apprehensions and to create a sense of religious insecurity’
(Zoya Hasan 1989: 46). Numerous public meetings were held in the
course of the Shariah week launched in October 1985, culminating in
254 Sheena Jain

the observation of the All India Shariah Day, marked by street-corner

meetings and demonstrations. Doctrinal differences between organisa-
tions were underplayed to safeguard personal law, as were regional and
class divisions among Muslims. Towards the end of 1985, the funda-
mentalists persuaded Shah Bano to hold a press conference, where she
put her thumb impression on a statement demanding that the Supreme
Court withdraw its verdict as it amounted to interference in the Muslim
personal law (Engineer 1987: 63)
However, even as this fundamentalist tide grew, a large number of
Muslims saw no conflict between the Supreme Court verdict and Islamic
principles. Significantly, it has been noted that many Muslim women
were unaffected by the tide and supported the demand for maintenance
rights provided under the CrPC. Women who were initially unaware of
the maintenance issue became conscious of it as the campaign against
the judgement gained momentum. Muslim women groups in Kerala,
West Bengal, Mumbai and Delhi reaffirmed the right of maintenance
and criticised the mullahs for making religion an instrument of injust-
ice. The formation of the committee for the Protection of the Rights of
Muslim Women in Kolkata, Thiruvananthapuram and Delhi gave
organised expression to such sentiments. It organised public meetings
and conventions in different parts of the country to highlight the issue
of women’s rights, and submitted memoranda to the Prime Minister
emphasising the need to protect all sections of the minorities, particu-
larly women (Zoya Hasan 1989: 47). These stirrings of protest were
strengthened by voices from within the Muslim intelligentsia. Important
sections of enlightened and liberal Muslim opinion, drawn from the
educated and professional classes, signed a memorandum demanding
the preservation of the right of a divorced Muslim woman to claim
maintenance from her former husband (ibid.). In short, the claims of
some Muslim leaders that the community was unanimously opposed to
the Supreme Court verdict in favour of maintenance were false.
As regards the government, the ruling Congress Party initially wel-
comed the Supreme Court verdict, and the Prime Minister was openly
supportive of the Union Home Minister Arif Mohammed Khan, who
denounced the Banatwala Bill in Parliament. However, the defeat of the
Congress Party in the by-elections in December 1985 ‘led the govern-
ment to execute a volte-face’ (ibid.). Fearful of further electoral reverses,
the government initiated several moves to assuage Muslim feelings.
BOURDIEU’S THEORY OF THE SYMBOLIC AND THE SHAH BANO CASE 255

Thus, members of the AIMPLB were summoned to Delhi for

consultation; Ali Mian, the alim of the Lucknow Seminary, Nadvatal-
ulma, was assiduously cultivated; and the Prime Minister found time to
attend the All Momin Conference where he assured his audience that
the Muslim personal law will not be modified or altered. In May 1986,
the Muslim Women (Protection of Rights on Divorce) Bill, 1985, was
introduced in Parliament (ibid.).
The Bill denied Muslim women the option to avail of Section 125
of the CrPC. It legitimised the arguments of the AIMPLB and the
Muslim League that a woman’s natal family should maintain her after
her divorce and not the husband as she has ceased to be his wife. It pro-
vided that the inheritors of her property would be responsible for her
maintenance in accordance with the property to be inherited, without
fixing the amount of property to be inherited by the divorced woman.
Where a divorced woman has no relatives or any one of them does not
have enough means to pay the maintenance, it was decreed that the
State Wakf Board would pay.
In passing the Bill, the government had clearly surrendered to fun-
damentalist pressures. The Bill was widely criticised, and women’s
organisations mobilised public opinion, highlighting gender identity
and the need to safeguard the rights of women. They pointed out how
women’s identity often gets subsumed in the larger issue of community
identity. Their intervention restored the focus on women, and exposed
the subordinate and unequal position of women within the family, that
is, with reference to personal laws, and in the public realm, where, for
example, women could not avail of Section 125 of the CrPC because
that would supposedly threaten community identity (ibid.: 48). Street-
corner meetings, protest marches and signature campaigns were organ-
ised, but the government refused to recognise the strength of Muslim
opposition to the Bill.
It has been pointed out that the most important factor which made
the government take such a stance was the need to stem the anger over
the Shah Bano verdict, which was losing the Congress its Muslim votes.
Moreover, the Bill was a sequel to the communal pressures mounted by
Hindu organisations agitating for the reopening of the Babri Masjid
Ram Janam Bhoomi temple in Ayodhya. The temple was opened in
February 1986 to appease and conciliate the Vishwa Hindu Parishad
and Ram Janam Bhoomi Mukti Samiti, and at this point, Muslim
256 Sheena Jain

communal leaders threatened to boycott the Congress if the Babri

Masjid was not restored to Muslims. The Muslim Women Bill was an
effort to pacify ruffled Muslim sentiments over the reopening of the
disputed Babri Masjid and the conservative objections to the Supreme
Court verdict. As Zoya Hasan comments, ‘In this way the Indian State
performed a balancing act of accommodating and according protection
to all religions and religious sentiments under the umbrella of multi-
theocratic pluralism and an ideology of secularism that encourages and
protects all religions’ (ibid.: 48). Furthermore, she notes that the most
pernicious aspect of the controversy was the attempt by the government
to defend the AIMPLB sponsored Bill (which would clearly debilitate
and deprive the Muslim community) and lament the absence of reform-
ist tendencies among Muslims at the same time (ibid.). But, while the
responsibility of the Muslim Women’s Bill was transferred to the Muslim
fundamentalists, in effect, it was an attempt to mollify them.

Analysis

To see what light Bourdieu’s theory of the symbolic sheds on this case,
we need to note that the realm of the symbolic refers, in his work, to
mental structures, including schemes and categories of perception,
thought, evaluation, and action, both conscious and unconscious, as
well as to activities, institutions, and objects pertaining to the same
(Bourdieu 1998: 40, 46, 53, 54, 56, and 121). We can begin the exercise
by asking whether the concepts of doxa, orthodoxy, and heterodoxy pro-
vide useful tools for analysing how the events related to the case
unfolded. This means considering the available empirical evidence
regarding the mental make-up of the litigants involved; of the judges in
the context of the judgement proclaimed; and of the dramatis personae
who participated in the response to the judgement. It may be noted that
doxa refers to the ensemble of common opinions, established beliefs,
and received ideas, which remain undiscussed. Orthodoxy may be
defined as a system of euphemisms, of acceptable ways of thinking and
speaking the natural and social world, which rejects heretical remarks as
blasphemies. Heterodoxy refers to the existence of competing possibi-
lities in the field of opinion.
To look at Shah Bano’s actions first: they have to be viewed against
the backdrop of her biographical trajectory in a milieu characterised by
a subordinate position for women which went into the constitution of
BOURDIEU’S THEORY OF THE SYMBOLIC AND THE SHAH BANO CASE 257

her habitus. Illiterate and aging, abandoned by her husband, and living
with one of her three grown-up sons, it is unlikely that her legal appli-
cation for maintenance was based on a conscious decision to fight for
her rights. It was more likely the product of an acceptance in the doxic
mode of what the significant males in her immediate milieu dictated she
do. Regarding their motives in prompting her to do so, it may realistic-
ally be doubted if she would have had much control even over the
meagre sum which she would have been given as maintenance, had she
not retracted her claim. This is likely even as her sons were well off
enough to be able to support her. Indeed, as journalist Saeed Naqvi has
noted, the maintenance claim by Shah Bano followed a series of disputes
on the ownership of certain properties, largely inspired by the sons (see
Engineer 1987: 68). Thus what was important in Shah Bano’s case of
adopting her earlier stance, and of later retracting from it, was not a
consciousness of the legal or perhaps even religious correctness or incor-
rectness of the particular positions taken, but the fact that they were
authorised by significant persons—all males—who she was subordinate
to. The doxa that governed her actions made her consistent even when
apparently inconsistent.
We can also discern the element of misrecognition involved, when
we consider her statement to the effect that she was following the dic-
tates of a religious consciousness in changing her stance. For, this was in
conformity with the orthodox discourse of Muslim clerics which was
put up in response to the heterodoxy of the legal verdict and of certain
currents of public opinion. While Shah Bano’s interests as a woman
were thus thwarted, it was precisely her gendered subjectivity that made
her complicit in what happened.
Incidentally, the fact that the concept of habitus, which takes into
account individual variations in skills and experience has greater
explanatory power than the Durkheimian concept of ‘collective con-
sciousness’ becomes apparent if we compare Shah Bano’s actions to
those of another divorced Muslim woman, Shehnaz Sheikh, subject to
the pressures of a similar milieu. Unlike Shah Bano, the young and
educated Shehnaz Sheikh, did not succumb to these pressures, but
instead took up the cause of Muslim women, and formed an organisa-
tion for the same. This was after she petitioned the Supreme Court,
challenging the discrimination against women inherent in Muslim per-
sonal law on issues of polygamy, divorce, maintenance, custody of chil-
dren and inheritance (Menon 1994).
258 Sheena Jain

As for the actions of Shah Bano’s husband, Mohammad Ahmad

Khan, it must be borne in mind that he was a lawyer with substantial
earnings, for whom the payment of maintenance would not have caused
great financial hardship. What seems more pertinent is the reference to
the limitations of Muslim personal law in the Supreme Court judge-
ment, which ignited the whole issue of the infallibility or otherwise of
the Shariat and of certain interpretations of it, and its implications for
the status of the Muslim community in India. As a Muslim lawyer,
Mohammad Ahmad Khan was perhaps only too conscious, in appealing
under Muslim personal law, of these implications, including the role
they had played in legal discourse in India so far, and even more, of the
sociopolitical support from sections of the Muslim Community that
such an appeal carried. His actions stemmed from a calculated bet on
the strength of the orthodoxy characterising certain sections of the
Muslim community which had figured in legal debates in modern India,
and which was very likely a part of his habitus anyway. The calculation
involved in his actions was not strictly speaking rational calculation, but
the activation of a practical sense. Thus, it is significant that, as has been
noted, since he had appealed under Muslim personal law and lost, he
became an instant hero among the more conservative maulvi elements
(Engineer 1987: 68).
As regards the Supreme Court judgement on the case, a notable
feature is the fact that, in the course of upholding the High Court deci-
sion on the provision of maintenance to Shah Bano, it also commented
upon several other issues, and we will consider its various components
here. With reference to strictly legal aspects, the judgement drew upon
colonial legislation, citing the speech of Sir James Fitzjames Stephen,
who had piloted the Code of Criminal Procedure, 1872 as Legal
Member of the Viceroy’s Council. It clarified the purport of the relevant
sections of the Code within which Section 125 occurred, which, signifi-
cantly, is not concerned with individual rights, but with ‘prevention of
vagrancy’ as a threat to public order. As Veena Das comments, ‘The
creation of a legal category of vagrants, as well as the criminalisation of
“close relatives” who could be held responsible for supporting indigent
relatives, reflected the basic opposition of colonial rulers to the mainte-
nance of unproductive populations’ (1995: 97). Within the framework
of modern law, which is a product of heterodox discourse, the judge-
ment thus conformed to colonial orthodoxy on strictly legal issues.
BOURDIEU’S THEORY OF THE SYMBOLIC AND THE SHAH BANO CASE 259

In supporting itself against an appeal based on Muslim personal

law, however, the judgement went on to the terrain of heterodox beliefs
and opinions. It questioned the role of religion as protector of the inter-
ests of women; it contested the interpretation of the sacred legal texts
offered; and it spoke of the desirability of a common civil code ‘to help
the cause of national integration by removing disparate loyalties to law
which have conflicting ideologies’ (Engineer 1987: 33). This hetero-
geneity, Das (1995: 95) observes, allowed the judgement to become a
signifier of issues which touch upon several dimensions, including the
nature of secularism, the rights of minorities, and the use of law as an
instrument of securing justice for the oppressed. It is reasonable to sup-
pose that the judges concerned had certain convictions with regard to all
these issues, and that these convictions formed part of the existing het-
erodox discourse associated with certain individuals and groups in
modern India. Its constituent elements can be analysed briefly as
follows.
The unjust treatment of women in religion was illustrated in the
opening paragraph of the judgement by quoting from Manu, followed
by a statement by Sir William Lane made in 1840, to the effect that the
fatal point in Islam is its degradation of women (Engineer 1987: 23).
Das very perceptively identifies the semiotic function of this manner of
framing things, which was ‘to establish the secular and learned creden-
tials of the judges, for, by a time-honoured tradition in our political
culture, secular credentials are signalled by handing out in an even
manner criticisms of the majority community and minority commu-
nity’ (1995: 98).
As regards the exercise undertaken in the judgement, of examining
Islam’s position on the issue of maintenance, it is significant that this
was not strictly relevant to the legal judgement pronounced. For, stating
that Section 125 was part of the Code of Criminal Procedures, and not
of Civil Law, the judges asserted that they were not concerned with the
broad and general question of whether a Muslim husband was liable to
maintain his wife, including a divorced wife, under all conditions. The
correct subject matter of Section 125 related to a wife who was unable
to maintain herself, and their ruling was limited to such a case. Clearly,
given the fact that there is a uniform criminal code to which all Indian
citizens are subject, the court could not take into account the religion of
the persons involved (ibid.: 97).
260 Sheena Jain

Yet, the judgement did examine the question of whether there was
any conflict between the provisions of Section 125 and those of the
Muslim personal law on the liability of the Muslim husband to provide
for the maintenance of his divorced wife. For this, it drew upon legal
texts and the Quran, and came to the conclusion that there was no con-
flict. The process by which the judges arrived at this conclusion involved
opening up to scrutiny the legal orthodoxy that existed in textbooks on
Muslim law. That this exercise provoked such strong reactions from sec-
tions of the Muslim community, not all of whom, it may be realistically
supposed, were acquainted with these texts, testifies to the extent to
which this orthodoxy had become the doxa—unquestioned and taken
for granted—for part of the community. Even more powerful was the
typical stance of all orthodoxy that characterised the response, which
was to not countenance any questioning whatsoever of its contents—
and to term any exercise of scrutiny an interference or even blasphemy
(Bourdieu 1986: 167–68).
Moreover, it would be naÏve to restrict our analysis of this phenom-
enon to the realm of discourse alone. For as Bourdieu points out, where
there is a correspondence between mental structures and social struc-
tures, systems of classification are political instruments which contrib-
ute to the reproduction of the social world (ibid.: 164). Indeed, this
conceptualisation of the political efficacy of the link between symbolic
structures and social structures gives a critical edge to Bourdieu’s analysis
of the symbolic. Thus, the disadvantageous position of women in legal
orthodoxy, only served to reinforce and to contribute to the reproduc-
tion of their subordinate position in the community. Nevertheless, as
the differentiated reaction to the judgement, even within the Muslim
community shows, the orthodox response was not an attempt to legit-
imise doxa in a vacuum, but was a response to the constitution of a field
of opinion, which included heterodoxy. The judgement partook of this
heterodox discourse, whose voice could be heard in several other
responses to the judgement as well.
As regards its perspective on the need to evolve a common civil
code, the judgement articulated a stance conforming to one of the
major strands in heterodox discourse on the issue of secularism in
modern India. Insofar as it posited a contradiction between the exist-
ence of a plurality of personal laws based on religion and the interests of
the oppressed and of national integration, it represented what may be
BOURDIEU’S THEORY OF THE SYMBOLIC AND THE SHAH BANO CASE 261

termed a position of militant secularism. However, it is significant that

while positing this, ‘there is no attempt in the judgement to explain
why different ideologies in the sphere of personal life are seen as intrin-
sically threatening to national integration’ (Das 1995: 99). Also, the
question of the rights of women is ‘raised but then totally eclipsed by
the allegiance to abstractions like public order and national integration’
(ibid.: 100).
Questioning the version of secularism associated with the proposal
for a uniform civil code further, Zoya Hasan (1998: 116) points out that
the notion of national integration on which it is based, and whose devel-
opment can be traced back to the debates in the Constituent Assembly
on the same, is not that of the principle of citizenship or the equitable
distribution of resources. As this suggests, there is, in contrast both to
the position of the militant secularists and the orthodoxy of those in
favour of unreformed personal laws, an alternative position in the field
of opinion. This is that of secularism in favour of a legal pluralism based
on a reform of personal laws in the light of the principles of justice and
equality, including gender justice.
That the demand for a uniform civil code was appropriated by
Hindu communalists, so that ‘women’s right is subordinated to impera-
tives of unity defined by majoritarianism and pluralism defined in terms
of minority rights’ reflects the extreme vulnerability of the position of
women in processes of the constitution and exercise of law; a vulnerabil-
ity whose specificity the overall text of the judgement does not take into
account, despite its ruling in favour of Muslim women (ibid.: 117). The
occlusion of women from the terms of the competing discourses was
almost total. It also draws attention to an absence in Bourdieu’s theory
of conceptual tools for analysing the phenomenon of conflicting and
competing orthodoxies in society as are found in the case of communal
ideologies in India. It would not do to subsume them under the cat-
egory of heterodox discourse, for they are characterised by a defensive-
ness, rigidity and resistance to dialogue, which are typical of orthodoxy.
Neither would it do to see them as ultimately the same, or as subspecies
of a general orthodoxy, since they are manifestly hostile to each other,
with this hostility affecting social processes significantly, even as they
play a similarly regressive role in society.
It may be argued, however, that while in his schematic presentation
of the concept in his Outline of a Theory of Practice, Bourdieu presents
262 Sheena Jain

orthodoxy as a singular phenomenon opposed to heterodoxy; its

rendering is far more complex in his various subsequent analyses of the
cultural field (see Bourdieu 1986: 268; 1993). In them, there appear
struggles between producers with their products to attain to the position
of orthodoxy, that is, in Max Weber’s terms, claims to the legitimate and
monopolised use of a certain class of symbolic goods (Bourdieu 1993:
116). This suggests a preliminary framework within which communal
discourses and practices could possibly be analysed. However, the spe-
cificities of the phenomenon of communalism in India would shape the
concept, as much as its analysis would be aided by its use.
To return to the Shah Bano case: to understand the orthodox
response to the judgement better, it is necessary to see how it was shaped
by the existence of a relatively autonomous political field. For, the con-
struction of a discourse and doxa that regards Muslim identity as being
based on adherence to infallible Islamic personal laws is a historical con-
struction produced in the context of actors and organisations participat-
ing in political processes characterising modern Indian history. This
becomes clear when we observe that the common sense among certain
sections of the Muslim community that Muslim identity is equal to
Muslim personal law, papers over the heterogeneity, which is the true
condition of the Muslims in India—heterogeneity of region, class, caste
and culture. In this sense, orthodoxy is a creation which does not pre-
serve an initial doxa but which creates a new doxa. In the process, mis-
recognition occurs: the diversion of people from their real interests, to
the defence of a symbolic entity which furthers the interests of clerics
and politicians, being thereby an instance of the exercise of symbolic
violence by them.
Thus, apart form the hold of orientalist clichés that projected Islam
as providing a complete identity, explanation and oral code for Muslims,
and colonial stereotypes of an Islamic community organised on a
pan-Indian or transnational basis, as well as mythical portrayals of
Muslim unity in nationalist discourse, what is of particular relevance to
us is the existence of practitioners of modern day politics ‘who pur-
ported to represent the “millat”, or the “community” as a whole, but
were actually exploiting Islam and communitarian solidarity as a shield
to cover their political designs’ (Mushirul Hasan 1997: 51). That the
Indian state was responsive to pressures from such politicians is, of
course, a significant fact, which we will discuss when we examine the
BOURDIEU’S THEORY OF THE SYMBOLIC AND THE SHAH BANO CASE 263

notion of the state as an agency with a monopoly over legitimate

symbolic violence. What is important from the point of view of under-
standing the orthodox response to the case is the presence of organisa-
tions with a leadership that had sought to carve out a place for itself in
Indian politics through mobilisations on the issue of Islamic law.
Among the organisations which condemned the judgement as
interference in Muslim personal law were the All India Muslim Personal
Law Board, the Jamait-ul-Ulema-Hind, the Jamait-e-Islami, the Muslim
League, and the Muslim Majlis Mushawarat. While the first is an apex
body of several Muslim organisations committed to upholding the sanc-
tity of Muslim personal law, the other organisations are marked by the
existence of doctrinal differences between them. Thus, to compare the
Jamait-ul-Ulema-Hind and the Jamait-e-Islami for instance: the Jamait-
ul-Ulema-Hind, which took the lead in demanding restoration of the
Islamic laws, was founded in 1919 by a group of influential ulama from
Deoband. It had worked closely with the Congress in the anticolonial
struggle and in the post-independence period, it held that both in theory
and in practice, democracy and secularism adequately safeguarded and
guaranteed the religio-political interests of Muslims. Its leadership, at
least up to the 1970s, was secure in the belief that an enduring Congress-
Muslim alliance was the way out of post-Partition conflicts. In the
1970s, the breakdown of the secular consensus and the spurt in Hindu-
Muslim violence across large tracts of the country ‘led the jamiyat to
invoke specifically Muslim themes of “solidarity”, “unity” and “iden-
tity”, and to organise Muslims in pursuit of religio-political goals’ (ibid.:
213–14).
As for the Jamait-e-Islami, it was established in 1941 and has as its
goal in India and elsewhere in South Asia, the one of seizing the com-
manding heights of the state and Islamising state and society. Mushirul
Hasan describes it as a retrograde force, ‘steeped in religious conserva-
tism and opposed to the “modernising” processes in education, social
reforms and the emancipation of women’. Furthermore, he notes that
‘its world view militates against liberal, progressive and enlightened
ideas because of an inflexible interpretation of Islamic doctrines and
stout resistance to the eclectic Sufi and syncretic trends in Indian Islam.
The few cosmetic changes have not changed the Jamaat into a reformist
or modernist movement.’ Also, ‘as a militant expression of orthodox
Sunni Islam, its ideology promotes sectarian consciousness, widens the
264 Sheena Jain

Shia-Sunni rift and creates barriers between communities’. Indeed, ‘at

the heart of the Jamaat’s campaign is the long cherished ideal of creating
a pan-Indian Islamic/Muslim identity’ (ibid.: 209–10).
Cutting across differences, the issue of upholding Muslim personal
law formed the basis for mobilising Muslims on a fairly large scale, even
as an organisation like Majlis-i-Mushawwarat had failed to form a
united Muslim front in the country. Yet, in the normal course of things,

for most Muslims, far removed from and indifferent to the quibbling in
the Jamiyat-al-Ulama, Jamaat-I-Islami or the Majlis-i-Mushawwarat, the
critical issue was not the fate of the Shariat, which was in any case accepted
by the state as sacrosanct, or the validity of the Islamic state idea; it was to
establish, for their own survival, and progress, enduring relationships
with fellow citizens and with established political parties (ibid.: 215).

Thus, the nature of Muslim politics in the political field was one
major strand in the unfolding of events. This prompts us to consider
also the role of the state in the whole affair, for it has been pointed out
that ‘what started as an expression of Muslim feelings and misgivings
acquired the shape of significant sentiments only as a result of the inter-
vention of specific political processes and developments in the political
arena’ (Zoya Hasan 1989: 47).
Bourdieu defines the state as the ensemble of fields that are the site
of struggles in which what is at stake is the monopoly of legitimate sym-
bolic violence, that is, the power to constitute and to impose as universal
and universally applicable within a given ‘nation’, that is, within the
boundaries of a given territory, a common set of coercive norms
(Bourdieu and Wacquant 1992: 111–12). Since the state is an ensemble
of fields in which different species of capital circulate (for example, eco-
nomic, military, cultural, juridical, and, more generally, symbolic), the
emergence of a specific capital, a properly statist capital, is the result of
the process of the rise and consolidation of these fields and the concen-
tration of their different species of capital. This statist capital allows the
state to wield a power over the different fields and defines the specific
power of the state. It follows, according to Bourdieu, that the construc-
tion of the state goes hand in hand with the constitution of the field of
power understood as the space of play in which holders of various forms
of capital struggle in particular for power over the state, that is, over the
statist capital that grants power over the different species of capital and
over their reproduction (ibid.).
BOURDIEU’S THEORY OF THE SYMBOLIC AND THE SHAH BANO CASE 265

In the case of the government’s response to the Supreme Court

judgement in the Shah Bano case, statist capital was used to modify the
balance of forces within the juridical field in a way that confirmed the
supremacy of statist capital over other species of capital. That this, in
turn, was the result of the play of forces and struggles within the field of
power, for control over statist capital, is borne out by the fact that those
who opposed the judgement appealed to the state to modify it, and the
government that reversed it, was prompted to do so by considerations of
retaining its power. Even when faced with resistance, as it was by the
heterodox response to the judgement, and active demonstrations of pro-
test, the balance of forces in the field of power was tilted in favour of an
outcome that was in keeping with a process that had been shaping
Indian politics for sometime now; a process described as the communal-
isation of the state.
To consider this process briefly: it has been noted that, since the
1980s, a significant factor abetting communalism in India has been the
role of the ruling party in supporting religious fundamentalist forces,
especially Hindu fundamentalists. Thus, writing in 1989, Amrita
Chhachhi observes that

In sharp contrast to the positions in the late 1960s and 70s, the ruling
Congress Party has now shifted from its earlier public condemnation of com-
munalisms and of Hindu organisations and support to the victims of minority
communities (in particular the Muslims) to a more generalised condemnation
of communalism and the foreign hand in public pronouncements along with
a series of concessions to communal demands, a refusal to indict individuals
identified as being responsible for the violence, and a stifling of secular opin-
ion, both, within and outside the ruling party (1989: 569).

She goes on to say that

This shift in the stand of the ruling party on communalism was partly due to
an electoral strategy to cash in on the ‘Hindu vote’, especially in north India.
When this strategy did not result in large scale support in the 1986 by-
elections, there was a shift back to and a succumbing to Muslim fundamental-
ist demands by pushing through the Muslim Women’s Bill. The ruling party
played one communalism off another in the electoral numbers game (ibid.).

However, Chhachhi points out that it would be a mistake to see the

consolidation of communalism today only as the backlash of a short-
sighted electoral strategy. Among the deeper factors at work is the
266 Sheena Jain

increasing crisis of the ideological legitimacy of the Indian state and its
need for a new hegemonising ideology. For, while post-independent
India did have in the early period an anti-colonial nationalism to bind
together and give legitimacy to the newly created ‘nation-state’, now
forty years later, given the results of development policies, the state can
no longer claim legitimacy from past struggles. The centralising ten-
dency of the state, moreover, requires some ideology of unity, and the
emergence of fundamentalism amongst sections of civil society could
provide a basis for such state ideology.
In the attempt to explain this phenomenon further, Bourdieu’s
conceptualisation of the state as an ensemble of fields, rather than as
an autonomous apparatus is useful, as it allows us to see the continuity
between the state and civil society (see Bourdieu and Wacquant 1992:
111–15). But drawing, as he does, mainly upon the experience of
West European societies, Bourdieu emphasises the homogenising
thrust of the state. To understand the playing up of differences by the
state, as indeed, the creation of new differences by it, as in the case of
a communalised state, requires a development of his concept in a dif-
ferent direction. For this purpose, the work by Katherine Verdery
(1994) on ethnicity, nationalism, and state-making is particularly sug-
gestive. Drawing on the anthropologist Brackette Williams’ work,
Verdery points out that a homogenising policy creates the ‘nation’, as
consisting of all those the state should administer, because they all
ostensibly ‘have something in common’. ‘State subjects’, she writes,
‘are most frequently encouraged to have “in common” (besides their
government) shared culture and/or “ethnic” origin’ (ibid.: 45).
Significantly, though, she adds that ‘to institutionalise a notion of
“commonality” however, is to render visible all those who fail to hold
that something in common’. This means that ‘the relentless press
toward homogeneity’ that underlies the totalising process of making
modern nation-states is ‘simultaneously a press toward exclusion’. The
state is ‘the frame for producing visibility through differences whose
significance it creates’ (ibid.). Thus,

By instituting homogeneity or commonality as normative, state building gives

socio-political significance to the fact of difference—that is, it creates as signif-
icant pre-existing ‘differences’ that hitherto had not been organised as such. It
groups them as differences of ethnicity, gender, locality, class, sexuality and
BOURDIEU’S THEORY OF THE SYMBOLIC AND THE SHAH BANO CASE 267

race, each of these defined as particular kinds of difference with respect to the
state’s homogenising project (ibid.: 46).

Adapting Bourdieu’s language, she suggests that we may see state making

as a process that raises ‘difference’ from the realm of notice, where disputes can
occur between the orthodox and the heterodox, the normal and the strange–
that is, between the values associated with what are now recognised as signifi-
cantly different options but were not previously seen to be so (ibid.).

Attention to this dimension of the role of the state marks a significant

development of Bourdieu’s notion of the state as an institution with a
monopoly over symbolic violence. Verdery goes on to note that states
vary in the intensity of their homogenising efforts for numerous reasons,
such as the degree and nature of the power exercised by political elites
and the resistance they encounter. From this it may be argued that the
homogenising policy of the state in India has been subverted by socio-
political processes into a policy that includes the homogenising of reli-
gious communities into different groups, and playing them off against
each other, as a manoeuvre to manage the state’s crisis of legitimacy. The
contest is now between the emerging orthodox bases of making differ-
ences, and other heterodox forces that may prove stronger. That, in the
process of such state making, identities are created, is a fact which needs
to be taken into account to see the link between subjective day to day
experiences and macro processes. For conceptualising this, Bourdieu’s
analytical framework of a dialectic between habitus and fields is power-
ful. With reference to the Shah Bano case, this means that the symbolic
violence wielded by politicians subscribing to orthodox notions of
Muslim identity, was compounded by that wielded by the state.
However, as regards the crisis of legitimation of the state, Bourdieu
does not have much to offer. He refers to it just in passing, noting that
‘what is problematic is the fact that the established order is not problem-
atic; and that the question of the legitimacy of the state, and of the order
it institutes, does not arise except in crisis situations’ (1998: 56). This,
incidentally, is in striking contrast to the work of JÜrgen Habermas
(1975), who has been centrally concerned with the legitimation crisis of
the state, although with reference to advanced capitalist societies. This is
so even as Bourdieu’s involvement with the phenomenon ‘neoliberalism’
268 Sheena Jain

in his later work did lead him to engage with the changing role of the
state in European societies.

Conclusion
The analysis presented above is a tentative one, to explore the potential
of Bourdieu’s theory of the symbolic in relation to the Shah Bano case in
a preliminary way. What emerges from it is the heuristic value of several
concepts, beginning with the concepts of doxa, orthodoxy and hetero-
doxy. They are found to be useful in mapping the terrain of the symbolic
field in which the case is located, as well as in delineating the habitus of
the actors involved. In terms of Bourdieu’s concept of history, the ‘onto-
logical complicity’ between habitus and field, that characterises histor-
ical action, leading to social reproduction, is to be found in the case of
the events composing the case (Bourdieu 1981: 306).
However, as fields are also sites of struggle, we find, not surprisingly,
elements of both conservation and subversion, as well as relations of
domination and subordination, involving processes of symbolic vio-
lence and misrecognition. Thus, we have referred to the symbolic vio-
lence to which Muslim women are subject, ranging from that perpetrated
by men in Shah Bano’s family, to that wielded by religious clerics, affect-
ing both men and women, but women particularly. We have also referred
to the violence of law, which brings into dispute the rights of women as
equal citizens, and the violence of political groups and leaders that create
the myth of the homogeneity of the Muslim community regardless of
existential heterogeneity. Above all is the symbolic violence monop-
olised by the state, which in the case of the communalisation of the state
as in India, creates differences between religious groups, reinforcing the
violence of clerics and politicians.
However, we did find certain limitations of Bourdieu’s theory of the
symbolic in relation to analysing the case. For one, the positing of a
single orthodoxy, as Bourdieu seems to do in his early work, makes an
understanding of competing orthodoxies problematic. However, since
in his later studies of the cultural field, Bourdieu does talk of competi-
tion for the status of orthodoxy, we seem to have a preliminary basis in
his theory for analysing communal ideologies and practices. This,
though, would constitute only a starting point, with the specifics of the
Indian situation lending their own dimensions to his concepts.
BOURDIEU’S THEORY OF THE SYMBOLIC AND THE SHAH BANO CASE 269

Secondly, in so far as his analysis of the state focuses on the

homogenising role of the state, the phenomenon of a communalised
state would seem to be beyond his purview. However, we have suggested
that it is possible to develop his concept of the state in a different direc-
tion, drawing on the work of Verdery, so that the role of the state in
creating differences is highlighted.
Finally, there is an absence of a concern with the crisis of legitima-
tion of the state in Bourdieu’s work, which, it seems, is needed to fully
appreciate the political dimension of a case such as the Shah Bano case
in India. It may be argued, however, that this is something Bourdieu
would have taken into account, in his future work, given his concern
with the global state of affairs in his later years. Sadly, with his passing
away in January 2002, this work remained incomplete.

Note
1. While I have drawn upon several works by Bourdieu in this paper, the seminal
sources for some of his conceptions are as follows: for his concepts of habitus and
field, Bourdieu (1985); for his theory of the symbolic, Bourdieu (1979); and for his
theory of practice, Bourdieu (1986, 1990).

References
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77–85.
———. 1981. ‘Men and machines’, in K. Knorr Cetina and A.V. Cicourel (eds.): Advances
in social theory and methodology (304–17). London: Routledge and Kegan Paul.
———. 1985. ‘The genesis of the concepts of “habitus” and “field”’, in Sociocriticism, 2 (2):
11–24.
———. 1986. Outline of a theory of practice. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
———. 1990. The logic of practice. Cambridge: Polity Press.
———. 1993. The field of cultural production: Essays on art and literature. Cambridge: Polity
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———. 1998. Practical reason: On the theory of action. Cambridge: Polity Press.
Bourdieu, Pierre and Loic J. Wacquant. 1992. An invitation to reflexive sociology. Cambridge:
Polity Press.
Chhachhi, Amrita. 1989. ‘The state, religious fundamentalism and women: Trends in
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Das, Veena. 1995. Critical events: An anthropological perspective on contemporary India. Delhi:
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Engineer, Asghar Ali. 1987. The Shah Bano controversy. Hyderabad: Sangam Books.
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Hasan, Mushirul. 1997. Legacy of a divided nation: India’s Muslims since independence. New
Delhi: Oxford University Press.
Hasan, Zoya. 1989. ‘Minority identity, Muslim women bill campaign and the political pro-
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———. 1998. ‘Uniformity vs. equality: Gender minority identity and debates on a uniform
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Verdery, Katherine. 1994. ‘Ethnicity, nationalism, and statemaking—ethnic groups and
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Index
absolute time and space, Newtonian
views of, 18
absolutism, Newton’s, 20–21
academic institutions
Marx’s condemn in, xlv
academic sociology, 75
acquisition classes, 156–58
acquisition of scientific knowledge, 201
affective/affectual type suicide, 68–69
affectual action, 150. See also social
action
African—American feminist conscious-
ness, 102
All India Muslim Personal Law Board
(AIMPLB), 253, 255–56, 263
All India Shariah Day, 254
altruism, Durkheim’s
conceptual framework, 60–63
elements of, 60–61
review of
altruistic behaviour and fatalistic
behaviour, 58–59
existence and extent of suicidal
behaviour, 55–57
objective types and subjective
meanings, 57–58
primitive society and eastern
civilization, 59–60
altruistic behaviour, 58–59
American sociology, xxxviii
amorphic character of power, 162
anthropological studies
protest in 20th century against,
liii–liv
anthropologists
Indian, commitment to indigenisa-
tion, xviii
types of, 8
anthropology
contribution to analytical perspec-
tives, 170
Indian, observations about, xix
Malinowski’s views on, 190
as a science, 9
antinomian approach, to freedom, 184
apprenticeship, 10
The Archaeology of Knowledge (Michel
Foucault), 21, 24, 34–35
Aristotelian-Thomist synthesis of
Middle Ages, 20
Aristotle, xxvi
arm-chair anthropology, 173
Asian Drama (Gunnar Myrdal),
209–11
Asian values, Myrdal’s
of ascetism and renunciation of
material pleasures, 216
definition of, 215
Indian decision making elites belief
in, 215
272
association, 149
associative relationship, 155. See also
class relationship
authority
charismatic, 163
rational-legal type of, 163
traditional, 163
Babri Masjid-Ram Janam Bhoomi
temple in Ayodhya, Hindu
organisations demand for
reopening of, 255
bad science, 104–5
Banatwala Bill, 254
because motive, 62
behaviour
altruistic, 58–59
fatalistic, 58–59
of scientists’, deviant patterns,
239–43
best bees, poorest architect and,
distinction between, xxii
bias in social sciences, Myrdal’s
approaches to, 210–11
bio-cultural functionalism, xl
bi-partite model of stratification, 147
Bishop baiting, 21
book-view of society, and field-view,
distinction between, 6
Bourdieu, Pierre, 249–69
British social anthropology, devotion to
theoretical concerns, xxxviii
Buddhist religion, 216
capitalism, 90, 94, 96
anatomy of, 45
Marx’s studies on, 47
superseding feudal system, 29
capitalist society, xlv
carceral society, xlix
Cartesian ontology, 86
caste Hindus, xx
castes, dynamics of, 7
Contributions to Sociological Theory
casual explanation, 199
causal priority of economic factors,
Marx’s assumption of, 159
41st Chair phenomenon, 243
chance finding in research, role of, xxiv
charismatic authority, 163
chaste woman died, in panic, 68
claims, validity of, 163
class action, 156
class, concept of, 142
vs. status, 160
Weber’s views on, 144, 152–59
classical evolutionism, xxix, xxxiii
class interest, 154
class relationship, 155
class situation, 157
definition of, 152, 154
class struggle, 157
climate, Myrdal’s view on, 222–24
collective consciousness, 186
colonial framework, 43
commonality, notion of, 266
common-sense interpretation, of
motives, 61–62
communalism, 237
community living, realities of, 206
comparative sociology, xxxvii
Comte, Auguste, 127–38
conflict-coercion theory, xlv
conflicts
between different parts of social
structure, 119
between individual self-interest, 119
conflict theory, xliv
Confucianism, 65
Congress party, 253–54, 256
conjunction dimensions of stratifica-
tion, 147–48
conscience collective study, xxxiv
conservative thinking, xxvii
Constitution of independent India
outlines for economic, political,
social and cultural norms, 49
INDEX
contemporary primitive societies, xxxii
corporations
aggregate, 115–16
legal mechanism of, 116
role, 115–16
universal succession of, 116
corruption, Myrdal’s approach to
problem of, 221–22
Critique of Pure Reason
(Immanuel Kant), 34
cultural particularism, li
cultural relativism, l, 181, 186
cultural substratum, 181
cultural system, xxxix
cultural transformation, in Indian
society, 37–38
culture, xxxvii
characteristics of, l–li
definition of, l
dialectics of, 179
function of, 179
task of, 180
culture-bound concept, 178. See also
freedom, concept of
cybernetic hierarchy, xli
Dalit women and men, 100
Darwin, Charles, xxix–xxx
Darwinism, 21
Das Kapital, 52
death, 65
deliver the goods, social pressure to,
235
demands from every one, Marxist’s
approach, 47
democracy, 170, 188–89, 211, 218,
220, 224, 263
democratic secrecy, 235
Department of Anthropology,
Calcutta, 5
description process, xlvi–xlvii
developing country, 218
dialectical materialism, xlii
273
dialetics of evolutionary, 49
differentiated societies, notion of,
249–50
diffusionism, 172
disarmament of everyone, 191–92
discipline parentage issue, xxvi
discourse, 26
delimited by certain authorities, 28
of psychopathology, 28
discovery of facts process, xxiv
discursive formation, 24, 27–32
Foucault’s views on, 33
discursive formation, individualisation
of, 27
disinterestedness, 237
disjunction dimensions of stratifica-
tion, 147–48
displacement, concept of, 25
drowning method of suicide, 69
dual line of filiation, xl
Durkheim, Émile, xxvi, xxxiv, xxxv
Durkheimian sociology, xlii
dyadic relations, between relatives, 115
dysfunctional consequences, of science
and technology, 236
dysfunction, concept of, xl
eastern civilization, 59–60
economic determinism, 141
economic interests, Weber’s views on,
153–54
educated Hindus, 122
egotism, 60, 239
electro-chemistry, 136
electro- physics, 136
embodied history, 250
emic approach, l
emotional isolation, 66
empiricism, 232
encultured beings, 186
Enlightenment (post–Middle Ages)
period, xxv–xxvi, xxx
equality, 181
274
erroneous deductions, 213
ethnocentrism, 189, 216–17, 227
evolutionary progress, Marxian
assumption of, 102
evolution/evolutionism process, xxix
criticism against school of, xxxiii
evolutionism, 172
“Experiences and Encounters,” 39
explanation process, xlvi–xlvii
explanatory ideal, Popper’s, 201
falsification principle, of
Karl Popper, xxiii
family values, 90
fatalistic suicidal behaviour, 58–59, 62
female suicide, in Ch’ing China, 63–69
feminism/feminist
alternative, liii
critical approaches on, lii
essentialism, 91–95
evokes Western stereotypes, 83
liberalism
assumption of Newtonian
cosmos, 86
feminisation of poverty, 89
Indian women’s rights as
individuals, 87
legitimacy of personal authority is
against individuals conception,
87
linkage of Cartesian ontology with
dominant theologies, 86
natural rights argument
power, 86
political programme by NOW in
US, 88–89
prevalent in India and US, 85–86
slavery abolishment, 88
solution to improve access to
public realm, 88
US schools teaching to students,
86
postmodernism, 103–7
Contributions to Sociological Theory
scholars test to diversity of feminist
theories, 84
socialists, 95–103
feminist empiricism, 104
feminist socialism, 108
feminist standpoint, 105
feminized occupations, 90
feudalism, 149
field-view of society, 6
“Field Workers and the Field,” 39
Fifteenth All India Sociological
Conference, 37
fixism, Linneus’s, 18
formal structure, 117–18
foundational belief, xxv
freedom, concept of
celebrated as a virtue, 182
as culture-bound concept, 178
definition of, 179, 183–84
dialectical, 179
diminution of, 181
Malinowski’s contribution to,
177–78, 181
freedom from law, 184
semantic analysis, 183
natural, 182
freedom of action, 192–93
freedom of expression, 192–93
freedom of survival, 192–93
freedom of thought, 192–93
free-floating freedom, 184
free inquiry, 232
French Revolution (1789), 172
French Revolution (1830–42/1855),
xxv–xxvi. See also
Enlightenment (post–Middle
Ages) period
function, definition by Durkheim,
xxxvi, 172
functional interdependence, Merton’s
analysis of, 231
functionalism, Malinowski’s, xxxvi–
xxxvii, 173, 177
INDEX
Geisteswissenschaft, 49
The Grammar of Science (Karl Pearson),
134
grand theory, Parson’s, xxxix
grids of specification, 28. See also
discourse
gynocriticism, liii
habitus, concept of, 257
hanging method of suicide, 69
hermeneutics
proponents of, xlviii
values separation from facts, xlvii
Herrschaft, definition of, 163
heterodoxy, Bourdieu’s opposition to,
262
heterosexuality, Hartmann’s assumption
of, 99
high energy and information, among
encultured beings, 186
Hinduism, 215
historian’s analysis, of situation, 202
history, 47
Bourdieu’s concept of, 250
refusal to participate in recalling
founder, 25
turned attention away from vast
unities, 25
History of Western Philosophy
(Bertrand Russell), 137
Hobbesian problem of order, xxxix
human(s)
activity, xxii
behaviour, 49, 52, 144, 170, 179,
234
beings, xxi
cognitive capacity, 86
freedom, 187
knowledge, 205
rational argumentative enterprises of,
204
slavery, 187
275
human life, Weber’s conception of, 151
human society, conceptualisation
through organic analogy, xxxvii
hypothetico-deductive model, Popper’s,
200, 204
iddat period, 252
ideal-types, 151–52
of legitimation, types, 163
The Idea of Social Science (Peter
Winch), 77
ideas
adventures of, 128
Hegel’s primacy to, xlii
history of progress of, 131
indigenisation process, xviii
Industrial Policy Resolutions, 37
industrial class, xxvii
informal structure, 117–18
in-order-to motive, 62
insiders observer, Myrdal’s approach to,
212
institutions
concern directly or indirectly with
human freedom or slavery, 187
Malinowski’s perspective on, 186
institutional enterprises, 42
institutional imperatives of science, 246
interdependence, between science and
social structure, 231–37
internalised history, 250
internal tension, 19
interpretation/interpretative approach,
xlviii, xlvi
interpretative approach, Collingwood’s,
202
intitutive approach, to freedom, 184
intrinsic contradiction, 35
irrational motivation, 142
Jamait-e-Islami, 263
Jamait-ul-Ulema-Hind, 263
Janta Dal party, 253
276
jatis, 6–7
journeymen anthropologists, 8–9
kinship structure, of society, 114–15
knowledge
assessment by sociologists and social
anthropologists on, 40–42
as false, liv
generators, 38
importance in society, 39–40
transmitters, 38
view in terms of location, 18
lacking Indianness, 43
lack of social concern, 43
latency, xxxix, lvii
law-like propositions, criticisms in
positivism, l
Law of the Three Stages, Comte’s,
127–28, 130–33
legitimate claims, of nationhood, 189
life-chances, notion of, 153, 158
linguistic anthropology, 182
linguistic discourses, 106
linguistic third world, 205
logical hierarchy, 136
lower societies, 59
loyalty, 60–61
Macht, power of, 162–63
Mahalanobis, P. C., 11
mahants (creative geniuses), 9
Majlis-i-Mushawwarat, 264
Malinowski, Bronislaw Kasper,
169–93
man born free, Malinowski’s views on,
178–79
man–nature contradiction, xlv
man, Weber’s opinion on, 148
market situation, concept of, 153–54
Marxian sociology, xliii
Marxism/Marxist approach, xli, lii, 13,
45, 47
Contributions to Sociological Theory
adopts mode of production of
material life, 49
believe in social science in compre-
hensive manner, 48
central importance to property
structure, 49
considers focusing on property
relations types, 52
to under post-independent Indian
society, 48
recognizes dialectics of evolutionary,
49
to under society, 46
understands rural, urban, educa-
tional and other developments
dynamics, 53
Marxist paradigm, 45–46
Marx, Karl, xlii–xliii, xlv, xxii,
xxvi, 45
masses
characteristics of, 213
revolution of rising expectations
from, 213
Mathew effect, 244
mental activity products, Hegel’s
primacy to, xlii
Merton, Robert, 229–47
metatheoretical stand, Weber’s, 148–52
methodological growth of science, 245
methodological monism, 199–200
militant secularism, 261
misrepresentation, Myrdal’s study of,
218
modern competitive states, 235
Modern Science and Modern Man
(James B. Conant), 137
modern society, concept of, xlix
mono-dimensional approach, Marx’s,
141
moral development, of women, 91–92
motivation, irrational and non-logical,
142
mullahs, 254
INDEX
multi-structural Indian economy,
concept of, 100
Muslim League, 253, 263
Muslim Majlis Mushawarat, 263
Muslim politics, nature of, 264
Muslim Women Bill, 256
Muslim Women (Protection of
Rights on Divorce) Bill, 1985,
255
mutedness of women, lii
Myrdal, Gunnar, 209–27
mythology, lii
myths, lii
national integration, notion of, 261
nationalism, concept of, xix, 13, 181,
189–91, 226
National Organization for Women
(NOW), US, 88–89
national socialism, 169, 189
nationhood, 189–90
natural freedom, 182
Naturwissenschaft, 49
Nazi Germany, 190, 234–35
negatively privileged property classes,
156
neo-Confucian ideology, 64
neo-functionalism, xl
neo-Weberian scholarship, division of,
143
nervous inferiority, among Indian
scholars, xvii
newness in sociological enquiry, 3–15
non-human activity, xxii
non-human relatives, xxii
non-logical motivation, 142
non-survivality of man, 180
normal growth of science, 245–46
normal science, 172
normal science period, 23
normative complex of science, 237–44
objectified history, 250
277
objective class membership, Marx’s,
159
observational sciences, xx
On the Origin of Species (Charles
Darwin), xxix
opportunistic ethnocentricity, Myrdal’s
study of, 218
opportunity structure of science,
243–44
organic analogy, xxxvii
organized scepticism, 238
Orientalism (Edward Said), 21
originality, 238–39
orthodox Sunni Islam, militant
expression of, 263–64
otherness, concept of, xix
outside observer, Myrdal’s approach to,
212
Panchayati Raj, 10
paradigmatic break, notion of, 18
parentage of discipline, issue of, xxvi
participating individuals, notion of,
144
participatory research, liii
patriarchal oppression, Indian women
resistance to, 83
Ph. D programme, 10
philosophical questions in research,
dubbing of, xx–xxi
philosophy of consciousness, 251
physical isolation, 66
Planning Commission, 10
pluralistic conception of classes,
Weber’s adopted, 156
politicians, pressure on Indian state,
262–63
politics of soul, 151
pontiffs anthropologists, 8
Popper, Karl, 199–207, xxiii
positive hierarchy, of sciences, 136
positive sciences, 127, 138
positivism, xlvi–xlvii, l
278
positivism/positive philosophy,
xxv–xxvi, xxx
argument for methodological unity
of both natural and social
sciences, xxxi
tenets of, 199
post-capitalism, xlv, 47
post-modernism, liv–lv
postmodernism, feminism, 103–7
post-modernity, liv
post-structuralism, 106
power
birth and development of, 185
concept in Weber’s, 162–64
Foucault’s views on, 106
Malinowski’s analysis of, 185
practitioners
of science, 45
of social science, 54
primitive communism, xliii
Primitive Culture (Edward Taylor),
xxxi–xxxii
primitive society, 59–60
production mode, 47
proletaire class, xxvii
property
classes, 156, 158
holdings, 156
Protestant ethic, 232
Protestantism, 233, 245
psychological functionalism, xxxviii
psychological processes of creative
work, 247
psychological traits of scientists, 247
psychopathology discourse, 28
Puritanism, 232–33
purpose-rational type suicide, 67–68
purposive-rational action, 76, 80
quagmire of empiricism, xxxviii
quantum theory, 18
quickie business, research as, xxiii–xxiv
racialism, 181, 190
Contributions to Sociological Theory
racial superiority, 189
racial violence phenomenon, 207
racism, Hartmann’s attack on, 99
Ram Janam Bhoomi Mukti Samiti, 255
Ratchet effect, 243–44
rationalisation process, 232
Weber’s work on, 148, xlix
rationality
modernising ideals of, 224–26
and sociological relativism, 77–80
in sociological theory, 73–76
universal, 80–82
Weber’s views on, 76–77
rationality in sociological theory, 73–76
rational-legal type of authority, 163
rational social act, 76
raw material, Foucault’s view on,
26–27
real motive, for suicide, 61
relational thinking, 17
relativism, 18
Foucault’s views on, 33
influences on analysis of historic
institution, 188
in sociology, 19
relativity theory, 18, 22
Renaissance, 23, 182
research centres, 42
revolutionary science, 172
reward system of science, 237–43
rules of formation, Foucault’s, 34
samsonic suicides, 63
scepticism, 232, 235
Scheduled Tribes, xx
science(s)
aim of, 200
classification and hierarchy of, 127
growth reveals empirical diversities,
245–47
normative complex
and opportunity structure,
243–44
INDEX
and reward system of, 237–43
and social structure, interdependence
between
functional interdependence,
231–37
science of culture, l
scientific activity, 151
scientific genius, concept of, 231
scientific knowledge, social origin of,
229–31
scientific socialism, 53
scientists’ behavior, deviant patterns of,
239–43
Second World War (1939–45), 43,
169–70, 190
secularism, 232
self-destruction, 62
Seminar magazine, 13
serene conviction, 58
Shah Bano case, 249, 252–68
shame, 60–61
shared meaning, 61
Shariah week (1985), 253–54
Shariat law, 252–53, 258
situational analysis, 202
slavery of human, 187
Smith, Adam, xxvi
social action
idee fixe of, 145
instrumental-rational action as, 76
Marx’s social-structural analysis by,
142
perspective of stratification, 143–46
rationality of, 75, 81–82
sociology of, 146
as voluntary, purposive and goal
oriented, 76
Weber’s views on, 76–77
classification of, 150
social anthropologists, xvii, 120
social anthropology, xxxviii, xxx, xxxvii,
lv, 113, 118, 120, 123
social change, meaning of, 123
279
social classes, 158
social control problem, 57, 149
social Darwinism, xxix
social dimension, of economic activity,
155–56
social dynamism, xxviii
social explanation, 207
social facts, xxxv
social fossils, xxxii
social honour, 160, 162
social interaction, 81
social intercourse, 159
socialist-revolutionary thinking, xxvii
social living, realities of, 206
social morphology, 113
social order, 53
social organisation, concept of, 118
social pathology, xliv
social physics, 127, 199
social problem, in current age, 133
social quality, 150
social relationship, concept of, 150,
158
social sciences
freedom to researchers, xxv
impossibility of thesis, 74
Myrdal’s approaches to bias in,
210–11
practitioners, 54
utility of, debate on, xxiii
social scientific knowledge, 205
social sickness, xl
social statics, xxviii
social-structural perspective of
stratification, 143–46
social structure, concept of, 121
in Australian tribe, 115
conflict between different parts of,
119
consisting of innumerable corpora-
tions, 115
corporations (see corporations)
definition of, 114
280
differentiation of individuals and of
classes by social role, 115
evolution by Montesquieu, 113
formal and informal, 117
implies to all society, 118
interdependence between science
and, 231–37
mark off special area of social
anthropology and sociology,
123
relevance of ideas or images, 122
social system, sociology of, xxxvii, 146
social theory, xxi
society
changes as per its own evolution
laws, xxviii
Comte’s rejection for adoption of
mechanical approach towards
study of, xxxi
criteria for specificity of, 47–48
division into classes by Saint-Simon,
xxvii
Indian
cultural transformation, 37–38
Marxist approach to understand, 46
natural science of, xxviii
problem between individual and,
145
Sociological Bulletin, xx, lv
sociological enquiry, 12
sociological explanation, xxxiv
sociological relativism, 77–80
sociological studies
protest in 20th century against,
liii–liv
sociological theory, 73–76
sociologistic positivism, xxxiv
sociologists, Indian, xvii
agonized over mismatch between
concepts and methods, 12
basic tasks facing by our, 44
commitment to indigenisation, xvii
problems faced by, 10
sociology, Weber’s definition of,
149–50
Contributions to Sociological Theory
sociology departments, 42
sociology, Indian
as a discipline in India today, 53
need for renewal of, 4
observations about, xix
sociology of knowledge, 16
as discipline allows sociology term, 20
problems with, 17
sociology of science, Merton’s, 229
soft state, 219–21
soul, Plato’s concept of, 151
specialization, 236
starvation method of suicide, 69
state, 149
Bourdieu’s definition of, 264, 267
crisis of legitimation of, 267
Malinowski’s understanding of,
187–88
state of knowledge theory, xxiii
status, Weber’s treatment to, 144
status concept, Weber’s, 159–62
status groups, 159
sterile intellection, 43
stratification theory, Weber’s
conflicting interpretations of,
142–43
bi-partite vs. tri-partite model of
stratification, 147
disjunction vs. conjunction
between different dimensions,
147–48
social-structural vs. action
perspective of stratification,
143–46
nature and content of
class concept, 152–59
power concept, 162–64
status concept, 159–62
structural–functional approach, xxxvi
struggle, Marx’s views on, xliv
“Studying Our Society” Seminar, 40
style-of-life, 159
style of sociology, 43
subjectivistic approach, Collingwood’s,
202
INDEX
substantive growth of science, 245
suicidal behaviour, 55–57
suicides
cases by subjective types, 68
by female in Ch’ing China, 63–69
study by Durkheim, xxxv, 55
types of, 66–69
super-scienticism, 43
Survey Reports of Indian Council of
Social Science Research, 38
symbolic theory, Bourdieu’s, 249,
268–69
system of positive polity, 135
table of tables, Foucault’s construction
of, 33
talaq, 252
Taoism, 21, 65
techno-economic division of labour, 47
tensions, 174
conflict as source of, 235
existence in society, 119
internal, 19
release of, 76
text-sexuality, 106
theoretical social anthropology, xix
theoretical sociology, xix
theorisation process, xxii
theory, concept of, xxiv–xxv
Third World countries, 38, 45
Popper’s concept of, 205
threshold
of epistemologization, 33
of formalisation, 33
of positivity, 32–33
scientificity, 33
totalitarianism, 170, 188, 191–92
totalitarian secrecy, 235
traditional action, 151. See also social
action
traditional authority, 163
traditional type suicide, 66–68
traditions, features of, 11
trained human power, in social
sciences, 38
281
transformation, concept of, 25
tri-partite model of stratification, 147
Trobriand culture, 174
two-fold distinct schemas, for class
categories structuration, 156
ubiquity of power, 185
ulema (Muslim clerics), 252–53
uniform civil code, demand by Hindu
communalists, 261
universal generalisations, xxx
universal human mind, li
universalism, 237
universal man, li
upper-class state alternative model,
Myrdal’s, 220
US Family Leave Law of 1993, 89
utilitarianism, 232
utility of social sciences, debate on,
xxiii
value-rational type suicide,
66, 68
varnas, 6, 122
verstehen sociology, 1, 143–44
Victorian evolutionism, xxix
village studies
importance of, 6
new domain of research, 6
Vinaya Pitaka (Buddhist monks’ code
of conduct), 224
Vishwa Hindu Parishad, 255
war, 181
Weber’s sociology, xlviii
Wertrational (value-rational) action,
150. See also social action
Western civilization, condemns
corruption, 216
western models, 43
women’s sexuality, 95, 101
Zweckrational (instrumentally rational)
action, 150. See also social
action
About the Editor and
Contributors

The Editor

Vinay Kumar Srivastava is Professor of Social Anthropology,

Department of Anthropology, University of Delhi, Delhi, and Editor,
The Eastern Anthropologist. Earlier he has taught sociology at Hindu
College, University of Delhi, where he was also the Principal.

The Contributors

André Béteille is Professor Emeritus, Department of Sociology, The

Delhi School of Economics, University of Delhi, and Chancellor,
North-Eastern Hill University, Shillong, Meghalaya.

Dipankar Gupta is former Professor, Centre for the Study of Social

Systems, School of Social Sciences, Jawaharlal Nehru University,
New Delhi.

A.R. Desai was former Professor, Department of Sociology, University

of Bombay, Mumbai.

Lung-Chang Young was with Hobart and William Smith College,

New York, USA.
ABOUT THE EDITOR AND CONTRIBUTORS 283

Prakash N. Pimpley is former Professor, Department of Sociology,

Punjab University, Chandigarh.

Beatrice Kachuck is a feminist scholar.

M.N. Srinivas was Professor, Department of Sociology, Delhi School of

Economics, University of Delhi, and a former President of the Indian
Sociological Society.

G.S. Ghurye was Professor, Department of Sociology, University of

Bombay, and a former President of the Indian Sociological Society.

Rajendra Pandey was former Professor, Department of Humanities,

IIT, Kanpur.

Goutam Biswas is Professor, Department of Philosophy, University of

North Bengal, Darjeeling.

Susantha Goonatillake was with People’s Bank, Sri Lanka.

Pravin J. Patel was former Professor, Department of Sociology, M.S.

University, Baroda.

Sheena Jain is Professor, Department of Sociology, Jamia Milia Islamia,

New Delhi.
Appendix of Sources

All articles and chapters have been reproduced exactly as they were first
published. All cross-references can be found in the original source of
publication.

Grateful acknowledgement is made to the following sources for permis-

sion to reproduce material for this volume:

1. “Newness in Sociological Enquiry,” André Béteille

Vol. 46, No. 1 (March), 1997: 97–110.

2. “Paradigms and Discourses: New Frontiers in the Sociology of

Knowledge,” Dipankar Gupta
Vol. 31, No. 1 (March), 1982: 1–23.

3. “Relevance of the Marxist Approach to the Study of Indian Society,”

A.R. Desai
Vol. 30, No. 1 (March), 1981: 1–20.

4. “Altruistic Suicide: A Subjective Approach,” Lung-Chang Young

Vol. 21, No. 2 (September), 1972: 103–121.

5. “Rational Social Action as a Basis for Creative Comparisons,”

Prakash N. Pimpley
Vol. 36, No. 2 (September), 1987: 99–108.

6. “Feminist Social Theories: Theme and Variations,” Beatrice Kachuk

Vol. 44, No. 2 (September), 1995: 169–193.

7. “Social Structure,” M.N. Srinivas

Vol. 13, No. 1 (March), 1964: 12–21.
APPENDIX OF SOURCES 285

8. “Vidyas: A Homage to Auguste Comte,” G.S. Ghurye

Vol. 6, No. 2 (September), 1957: 16–28.

9. “Max Weber’s Theory of Social Stratification: Controversies, Contexts

and Correctives,” Rajendra Pandey
Vol. 32, No. 2 (September), 1983: 171–203.

10. “Malinowski on Freedom and Civilization,” Vinay Kumar Srivastava

Vol. 34, No. 1&2 (March–September), 1985: 148–182.

11. “Some Reflections on Karl Popper’s Theory of Social Explanation,”

Goutam Biswas
Vol. 38, No. 2 (September), 1989: 251–260.

12. “Outsider Bias and Ethnocentricity: The Case of Gunnar Myrdal,”

Susantha Goonatillake
Vol. 27, No. 1 (March), 1978: 1–19.

13. “Robert Merton’s Formulations in Sociology of Science,”

Pravin J. Patel
Vol. 24, No. 1 (March), 1975: 55–75.

14. “Bourdieu’s Theory of the Symbolic and the Shah Bano Case,”
Sheena Jain
Vol. 56, No. 1 (January–April), 2007: 3–22.
 Sociology of Science
and Technology in India
Readings in Indian Sociology
Series Editor: Ishwar Modi

Titles and Editors of the Volumes

Volume 1
Towards Sociology of Dalits
Editor: Paramjit S. Judge

Volume 2
Sociological Probings in Rural Society
Editor: K.L. Sharma

Volume 3
Sociology of Childhood and Youth
Editor: Bula Bhadra

Volume 4
Sociology of Health
Editor: Madhu Nagla

Volume 5
Contributions to Sociological Theory
Editor: Vinay Kumar Srivastava

Volume 6
Sociology of Science and Technology in India
Editor: Binay Kumar Pattnaik

Volume 7
Sociology of Environment
Editor: Sukant K. Chaudhury

Volume 8
Political Sociology of India
Editor: Anand Kumar

Volume 9
Culture and Society
Editor: Susan Visvanathan

Volume 10
Pioneers of Sociology in India
Editor: Ishwar Modi
 READINGS IN INDIAN SOCIOLOGY
VOLUME 6

Sociology of Science
and Technology in India

EDITED BY
Binay Kumar Pattnaik
Copyright © Indian Sociological Society, 2013

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or utilised in any form
or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by
any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the
publisher.

First published in 2013 by

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Contents

List of Tables ix
Series Note xi
Foreword by Haribabu Ejnavarzala xv
Introduction by Binay Kumar Pattnaik xix

Part I: Role of Science (Theoretical)

1. The Role of Science in Modern Society
N.A. Mavalankar 3
2. Robert Merton’s Formulations in Sociology of Science
Pravin J. Patel 10

Part II: Scientific Community

3. The Emergence of the Indian Scientific Community
V.V. Krishna 33
4. A Large Community but Few Peers: A Study of the
Scientific Community in India
E. Haribabu 55

Part III: Scientific Productivity

5. Scientific Productivity: Sociological Explorations in
Indian Academic Science
Binay Kumar Pattnaik 71
6. Scientific Goods and Their Markets
Kamini Adhikari 95
7. Scientific Knowledge in India: From Public Resource to
Intellectual Property
E. Haribabu 117
viii Sociology of Science and Technology in India

Part IV: Science, Technology and Social Change

(i) Modern S&T
8. Science and Social Change: Emergence of a Dual Society
in India
V.K.R.V. Rao 137
9. Is Kerala Becoming a Knowledge Society?—Evidence
from the Scientific Community
R. Sooryamoorthy and Wesley M. Shrum 149
10. Green Revolution Technologies and Dryland Agriculture
Gurdeep Singh Aurora 165
(ii) Traditional S&T and Involvement of Civil Society
11. Traditional Potters and Technological Change in a
North Indian Town
Geeta Jayaram Sodhi 181
12. People’s Science: A Perspective from the Voluntary Sector
Vithal Rajan 197

Index 209
About the Editors and Contributors 215
Appendix of Sources 217
List of Tables

Chapter 3
Table 1 The Composition of the Scientific Staff in Colonial
Scientific Enterprises in 1920 35
Table 2 Publications on Science in Indian Languages in the
Provinces of India between 1875 and 1896 41
Table 3 The Indian School of Chemistry in the 1920s 44

Chapter 5
Table 1 ANOVA: Types of Scientific Institutions and
Total Quantity Performance (TQP) 75
Table 2 Total Quantity Performance (TQP) by Type of
Scientific Institutions 76
Table 3 ANOVA: Types of Scientific Institutions and
Infrastructure Facilities 78
Table 4 Infrastructure Facilities and Total Quantity
Performance (TQP) 79
Table 5 ANOVA: Research Environment and Types of
Scientific Institutions 80
Table 6 Research Environment and Total Quantity
Performance (TQP) 81
Table 7 Rewards and Total Quantity Performance (TQP) 83
Table 8 ANOVA: Awards and Types of Scientific Institutions 84
Table 9 Awards Won by Types of Scientific Institutions 85
Table 10 ANOVA: Graduate School Prestige (GSP) and
Types of Scientific Institutions 87
x Sociology of Science and Technology in India

Table 11 Graduate School Prestige (GSP) and First Place of

Employment 88
Table 12 Total Quantity Performance (TQP) & Graduate
School Prestige (GSP) 89
Table 13 ‘t’ Test—Scientists Trained in Major vs. Minor Indian
Universities and Total Quantity Performance (TQP) 90
Table 14 ‘t’ Test—Scientists Trained in Major vs. Minor Universities
Abroad and Total Quantity Performance (TQP) 90
Table 15 ‘t’ Test—Scientists Trained in Indian University vs.
University Abroad and Total Quantity
Performance (TQP) 91
Table 16 ‘t’ Test-Scientists Trained in Minor vs. Major
Universities and Total Quantity Performance (TQP) 91

Chapter 9
Table 1 Characteristics of Respondents 153
Table 2 Professional Activities 157
Table 3 Productivity of Respondents 160
Series Note

The Indian Sociological Society (ISS), established in December 1951

under the leadership of Professor G. S. Ghurye at the University of
Bombay, celebrated its Diamond Jubilee in 2011. Soon after its founda-
tion, the ISS launched its bi-annual journal Sociological Bulletin in
March 1952. It has been published regularly since then. Taking cogni-
zance of the growing aspirations of the community of sociologists in
both India and abroad to publish their contributions in Sociological
Bulletin, its frequency was raised to three issues a year in 2004. Its print
order now exceeds 3,000 copies. It speaks volumes about the popularity
of both the ISS and the Sociological Bulletin.
The various issues of Sociological Bulletin are a treasure trove of the
most profound and authentic sociological writings and research in India
and elsewhere. As such, it is no surprise that it has acquired the status of
an internationally acclaimed reputed journal of sociology. The very fact
that several of its previous issues are no more available, being out of
print, is indicative not only of its popularity among both sociologists
and other social scientists but also of its high scholarly reputation,
acceptance and relevance. Although two series of volumes have already
been published by the ISS during 2001–05 and in 2011, having seven
volumes each on a large number of themes, yet a very large number of
themes remain untouched. Such a situation necessitated that a new
series of thematic volumes be brought out. Realising this necessity and
in order to continue to celebrate the Diamond Decade of the ISS, the
Managing Committee of the ISS and a sub-committee constituted for
this purpose decided to bring out a series of 10 more thematic volumes
in such areas of importance and relevance both for the sociological and
the academic community at large as sociological theory, untouchability
and Dalits, rural society, science & technology, childhood and youth,
xii Sociology of Science and Technology in India

health, environment, culture, politics, and the pioneers of sociology in

India.
Well-known scholars and experts in the areas of chosen themes were
identified and requested to edit these thematic volumes under the series
title Readings in Indian Sociology. Each one of them has put in a lot of
effort in the shortest possible time not only in selecting and identifying
the papers to be included in their respective volumes but also in arrang-
ing these in a relevant and meaningful manner. More than this, it was
no easy task for them to write comprehensive Introductions of the
respective volumes in the face of time constraints so that the volumes
could be brought out in time on the occasion of the 39th All India
Sociological Conference scheduled to take place in Mysore under the
auspices of the Karnataka State Open University during 27–29
December, 2013. The editors enjoyed freedom not only to choose the
papers of their choice from Sociological Bulletin published during 1952
to 2012 but were also free to request scholars of their choice to write
Forewords for their particular volumes. The volumes covered under this
series include: Towards Sociology of Dalits (Editor: Paramjit S. Judge);
Sociological Probings in Rural Society (Editor: K. L. Sharma); Sociology of
Childhood and Youth (Editor: Bula Bhadra); Sociology of Health (Editor:
Madhu Nagla); Contributions to Sociological Theory (Editor: Vinay
Kumar Srivastava); Sociology of Science & Technology in India (Editor:
Binay Kumar Pattnaik); Sociology of Environment (Editor: Sukant K.
Chaudhury); Political Sociology of India (Editor: Anand Kumar); Culture
and Society (Editor: Susan Visvanathan) and Pioneers of Sociology in
India (Editor: Ishwar Modi).
Sociology of Science & Technology in India (Editor: Binay Kumar
Pattnaik) is the sixth volume of the series titled Readings in Indian
Sociology. Sociology of Science and Technology (SST) has been an
under-researched domain in Indian sociology. SST, being a much spe-
cialised and focused domain within it, often overlaps its boundaries and
struggles for its disciplinary identity. Therefore, the editor’s introduction
distinguishes between the two and later brings out the major research
works of SST in India based on sociological theories and concepts, as
the exclusiveness of theories, conceptual frameworks and concepts pro-
vide for the basic identity kit of a discipline. This volume, a collection
of 12 articles in SST, throws light on the major themes of SST, such as
role of science (theoretical), scientific community in India, productivity
SERIES NOTE xiii

patterns in Indian S&T research, S&T unleashing social change in

India.
It can hardly be overemphasised and can be said for sure that this
volume as well as all the other volumes of the series Readings in Indian
Sociology, as they pertain to the most important aspects of society and
sociology in India, will be of immense importance and relevance to stu-
dents, teachers and researchers of both sociology and other social sci-
ences. It is also hoped that these volumes will be received well by the
overseas scholars interested in the study of Indian society. Besides this,
policy-makers, administrators, activists, non-governmental organisa-
tions (NGOs) and so on may also find these volumes of immense value.
Having gone through these volumes, the students and researchers of
sociology would probably be able to feel and say that now ‘[w]e will be
able to look much farther away as we are standing on the shoulders of
the giants’ (in the spirit of paraphrasing the famous quote of Karl
Pearson).
I would like to place on record my thanks to Shambhu Sahu, Sutapa
Ghosh and R. Chandra Sekhar of SAGE Publications for all their efforts,
support and patience to complete this huge project well in time against
all the time constraints. I also express my gratefulness to the Managing
Committee Members of the ISS and also to the members of the
sub-committee constituted for this purpose. I am also thankful to all the
editors and all the scholars who have written the Forewords. I would
also like to thank Uday Singh, my assistant at the India International
Institute of Social Sciences, Jaipur, for all his secretarial assistance and
hard work put in by him towards the completion of these volumes.

Ishwar Modi
Series Editor
Readings in Indian Sociology
Foreword

T
he lineage of sociological studies of science in Europe can be
traced to Karl Mannheim’s sociology of knowledge. In the
United States of America, Robert Merton pioneered sociological
studies of science which eventually developed into sociology of science
in the late 20th century. The European tradition owes its origins to the
debates on epistemology- theories of knowledge - in philosophy of sci-
ence. Science as a method is seen to consist of both empiricist theory of
knowledge and rationalist theory of knowledge. Scientific knowledge is
seen as universal, rational, a temporal, and invariant. On the basis of
this conception of scientific knowledge, rationalist philosophers argued
that as science is rational and universal, science is beyond the purview of
sociological analysis as the discipline is concerned with understanding of
social and cultural phenomena and variations in them across time and
space. And at best sociologists would be required to explain irrational
beliefs, if any, in science. Sociological explorations can only attempt to
describe organization of science and behaviour of scientists in relation to
the cognitive norms. Robert Merton shared this view and confined his
research to social and moral norms and consequences of conformity to
and violation of norms. In a sense science is seen as disembodied knowl-
edge unconnected with the social and cultural context in which it is
produced. However, this has been challenged by the influential work of
Thomas Kuhn (The Structure of Scientific Revolutions, 1962, 1970) who
argued that the rationalist-empiricist accounts of science are a historical
and incomplete. He argued that science should be seen in its historical
integrity and shows how and to what extent social and cultural factors,
both internal (during normal science) to the world of science and exter-
nal to science (in times of crisis) influence the formation and acceptance
of new paradigms in science. He also conceived of scientific community
xvi Sociology of Science and Technology in India

as a paradigm-bound community, the members of which share beliefs

about the world associated with the paradigm and develop a sense of
belonging to the community, in the very way sociologists have concep-
tualized community. Kuhn’s work opened up possibilities of not only
understanding the organization of science and behaviour of scientists
but also the content of science – theories, models, concepts – and the
process of generation of scientific knowledge in sociological terms. The
new sociology of scientific knowledge, however, questioned the Kuhnian
notion of insulation of paradigm-bound scientific community from
wider society and demonstrated that the divide between the internal
world of science - theories, models, concepts and methods - and the
external world of science –economy, polity and culture is porous rather
than opaque.
The advances in the fields of new technologies such as nuclear
energy, biotechnology and information technology combined with the
institutional protection of knowledge through IPRs since the middle of
the twentieth century have contributed to the porosity mentioned above
and transformation of science from a morally neutral activity (academic
science) to post-academic science, which is intimately connected with
the goals of industry and the logic of industrial production and military
weapons production. Scientific knowledge which was hitherto a public
resource has become an intellectual property. Further, modern science-
based technologies have been posing risks to people and environment.
This shift in the values of science from academic sciences to post-aca-
demic science and consequences for human health and environment
brought science under public gaze and public’s engagement with sci-
ence. As part of the democratic process, civil society has been demand-
ing accountability from the scientific communities, especially in the
context of uncertainty of knowledge and risks associated with uncertain
knowledge.
The above background is essential to understand the context in
which science in India is practiced and the interface with the civil
society. Although modern science was introduced in India during the
colonial period, after independence, science and technology have been
seen as tools for social, economic and cultural transformation of the
Indian society (see the scientific Policy Resolution (SPR) of 1958). This
is reflected in many scholarly writings of scientists and political leaders
like Jawaharlal Nehru, one of the architects of the SPR, 1958. On the
FOREWORD xvii

basis of this policy there has been expansion in scientific institutions and
enhancement of funding for scientific research. As a result, India today
has one of the largest pools of human resources in science and technol-
ogy. However, sociological studies of science have not been incorporated
into curriculum of universities as it has happened in Europe and USA.
Contributions to this volume attempt to address the following
aspects: science and society interface by exploring the instrumental role
of science and technology in the development and social change; under-
standing internal dynamics of many scientific communities in different
disciplinary spaces; science and civil society dynamics.
I earnestly hope that this volume would introduce teachers and
students to social studies of science and technology in India and moti-
vate them to undertake research in the little explored area. The term
scientific communities as used here denote paradigm- bound communi-
ties rather than territory-bound community. Future research should
focus on the process of scientific knowledge generation in the Indian
context in addition to examining the influence of science and technol-
ogy on various domains of human life and environment.

Haribabu Ejnavarzala
Professor
Department of Sociology University of Hyderabad
Introduction
Binay Kumar Pattnaik

O
f late we have come across a bumper crop of literature under
the rubric of science technology and society studies or social
studies of science. Vast number of scholars from across disci-
plines (various social sciences including policy studies, natural as well as
technology discipline based scholars, particularly those with special
interest in history and policies of science and technology [S&T]) have
contributed to this ever-growing common fund of knowledge that has
come to be known as Science and Technology Studies (STS).
Whereas studies in sociology of science and technology (SST) is a
very focused and discipline-bound domain. Although it started as a
puritan discipline called sociology of science, but was born out of Karl
Manheim’s sociology of knowledge. I in India the discipline did not
remain as a puritan one as sociology of science only. It has become SST.
Because the epistemological debate in the very late 1970s and 1980s
made it clear that modern technology is an offshoot of modern science
(scienticised). Of course, some part of modern technology was born out
of traditional crafts. Particularly after the growth of polyvalent disci-
plines like computer science and engineering, bio-technologies and
Nano technologies, which are excessively knowledge intensive, separat-
ing technology from science becomes untenable. Of late, basic research
too is getting linked to industrial interests and the hitherto distinct cul-
tures of basic and applied sciences have begun to obliterate through
mergers (e.g. molecular biology and plant breeding technologies).
Indeed, the distinction between S&T seems to be getting obliterated or
at best blurred. The term ‘techno-science’ (Haraway 1998) captures the
interpenetration of S&T. The Watson and Crick (1953) model is an
xx Binay Kumar Pattnaik

example of a theory that transcends and cuts across traditional disci-

plinary boundaries, and molecular biology as a whole is an example of
the interpenetration. It is not only today that both science and technol-
ogy are greatly dependent upon each other for their advancement and
proliferation, both have acquired a similar value structure (market ori-
entation), both are related to the epistemic communities and market
(and in similar ways to the providers of knowledge, services and prod-
ucts). While serving the society both are not distinguishable always.
And the global success of technology education in Indian Institute of
Technologies (IITs) also established the great relevance of science-based
engineering/technology education in India. By this I mean to say that
interface areas of education have come up in a big way. It is mostly
because of these reasons that a handful of sociology departments in
Indian universities teach a course on SST and not a course on sociology
of science only. Although at a conceptual level both science and technol-
ogy continue to be independent of each other, they are inextricably tied
to each other, as each one is dependent upon the other for its under-
standing and development. Hence, today’s great points of convergence
of science and technology make both inseparable.
STS is a vast interdisciplinary area of study that brings together a
diverse community of scholars studying the origin, growth and conse-
quences of scientific and technological knowledge, practices and organ-
isations. Further, to be more specific, STS studies are about the study of
how social, political and cultural values affect scientific and technologi-
cal processes of research and innovation and how these affect, in turn,
society, economy, politics, culture and environment. STS studies also
examine into the varieties of the problem areas like relationship between
scientific and technological innovations and society and the directions
and risks of Science and Technology (S&T). Worldwide, more than two
dozen universities today offer bachelor’s degree in STS studies. Nearly
half of these offer graduate programmes (master’s and doctoral) in STS
studies. Notable among the leading STS graduate/fellow programmes
are at the Harvard university, University of California Berkley, MIT,
Stanford university, Virginia Institute of Technology, University of
Pennsylvania, University of South California (all in USA). And in
Europe, notable ones are at the Lancaster university, university of
Nottingham and European Inter-university Association on Society,
Science and Technology (ESST) (including universities from France,
INTRODUCTION xxi

Denmark, Greek, Sweden Netherlands, Spain and Norway). The major

professional associations developed for STS studies are (i) Societies for
Social Studies of Science (4S) in USA, (ii) European Association for the
study of Science and Technology (EASST) in Europe and (iii) the
Japanese Society for Science and Technology Studies (JSSTS) in Asia.
The major professional journals in STS studies are The Social Studies of
Science (SAGE, Beverly Hills), Science Technology and Human Values
(4S), Science and Technology Studies (Finnish society for STS), Minerva
(Springer), Science Technology and Society (SAGE, New Delhi), Science
and Culture (Routledge) and so on.
But SST very much forms a segment of the STS program. As a
systematic endeavour to study S&T as a social system (with inherent
discrepancies of power and reward), SST is based upon the communi-
tarian character of S&T. The essential feature of modern S&T is its
foundation in a collectivity known as the ‘invisible college’ (consisting
of large numbers of networks/peer groups that may overlap each other).
The community is perceived with a set of norms and values that govern
the conduct of individual researchers as well as peer groups in S&T.
Thus, the exchange system within the social system of S&T is also reg-
ulated. Thus, SST studying S&T as a social activity deals with the social
conditions and effects of S&T. And SST studying S&T structures and
processes of scientific and technological (innovative) activities. In a nut-
shell, as a true branch of sociology, SST is more concerned with social
structures and process of scientific and technological (innovative) activ-
ities. And it also is concerned with how S&T relates itself to the larger
societal structures and processes. As a discipline-based exercise, SST
makes use of the sociological theories/perspectives, concepts, methodol-
ogies (quantitative and qualitative/narrative, corresponding research
designs, tools and techniques, and so on). SST has been enriched
through the application of theoretical perspectives of sociology like
structural functionalism, structuralism, conflict perspective, interac-
tionism, small group studies/group dynamics, social movements and so
on. It is noteworthy that even SST contains competitive/rival epistemo-
logical positionings in the study of S&T, for example (i) Positivistic,
conformist tradition with potentiality to become revolutionary, (ii)
Radical (Marxist), (iii) Social constructionist and even (iv) Feminist.
That apart, SST also has developed some of its own models/con-
ceptual frameworks/concepts like the triple Helix, strong programme,
xxii Binay Kumar Pattnaik

accumulative advantage and the sacred spark, kingdom of ends, social

capital perspective, scientific ambivalence, scientific dogmatism, cosmo-
politans and locals, scientific creativity and productivity, singletons and
multiples, big science and little science, alternate technologies, sustain-
able technologies, softer technologies and so on. The global professional
body to back up the discipline is none other than the International
Sociological Association (ISA) wherein the concerned research commit-
tee (RC.23) is entitled SST. The other professional international body to
promote and facilitate SST is the SST Network an European platform.
The professional journal that caters to the disciplinary requirements is
the journal Sociology of Science and Technology (IHST, St. Petersburg). In
spite of the threat of taking over by subsuming and hijacking of many of
its perspectives by the STS studies, SST as a discipline is growing both
in terms of bringing larger themes, problems under its umbrella of
investigation and in terms of volumes of output with diversities of inno-
vative methods and perspectives.
The discipline of socialogy of science was born with its first para-
digm unleashed by R. K. Merton through his theorisation of the ethos
of science which is well grounded on structural functionalism the pop-
ular theory of sociology of yester decades. This theory was further culti-
vated and expanded by American and British sociologists like Norman
Storer (1966), W. O. Hagstorn (1965), W. Kornhauser (1962), Bernard
Barber and W. Hirsch (1962), Stephan Cotgrove (1970), Box and
Cotgrove (1966) and so on. The scope of this theory was further
expanded by taking it to the studies in productivity, creativity and
reward system in science. The architects were again some Americans and
British sociologists like F. M. Andrews (1964, 1965 and 1979), Pelz De
(1963), Pelz and Andrews (1966), C. W. Taylor and F. Barron (1963),
H. Zukerman (1967 and 1977), J. Gaston (1978) G. Gordon and S.
Marquis (1966), Crane Diana (1965), S. Cole and J. R. Cole (1967), S.
S. Blum and R. Sinclair (1973), A. E. Brayer and J. Folger (1966), R. G.
Kron (1971), P. D. Allison and J. A. Steward (1974).

Studies in the Structural Functional Perspective

Full-fledged studies from the vantage of the structural functional per-
spective in SST India is rare. The Indian studies based on this theoretical
tradition were those of Pattnaik (1992, 2001, 2003). The first study of
INTRODUCTION xxiii

Pattnaik (1992) was based on the Mertonian ethos of science. In precise

terms, the ethos of science is an effectively toned complex of values and
norms which is held to be binding on men of science (1973: 268). The
earliest papers on the ethos of science were, of course, by Merton written
in the 1930s and 1940s and interpreted much later by sociologists of
science. Pattnaik (1992: 58–94) systematised the Mertonian indicators
from his scattered writings. He articulated the ideology of science in
terms of the values and norms of science, which was, in fact, a cultural
interpretation of science through the structural and functional approach.
But Pattnaik (1992: 62–74) even took note of the strong critics of
Merton like II Mitroff and M. J. Mulkay who had offered counterviews
to Merton with alternative indicators. As the Mertonian sociologists of
science have claimed that knowledge certified cannot be produced with-
out a sincere commitment to the ideology of science, critics like Mittrof
and Mulkay came out with empirical evidences in contradiction to
Merton’s formulations. Hence, to accommodate the counter views and
its empirical indicators of normative structure, Pattnaik (1992) resolved
that these critics were not contradictory to the structural functional per-
spective of Merton, but were differing only in specificities adding to the
comprehensiveness of the Mertonian formulation.
Thus, the study of Pattnaik (1992: 135–42) operationalised the
ideology of science (with Mertonian views inclusive of counter views
that were not contradictory) in terms of norms of science (e.g universal-
ism, communism, disinterestedness, organised scepticism, and consis-
tency) and values of science (e.g simplicity, falsifiability, inter-subjectivity,
originality, creativity, cross-fertilisation, etc). As indicated earlier, the
structural functional perspective ushered in by R. K. Merton to study
scientific communities is now spread over to the studies in scientific
productivity, creativity and reward system. The sole example of this in
Indian Sociology is again the studies of Pattnaik (2001 and 2003). In
this study of quality research performance (creative) among Indian aca-
demic scientists, Pattnaik (2001) examined a set of hypotheses linking
quality research performance (creative) with other organisational vari-
ables like research environment, reward system in organisation and pro-
fession, multiple role occupancy by scientists, motivation, graduate
school prestige and the well-known Ortega Hypothesis. The results were
positive as all the hypotheses were verified. The other study of Pattnaik
(2003: 198–220) was devoted to scientific productivity. It was also the
sole example of an empirical exercise among Indian academic scientists
xxiv Binay Kumar Pattnaik

that made use of the Mertonian structural functional perspective.

Besides, this was also an exercise on examining the ‘accumulative advan-
tage hypothesis’. Pattnaik here examined a set of hypotheses linking sci-
entific productivity with types of scientific institution, research
environment, institutional reward system and infrastructure facilities in
the parent organisation. In this important piece of research, Pattnaik
(2003: 212, 218) discovered the presence of Matthew effect and Elitism
as existent phenomena in Indian science. This work of Pattnaik (2003)
is very much part of this volume.
The study of W. Morehouse’ (1971) one of the early sociological
works in S&T in India is an exercise on the process of institutionalisa-
tion of S&T institutions in India. Morehouse, theoretically having
taken a structural functional view, perceived scientific institution as a
‘social system with goals and embodies a number of interacting vari-
ables, like leadership, policy, programme, resources and internal struc-
ture. The institution as a system interacts with the environment in
which it is placed through its external linkages.
His perception (1971: 3) of scientific institution is a three-dimen-
sional matrix, such as (i) structuring the formal organisation, (ii) func-
tion or process, both internal and external (linkages) and (iii) time
dimension, where in structure and function are constantly changing
through their interactions over time. Anchored on the time dimension,
Morehouse (1971: 4) argues that through the interaction of internal
variables and external interaction with other societal systems like econ-
omy, education, politics and so on, the organisation becomes institu-
tionalised. Sociologically speaking, Morehouse (ibid.) distinguished
between organisation and institution and said that all institutions are
organisations but not all organisations are institutions. Thus, the dis-
tinction is the process of being valued. To him, a scientific institution as
an ‘organisation incorporates, fosters, and protects normative relation-
ships, action patterns, and perform functions/services that are valued by
the larger societal systems’. Institutionalisation of scientific organisation
is accomplished only when it could demonstrate that it embodies social
and technological innovations, that some of its relationships and action
patterns are normative (both internally and externally) and that support
as well as complementarities in the environment is attained. This insti-
tutionalisation is a matter of degree. The criteria for institutionality
of  scientific organisation are thus, (i) ability to survive over times,
(ii)  perceived by the environment as an organisation with intrinsic
INTRODUCTION xxv

values and (iii) specific relationships and action patterns within the
organisation, acquisition of normative character by, noted Morehouse
(1971: 5).
Morehouse developed some organisational patterns with the appli-
cation of which he studied institutionalisation of S&T organisations in
India (S&T Ministry/Departments of Govt. of India, GOI R&D bodies,
industrial R&D units and university S&T). To him, based on the rela-
tionships with one scientific and technological organisation and discov-
ery of scientific knowledge as well as their effective utilisation, S&T
organisations are classified into, (i) task coordination and (ii) task imple-
mentation bodies. When the former is concerned with initiation, plan-
ning and coordination of various units, the latter are concerned directly
with R&D activities undertaken. The task coordination organisation are
further divided into two types: (i) scientific technological inclusiveness
and (ii) scientific technological exclusiveness. The organisation of inclu-
siveness type are concerned with better activities in the innovation-chain
and their utilisation in R&D, whereas ‘organisation of exclusiveness’
type are concerned with the development of better internal and external
linkages. Similarly, the task implementation bodies are classified into
two types: (i) those characterised by scientific isolation and (ii) those
characterised by scientific togetherness. Works in the organisation char-
acterised as isolation type are mostly directed towards non-scientific/
non-innovative purpose undermining scientific work. And works in the
organisation characterised as togetherness type are mostly directed
towards building effective linkages (both internally and externally) lead-
ing to innovation and high productivity. Internal variables that influence
these organisation types and their linkages, could be identified as strong
leadership, political linkages and objective measures of high-quality
works in S&T productivity. The subsequent formulation of hypothesis
on institution building in S&T by Morehouse (1971: 14–20) proved the
subsumed preponderance of structural functionalism in his work.

The Concept of Scientific Community

The edited book by Gaillard, Krishna and Waast (1997) is an India-

based major publication (though not an empirical study) devoted to the
study of scientific communities in the developing world. The book
includes 12 case studies (6 from Africa and 3 each from Asia and Latin
xxvi Binay Kumar Pattnaik

America) which mostly trace the institutionalisation and assimilation of

modern S&T, professionalisation of science and the growth of the effec-
tive scientific communities in developing countries. As most part of the
developing world had a colonial past, their colonial and post-colonial
experiences point towards different challenges confronted by different
countries at different moments of history. Since modern S&T came to
developing countries through colonial rule, the book points out how
colonialism structured and influenced the institution of modern S&T
and the emergence of scientific communities in those developing coun-
tries. As the World War II ended, colonialism disintegrated, and some
developing countries witnessed massive efforts by their nationalist gov-
ernments to build S&T institutions and relevant infrastructure. But
before independence, meaning during colonial days, the S&T develop-
ment had taken roots in some developing countries in nationalist mode
and other in colonial mode (to serve imperial interests). Mostly after
political liberation, the nationalist mode of scientific development in
several developing countries promoted the strategies of import substitu-
tion and self-reliance in relation to the economic policies, which also
shaped the organisation of S&T and the goal orientation of scientific
communities there. The volume brought to bear different social per-
spectives in currency in science studies for understanding the growth of
S&T and its communities in developing countries. In spite of the plu-
ralities of the perspectives, there were underlying threads of certain
social and historical processes in these countries that influenced the
growth of scientific communities there.
More important here is the concept of scientific community or spe-
cialist group that the authors subscribed to in this exercise. The authors
claimed (1997: 18–22) that their conception of scientific community
goes beyond the Mertonian normative, Kuhnian interpretive and Neo-
Kuhnian social constructionist conception of science which is called
‘national scientific communities’. The authors explicated the three fea-
tures with regard to the conception of ‘national scientific communities’
having acquired a shared culture of science: (i) scientists with a commu-
nity perform research within a common institutional and intellectual
pelting with common priorities of research questions; (ii) it also signifies
the formation of national identities in the practice, production and
advancement of scientific knowledge. Discipline-based communities
take the shape and function of a kinship group; (iii) national scientific
INTRODUCTION xxvii

communities of developing countries function as periphery to interna-

tional science. This is a neo-colonial legacy that entails a division of
labour in world scientific research; (iv) growing professionalisation (not
necessarily institutionalisation) of groups involving some routinisation
of activities and defined moulds of training replacing local codes of
ethics and values by wider ideals and professional norms; (v) Brain drain
and brain circulation in relation to the international S&T in scientific
communities persist. Although spelt out in the editors introduction to
the volume, the concept of national scientific communities is very much
subscribed by the India-based paper therein by V. V. Krishna
(236–80).
The other noteworthy publication that pertains to the scientific
community in India was by Vinod K. Jairath (1984: 109–30). While
searching for the roots of the Indian scientific community, Jairath traced
it back to colonial S&T in India. Having followed George Basalla model
of colonial science that grew in three phases (indigenous scientific
thought, a providing source for modern science; colonial science (depen-
dent on Western science); and the process of transplantation with cul-
tural nationalism). Jairath found the birth of colonial scientists in India.
But in a post-independent India, he found (1984: 10–11) three types of
scientific communities: (i) the reformists (which captured power in alli-
ance with Nehru), (ii) revivalist and the (iii) Radicals. All three had their
roots in colonial S&T India. But to Jairath, the three types of scientists
are rooted deeply in different political ideologies and hence argued for
the differing roles of S&T in the context of development. Hence, if the
reformist and radicals argued for coalition with Western S&T for devel-
opment, the revivalists and the radicals have been critical of the role of
modern S&T and argued for promotions of People’s Science Movement
(PSM) and indigenous S&T.
The book entitled ‘Scientific Community in India’ by G. S. Aurora
(1989) is an empirical study of scientific communities in independent
India that were located in government-funded scientific institutions in
the industrial (Council of Scientific and Industrial Research [CSIR] and
State Laboratories), agricultural, medical and higher education (univer-
sity) sectors (eight case studies). Aurora’s notion of science is not episte-
mologically a distinct one, rather it is the positivistic one, but following
Rose and Rose (1969: 2), he in fact widened the definition from a valid
method of studying nature to that makes science a social institution and
xxviii Binay Kumar Pattnaik

is inclusive of technology (as part of the R&D activities) (1989: 10–11).

Further, his notion of science includes the scientific community at large
that is an interactive one bound by certain values of its conduct. As an
interacting community, scientists also make use of formal and informal
channel of communication being part of formal scientific institutions
and as a part of discipline-/theme-based professional groups. Thus, by
conception to Aurora’s scientific community is akin to the ‘invisible col-
lege’ model.
And not surprisingly, while tracing the roots of the Indian scientific
community to colonialism in India, Aurora (1989: 48) subscribed to the
notion of colonial science introduced by George Basalla who articulated
the penetrating modes of Western science in non-European societies.
The three overlapping phases of Basalla through which Western science
spread were (i) non-scientific society (non-European) becomes a source
of growth for Western science, (ii) a period of colonial science, and (iii)
processes of transplantation of colonial science and attempt to build an
independent S&T tradition. Aurora (1989: 48–55), in fact, contexual-
ised the three phases of spread of Western science in India with live
history. By the time India became independent, a well-knit and well-
spread scientific community (maybe with colonial origin) was ready to
transform itself. Aurora (1989: 62–63) has, in fact, perfectly articulated
a number of standout characteristics of this scientific community such
as the following:

1. The leadership of scientific community continue to reside in the universi-

ties and that to in the then leading older universities like Calcutta, Bombay,
Delhi, Allahabad, Banaras, Madras and so on, as their students occupied
administrative positions in research establishment of S&T.
2. In the community of university scientists, the traditional bond of student–
teacher continued.
3. Practically, in all the disciplines of scientific and technological endeavour,
professional organisations had been formed.
4. Almost all the S&T organisations and universities where scientists worked
were funded by the government, and hence participation of scientists in
public issues was the minimum.
5. Scientific communities in all the S&T disciplines were still closely tied to
their British counterparts. British and American journals were the regular
channels of scientific communication for Indian scientists. And Indian
S&T professionals continued to be dependent upon the evaluation meth-
ods and reward system of the British and American counterparts.
INTRODUCTION xxix

Soon after independence there was a radical change in the national

S&T policy to bring about socio-economic transformation in the coun-
try. Here a large number of scientific and technological establishments
outside the university framework were established in industrial, agricul-
tural, medicine and health sectors.
In this study, the major concern of Aurora had been the organisa-
tional context in which the scientists work. He analysed the structure
and processes of the scientific institutions, particularly the larger ones.
These laboratories/institutions were de-bureaucratised and subsequently
their organisational structures were assigned to promote collegiate cul-
ture and a working environment conducive to the pursuit of excellence.
However, Aurora’s study showed that while laboratories received a high
degree of autonomy, their internal structure remained highly centralised.
In place of creating a collegiate culture, the laboratories continued as
bureaucratic institutions unable to flex. Although expected to provide a
creative environment, the laboratories ended up generating demotiva-
tion and dissatisfaction. But the organisational picture has been a shade
better in the laboratories of agricultural scientists, noted Aurora.
He discovered the dilemmas of the then scientific community, such
as Indian scientists have been more concerned with reinventing the
wheel, duplicating research (because of self-reliance policy) rather than
applying research for solving problems of the society. Research laborato-
ries had became examples of par excellence for subverting the question-
ing and curious minds. He argued that if conformity is the value,
creativity is the causality; if invention was the concern, innovation was
crucified. Thus, Aurora had offered an appreciable critique of the func-
tioning of the Indian scientific community in the then public-funded
S&T institutions.
To add the factors of historicity and diversity, Aurora (1989: 262)
proposed that the structure and culture of the specific scientific commu-
nities then could be better understood by tracing how particular sector
of S&T developed and within the sector particular S&T institutions
developed (because of varying political patronage and policy impacts),
moulding scientist–institution relationship and there by the specific
communities. He illustrated the structure and culture of the specific
communities through the ‘sector–institution–scientific community’
triads of relations. The overall picture that emerged from this study of
Aurora is one of disenchantment of the then Indian scientific
xxx Binay Kumar Pattnaik

community which was in search of an identity, in search of an environ-

ment, in search of an opportunity to perform, to contribute and excel.
Socio-economic and academic background of Indian scientists: The more
recent study of the Indian academic scientists, not in a community
perspective, but as individuals, was reported by Pattnaik (2007:
82–96). In his empirical study of scientists in chemical sciences and
technologies, Pattnaik has examined three major hypotheses pertain-
ing to their social origin, career choice, scientific performance, such as
the following:

1. Conditioning at the university department/graduate school encourages

more number of graduates to enter into career in scientific research and
makes high performer scientists out of them (Realistic Factor Hypothesis).
2. As the lower middle class value of hard work and persistent struggle for
success coincides with the professional requirements of scientific research, a
large section of the scientific community hails from a lower socio-economic
class (Grass-roots Origin Hypothesis).
3. Early academic achievement as a variable is predictive of later scientific
eminence (performance based) and scholarship among scientists (Early
Achievers Hypothesis).

The data analysis did not support the realistic factor hypothesis and
the data showed that majority of the scientists entered into the career by
self-motivation and other subjective variables, such as the inspiration by
the university faculty and the like. Even it was found that self-motivated
scientists had dominated both the quality and quantity performance
indicators (2007: 89). By further data analysis to examine the social class
origin of the scientists, the Grass-roots Origin Hypothesis has been
verified as nearly the half of the sample scientists were found to have
very modest social class origin and only one-third of them had lower
middle-class origin (2007: 92). (It was also found that self-motivation
was not correlated to social class origin of the scientists.)
With regard to the Early Achievers Hypothesis, the data analysis
showed that a vast majority of these academic scientists were early high
achievers in the examination of schools, colleges and universities and
many of them were toppers. The inter-correlation among examination
scores revealed the consistency in their early performance in the aca-
demics. But most revealing was the finding that their scores on early
achievements had no correlations with their performance indicators as
adult scientists, that is both with quantity and quality research
INTRODUCTION xxxi

performances. It now becomes obvious that an early achievement may

be a requirement for entering into the scientific career. Hence, a vast
majority of them were found to be early achievers. But their perfor-
mances in terms of quantity and quality research output, which is highly
skewed, has nothing to do with early achievements, as after entering
into the profession, their nature of work, skills required and indicators
of performance become completely different (but not surprisingly, it
was found that high self-motivation was correlated positively to early
achievement through examinations [2007: 94–99]).
Brain drain and brain gain: The well-known concept of brain drain has
become so conspicuous in the Indian context that it is believed to have
originated because of the huge influx of Indian scientific manpower to
UK in the 1950s and 1960s. The concept was apparently first used by
the Royal Society to describe the emigration of scientist and technolo-
gist to North America from the post-war Europe (Cervantes and Guellac
2002). But another source indicates that the concept was first used in
the UK to describe the large-scale emigration of Indian physicians, sci-
entists and engineers. Within India, the brain drain phenomenon gained
visibility and sociological significance when large-scale emigration of
Indian engineers, particularly from the premier institutes like the IITs,
was witnessed in the 1960s, 1970s and 1980s. It was perceived as a huge
loss of intellectual capital to the country. In the context of scientific
community in India, this phenomenon acquires high relevance and
again V. V. Krishna along with Khadria (1997) articulated the concept
of ‘brain drain’ and ‘brain gain’ in the Indian context with the help of
secondary sources data and collated data from several relevant studies.
Of course, Sukhatme along with the IIT Bombay sociologist Indira
Mahadevan (1988: 1285–93) had studied the phenomenon of brain
drain empirically based on the sample from IIT Bombay alumni.
Sukhatme and Mahadevan tried to measure the extent of brain drain
and explicate the motivations and aspirations of the IIT graduates who
migrated abroad and also the reason for staying on abroad. The authors
gave profuse rich empirical data that were very specific and typical to
their IIT sample. But the paper of Krishna and Khadria was more broad
based and comprehensive linking the phenomenon to S&T policies in
India. That apart, Krishna and Khadria (1997) did take the issue of
brain drain beyond and talked about brain gain which is notable in this
context of SST in India.
xxxii Binay Kumar Pattnaik

Having perceived the phenomenon of emigration of highly quali-

fied personnel (HQP) as a developmental issue, the authors have articu-
lated the five decades of Indian experience into three distinct but
overlapping phases such as: (i) 1940s to 1960s, (ii) 1970s to 1980s and
(iii) 1990s and beyond (1997: 348).
The first phase referred to the foundation of Sarkar committee in
1946 under Viceroy’s Executive Council, Scientific Manpower
Committee in 1947 after independence, Education Commission under
the chairmanship of Dr S. Radhakrishanan in 1948, and so on, which
were the initial efforts to build S&T manpower as well as S&T infra-
structure in India. Subsequently, under the First Five Year Plan too, a
Manpower Studies Committee, a Cabinet Committee on manpower
(1957) and so on were set up to plan for building S&T manpower.
Beneficiaries of these were the Indian universities. The authors indicated
that in alliance with Nehru, the first prime minister, elite scientists of
India like S. S. Bhatanagar, Homi J. Bhabha, D. S. Kothari, P. C.
Mohalanabis and so on laid the network of S&T institutions like the
CSIR, Indian Council of Agricultural Research (ICAR), Department of
Atomic Energy (DAE)/Atomic Energy Commission (AEC), Planning
Commission and so on. Then the IIT Act of 1961 was passed and five
IITs were set up for producing high-quality technical manpower. By the
1970s, brain drain came to be known as a recognised phenomenon with
IITs. Efforts were made to ‘brain gain’ by expanding IITs and Indianising
IITs. In 1967 the prime minister of India, through a round table confer-
ence, recommended every possible effort to create institutional mecha-
nism to ensure return of the Indian scientists working abroad. Bhabha
founded and headed Tata Institute of Fundamental Research (TIFR) to
attract Indian natural scientists from abroad. Following this, CSIR and
ICAR also took similar steps to absorb properly the Indian scientists
who returned from abroad. M. S. Swaminathan, B. P. Pal and others
integrated the Indian scientists who then returned from abroad to bring
in the green revolution. The CISR which had instituted the National
Register of S&T personnel had created a special section for Indians
abroad and, in 1958, created a ‘scientific pool’ to suitably place these
scientists who returned from abroad. There are more evidences of this
kind which were, in fact, efforts towards ‘brain gain’ in India.
In the next phase, that is 1970s to 1980s, brain drain as a problem
became more acute in spite of the oil crisis of 1973. Migration route for
INTRODUCTION xxxiii

Indians turned towards the USA, UK and Canada. The study of

Sukhatme and Mahadevan (1987) pointed out that approximately 37
per cent graduates and 31 per cent postgraduates from IITs were migrat-
ing abroad in the 1980s. In the discipline of computer science and engi-
neering, it was close to 60 per cent then, which was alarming.
Non-availability of quality employment in homeland was said to be the
common reason behind this migration. Mashelkar (1984) pointed out
the professional factor underlying the brain drain that ‘the brain go
where the brains are’. A study on brain drain by Mohanti et al. (1995)
based on 17 research groups in 12 scientific institutions drew attention
to sociological issues like poor intellectual leadership, system of rewards,
pattern of communication and absence of invisible colleges as being
crucial factors inhibiting the formation of viable research groups in par-
ticular specialisation, and this in turn could be attributed to the brain
drain from India. Further, Indiresan and Nigam (1993: 356) noted in
defence of IIT engineers that an IIT engineer does not feel wanted in
India, the way American universities make them feel wanted.
Subsequently, the author pointed out the socio-political problems prev-
alent in Indian S&T establishment. The example cited was the case of
C-DOT where a few hundred expatriate Indian engineers had came to
work with Sam Patriada (Technology Mission) with patronage of the
then prime minister Rajiv Gandhi. But after the demise of Rajiv Gandhi,
this mission fell victim to import lobbies and vested interests within and
finally crumbled, to experience the outmigration of those Indian engi-
neers, then to Australia.
Krishna and Khadria also (1997: 369) talked about internal brain
drain, mostly in the third phase, that is 1990s and beyond (after the
globalisation of Indian economy), but it missed the vital point that glo-
balisation enabled the US-based Indian engineers, particularly those
from the Silicon valley, to return to India and brought in the informa-
tion technology (IT) revolution and later the information and commu-
nications technology (ICT) revolution to India. They returned with
their US training in engineering, US job experiences, US IT and ICT
industry connections (for supply chain) and some times with US ven-
ture capital funding. The analysis of this phenomenon drives home a
further extended concept called ‘brain circulation’. And now it is argued
that in the long run, brain circulation is good for both the developed
and developing countries, because these migrant S&T professionals not
xxxiv Binay Kumar Pattnaik

only contributed handsomely to the economy of their host country but

also to their home country when they returned with rich knowledge,
experience and industry connections (Saxenian 2002). Same thing is
said to be true of China and its electronics industry, particularly the
hardware industry (Saxenian 2005).
However, Krishna and Khadria (1997) made a sociological contri-
bution by first using and contextualising the concept of ‘brain drain
(human capital flight) and brain gain’ for India. The authors used the
concept ‘brain gain’ in a somewhat broader sense as arresting the brain
drain through various institutional measures was also considered a sort
of brain gain as encouraging S&T professionals to return to homeland
after amplifying their talents abroad was considered a brain gain.

Studies in the Social Constructionist Perspective

Zaheer Baber’s book The Science of Empire (1988) is a contribution to

SST in India, although it is a study of S&T in Indian history. Baber
analyses the social context of the origin and development of S&T in
India from antiquity, through colonial period to modern times. What is
relevant to the present context is the theoretical perspective Baber sub-
scribed to in this exercise. It was in the 1990s when Baber was engaged
in his exercise that the social constructionist approach in SST was in
vogue. Not surprisingly Baber came under its influence and began by
articulating the contribution of this approach as it demystified and
deconstructed the idealised image of scientific practices built by the
Mertonian tradition of normative views of science and scientific enter-
prise. Baber also appreciated the social constructionist approach as it
made room for the scientist as active agents involved in the production
of knowledge. This approach implicated a number of social factors in
the production of scientific facts. The protagonist of this perspective
focused on the complex negotiation and power struggles that consti-
tuted essential components of the scientific process that constructs (not
discovers) scientific facts. Soon Baber, in the process of his discussion
landed in Kuhn’s domain that ‘claim of strong programme being absurd
and an example of deconstruction gone mad?’ (1998: 3) and soon
researchers in SST found that this approach although targeted Merton’s
‘ethos of science’ approach, but when stripped of its own polemical
manifesto and trendy neologisms’, it was not better than the Mertonism
INTRODUCTION xxxv

for empirical purposes. The ‘epistemic relativism’ of this constructionist

perspective engendered ontological relativism. Although the perspective
was insisting that scientific facts are socially constructed on the floor of
laboratory, few accepted that the world does not exist independent of
and prior to the knowledge produced about it. Hence, the contradiction
emerged soon that the perspective being epistemologically relativist also
is ontologically realist’ (Woolgar 1988: 53–65). Soon came the counter
perspectives of Ray Bhaskar and Steven Yearley. But Baber clearly resided
with Yearley’s (1988: 184) moderate constructionist view. And the polit-
ical economy view. Although Yearly projects the idea that scientific and
technological developments unfold in a constructionist manner, they
also remain confined to the micro-sociological level of analysis’. And the
political economy perspective draws attention to the larger institutional
structures to examine how development of scientific and technological
knowledge is influenced by political–economic priorities. Baber consid-
ers the combined approach a powerful theoretical tool. Baber, following
Yearley, did not reject the insight of the constructionist perspectives,
rather attempted to articulate it with an explicitly institutional and his-
torical dimensions. In this study, Baber tried to demonstrate that the
colonial encounter of Britain and India in the sphere of S&T had signif-
icant consequences not just for S&T in India but also for the develop-
ment of the Western S&T. When political authorities in Britain realised
the great potentialities in the application of S&T in India for the expan-
sion of colonial purpose and the young scientists in Britain realised that
the new geo-climatic conditions, minerals, flora, fauna and so on in
India would provide them great research career opportunities, the
patronage came through. The experience of building S&T institutions
in British India contributed a fund of knowledge which was later on
used in Britain. Concomitant were the policies of withdrawal of patron-
age for indigenous scientific and educational institutions. The elite,
urban anglicised sections of the Indian population attempted to utilise
the colonial structures to consolidate and legitimatise their status. They
sought the expansion of the Western S&T as it was perceived as an
avenue for social mobility on the contrary the involvement of both
British and India created a transnational culture, with common com-
munication strategies/systems, erasing cultural differences. Thus, the
Western S&T transmitted to India by a colonial government through
colonial institutions gave rise to a colonial S&T (Baber 1998: 7–8).
xxxvi Binay Kumar Pattnaik

The focus of this book has been the two-way interaction between
S&T and society, how specific social and cultural factors led to the
emergence of specific scientific and technological knowledge system and
institutions which transformed the very social condition that produced
them. A key feature of this analysis was the role of pre-colonial trading
circuits and other institutional factors in transmitting scientific and
technological knowledge from India to other civilisations. This reveals
the pattern of social institutional construction of S&T.
In the next chapter (1998: 14–52), the author demonstrates this
also with examples from ancient Indian S&T which was socially and
culturally embedded. Then ‘science was not considered as an indepen-
dent analytical domain but was intimately interwoven with the other
institution of society’ (1998: 19) and in the ancient and medieval peri-
ods, the distinction between S&T was also blurred. S&T were interwo-
ven and embedded in social and cultural institutions. Now Baber
corroborated his argument by showing how Geometry and Mathematics
were embedded in the religion and social structure, for example the
Sulbasutras (Vedic) recommended to construct square and circular altars
with exact measures to perform rituals. The book is replete with such
examples of S&T in all the spheres.

Studies in Marxian Perspective

Although Marxist approach in Indian sociology is a well-known

approach to study Indian society, it has not been so popular in the
sociology of science. The sole votary of this approach in the SST in
India was Ramasubban (1977: 155–93) who demonstrated the applica-
tion of Marxist approach in analysing the impact of agriculture technol-
ogy in India in the 1960s. Not only there is a dearth of published
research work on this approach, but also there has been a dearth of
scholars who subscribed and applied this approach to their studies in
sociology of S&T. Therefore, the sole reference in favour of this is more
than three decades old. Although Ramasubban started with collecting
the damaging criticism of the well-known structural functional perspec-
tives propounded by R. K. Merton, the perspective continues to be the
dominant one even today, because in spite of his vehement criticisms
against it, Mulkay (1980: 23–42) in a special issue of the noted journal
INTRODUCTION xxxvii

Current Sociology had candidly confessed that till then no viable and
coherent alternative perspective to the structural functional one was
available, not even his own, he considered.
To the Marxian sociology of science, knowledge of nature, science
is a social product, a tool which humans progressively perfected to
enhance his materialistic development. Knowledge here is not abstract
or pure, it can only be applied to human benefits. This makes a rigid
distinction between pure and applied science untenable in the Marxian
framework. It further asserts that the state of science in any period is
critically influenced by the given level of development of the material
forces of production, the corresponding relation of productions and the
superstructure of the social ideas. Hence, science in this framework is
not even autonomous, rather is subservient to historically determined
social forces’ (Ramasubban, 1977: 164).
Marx had explicitly distinguished natural sciences from other forms
of knowledge/cultural products that make the ideological superstructure
determined by a historical mode of production. It is needless to empha-
sise here that the social ideas of the superstructure reflect the social rela-
tions and attitudes which may be subsumed in the social consciousness.
Man makes use of his knowledge of nature to influence or master his
natural and social environments. This is the foundation upon which
technology develops, becomes progressively part of the productive forces
and hence mode of production that moulds the superstructure. But
making the process more dynamic, the Marxist argued that there exists
some kind of ‘circular relationship’ between the superstructure of social
ideas and development of scientific knowledge. Thus, the direction,
pace and the aims of scientific knowledge are subject to the influence of
the superstructure of social ideas (1977: 165). Further, it is argued that
the conceptual phrasing of scientific problems is often determined by
the economic, cultural and social contexts of the scientist. The Marxian
theory of knowledge centres around the problems of theory and practice
(praxis). The link between S&T embodies the link between theory and
practice. The unity and difference between pure and applied science (i.e.
between theory and practice) is an important feature of the Marxian
approach to science. It is noteworthy that under the Marxian framework
there exists an objective contradiction between theory and practice and,
at the same time, their unity (1977: 166). Technology might be the
embodiment of natural sciences man has accumulated in his struggle to
xxxviii Binay Kumar Pattnaik

harness the natural/social environment, but later on, technological

development does not depend upon science. Development of theoreti-
cal science makes only one of the determinants of technological devel-
opment. Theoretical science by itself cannot determine the direction
and pace of development of technology. And the development in tech-
nological sciences is also determined by factors external to it. Thus, the
vital aspect of S&T stands open; that is social basis or their development
(ibid.).
It is the investigation of the combined effect of the mode of produc-
tion and the corresponding superstructure of ideas upon the develop-
ment of S&T at each stage of history that makes the Marxian sociology
science, claims Ramasubban (1977: 167).
Having spelt out the Marxian approach, Ramasubban goes ahead to
establish how the form of social and economic organisations largely con-
ditions the pace and direction of the development of S&T, based on the
specific interactions between socio-economic organisations in the case
of Indian agriculture. She investigated this question/hypothesis with the
help of secondary data and findings of research investigation by others.
She concentrated on three issues basically: (i) the nature of changes that
were taking place in Indian agriculture then, (ii) determining the extent
of impact of green revolution technology on productivity and its pat-
terns, and (iii) prospects of agricultural research to grow and to contrib-
ute to a total alternation of the agrarian prospects of India.
Of course, she made her investigation on Agricultural S&T in the
backdrop of India’s efforts to experience self-sufficiency in agricultural
productivity (to escape high rural impoverishment of the 1950s and
1960s). After the introduction of the Community Development
Programmes of 1950s, and subsequent American technological aid
packaged for attaining green revolution (the combined aid of Ford
Foundation, Rockefeller Foundation and United States Agency for
International Development [USAID]) in the pattern of Land Grant
institutions, called as Intensive Agriculture Development program
(IADP), the results were worth noting. May be India achieved self-
sufficiency in agriculture by the end of 1960, but the other findings
were alarming. It was found that in north India (Punjab, Haryana, etc.),
all the input conditions for capital intensive and green revolution tech-
nologies were in favour of big farmers, for example, (i) requirement of
large pieces of land by the technology which was not scale neutral, (ii)
INTRODUCTION xxxix

credit facilities, (iii) selective crop intensiveness of the technology and

(iv) availing regulated irrigation water, and so on.
Thus, the new agricultural technology immensely benefitted the
big farmers. It also rendered the small and marginal farmers landless as
they could not compete with big farmers. The major obstacle for tenant
farmers adopting the new technology was the prevalent land tenurial
system. About a quarter or more of the cultivated land in the country is
under tenancy then. The rent on these holdings was very high. Their
indebtedness led to their depeasantisation. Thus, the land ownership
pattern and the land tenurial system both greatly determined the suc-
cess of agricultural technologies in northern India. In southern and
eastern India, food habit (stickiness of the traditional verities of rice)
became a strong factor against the high yield variety (HYV) rice. In the
same regions (the wet-rice growing areas), the land lords drove high
risk-free incomes from feudal rent of land and money lending. If the
new agricultural technologies were to be spread in these areas then these
must be more profitable than the risk-free gains of the landlords. This
was not possible without land reforms. In the Koshi-irrigated area in
Bihar, the big land-owning class, which exercised economic and politi-
cal control over share croppers and labourers, had no interest in encour-
aging the farmers to adopt new technologies as it would liberate the
latter from the servile bondage (1977: 180). Thus, Ramasubban pointed
out that agrarian social structure had then not provided the conditions
for the spread of the new technologies among the rural India’s farming
communities. An agrarian social structure characterised by dominant
feudal features received the green revolution technologies to neutralise
its effect.
Ramasubban might have made her point and proved her hypothe-
ses, but the Marxian sociology of S&T remained confined to how S&T
is determined by socio-cultural factors merely in its diffusion. It is not
examining the role of socio-cultural factors in the process of S&T
knowledge creation. This later vital point is encashed upon by the social
constructionist scholars. The other strong limitation of the Marxist
approach is its relevance and suitability to genetic/historical method of
explanation only where Marxist scholar can point out how the new soci-
ety (structural features) emerges out of the womb of the old. It is cer-
tainly not amenable to other methods of scientific explanations (such
the deductive, probabilistic and functional).
xl Binay Kumar Pattnaik

Studies in Science and Technology Movements

in India

Appropriate technology (AT) movement in India: The study of AT move-

ment in India by Dhal and Pattnaik (2012: 73–115) is a pioneering as
well as novel exercise in itself. It is pioneering because it is the first
empirical exercise on AT in India and it is novel because it is a sociolog-
ical exercise through the application of a social movement theory.
Reference to the study becomes almost inevitable in the context of
studying science movement in India (as in the outset we clarified that
conceptually differentiating between S&T may not be tenable now and
often the PSMs in India rally around the issue of appropriate technol-
ogies). Having indulged in the debate on AT, the authors identified the
indicators of AT in the context of a developing country like India, that
is its labour-intensive character, suitability to local climate, dependence
on local raw materials, local R&D, cultural relevance (embedded char-
acter), eco-friendliness and energy efficiency. The study of the phe-
nomenon broadly has two parts, wherein the first part is based on
secondary data and the second part is based on primary data. The first
part is the articulation of AT movement as a macro phenomenon (Pan-
Indian) studied as a discursive movement. This part of the study is
based on the application of social movement perspective, that is from
mobilisation to institutionalisation. After having articulated the early
ideological mobilisation by the ideologies of AT like M. K. Gandhi, E.
F. Schumacher, J. C. Kumarappa, and so on, the authors located the
other forms of mobilisation in the First as well as the Fourth Five Year
Plans of India, scientific policy resolution of Government of India
(GoI) (1958), technology policy statement of GoI (1983), S&T policy
statement of GoI (2003) and so on, which culminated in founding a
good number of public-funded AT-promoting research institutions like
CTARA at IIT Bombay, the Application of Science and Technology to
Rural Areas (ASTRA) at IISci Banglore, CRT at IIT Delhi, NRDC
under DSIR, KVIC and so on. It is also culminated in the setting up of
a large number of private-funded AT-promoting institutions like
ATDU at Varanasi, Appropriate Technology Development Association
(ATDA) at Lucknow, MSRF at Madras, PPST Foundation at Madras
and so on.
INTRODUCTION xli

The second part of the study was an effort to study empirically AT

organisations through the resource mobilisation theory of social move-
ments. The empirical exercise is based on three comprehensive case
studies such as, (i) the ATDA, Lucknow, (ii) the ASTRA cell at the IISci
Bangalore and (iii) the Honey Bee Network (HBN) at Ahmadabad.
Each of the studies was an application of the resource mobilisation
theory (RMT) advocated by (McCarthy and Zald 1977 and Tilly,
1978). RMT was construed to be suitable because (i) it is developed to
study through the ongoing movement, (ii) applicable to study social
movement organisations (SMOs) and (iii) the actors or the scholars of
AT movements are construed to be engaged in instrumental actions by
making of resources of the movement organisations and fostering
mobilisation for development of appropriate technologies. Analysis of
the movement organisation through the RTM involved the following
broad framework:

(i) intellectual mobilisation of the resources

(a) actors (conscience constituents, constituent adherents and so on)
(b) conception
(c) formation
(ii) Organisational Resources
(a) objectives of the organisation
(b) membership
(c) activities
(d) programmes and so on
(iii) Financial Resources
(a) funding agencies
(b) other sources of earnings
(iv) intellectual resources
(a) projects implemented
(b) patents filed
(c) commercialised products and processes
(d) technology transferred and so on
(v) external linkages of SMO
(vi) internal linkages of the SMO

But the logic of the study design was based on the three modules of
technology diffusion based on which three case studies were chosen.
And the broad conclusion was that as the model of technology transfer
varied, the survival and success chances of the SMOs varied accordingly.
xlii Binay Kumar Pattnaik

Following was the model underlying the study of Dhal and Pattnaik
(2012):

Case Studies Model of Tech. Diffusion Survival and Success

ATDA Lucknow Lab to land (Direct) Failure, Dying (Top Down)
ASTRA Cell at IISci Lab to Land Via Successful after changing
Bangalore NGO/SHG its thrust to research
agenda on
Sustainable Technologies
HBN Ahmadabad Land (people) to Lab to Successful Sustainable
Land (people), via Technologies (Bottom up)
NGO/SHG/VO

The authors concluded that as the model of technologies transfer

involved more and more popular elements, the thrust of SMOs’ changed
and these moved to produce more sustainable technologies. Without
any popular component, the first SMO was found to be dying out of
sheer failure. The second SMO (ASTRA) Cell at IISci, Bangalore,
changed its thrust in 1973 and became centre for sustainable technolo-
gies (CST) to reorient its research towards sustainable technologies and
involved non-governmental organisations (NGOs) and self-help groups
(SHGs) for retaining its popular linkage, it then survived and experi-
enced growth.
And the HBN which believed in a bottom-up approach thrived on
grass-roots level popular innovations to deliver the people back the same
with technical, financial/marketing backup and involvement of popular
elements like NGOs, SHGs, village organisations (VOs) and so on in
the process of diffusion. It experienced rising growth and sustainability,
of course, not only because of the popular contents and participatory
nature of the entire process of the technology diffusion, but also because
of the sustainable nature of the small and grass-roots innovation-based
technologies.
People’s Science Movement in India: The book entitled Science for Social
Revolution, by Zachariah Mathew and R. Sooryamurthy (1994) was the
first study of the first PSM in India led by Kerala Sahitya Shastra
Parishad (KSSP) as a movement organisation. As a study of the PSM, it
INTRODUCTION xliii

legitimately comes under the SST studies, hence it becomes essential to

explicate the conception of science maintained by KSSP. As a movement
organisation, for its convenience, KSSP takes advantages of the episte-
mological relativism and holds it as its own conception of science. To
KSSP, science meant Shastram (Sanskrit)—an essentially modern view
of science, that is systematically organised knowledge, tested logically
and empirically. It is formally codified. But Shastram refers to the closed
nature of scientific knowledge at a particular time (1994: 192). The
other conception of science is based on Vijnan (Sanskrit) meaning valid
knowledge about the material world that is based on observation and
experimentations. Hence, it is not absolute rather is tentative, piecemeal
and open to correction (1994: 20). KSSP subscribed to both the notions
of science at the same time. But in day-to-day work, KSSP used the term
‘science’ in the latter sense. In 1973 KSSP adopted the slogan ‘science
for social revolution’ which signified the correct approach of KSSP to
science. It meant that (i) not any branches of knowledge but science is a
process of enquiry that tries to establish cause-and-effect relationships,
whether in natural or social world, (ii) the method of science and the use
of conclusions derived from science and its applications are dependent
upon human decisions and (iii) those human decisions have led to grave
social problems including immiserisation. Hence, S&T should be
people oriented and at the service of the people (1994: 20). Thus, KSSP
tried to promote a critical consciousness of a particular type among the
people of Kerala. As a PSM organisation, KSSP was not to promote the
scientific spirit as an end issue but as a means. It was not interested in
popularising science in the sense of merely disseminating scientific and
technical knowledge in simpler terms. It was mainly to promote greater
self-reliance and popular participation in development using S&T
knowledge as part of its Liberatory pedagogy. In a nutshell, science was
used as a means of social criticism in the Marxian sense of science. So
KSSP treated S&T as a means to achieve the goals of an equitable and
sustainable society.
The other point of relevance in this context is the articulation of the
theoretical foundation of the movement. Although authors studied
PSM, the use of any given theory of social movement was never made
explicit. However, implicit is the collective action and mobilisation per-
spective of social movement. Implicit features of the perspective of the
PSM led by KSSP are:
xliv Binay Kumar Pattnaik

1. KSSP itself was an outcome of collective action by teachers, writers/literary

persons, scientists, students, journalists and so on). Its broad theme of con-
cern were (i) formal and non-formal primary education, (ii) people’s health,
(iii) environment, (iv) people-centred S&T and (v) use of science for social
change.
2. Its focus was voluntary involvement of committed middle-class intelligen-
tsia, even as paid members (1994: 27).
3. Mobilisation by KSSP was its conscientisation process that involved dis-
semination of its message through science clubs, schools run by KSSP
(summer science camps), science processions, science through folk arts,
street theatre, rural science forums, organising people’s science congress,
Jathas and KalaJathas, and so on. (1994: 63–75).
4. It developed a vision of society and ideology (Marxist) to attain the long-
term goals of bringing social change/revolution. It also spelt out some of its
short-term goals like full literacy, building environmental awareness, scien-
tific consciousness and so on (it had institutionalised itself through some of
its values in the long run) (1994: 28).
5. Its intellectual heritage was based on the writings of eminent historians of
S&T like J. D. Bernal and J. B. S. Halden.
6. As part of its mobilisation strategies, it made alliances with other interest
groups, voluntary organisations/NGOs and political parties on scientific
issues (1994: 27).
7. It directed its action against the state and capitalism.

The other noteworthy sociological work on PSM in India was by

Sahoo and Pattnaik (2012). Its distinctness lies in its empirical and the-
oretical character. Having defined PSM in India and putting it into its
socio-historical context, the authors traced the genesis, formation and
growth of PSM (2012: 9–21). Thereafter, the authors offered a dis-
course on the ideology and world view of PSM in India and an extensive
account of science movements in Europe, USSR, Australia and the
United States (2012: 22–73).
More specifically, the study is an application of the well-known
resource mobilisation theory of social movement studies. The earlier
study of the KSSP by Zachariah and Sooryamoorthy (1994) is taken as
a point of departure and the authors studied other PSM organisations in
India, like the All India People’s Science Network (AIPSN), Bharaat
Gyan Bigyan Samiti (BGVS), Jana Vigyan Vedica (JVV), Delhi Science
Forum (DSF) and Ekalavya. Of these five case studies, one is an umbrella
organisation of the four (i.e. AIPSN) and it flexes its muscle in civil
society domain with the help of media and other intellectual resources.
INTRODUCTION xlv

Of the four People’s Science Movement Organisations (PSMOs), two

are radical activist organisations (BGVS and JVV) which are involved in
grass-roots mobilisation of the people for science. The third one is also
a radical organisation that has been suggestive of pedagogic revolution
and mobilisation through school science pedagogy and novel teachers
training programmes (i.e. Ekalavya). The last one is a voluntary organi-
sation (i.e. DSF) which is a critiques of government S&T policies and
engages in discursive-type mobilisations through its intellectual resources.
Before analysing the five case studies from the vantage of resource
mobilisation theory (of MacCarthy and Zalad, 1977: 1212–41), the
authors explicated (2012: 33) why the PSMOs should be treated as
SMOs, namely (i) each of these organisations has a specific set of goals
to attain, (ii) each of these organisations has its strategies, tactics to
mobilise resources both material and intellectual, (ii) decisive role of
leadership in these PSMOs, (iv) each of these PSMOs have member-
ships and full-time staff to advocate for its constituency (section of pop-
ulation) and (v) each of these PSMOs mobilises its own resources in
collaboration with their allies. Studying the five SMOs from the vantage
of social movement theory is a sociologically exciting journey in social
movement. The analysis of the five SMOs within the broad framework
of RMT involves how these have pursued their goals (ideologically
driven), with their distinct programmes and activities and at times with
their unique methods of mobilisation. That apart, this analysis also
emphasised how these SMOs not only maintain strong internal linkages
but also strongly liaison with other civil society organisations/SMOs as
well as with the Indian state. The authors pointed out how the PSMOs
have worked in a concerted manner in liaison with each other (because
of their ideological underpinnings) and carved out a niche for them-
selves in the domain of Indian civil society. It is because of their power-
ful presence (being active and vocal) that the Indian state is in fact forced
to concede to them enough space in the public domain and recognise
their pressure through occasional consultations.
The major finding of the authors (1912: 69) was how in the long
run the PSMs in India, as part of the social processes, have thrived by
adapting to the changing socio-political and economic realities of India.
Their adaptations involve their continuous renewal and, if necessary,
diversification of the movement organisation itself. These tactics of
adaptation through renewal, reformulation and diversification (backed
xlvi Binay Kumar Pattnaik

by empirical evidences) have been key to their survival and success. This
has been possible because of the dynamic locus of the movement. The
locus of the movement, of course, constitutes the movement’s intellec-
tuals who have been rich sources of creative ideas. Thus, the intellectuals
have been the source of the dynamism of this movement, as it is usually
found in other new social movements.
The other major finding of the authors (ibid.) is the response of the
Indian state to these PSMOs. As the larger movement was growing
wider and involving more people and intellectuals, a centrist federal
government at New Delhi could not ignore it and tried to relate itself to
this broad-based movement. Having realised that such a movement
cannot be completely taken over by the government, the ministry of
S&T (DST precisely) formed an all-India umbrella organisation named
National Council for Science and Technology Communication
(NCSTC) to affiliate and regulate the PSMOs on the basis of member-
ship to NCSTC. Even the government tried to attract and win over
selected PSM intellectuals by offering chairs, resources and some free-
dom. Thus, the GoI has been able to relate itself to these voluntary and
leftist-dominated PSMs and has not alienated itself to confront them.
Finally, Sahoo and Pattnaik (2012: 70) noted the subtle points of
imprint made by this larger PSMs in India, such as: (i) PSM as a pres-
sure group forced the government to make S&T more people oriented,
at least in policies; (ii) it kept alive the bottom-up approach to the policy
making and governance in S&T; (iii) it linked to the government with
non-official indigenous systems of knowledge otherwise known as alter-
native S&T and (iv) it also handsomely contributed to the literacy cam-
paign and environmental movement in the country.
Science popularisation movement in India: Worth referring in the
context of science movements in India is a study on science popularisa-
tion movement in the eastern Indian state of Orissa by Pattnaik and
Sahoo (2006: 211–44). Science popularisation movement is not to be
confused with PSM because the later has structural concerns. Based on
the articulation of the structural social inequalities, involving people on
a voluntary basis, using science as means of social criticism, PSM seeks
to bring structural as well as cultural changes in the society. PSM is nec-
essarily an ideology driven collective mobilisation. But science popular-
isation movement is only an organised effort to spread scientific
awareness and information pertaining to S&T. It may be that science
INTRODUCTION xlvii

popularisation efforts may take the shape of a movement and even serve
nationalistic/regional interests of identity, as it is the case here. Even it is
seen to be sharing its boundaries with PSM at times and aiming to pro-
mote scientific temper among the masses.
This paper by Pattnaik and Sahoo (2006) analyses science popular-
isation movement in Orissa as a means of cultural criticism. The analysis
is based on the case histories of Oriya scientists from mid-20th-century
Orissa who all have formed the part of the movement. Based on the
sociological perspective of social movement, that is from mobilisation to
institutionalisation, the paper articulated the early mobilisations initi-
ated by a group of science lovers/teachers and professionals at Cuttack
in the 1940s. This soon got transformed into an institution called Orissa
Bigyan Prachar Samiti (OBPS). And thereafter the basic mobilisation
continued in the form of popular writings in science, science fictions,
translation of great scientific works into the local vernacular language,
teaching of science in vernacular language, delivering popular lectures in
science, institution building in S&T and so on. Thus, the central thrust
of the discursive movement was to take science to people. The authors
Pattnaik and Sahoo (2006: 234–38) traced the roots of this movement
in the pre-independent nationalist movement and the Oriya renaissance
when Oriya nationalism, Oriya reformism and Oriya identity forma-
tion, three social movements intertwined, were sweeping the then Oriya
society. So the science popularisation movement in Orissa was a carrier
of the spirit of reform and renaissance. Later on, OBPS got diversified
and a new movement organisation was born out of it called the Orissa
Bigyan Academy (OBA) which, of course, later on became a govern-
ment-funded organisation. OBPS slowed down and later on a new form
of radical (left wing) science popularisation movement emerged in the
1990s under the leadership of Srujanika that uses science as a means of
social activism.
Another noteworthy piece of research on contemporary science
movements in India came from Krishna (1997) with a somewhat differ-
ent emphasis. Of course, by that time, Zachariah and Sooryamoorthy
(1994) have already written about the PSM of KSSP. Although Krishna’s
is not an empirical study of the then contemporary science movements
in India, the article is worth referring to in the context of social move-
ments in S&T in India. Krishna (1997: 375) perceived the movements
in science in the context of India’s development discourse. To him,
xlviii Binay Kumar Pattnaik

although the S&T system continued to play instrumental role in shap-

ing society, certain sectors presented unsurmountable resistance in many
forms against the techno-science hegemony mediated by technocratic
and political forces. The scientific community had experienced the loss
of autonomy, immunity and self-regulation that it had enjoyed before
1960s and was perceived as being part of the techno-science hegemony,
devoid of the concern for the laity and the indigenous traditions. So the
1970s experienced the emergence of science activism rooted in a con-
cern for the laities. Broadly, two streams of science movement emerged
reflecting the two streams of critical consciousness (in response to the
S&T in Modern India). One, critique emerged within the perspective of
modern S&T and its relation with society. The social actors and groups
which constituted the stream of the movement upheld and recognised
the progressiveness and liberating role of modern S&T but were critical
of the way it has become elitist, ignoring the interests of the poor masses.
Science activists of this group drew their inspiration from the writings
of J. D. Bernal and Karl Marx to take the S&T issues to the people.
These have come to be known as the PSMs. The second stream of cri-
tique evolved outside the modern S&T epistemology and reflected vary-
ing construction of views borrowed from M. K. Gandhi and Gramsci.
The actors of the stream are individual scholars who had taken extreme
epistemological positions amounting to alternative sciences. The main
concern of Indian alternative science movement (ASM) was the hege-
monic force and authority of the S&T establishment in connivance
with the Indian state. The hegemony of modern S&T was to be under-
stood in the sense of scientism and technism which meant domination
over all other forms of non-Western indigenous knowledge systems and
production systems (Krishna 1997: 376).
Krishna calls this the ASM (ibid.). And the protagonists of the
movement were Ashis Nandy, Claude Alvares, Vandana Shiva, J. P. S
Uberoi and so on. But the meaning of counter-hegemony was question-
ing of the modern Western S&T as a methodology (that dominates
through centralisation of decision-making in operations and even the
analysis of socio-cultural problems), raised questions about the misgiv-
ings of S&T as well as questions about distributive justice of S&T in
terms of equality of access to the benefits and participation in deci-
sion-making. To Krishna, counter-hegemonic actions refer to organised
and unorganised individual-based as well as group-based reactions both
INTRODUCTION xlix

at intellectual and grass-roots levels to neutralise or resist hegemonic

actions in the interest of society. Such actions, of course, do not erupt
suddenly, but over a period of time, turn into a movement. The progress
is from ideas through a process of public awakening or consciousness for
‘mobilisation’ and a process of ‘incorporation’ resulting from the count-
er-hegemonic action (1997: 377). Both the streams of the critique as
evolved in the form of PSM and ASM in India reflect this process. Thus,
it is clear that Krishna although did not make use of the social move-
ment theory of collective action to study empirically the science move-
ments in India, but he merely used it to perceive the phenomenon of
science movement. But Krishna never clarified that the ASM was only a
discursive movement. However, Krishna’s was the first articulation of
ASM in India may be merely at a conceptual level. And later on in this
paper he used Pierre Bourdieu’s notion of scientific field. He analysed
both the counter-hegemonic movements as constituted by various sci-
ence activists, groups agencies, individual actors (with critical narration)
who exhibit societal knowledge interests, in which the issue at stake was
the mobilisation of the resources and people to counter the hegemony
of modern S&T. The field in its various ramifications reflects a great
deal of heterogeneity and hybrid form of knowledge groups, institutions
and so on that participate in exploring the dynamic relation between
science and society.

Alternate Science Movement in India

Ashis Nandy, a trained psychologist and post-colonial Indian intellec-

tual of recent times, has contributed significantly to the sociology of
science. Today he is well known as an anti- modern and anti-science
scholar, of course, because of his critical writings on modern (Western)
science. In order to understand Nandy’s formulation on modern sci-
ence, we have relied on several of his papers published over a period,
although the major one better known to the Western world was his
edited book entitled Science Hegemony and Violence. Nandy’s criticism of
modern science revolves around issues of scientific objectivity, monistic
character of modern science, its domination, its misgivings or violence
inflicted by it and an alternative science. Of course, all the said issues are
interrelated ones.
l Binay Kumar Pattnaik

The value-free objective science refers to an almost nihilistic absence

of any historical orientation. Almost all it creates is a moral vacuum
wherein the value-free science promotes nothing more than an ideology
of consumption, of belief in material wealth and of brute power over
nature and other human beings as well as other living beings. Soon the
power indiscriminately generated by science would suffice to destroy
the natural harmonies so indispensable for life. At the same time, sci-
ence can put itself in an advantageous position, when it can become the
authority by itself (Nandy 1981b: 5). In such a situation, the ideology
of science reigns supreme, leaving no room for values, morality and
humility and science becomes a pure and simple means of exploitation,
oppression and endless destruction. ‘Oppression diminishes, over time
and space, but never ends. When one form of oppression ends another
form emerges…. So when the contents of the oppression change: the
basic line of the criticism also should change’ (Nandy 1981c: 18). This
is how he began to militate against modern science. As a cultural aristo-
crat, Nandy was intolerant of a value-free science, and he rather advo-
cated for a value-loaded science and a science rooted in values and
traditions. To him, tradition had a broad meaning inclusive of both little
and great traditions. The hiatus between facts and values as maintained
by objectivity is in fact the cause of conflict between science and religion
and it is only a Western experience. To him (1981c: 17), as pointed out
to the authors of the statement on scientific temper (Haksar et al. 1981:
6–10), history of science in Asiatic as well as in modern India records no
such instance of conflict and prosecution of scientists. Nandy’s strong
defence for religion and his plea for counter criticism of science deserves
a special mention here: ‘…. if science has a duty to criticize other sys-
tems of thought and cosmologies, the later have a duty to criticize sci-
ence too’ (Nandy 1981c: 18). Defying scientific rationality and its
supremacy, Nandy treats all forms of human knowledge as equals. But
much before Nandy, this issue was raised by Paul Feyerabend who
viewed science as just one of the many human traditions. He did not
concede any better positions to science compared to other human tradi-
tions merely because of its rationality. To Feyerabend (1985: 27–28),
traditions are neither good nor bad. They simply are. Rationality is not
an arbiter of traditions, it is itself a tradition. A tradition assumes desir-
able or undesirable properties only when viewed by participants who see
the world in terms of its values, which is subjective indeed. He believed
INTRODUCTION li

in the plurality and equality of traditions. In case of a debate between

science and other traditions (e.g. religion), Feyerabend suggests for an
open exchange ensuring equality and respect to both the traditions
(1985: 29–30). So did Nandy. The defence of culture against science, by
Nandy, needs attention here. A culturally sensitive Nandy saw science
encroaching upon other finer aspects of human life and wanted to put a
check to this takeover of other peripheral consciousness by modern
imperialistic science.
The other point of contention for Nandy had been the universal
character of modern science. To him, it is also a kind of science that is
Western science and has been a companion to colonialism and exploita-
tion in non-Western societies. And also it has been companion to mili-
tarism in post-colonial times. As Feyerabend puts, modern science as
essentially an expansionist enterprise has banished its competing tradi-
tions, particularly the other forms of science that are non-modern with
the help of its institutional support. Today science prevails not because
of its comparative merits but because the show has been rigged in its
favour (1985: 102).
Similarly, noted Nandy,

[T]he most totalizing element of modern science is its inability to recognize

itself as one of the many traditions of science…. reluctant to include within
the estate of science the non-modern traditions of science. Neither the classi-
cal nor the traditional sciences are respected as cultures of science having their
own epistemologies and ethics. (1983a: 50–51)

Hence, there exists a hierarchy of knowledge systems. Nandy’s

attack further continued against the epistemology of modern science:

The common man has not only his folk science; he has a philosophy of sci-
ence. It might be vague implicit and non professional but it has learnt from
the experience of suffering. Such folk sciences and folk philosophies must be
taken seriously. In fact we can hope to build an indigenous science only when
such lost sciences and implicit philosophies are respectfully articulated by
contemporary Indian scientists. (Nandy 1981c: 18)

It is here for the first time that Nandy revealed his social construc-
tionist disposition. At the same time, as a post-colonial scholar, he
looked for an alternative rationality. Having defied and branded ratio-
nality of modern science as merely Western and hence inadequate to
lii Binay Kumar Pattnaik

understand the non-Western societies, Nandy formulated a notion of

‘Alternative Rationality’. To me, this is the most significant contribution
of Nandy to sociology of science.
Alternative rationality: As an anti-science scholar, Nandy argues that
‘science is not only a fully autonomous, rational and affectless pursuit; it
too has its myths, magic, rituals and superstitions, not merely in its cul-
ture, as a context, but also in its core as a part of its text’ (1984: 163).
While attacking science and its rationality, Nandy vaguely articulated
the ‘rationality of irrationality’—in other words, an alternative rational-
ity. Only at a few places, he gave hints (1984: 164 and 1983b: 196) of
this conception, otherwise mostly he was reticent about its nature. If I
have understood Nandy correctly, his alternative rationality has a two-
fold meaning. Firstly, that the myths and superstitions within science
should be fought tooth and nail and, secondly, finding rational mean-
ings in the indigenous ideas, which may often look irrational scientifi-
cally, but in fact have more humane and implicit rational tones.
Whether the use of packed baby food, modern cosmetics, security
through nuclear overkill and the like which are said to be indispensable
are too superstitions held under the garb of science, technology and
modernity. Nandy argues that ‘if one builds a billion dollar multina-
tional corporation on Horlicks nobody says one is selling superstition,
but everybody is after the village palmist cheating his client out of few
rupees’ (1984: 164). Therefore, palmistry or astrology is mostly very
small business; our priority should be to attack more powerful supersti-
tions first. This is the example of first kind. The example of the second
kind might be the belief in India in the notion of Punarjanma (rebirth).
One could believe in Punarjanma because it also allows to work virtu-
ously for the future on the basis of the belief that he will be there in the
living universe in future in another form. But on the contrary, the
modern Keynesian faith that ‘in the long run, we are all dead’ has con-
tributed handsomely to consumerism and ecological disasters. Thus, by
just changing our time perspective, we find that what looks apparently
non-scientific becomes more humane and rational too. A similar exam-
ple could be religion. It might be said to be a ‘reactionary ploy’ or an
obscurantist and irrational force, but when understood as the sigh of the
oppressed, it becomes more meaningful. Thus, by pointing out the
rationality of the ideas of the oppressed majority of the developing
world, Nandy retains the nativist (ethno) faith. And for standing by the
INTRODUCTION liii

interests of the majority in the underdeveloped world, Nandy too retains

his basic commitment to humanity at the same time, which were central
to his writings.
Later Nandy had somewhat modified his epistemological position
on science. To him, fortunately, India also happens to be a country
where the intellectual tradition is truly cultural (unlike the west), that is
scientific as well as cultural. He certainly refers here to the Indian intel-
lectual tradition in which S&T are perceived (constructed) through the
cognitive order/structures of Indian tradition and even assessed and crit-
icised through such orders. It also meant an S&T that incorporated in
or built upon Indian experiences of history.
Through this articulation, Nandy was in fact referring to Indian
traditional system of S&T. ‘Such indigenous knowledge systems may
not have provided readymade solution to the present crisis of knowledge
and power, but they have certainly become a part of the repertoire of the
movements of science (1988: 12). Finally, Nandy pronounced that
India ‘need not necessarily exercise the option that it has defensively
rejected modern science in toto, and falling back upon the purity of its
traditional systems of knowledge. It can instead choose to creatively
assess the modern S&T, and then integrate its important segments to
the traditional visions of knowledge (1988: 11).… The Indic civiliza-
tion today straddling its two cultures, could reverse the usual one way
procedure of enriching modern science, by integrating within it signifi-
cant element from all other sciences, pre-modern, non-modern and
post-modern, as further proof of the universality and syncretism of
modern science (ibid.). However Nandy’s conception of science
remained intriguing as he had rejected the positive science. It still
remained a nebular question as to how he professed for integrating sig-
nificant elements of modern S&T with the traditional Indian system of
S&T, as both these traditions are distinct and have two different episte-
mologies (that he has already said).
In this context, pertinent is the notion of alternative science that
has been introduced and argued by Vandana Shiva (who is a physicist
turned environmentalist). Her writings also become mention-worthy
here for popularising the concept of ecofeminism among the Indian
scholars. She has not only contributed and strengthened the concept by
her theoretical input but also by contextualising the concept of ecofem-
inism to Indian situations/realities. She has explained how Indian
liv Binay Kumar Pattnaik

women, who are still embedded in nature, are the worst affected lots in
ecological destruction by modern S&T. Modern science, being a mascu-
line enterprise, operates on nature for natural resources which is like a
woman to be raped. Nature is construed as feminine as it has reproduc-
tive/regenerative powers. Science as a male venture subjugated both the
female nature and female sex (which is dependent upon nature). This
has resulted in polarisation of gender (1988: 17).
Having conceived modern science essentially as a patriarchy proj-
ect, Shiva also treats it as a (non-universalistic) ethno-science of the
West (that of white middle-class men of 15th–17th centuries). The
dominant stream of modern science, the reductionist or mechanical
paradigm is a particular kind of response of a particular group of people
(1988: 15) to interact with nature. The facts of the reductionist science
are socially constructed categories which have the cultural markings of
the Western bourgeoisie, and patriarchal system in the context of dis-
covery and justification, noted Shiva (1988: 27). She further noted that
the subjugation of the other traditions of knowledge is similarly a dis-
placement of culturally constituted facts of nature by another, not the
substitution of ‘superstition’ by facts. The cultural categories of scientific
knowledge are not merely cognitive, they are also ethical (1988: 28).
Thus, Shiva had a social constructivist or relativist view of science.
Following Carolin Merchant, Brian Easlea, Paul Feyerabend (method-
ological anarchy) and others, Shiva found the eco-destruction capacity
of science to be inherent in its epistemology as a modern science is said
to be anti-ecological and reductionist. It is said to be reductionist
because (i) it reduces the capacity of nature to creatively regenerate and
review itself to its manipulable potentiality, and (ii) it sees all systems as
made up of some basic constituents that are discrete and atomistic.
Further, it assumes that all basic processes are mechanical. Nature and
society have been socially reconstituted by mechanistic metaphors in
contrast to organic metaphors in which concepts of natural order and
power are based on interconnectedness and reciprocity. The mechanistic
metaphor of nature is based on the assumption of its separability from
man and separability and manipulability of its parts.
The epistemological assumption of reductionism is related to its
ontological assumption that allows the knowledge of the parts of a
system to be taken as the knowledge of the whole and separability allows
context-free abstractions of knowledge to create criteria of validity-based
INTRODUCTION lv

on alienation, non-participation, that is projected as objectivity (Shiva

1988: 22). Similarly, natural resources are treated as isolated, non-inter-
acting collection of isolated resources. They acquire value only in the
context of their marketability not otherwise. Only the properties of the
resource system are taken into account which generates profits through
exploitation and extraction; properties which stabilise ecological process
but are commercially non-exploitative are ignored and eventually
destroyed, even though they are functional to the ecology at large.
Hence, the view that reduces nature to its parts, and takes no account of
the relationship between parts and structure and function of the whole
system, is reductionist.
The exclusiveness of reductionist science is three fold: (i) Ontological
(other properties are just not taken note of ); (ii) Epistemological (other
ways of perceiving and knowing are not recognised) and (iii) Sociological
(non-specialist is deprived of right to access and judge knowledge
claims).
Modern Western scientific knowledge, however, is distinct from
indigenous knowledge system on three grounds: (i) modern science is
reductionist and fragmental, (ii) modern technological systems are
based on reductionist science and are more resource intensive and (iii)
there are no criteria of rationality or technology choices to evaluate
modern S&T on the basis of resource use efficiency or need satisfaction
capability (1991: 41). Later on, in her next book (1991: 48), Shiva
argued that ecology provides for an epistemological framework within
which the alternative to reductionist S&T is possible. She goes to the
extent of arguing that the ecological foundation of an alternative S&T
differ from philosophies based on epistemological relativism. While
epistemological relativism also includes the possibility of alternatives, it
denies the existence of materialistic criteria of the rational choice of
alternatives. The ecological foundation of an alternative S&T provide a
materialistic epistemology for evaluating the rationality of knowledge
claims on the basis of their materialist adequacy in guiding action (1991:
48). This is a somewhat modified position of Shiva on the conception of
science. This is what she calls ‘Public Interest Science’. This is a tool
which makes explicit the political nature of partisan science and makes
it a factor located within environmental conflict. Public interest science,
however, does not merely have a critical role in the politics of knowledge
and the politics of the environment. It also has a constructive role in
lvi Binay Kumar Pattnaik

generating new paradigms of science and development based on the

ecological principles, which ensures sustainability and justice (1991:
50). But the details of the methodological requirements of this alterna-
tive science was never explicated by Shiva.
Claude Alvares, again an anti-science (freelancing) scholar, in fact,
has taken a Luddite view of modern science. In view of the misgivings
of modern S&T (violence inflicted through the development process),
one may suggest to bring in a different epistemology other than the
Galilean positivist keeping the content in tact (i.e. methodology), but
Alvares argues that it is not possible to dislocate the physics of modern
science from its metaphysics. While trying to do so, one destroys both.
As both rose together in warm embrace, both must die the same cold
death (1988: 71). Further, to him, the ‘Galilean science/modern science
is a historically specific determined method’ (hence, meaning not uni-
versal, but only Western-ethno science) of acquiring specific forms of
knowledge whose utility for a post-modern period is gravely debated
(1988: 72). Because to him, modern scientific rationality, though excel-
lent for limited and selected purposes, is not the primary epistemology
for truth. Galilean method involved the elimination of all subjective
elements, rendering suspect all qualities except the primary qualities.
Only a fragment of man—the detached intelligence—and only certain
products of that detached intelligence, such as scientific theorems and
machines can claim any permanent place or higher degree of reality.
Thus, objectivity was defined in a specific and distorted way and identi-
fied with modern science. Alvares having used two overlapping ‘Scales
of restrictions’, one represents the continuum from pure experience to
pure abstractions, the other from organism/nature to machine/science,
argues that modern science today represents the end of the continuum
where abstractions and machines predominate. Regrettably, modern sci-
ence seeks to replace the experiential by the ahistorically abstract and the
natural by the man-made. Hence, it denies the democratic participation
(of non-experts) in the production, validation and evaluation of scien-
tific knowledge. Alvares was obsessed with the abstract character of
modern science and was seeking to replace it with historical experiences.
To him, abstractions and restrictions are two sides of the same coin; in
the process of abstraction, one restricts reality by abstracting certain fea-
tures and ignoring others. Such a process only encapsulates only frag-
ments of truth (and thus not holistic). It is ahistorical too. Because
INTRODUCTION lvii

abstraction means zero history. The Galilean experiment or scientific

rationality merely purified such abstractions further. The experiment
ideally restricts its first elements of historicity. Scientific experiment is
an exercise in pure abstraction and represents only empirical truth that
appeals to resultant facts as final arbiter (1988: 75). But when we exam-
ine the nature of these facts, we discover a number of embarrassing epis-
temological lapses; the fact is not the ordinary event or object in itself,
with the relevant historical forces acting on it at that moment. It is a
theory-laden fact, a fact created under the direction of a specific meta-
physics (1992: 65). The principal feature of the experiment, which is a
tool to create scientific facts, is that it is devoid of historicity of unique-
ness of time. To experiment one has to locate one’s facts within an area
detected by certain postulates. These postulates are not supplied by the
experiment. But these postulates are never rationally questioned as to
why these are chosen over other postulates (because usually this is a
matter of convenience to the scientist). A scientific fact is a historical
event, stripped of its unique features…. The fact that on experiment
distorts reality is no longer doubted, but such distorted realities are
passed off as ‘facts’/objective knowledge (1992: 65). Further, Alvares
alleges that science is not a supposition-less activity, although it pretends
not to be. These suppositions are based on metaphysics which is relative.
Therefore, the non-Western sciences of Chinese and Indian traditions
are different. So by emphasising the need for the historicity of facts and
arbitrary metaphysics that puts scientific postulates in a context, Alvares
indirectly subscribes to the social constructivism of science. But at the
end, Alvares might have proved to be a great critique of Galilean/modern
science, but failed to explicate his own alternative concept of science
which does not inflict any violence and reflects all the ideal characteris-
tics spelt out by him.
Extremely relevant in this context are two publications, one by
Meera Nanda (1998) and the other by Roli Varma (2001), as these per-
tain to adding clarity to the great Indian debate on the epistemology of
science. Although neither of these authors is a sociologist (neither by
practice nor by training), but these expatriate Indian scholars, both
products of the STS programme at the Rensellaer Politechnic Institute
(RPI), had revived the unresolved issues of the great Indian debate of
previous decades and the much needed clarity to it. Nanda (1998: 915)
started off the great Indian debate on ‘scientific temper vs. humanistic
lviii Binay Kumar Pattnaik

temper’ triggered by Ashis Nandy that subsequently brought in a host of

theoretical formulations, such as ethno-sciences, standpoint epistemol-
ogies and situated knowledge which pointed out that the modern sci-
ence is sharply an ethno-science of the West, truth discovered by it are
not any more rational and universal than any other local scientific
knowledge of any culture. Based on the social constructivist theory, it is
argued that scientific reasoning and the very context of science are all
Eurocentric constructs and complicit with Western imperialism. This
logic relativises the validity of scientific knowledge of the natural world,
even the existent objects and properties of the natural world according
to the prevailing social relations and cultural meanings. Instead of criti-
cally appreciating the role of social institutions, power relations and cul-
tural meanings in bringing us closer to the facts of that matter, the
constructivist claim to study how the social prejudices/relations of the
day construct a scientific ‘fact’. The social does not interact and shape
the scientific, but the social constitutes the scientific method and hence
the scientific is social (ibid.). To Nanda, this view has been perpetuated
by the academic left as it found to be a fertile field to germinate their
own ideas. As expected, the left-oriented intellectuals and activists
argued that modern S&T as a social construct of the powerful (Western,
developed, male, white, etc.) is somehow progressive and is a gift to the
poor (with a poison to control him) the non-Western others of the
so-called Third World. Apparently, the idea was to empower the poor
with his own scientific knowledge. Because once shown how power cre-
ates truth, the disempowered will no longer feel compelled to live by the
dictates/gifts of the powerful. They will create their own scientific truth,
their own scientific knowledge which would be more objective than the
previous, because this truth would be grounded on their lives. Scientific
knowledge from the ‘standpoint epistemology’ of the oppressed would
have a stronger objectivity. However, to Nanda (ibid.), the intellectual
left, by accepting the social constructivist approach to S&T as recipe for
progressive critique of the prejudices and passions (projected as culture),
is actually legitimising and privileging or, at the minimum, not chal-
lenging those parochial prejudices and passions. Thus, the intellectual
leftist are indulging in a treason against truth. There may be biases in
modern S&T but the biases do not make the S&T. To her, the left intel-
lectuals have, in fact, misunderstood the modern S&T as the project
enlightenment. By being emphatic about the epistemological rights of
INTRODUCTION lix

the poor people/non-Western others, the intellectual left has, in fact,

opened a floodgate. It not only created ‘Science wars’ in the US, it facil-
itated S&T to be charged with nationalism/anti-nationalism; anti-im-
perialism; religious, cultural, gendered and Third World identities.
Science wars thus proliferated and spilled out in the streets by some, in
developing countries like India. Nanda is right to trace back the roots of
‘science war’ in US academics to New Delhi ‘scientific temper vs.
humanistic temper’ debate. Because Nandy and allies like Vandana
Shiva, Claude Alvares, S, Viswanathan, and so on, thereafter went ahead
with their series of seminars, books that are highly acclaimed by the
post-colonial and post-modern scholars of S&T. Nanda (1998: 916)
continued her replies to the leftist as well as to the constructivists that
S&T knowledge could be deconstructed only to the extent that it’s a
rational critique of all oppressions. It is a vantage point for critical eval-
uation of our social context. The world is aware of the Western origin of
the modern S&T and its legitimation of colonialism, racism and milita-
rism. But the world has not taken the next self-defeating step that the
social constructivist and post-modern and post-colonial scholars have
taken: that is to say, the world never confused science as a social institu-
tion (act of collectivities in the interests of a larger collectivity) and sci-
ence as a method of arriving at valid testable and best corroborated
account of reality. Because the world does not make the very criteria of
truth emergent of the admittedly patriarchal, Western colonial and cap-
italist institutions in which modern science was born and raised, the
world was able to retain the critical potential of science (1998: 916).
And regrettably, it is this critical dimension of alternative of science
movements in India that has been silenced. By merely pointing its
Western origin, these critiques could not undermine its validity and
legitimate method of acquiring certified and useful knowledge. Instead
of critically evaluating the role of our own socio-cultural forms, the pro-
tagonists of constructivist science have glorified our non-Western tradi-
tional knowledges (including dogmas and superstition regardless of
their validity) as these are socially constructed. This tantamounts to cel-
ebrating nativism and rejecting reason and science under the pretext of
Western modernity and colonial ideology. The new intellectual order as
propounded by Nandy and allies followed: intellectuals speaking in the
categories of thought shared by subaltern masses were to be seen as pro-
gressive and only they retain the right to speak for the masses. Any idea
lx Binay Kumar Pattnaik

that clashes with the indigenous culture, the latter should prevail over.
Shiva in particular, in her epistemological criticism of modern science
went to the extent of claiming that ‘there were no criteria left to distin-
guish between the myths of traditional thought and metaphors of
modern science and between folk deities and presupposed theoretical
entities of modern scientists’. They combined modern science and
modernity to attack for being hegemonistic and supporting traditional
wisdom and knowledge, creating superstitions about itself, legitimising
colonialism and legitimising Western model of development. Western
science and modernity were damned as sources of all the problems in the
developing world starting from environmental problems, through green
revolution to big dams and development induced displacements. The
only solution appeared to be deconstruction of the so-called reduction-
ist modern science. Soon the social constructivist logic of post-colonial
critiques of science fell into the Hindu right wing intellectuals under the
rules of BJP in India, who grabbed it to canvass for Vedic astrology/
mathematics, or Hindu S&T under the logic of relativism. In the same
way, making use of argument of relativism and standpoint epistemolo-
gies, appeared claims for Islamic science, feminist science, multi-cultural
science and pseudo-radical Third World science and so on. Hence,
Nandi-Shiva-Alvares combined claim for ethno-knowledge becomes a
patriotic ploy merely where the left and right come together. The polit-
ical left and right agree on this point to display their opportunism.
Thus, the post-colonial science got transformed into post-modern
science.
To say in a nutshell, both hold that;

the standard of evaluation of truth and rationality of knowledge and indeed

reality itself, is constituted by a culture’s assumptions and ways of seeing the
world. This is a rare situation indeed where reality itself, is constituted by a
culture’s assumptions and ways of seeing the world. Cultural meanings being
unique and hence incommensurate cannot be compared with each other. The
validity of these knowledge are relative to their own cultural assumptions.
They do not believe that science can break through the prevailing cultural
assumptions and embedded traditional knowledge and give us reliable knowl-
edge of the objective world. This knowledge even if supported by indepen-
dent evidence is open to political refutation.… They deny that science can go
beyond social biases and cultural meanings and bring us close to the objective
world. To them it is a myth and scientific truth like any other ethno sciences,
is nothing but a consensus that is obtained around dominant cultural
meanings.
INTRODUCTION lxi

Thus, culture is constitutive of what we see. So we should look at

our knowledge based on our own cultural assumptions. The construc-
tivists have heavily dwelled upon the influence of culture on our percep-
tions. Hence, they claim that social/cultural biases are built into the very
criteria of validity themselves and that experimental methods of science
are not capable of correcting these biases. Thus, they deny the process
through which these cultural categories are themselves revised (through
our changed perceptions of natural reality). Because the reality is denied
to be independent of our perceptions. Thus, science is refused to be
perceived as a self-correcting process. By insisting upon the dependence
of truth on the social context and political/religious ideologies, these
constructivists have not merely encouraged relativism in science but
encouraged an ‘anything goes’ attitude. Thus, their act is less of science
and more of politicking.
Like Nanda, I also note that unless one is an ultra-positivist, one
does not go to the extent of denying the cultural roots of modern science
and even the role socio-cultural elements play in defining meaning. But
that does not necessarily lead to cultural relativisation of science.
Modern science, being independent of culture, can account for the cul-
tural biases and influences. Even within the positivist frame of modern
S&T, we question technocracy and scientism for their misgivings and
take a critical view of self-regulation and look for solutions of course
within. So we do recognise the traditional ways of relating to the world
by the traditional communities as legitimate knowledge systems for
such communities (of course on selective basis). Often these knowledge
systems need systematisation and sanitisation of their oppressive
demand, that is openness to correction. But these no way lead to the
rejection of modern science.
Even in the stock of S&T knowledge in ancient India there had
been positivism and its epistemology as well as methodology are in
agreement with the modern science and hence need not be branded as
mere ethno-sciences, and hence relativistic. And those must not be per-
ceived as methodologically different and parallel to the modern science.
With regard to the question of equality and justice, these continue to be
values within and for modern S&T. The Mertonian ethos of science has
already pointed out the inbuilt prevalence of democratic principles and
justice-based reward systems in science. The issue of justice and inequal-
ity in terms of access and benefits/delivery is because of the prevalent
mode of social stratification.
lxii Binay Kumar Pattnaik

Thus, what is central to the relationistic or standpoint epistemology

of science is a priority of content over context/belongingness (whose
knowledge it is) over the universal truth (what is being asserted) and
possibly ethno-methodology over the positivistic methodology (what
method of enquiry is being used). I am surprised that Nanda does not
raise the issue of content/method of enquiry of the constructivist.
Because, if their epistemology differs, their method of enquiry is also to
differ. By the own logic of the constructivist, as epistemology varies, the
corresponding methodology also should vary. So I am reluctant to con-
cede the methodology of positivist and modern science to the social
constructivists for whom the objective world ceases to exist. But the
neo-constructivist and feminist orthodoxy goes to the extent of arguing
that the scientist and context of science are inseparable. Because the
identity of the investigator (in terms of race, class, ethnicity and gender)
make difference at all levels of scientific enquiry—all the way down
(from the kinds of questions being asked to the kind of theories brought
into the criteria of assessing if the evidences warrant our accepting the
hypothesis. Thus, this scientific knowledge does not bring us closer to
the empirically adequate, logically coherent and universally valid knowl-
edge about a piece of reality, but only to a sort of knowledge (not neces-
sarily objective and scientific) in any given social and cultural context. If
one accepts this logic of the constructivists approach, then certainly its
outcome would not be objectively verifiable facts, but facts of some sub-
jective and predetermined kind.
It is here the social constructivist and the relativist approach fails
miserably when asked if the social constructivist theory of science
explains adequately how science is actually practised by scientists in sci-
entific institutions. Why scientific theories bring us closer to under-
standing the mechanism that actually operates in any given aspect of the
natural world as it is? And if it explains how scientific knowledge grows?
It may be easy to argue that in a Kuhnian sense, modern science is para-
digm guided and hence moves in a pre-determined direction, but they
fail to explain how the scientists at times change their preconceived
assumptions about a theory/paradigm that they have been committed to.
Thus, without a distinct methodology (which is usually accompa-
nied by its corresponding tools and techniques) of its own and the exter-
nal criteria of validity of its knowledge, the constructivist perspective to
science appears to be a mere intellectual fad. May be it has been to
INTRODUCTION lxiii

certain extent successful as critique of modern science, but it has failed

as a true alternative perspective to modern positivist science. Merely
being equipped with a different epistemology may not be good enough
because it only provides for a context and not a content for science.
Without a distinct but alternative methodology of its own, this approach
is not capable of discovering/producing verifiable facts/certified knowl-
edge. But such knowledge is supposed to be based on a better, stronger,
richer and more self-reflective objectivity than that of the so-called
reductionist science. It seems to be more like an ideal-type construct, a
kind of utopian perspective that is intellectually gratifying and ideolog-
ically fulfilling for its protagonists. It is also found to be an easy method
of constructing one’s parochial identities. This perspective originated as
the social constructivist approach to reality but was grabbed by the aca-
demic left to become post-colonial that later turned into post-modern
because of its relativism, stays confined to the realm of social studies of
science only and not subscribed by the practising scientists. Even agrees
Varma (2001), the other expatriate Indian scholar, pertinent in this
context.
Having understood the basic problem of science wars in India,
Varma (2001: 4796–02) first spelt out the fundamentals of science and
the basic writings of the great founders that have led to the emergence
of modern science and then fits the social constructivist perspective of
science against it to provide a vivid account of the ‘science war’ in the
USA. And while contextualising the ‘science war’ in India, Varma went
back again to the great Indian debate on ‘scientific temper vs. humanis-
tic temper’. Varma (2001: 4796) correctly argued that there is a myth
about science wars in India because the two cultures’ problem suggests
that the version of reality should be on either side in serious conflict,
whereas the PSM works on the common platform. Without two sides
that are diametrically opposed to each other and cannot reconcile, there
cannot be science wars. Varma was, in fact, hinting at the compromising
stand taken by the PSMO with regard to the epistemological question
of science.
To say that the concept of ‘science wars’ as evolved in the West is
not applicable in India is to some the intellectual credits that are due to
Ashis Nandy, Vandana Shiva and Claude Alvares. Although many of
their ideas were borrowed from the west, meaning not original, but it is
their re-artieulatations by these Indian scholars that have triggered the
lxiv Binay Kumar Pattnaik

current science wars in the USA, which Meera Nanda has already expli-
cated. But science wars in Indian academics did flourish in 1980s when
Nandy, Shiva and allies were extremely vocal and verbose. They were
already influential among the Indian academic left. The defenders of
science in social sciences were soft spoken, then under the fear of being
branded as reactionaries and non-radicals. And defenders of science in
the profession of natural sciences/engineering did not pursue it seriously
after a while with exception of P. M. Bhargava. And there were a few
solitary and young defenders of science like myself and Meera Nanda
who were ignored and given no hearing. Even my book on scientific
temper was turned down by a Nandy follower as a referee from a major
publishing house because I had taken up theoretical arguments with
Nandy. This experience is now more than two decades old and I have
amended my fences. Thus, it has been a prolonged war of science in
India and the constructivists-turned-post-colonialist warriors have been
in the losing trail for more than a decade now. But Varma was right to
point out that science war in India seen in a dichotomy, that is scientific
versus humanistic temper, is also a misplaced polarity because PSMs
work on a common platform on the interface between science and soci-
ety. PSM activists and the intellectuals stress on unity in science and
society making it, science for social revolution. Varma is also correct in
pointing out that PSMs in India have been found to be arguing for two
apparently opposite cultures, that is taking the scientists’ S&T to the
people and opposing the scientists’ S&T for the people. The contradic-
tion is more apparent than real. Because the PSM intellectuals, as said
earlier, do believe in the modern S&T and its methodology but are
critical of the modern science for its misuse and attributed misgivings.
Thus, they desired for a truly people-oriented science which can be reg-
ulated and influenced by the people through participatory methods.
This never meant rejection of modern S&T and acceptance of the con-
structivist and so-called relativistic science as an alternative.
Lastly, Varma (2001: 4801) also pointed out the limits of modern
science by denying the massively emancipating role expected by Nanda,
because science is not the solo player in this context. Nanda expected the
modern science to liberate the oppressed people, oppose patriarchy,
demolish caste system, ensure equality of human beings and free their
minds from superstitions and fear of gods. Indeed, it is too much to expect
science to be a panacea or a magic wand to solve all developmental as well
as social problems by itself. It must have its functions limited to knowl-
edge generation and enlightenment than delimiting to social reforms.
INTRODUCTION lxv

Women in Indian Science (Gender Issues)

Chanana (2000: 1015), based on all-India data (secondary source),

pointed out the disproportionately low presence of women students in
professional courses, like engineering, veterinary, agriculture and the
like (which has been increasing over decades, of course). Even she
referred to the existence of regional disparities in India (south being
better placed) in this matter. Further, having pointed out the parental
orientation responsible for the low ratio of women students entering
into engineering education, Chanana (2000: 1018) observed the shift-
ing trend of women students in their focus of entry into new faculties of
learning in technical education like computer science and engineering/
IT, programming and allied management courses, of course because of
post-liberalisation market demands.
However, the most notable point of her paper was the ‘Great
Barriers’, that is entry/access of women to higher education which is
still dismal. Chanana (2000: 1020) explained out this phenomenon
in terms of certain socio-cultural factors that could be treated as
macro and micro. The macro-level factors are related to variables like
caste, tribe, class and regional variations. But her point of emphasis
was the micro-level factors that she treated as institutional and socie-
tal types. Some major aspects of the institutional arrangements are
said to be gender stereotyping in course content and subject choice,
discriminatory attitudes of teachers and administrators, absence of
role models, reinforcement of traditional social roles in colleges and
so on. The societal aspects of the macro-level factors are those ema-
nating from cultural practices, behaviour patterns and social role
expectations, association of women with private domain of household
and so on. Further notable among these factors are parental choice
between dowry and educational expenses, absences of role model at
home, perception of education as consumption irrelevant to produc-
tion, non-use and non-expectation of earnings of daughters, and so
on (2000: 1020).
In the context of studies on women in science in India, relevant
becomes the study of Gupta and Sharma (2003: 279–309) which is one
of the few sociological studies conducted among Indian women scien-
tists. It investigates how the structure and ideology of patrifocality affect
the lives and careers of women scientists in India. As this ideology is
reflected in various social stereotypes about gender roles, the authors
examined if the women scientists and their families have tried to
lxvi Binay Kumar Pattnaik

overcome these stereotypes. The authors conducted their studies among

a few leading Indian academic institutions of science and engineering.
They have found (2003: 287) not only discouraging societal perceptions
about women entering into science and engineering profession, but also
lower societal expectations from women in terms of professional achieve-
ments in science and engineering. In their further investigation into
details of patrifocal priorities and gender-based stereotypes such as;
(i)  role of parents in pursuing a career in science and engineering,
(ii) expectations of parents from daughters, (iii) selection of spouse in
one’s marriage, (iv) age of marriage, (v) domestic work and role of the
spouse, (vi) impact of joint family, and so on, the authors have found
often mixed responses and, at places, very progressive and tradition-break-
ing trends (2003: 290–92) among women scientists and engineers. The
authors have clarified elsewhere (2002) that patrifocal concerns need not
be confused with patriarchy. If patriarchy implies dominance of men in
all settings and in all situations, patrifocality refers to the family system,
for instance, the mother-in law, not her son, may exercise more influence
on her daughter-in-law’s career activities. Patrifocality is specific to hier-
archical Indian society. With the help of same data, the authors have
reported (2002: 904–06) elsewhere the three major problems encoun-
tered by the women scientists due to gender difference: (i) male domi-
nance at work environment, (ii) feeling of isolation, (iii) experience of
role conflict between being a woman and a scientist.
A major finding of the authors pertains to the concept of dual
burden among the women scientists. But the finding is almost revealing
that ‘dual burden has not affected their careers and research/professional
output. Most of them felt that it has been manageable for them to per-
form both their roles, domestic as well as professional. So in a sense
there is an absence of dual burden in fact (2003: 293). But the authors
have also reported existence of dual burden among the same sample
women scientists elsewhere (2002: 908–10).
The other major finding of this exercise pertains to the impact of
patrifocality (2003: 300) on two important job indicators like job
involvement and job satisfaction. The authors found, if not of very high
level, reasonably good level of job involvement and a high level of job
satisfaction to be present among the sample women scientists and engi-
neers. It is also found that these scientists have redefined success, that is
to be reasonably good in both the fronts like profession and home.
INTRODUCTION lxvii

Parameters of success are slightly differently defined in relation to male

scientists. It is conceived as a balancing act (2003: 302). This, in fact,
has emerged as a great coping strategy against work pressure. Thus, the
women scientists and engineers, including their families, reflect through
their actions and decision a process of embracing change and continuity
of traditions.
In another piece of research work, Gupta and Sharma (2001: 395–
416) in their study among women scientists in a few leading institutions
of science and engineering in India have tried to explore the nature of
‘triple burden’ among women scientists in India. If the dual burden is
perceived of work and family, the third burden is emergent of the gen-
dered environment of work. While examining the phenomenon in
depth, the authors found (2001: 405–12) some amount of perception
of bias against women in; (i) appointment as well as promotions, (ii)
allocation of research students (male students do not prefer female
guides, fear that the female guide may proceed on leave at any time,
etc.), (iii) funding of research projects (maintaining contact with indus-
try and the government department is not easy for women scientists,
not amenable to running around for funds for attaining conferences and
seminars, etc.), (iv) mostly women scientists spend more time in teach-
ing (but teaching is not often rewarding), (v) giving administrative
responsibilities (e.g. HOD, Dean, etc.) and (vi) supportive facilities
(absence of childcare facilities, adequate security in campus, etc.).
It was also found that although the women scientists are aware of
the importance of informal environment for sharing various important
information about the opportunities, things to happen/are happening,
relevant for career advancement, but still cannot be part of it because of
their own inhibitions, family constraints and because evening chat and
drinking sessions are male centric. Even these women hardly take part in
the informal activities of the institute and be easily part of any pull to
earn favouritism.
With regard to the impact of triple burden, the authors found
(2001: 412–14) that a vast majority of Indian women scientists noted
the importance of marriage and motherhood in life, but at the same
time, noted that motherhood leads to declining job involvement.
Interestingly, marriage is found to be bringing positive result and making
them more productive (because of social support). The crucial impact of
career stress results in their compromises in career, lowering the success
lxviii Binay Kumar Pattnaik

goals, exhaustion, identity crisis and social isolation. To counter the stress
emergent of their ‘triple role’, the women scientists have developed cer-
tain coping strategies such as (i) compromises on career and giving prior-
ity to family responsibilities, (ii) postponing research and pursuing it
vigorously at a later stage (i.e. till they reach the post-50 age group) and
(iii) redefining success, pointed out the authors elsewhere (2002: 911).
Another pertinent study was from Neelam Kumar (2001: 51–67)
which was based on her study among women physical scientists located
in a few CSIR laboratories and universities in four Indian cities. She
pointed out the existence of a gender-based stratification in Indian sci-
ence. The study offers empirical evidences of gender inequalities in the
academic hierarchy as an important aspect of social organisation of
Indian science. Where there was no statistically significant differences in
terms of research productivity indicators (e.g. writing books and papers,
filing patents, etc.), men and women scientists as two groups differ in
terms of their academic rank achieved, claims Neelam Kumar (2001:
57–61). Similarly, the empirical data show no significant difference
between men and women scientists in terms of recognition measures,
such as awards received, membership of professional organisations
achieved and so on, claims Neelam Kumar (ibid.). But in the ranking/
hierachy of organization positions women are duly placed. So gen-
der-based discrimination becomes one of the obvious explanations to
this fact, but Neelam Kumar goes a step ahead to identify a gender-based
stratification system as a perspective to explain away this observation.
Research performance appears to be unrelated to the differential ranking
of men and women scientists, which points out an absence of universal-
istic criterion of promotion in those organisations. And this is also a
reflection of gender-based discrimination and inequality prevalent in
the wider society that is governed by feudal and authoritarian values, in
the scientific establishment, subscribes Kumar (2001: 64).

Science Technology and Social Change in India

S&T giving rise to class formation: In view of the profoundness of the

question of social inequalities, Pattnaik (2012) tried to analyse (at a macro
level) the role of S&T in India, particularly in relation to the system of
social stratification both within and outside the system of S&T in India.
As a socio-historical analysis based on the secondary data and findings,
INTRODUCTION lxix

the paper articulated a few original formulations on the role of S&T in

post-independent India, particularly pointing out how it contributed to
class formation in India in the context of major trend developments (in
different decades) like; (i) modernisation of S&T in India, (ii) green rev-
olution–induced technology-intensive agriculture, (iii) development as a
triage causing massive displacements and loss of livelihoods and (iv) ICT
revolution in India. Although the four trend developments are post-
independence phenomena, they have their time frames too.

1. During the modernisation phase of Indian S&T soon after independence

(during 1950s to 1970s), the structural inequalities observed were; (i) arti-
ficial elitism in science when the colonial and Indian scientists educated in
the West could not relate their R&D to Indian society, (ii) emergence of
Big S&T in India that created stratification within the Indian S&T estab-
lishment and disenchantment with Nehruvian S&T causing rise of PSMs
and so on, (iii) stratification within Indian academic science (emergence of
major and minor centres for research, Mathew effects and accumulative
advantage effects, (iv) import substituted industrialisation causing techno-
logical dependence, brain drain, and so on, policy of self-reliance and sub-
sequently created large institutional base in Indian S&T. The net result was
the rise of Indian scientific community as part of great Indian middle class.
2. Green revolution induced by technology-intensive agriculture during the
1960s and 1970s immensely benefited the big farmers and caused
depeasantisation among small and marginal farmers. Thus, green revolu-
tion technology had handsomely contributed, along with other factors,
towards class formation in rural India.
3. S&T-based development as triage (from 1980s onwards): (i) the theories of
the underdevelopment pointed out that development at one place causes
underdevelopment elsewhere, as both are causally related. Hence, India
faced serious environmental problems, (ii) large-scale developmental proj-
ects caused massive displacement and loss of livelihoods to local people.
Both gave rise to large-scale protest movements in India. Because of the
technology-intensive character, development projects benefitted people
unequally.
4. Even the ICT revolution in India (1990s onwards) is marked by serious
implications for social stratification in India. Apart from the digital divide
of the first as well as the second type, IT and subsequent ICT revolutions
in India have given rise to a new class of transnational capitalists who were
the beneficiaries of ICT revolution in the West and acted as the torchbearer
of Indian IT/ICT industry. Later on, the ICT revolution gave birth to a
new class of elite workforce known as the IT professionals and the
Information Technology Enabled Services (ITES) employees who display a
class consciousness.
lxx Binay Kumar Pattnaik

In a more recent publication, Pattnaik (2013: 39–62) expanded

and analysed in greater details the socio-cultural impact of the ICT rev-
olution in India. His emphasis is on theorising the trend developments
about this elite workforce in India’s ICT industry. Pattnaik located the
emerging new sub-culture among the ITES-BPO employees (otherwise
known by a contemptuous term like ‘cyber coolies’) because of their
changing lifestyles and a process of identity formation. The author iden-
tified the process of identity formation among the ITES-BPO employ-
ees through a debate that they had taken up with the Indian left-wing
intellectuals and trade unionists who attributed to them the contemptu-
ous (identity) term ‘cyber coolies’. Based on further analysis of their
working conditions, service conditions and so on, the author found that
the ITES-BPO employees in India are placed in a dilemma of being a
class in itself or class for itself.
Although these knowledge workers have all the requirements of
being a class in itself, they lacks the much required subjective conscious-
ness of being a class for itself. It is found that these employees have a
conflicting perception of identity (as they consciously refuse to be iden-
tified with the working class and form/join trade unions rather desired
to form associations/forums usually formed by professionals). This con-
flicting perception of identity is said to be because of a false conscious-
ness developed among the ITES-BPO employees as they drew a parallel
between themselves and the software professionals. In an attempt to
explain away this phenomenon, Pattnaik (2013: 59) used Goldthrope’s
concept of ‘embourgeoisement’. To him, this class of knowledge workers
has undergone a process of embourgeoisement of somewhat different
kind, because of its class-based cultural capital and because of the sys-
tematic inculcation of managerial values by their managements. The
author defined cultural capital among these knowledge workers in terms
of their; (i) higher education through English, (ii) distinct consumption
habit anchored on mall-culture, (iii) westernised etiquettes, mannerism
and dress sense and (iv) high self-esteem. And the author defined the
acquired managerial values by these knowledge workers in terms of
their; (i) strong work culture, (ii) a sense of competitiveness, (iii) practice
of informal collegial relationship devoid of hierarchy, and (iv) optimum
performance at work.
Impact of globalisations: It is needless to reiterate that India’s globalisa-
tion process is now more than two decades old. The impact of
INTRODUCTION lxxi

globalisation is felt in terms of introducing long-term policy changes (in

all the sectors of economy as well as social sector) and institutional
changes in India. S&T enterprise in India has also responded to the
changing requirements of neo-liberal economy unleashed by the global-
isation process. Pattnaik in the recent past (2005: 63–82) has articulated
some of the key features of the institutional changes that the system of
S&T in India has undergone owning to the unleashing of globalisation
process. Such institutional changes in S&T in India are perceived under
three contexts like; (i) re-orientation of the industrial research laborato-
ries (particularly the public-funded ones), (ii) reshaping scientific and
technological research in Indian academics and (iii) adoption to the
competition through technological changes in Indian industry. In the
context of re-orientation of industrial research laboratories, the author
pointed out (2005: 64–67) the changing attitude of scientists, that is
emphasising the need for commercialisation of their services and prod-
ucts under the condition of open market (without subsidy/policy sup-
port). Later, in the context of scientific and technological research in
Indian academics, the author (2005: 67–71) pointed out the changing
trends in Indian academic institutions, such as: (i) developing institu-
tional mechanism to be increasingly self-supportive financially, (ii)
developing mechanism to institutionally incorporate alumni support,
(iii) changing pattern of campus placement in engineering institution
(body-shopping), (iv) diversification of academic research activities (e.g.
filing patents, technology transfer, spin-offs, industry-related short-term
courses, etc.). Lastly, in the context of adopting to competitive market
situations, the author brought home the following distinct
developments:

1. Changing pattern of foreign collaborations (foreign direct investment

[FDI] based) wherein the Indian firms are better placed in terms of techno-
logical acquisition/gains (unlike the collaborations of 1960s and 1970s
when collaborations used to be technologically prohibitive and financially
exploitative).
2. Emergence of MNC-based R&D centres in India that; (i) create great
opportunities for Indian qualified engineers and scientists, (ii) revolutionise
the patent culture, (iii) enhance the skill of Indian R&D managers and (iv)
enhance global credibility of Indian R&D personnel.
3. Making industrial in-house R&D more innovative and market oriented.
4. Catering to the outsourcing requirements of Indian IT/ICT sector: (i)
acquisition of ISO9000 certification and other quality certifications by
lxxii Binay Kumar Pattnaik

Indian IT/ICT firms and (ii) entering into the high-value embedded
software.

Cognitive Elements in Production of Scientific

Knowledge

Studies on the role of the cognitive elements in the scientific knowledge

production (particularly commercial ones) in India are, in fact, very
rare. The only notable contribution to this area has been by E. Haribabu.
In two different studies, Haribabu has brought out the role of cognitive
empathy and meaning combined with interest in knowledge
production.
This work of Haribabu (2000: 323–30) is a social study of the pro-
cess of rice in bio-technology research among Indian scientists. This is
an effort to understand the social process of knowledge creation and its
application in relation to the improvement of the rice crop. Further, this
is a context in which scientists trained in the sub-disciplines of biology
such as molecular biology, plant breeding and pathology were engaged
in ‘reconstructing’ the rice plant in terms of a relatively new paradigm
and were trying to evolve associated breeding practices. The cognitive
process that the author referred to involved a collective reconstruction of
the problem domain to generate knowledge and propose solutions that
were both scientifically feasible and socially acceptable (2000: 324).
This process of reconstruction is somewhat close to the social construc-
tivist approach of sociology of science. But the author’s emphasis here is
on ‘cognitive empathy’, a sociological method founded by Max Weber,
otherwise known as Verstehen.
This empirical exercise included a sample of 33 research groups, of
which 14 were led by molecular biologist and remaining 19 by applied
scientists like plant breeders. In order to achieve the product goal, the
interaction between pure scientist, that is molecular biologist, and
applied scientists, that is plant breeders, undergoes three phases: (i)
translating the language of molecular biologist into that of the plant
breeders, (ii) conceptions of craft skill and (iii) different assessment of
their professional roles.
This interaction is a difficult one because the problem of translat-
ability is deeply rooted in the process of socialisation of scientists in their
own disciplines. Because the paradigm that guides the research in every
INTRODUCTION lxxiii

discipline inculcates a different culture, a methodology and particular

tools of communication that are typical to the paradigm. But the prod-
uct goal demands a set of mutually understood symbols. Hence, the
author observed that when the biologists and breeders have different
perceptions, world views and preferred strategies of intervention, there
exists an absence of a shared language (2000: 327). This is where
Verstehen/cognitive empathy method comes into picture. Cognitive
empathy means simply to put oneself in the shoes of the other. And this
is the first step to break the disciplinary boundaries. It paves the way for
viewing the phenomenon from a mutually shared perspective.
The author (2000: 328) also found that discipline-based socialisa-
tion, organisational mandates and anxieties of individual scientists
inhibit the cultures as well as interdisciplinary research collaboration.
In another paper, Haribabu (2004: 65–78) brings out the role of
interests and associated meanings in knowledge production. In India
controversies over genetic engineering technology have become sharper
even as attempts are being made to allow field trials and commercial
release of some genetically modified (GM) crops, claims Haribabu
(2004: 65). Having drawn insights from sociology of science, the author
argues that production of knowledge and its application through insti-
tutional arrangements in the case of genetic engineering is a socio-
technical process that involves a complex interplay of several conflicting
interests and systems of meanings. The author (2004: 69–71) states that
with the emergence of science–industry–state nexus, by virtue of the
provisions of World Trade Organization (WTO) and legal provisions of
1970, private firms are allowed to enter into hybrid seed development.
This also created space for the role of farming communities and con-
sumers in the resolution of conflicts over the interests and meanings
through the involvement of all stakeholders. This has become a precon-
dition for continuation of research and utilisation of the output of
research by the firming communities. Because the meaning, unless
resolved, gives rise to tension (i.e. tension between the traditional seed
variety and that of GM seed variety). The meaning is contingent upon
goals. But goals vary among various stakeholder groups. So groups
attempt to mobilise consent of other groups for sharing the meanings
contingent on their goals associated with genetic engineering. However,
it is the goals, interests and associated meanings of powerful groups
(stakeholders) that get privileged in the absence of resistance by other
groups, concludes Haribabu (2004: 69).
lxxiv Binay Kumar Pattnaik

Institutional and Cultural Moorings of

Knowledge Production in Science

The paper by Mallick (2009: 628–54) on the new intellectual property

rights (IPR) regime and the changing structure of research in India
examines the actual and potential impacts of the global trend towards a
stronger protection of IPR on a developing country like India. It tries to
capture the changing scientific practices, cognitive and political, in the
wake of this new IPR/institutional regime.
At the outset, it briefly discusses the organisation of scientific
research in post-colonial India and then reflects on the shifts in the
nature and scope of scientific research in India and the associated prac-
tices that are contingent upon the WTO provisions on the IPR. Further,
this is illustrative of the new scenario that is emerging with regard to the
participation of developing countries like India in international collab-
orative research in S&T. The scientific community in India is con-
fronted with the dialectic of resistance and accommodation under the
new stringent norms of IPR regime.
Two remarks are worth making in this context. First, the contribu-
tions of the reviewed theoretical work to understand the impact of
stronger IPR on developing countries require a critical appraisal. Though
these models have been useful to analyse the issues of intellectual prop-
erty in an international context, future work modelling the impact of
IPR on developing countries should consider the dimensions in which
developed and developing countries radically differ. Network or local
externalities should be accounted for. Economic and institutional barri-
ers preventing a high elasticity of technological activities relating to IPR
protection in developing countries should be made explicit and, ideally,
explained. Differences in access to scientific knowledge on the part of
technology developers in the two regions—developed and developing—
should also be directly addressed.
The second remark addresses S&T policy-making in developing
countries in the face of international changes in IPR. Parallel to the
trend towards a stronger appropriation of knowledge, a change in the
attitude of developing countries has taken place. Certain apparently
unsuccessful experiences such as the ‘market reserve policy’, adopted in
the 1990s by India, showed the limits of this type of nationalist eco-
nomic development policy. A variety of pressures, most of them
INTRODUCTION lxxv

connected with debt or with the possibility of trade sanctions by WTO

and with difficulties encountered in building coalitions during interna-
tional negotiation rounds, prompted a shift from proactive technologi-
cal and development-oriented intellectual property policies towards the
explicit or implicit acceptance of stronger IPR in these countries.
In some cases, the negative effects of that trend on the development
of the developing countries have become more apparent and under-
standable. However, there is no doubt that certain S&T policies of
developing countries have the potential to counter the perverse effects of
a tighter appropriation of knowledge worldwide. A few examples show
that a favourable insertion of their industries in this new international
context is possible. The re-conversion of the pharmaceutical sector of
Italy is often cited as an example of successful adaptation to changes in
intellectual property rules. Brazil is trying to follow a similar path with
some discontinuities and varying degrees of success. But local institu-
tional problems in developing countries often lead to a low-level equi-
librium trap, where the interests of government, industrialists and
researchers do not converge in effective development and innovation
systems building.
The new IPR regime has brought about a new set of interests,
meanings, values, norms, and so on, that have a potential to influence
the practices of the scientific community in India. The research commu-
nity in plant molecular biology, which is no exception to this, seems to
be increasingly influenced by considerations of the potential of research
for attaining patents. In the light of this, we attempt to capture the
emerging institutional framework of scientific research that is contin-
gent upon the protocols of the IPR and changing scientific practices.
Particular attention is paid to the views of scientists in India engaged in
research in plant molecular biology on genetic engineering, agro-
climatic specificities (as well as transgenics) and the changing relation-
ship between scientists and boundary organisations. This new regime is
marked by the advent of the customer–funder–policy-maker nexus as a
prominent element in science forcing the plant molecular biologists to
(re-)negotiate scientific boundaries. The commodification of scientific
research alters the idealised identities of science and scientific
community.
The author discussed the way changes in society and culture, struc-
tural organisation and funding in contemporary scientific research are
lxxvi Binay Kumar Pattnaik

creating situations in which boundary work involving science becomes

more likely to be undertaken by the practising research scientist. The
findings of this paper suggest a number of conclusions.
The advent of the customer–funder–policy maker, as a prominent
element in science since mid-1990s in India, seems to have forced scien-
tists to (re-)negotiate scientific boundaries and to do some of the deli-
cate boundary work. The challenge for scientists is to bring science
‘close enough’ to politics and policy demonstrating social accountability,
legitimacy and relevance. But to avoid either science or politics overex-
tending into the other’s territory is a prospect that is evidently disorient-
ing and poses serious threats to idealised identities of science and the
scientific community.
Scientists very often refer back to selected traditional norms of sci-
ence in order to (re-) orient what is described above as the experiences of
the scientists negotiating the customer–funder–policy boundary nexus.
Their awareness of the effects of commodification in science is narrated
as though first-hand experience of this new terrain is the most reliable
information and/or knowledge they have of it. They often use the ‘old
maps’ to establish a legitimate way of working in the seemingly unstable
terrain of more commodified research.
Through the radical changes in science funding and policy-orienta-
tion in India since the mid-1990s, ‘scientists seem to be vigorously map-
ping out the cultural spaces for science’ (Gieryn 1995: 416) and for their
own identities as forming the scientific community (Waterton 2005:
443). In this context, scientists in the present study are not actually in
the process of (re-) classifying a satisfactory version of ‘science’ and
‘policy’ through their work. Instead, they are engaged in multiple ver-
sions of actively negotiated science–policy boundaries, many of which
seem to have different attributes and make different demands on them
as researchers/scientists. The changed and changing situations emerging
in institutionalising scientific research do reflect a lack of properly
designed institutional norms and practices appropriate in the culture of
scientific research in India. In this context, boundary organisations are
required to enable scientists to reconcile with the changing context of
knowledge production. Thus, boundary organisations of various forms
seem to be increasing in number and significance in carrying out scien-
tific research in contemporary times. It would be pertinent to reflect
INTRODUCTION lxxvii

openly, not just as a scientific community, but as a society, about some

of the ambivalences scientists seem to have about their current research
practices. The fact that scientists seem to be clinging on to perhaps
somewhat obsolete Mertonian notions of ‘good science’ does not neces-
sarily imply that they are harking back to a golden past. Rather, it may
imply that it is time to reinvent some appropriate norms and ideals of
‘good science’, appropriate for today’s much more complex relationship
between science and society. The interdisciplinary research initiatives
should start from identifying the real-world problems and various facets
of the problem. It is imperative that the disciplines that can contribute
to map different dimensions of the problem should collaborate to iden-
tify a shared perspective and suggest workable or deliverable solutions.
In a similar but another paper based on the study of knowledge
production in Biotechnology, Mallick (2011: 46–54) tries to bring out
the importance of networking of R&D organisations in the context of
innovations. Needless to note here that the 21st century marks a signif-
icant change to the context in which knowledge is produced. The new
institutional arrangements that seek to protect knowledge and its appli-
cations—through the possible global networking of organisations and
global flows of knowledge—have changed the context of knowledge
production. Some developing countries like India have built impressive
R&D institutions in the latter half of the 20th century, attempting to
seize opportunities in the new context of R&D. There has been a
changed culture of innovation in India after the product patent regime
was adopted by the GoI in January 2005. Two case studies in the area of
the pharmaceutical biotechnology and agricultural biotechnology help
illustrate the networking of R&D organisations for innovation in India.
These developments also raise larger questions relating to equity in
access to innovations in India.
The two case studies suggest that networking may involve a variety
of R&D institutions with different mandates. For example, Centre for
Cellular and Molecular Biology (CCMB) is a public R&D institution
that networked with a private firm, Shantha Biotech, and with DRR,
another public R&D institution, for the development of a vaccine. It is
understood that in different collaborations, the partners can bring dif-
ferent perspectives. For example, Shantha Biotech realised that the ‘tech-
nical ambience’ and the strength of CCMB in basic science were
lxxviii Binay Kumar Pattnaik

extremely useful to the Shantha Biotech scientists who interacted with

the CCMB scientists during the development of the vaccine. The second
case study on Marker Assisted Selection (MAS) (non-proprietary tech-
nology) that involved a partnership between CCMB and DRR reveals
another kind of collaboration, one that involves knowledge sharing and
validation. The two case studies indicate that the networking between
private industrial R&D institutions and public R&D institutions work
in different ways than networking between public R&D institutions.
The reason for the successful outcome of the networking between public
R&D institutions is that both institutions are mission-oriented public
R&D institutions mandated to do research with an application poten-
tial and the eventual transfer of technology to entrepreneurs for
commercialisation.
The first case study indicates that the collaboration between the
biotech firm and the scientists at Osmania University did not progress
to the satisfaction of the firm as the university scientists seemed to be
reluctant to change their academic values. Resistance to change on
the part of the university scientists, as shown by the case study, may be
attributed to their perspective on the functions of the university system,
which emphasises basic research and discipline based education to the
students. The industry-sponsored research was seen as changing the ori-
entation of the university by bringing in commercial values, entangling
university researchers with proprietary interests and constraints, thus
changing the traditional image of the university. However, in the pres-
ent-day context, in areas like biotechnology, the culture of university
research is moving towards applied research, even though in developing
countries there are some reservations on the part of the scientists.
In India, such changes are found in the universities, some of which
have begun to enter into memoranda of understanding with other
public R&D institutions and with private industrial R&D organisa-
tions. The papyrocentric culture of the university scientists may clash
with the industry’s insistence on non-disclosure of research to third par-
ties to protect the patent potential of the research.
As networking becomes institutionalised, the different interests of
scientists in different kinds of R&D institutions will continue to be an
issue. A critical issue in the first case study was that an industry’s primary
interest was to produce a new product as early as possible to establish its
monopoly in the market. The second case study reveals the predicament
INTRODUCTION lxxix

of public R&D institutions. Though the partnership between DRR and

CCMB resulted in developing an improved rice variety on the basis of
the cutting-edge genomics research, they are not in a position to com-
mercialise the variety as their institutional mandate does not seem to
allow their involvement in industrial and commercial activities. In this
way, public R&D institutions are made to depend on private industry
to commercialise their products. The R&D efforts of the public institu-
tions have the potential to provide context-specific innovations that are
accessible to poor farmers at an affordable cost.
A Bird’s eye view of the literature and the book: These selected and valu-
able contributions reviewed here certainly go towards building a strong
SST within Indian sociology. Most of these studies are thematically scat-
tered and one does not find more theme-centric research output, for the
obvious reason that the research lacks a focus in the absence of a research
agenda. And it is obvious that a research agenda in SST would have been
in place if there were strong centres of studies devoted to teaching and
research in SST. Hence, in the absence of such organisational impetus to
studies in SST, a scattered output is nothing but obvious. However, this
exercise has brought out the dominant perspectives and themes of
research prevalent among Indian sociologists. The most striking feature
of this review is that it epitomises the great Indian intellectual debate on
the epistemological issues of science rooted in the ‘scientific temper vs.
humanistic temper’ debate and articulates the resultant ASM (discur-
sive) in India. It too pointed out that the three conventionally well-
known and influential theoretical perspectives, such as the structural
functional (Mertonian), the social constructionist and the Marxian,
have found their place in the research in SST. Even micro-perspectives
like the role of ‘cognitive empathy’ and ‘interest associated meanings’ in
the production of scientific knowledge have made their presence felt.
That apart, theories of social movements have crept in through the stud-
ies of science/technology movements. This is not too surprising as these
perspectives have been in circulation for decades in Indian sociology as
such. What we find here is a kind of contextualisation of the social
movement theories to a relatively new area of study, that is SST, making
each of the studies a novel exercise. Likewise, the dominant concepts/
themes of research that have surfaced through this exercise are social
change (globalisation), issues of social stratification (facilitating class
formation), scientific communities (invisible college), scientific
lxxx Binay Kumar Pattnaik

productivity and creativity, PSM, science popularisation movement, AT

movement, gender issues in the profession of S&T (e.g. dual burden,
triple burden, patrifocal concerns, etc.), institutional and cultural moor-
ings of knowledge production (e.g. IPR related), and so on. These
themes have been in perfect match with the dominant themes of research
in Indian sociology over last few decades.
Even the 12 articles that make this volume almost thematically cor-
respond to these dominant themes of research in SST in India. Of the
12 articles, two articles, such as those by Mavalankar (1958) and Patel
(1975) are theoretical by nature and pertain to the role of science in the
context of society in general and the profession of science in particular.
The scholarly article by Mavalankar has a historical touch, meaning he
traced the origin and development of modern science to medieval
Europe through its liberating role from the dark ages of sorcery, black
magic, witchcraft, and so on, and through its emancipating role from
the bondage of feudalism and so on. But the author emphasised the
rationalising role of modern science and subsequent triumph of scien-
tific method in fighting human problems like disease and poverty. The
other paper by Patel (1975) neatly summarises and explicates the under-
lying structural functional perspective of the Mertonian formulations in
sociology of science. These are, of course, fundamental as well as semi-
nal contributions by R K Merton which Patel puts under three head-
ings, such as the social origin of scientific knowledge, interdependence
between science and social structure and, lastly, the normative structure
of and reward system of science. Of course, since the original papers of
Merton were scattered and scarce, much later all the important writings
of Merton on sociology of science have been published in one book
under the title The Sociology of Science: Theoretical and Empirical
Investigations, from Chicago University Press (1973). In this book the
other set of articles by Krishna (1991) and Haribabu (1999) pertain to
the theme of scientific community. Krishna, in his article, traced the
growth of Indian scientific community from colonial science when it
was highly discriminatory racially and divisive socially. Through a
nationalistic orientation, the then Indian scientific community grew,
which the author perceived, through the formulation of scientific spe-
cialist groups, institutions, professional societies and associations.
Haribabu in his article looks into the core of the Indian scientific com-
munity of course through the Mertonian perspective. To him, although
there exists a very large scientific community, it is indeed very fragile
INTRODUCTION lxxxi

being lose. Because it lacks the set of proper evaluation practices that are
normally carried out through a strong and effective peer review system.
Similarly, the next set of three articles, for example those by Pattnaik
(2003), Haribabu (1999) and Adhikari (1991) pertain to products of
scientific research activities and, interestingly, the three articles talk of
three different types of products. Pattnaik empirically studied the intel-
lectual products of academic scientists (and their variations) that are soft
and mostly non-commercial by nature, and are publicly owned.
Haribabu’s article was about the intellectual products too (i.e. intellec-
tual properties) which are again soft but commercial by nature. These
are privately owned products. Haribabu’s central concern here was the
changing trend in the culture of science, from the Mertonian puritan
type to the market orientation, by which scientific knowledge slowly
moved from public domain to private. And Adhikari talked of almost all
kinds of scientific products that are intellectual as well as non-intellec-
tual products (services and tangible goods) and are commercial by
nature. These are privately owned scientific goods and services that
Adhikari referred to. The products of scientific work embodied in the
ever-increasing stock of scientific knowledge are also increasingly acquir-
ing the characteristics of goods. This process may be called the ‘scienti-
fication’ of industry/agriculture/services, noted Adhikari. Here she tried
to present an understanding of this ascendant trend in India.
Likewise, the subsequent set of three articles, for example those of
V. K. R. V. Rao (1976), Aurora (1991) and Sooryamurthy and Shrum
(2004) come under the theme of social change. Rao’s analysis of social
change induced by S&T is twofold, such as; (i) how S&T in India has
shaped the social processes like sanskritisation, westernisation, urbanisa-
tions, industrialisations and so on and (ii) how S&T has influenced the
structural features of traditional Indian society like caste, religion, joint
family, marriage and so on. The article of Aurora is a case of inappropri-
ate use of agricultural technologies (due to improper sociological under-
standing) which fails to bring the desired socio-economic change. On a
slightly different pitch, Sooryamurthy and Shrum studied the process of
social transformation of a research community in Kerala with the help
of longitudinal data and visualised the possible emergence of a knowl-
edge society in Kerala.
The last two articles by Rajan (1991) and Sodhi (2006) also involved
social change. Rajan in his article dealt with social change at village level
through people’s participation. But to ensure people’s participation, he
lxxxii Binay Kumar Pattnaik

saw the role of voluntary agencies and attaining the change through
people’s science (that is local indigenous knowledge which is culturally
and environmentally embedded), not modern agricultural S&T. Notable
in this article is the role of voluntary agencies (e.g. NGOs). Sodhi, in her
study among traditional potters, found that the potters have responded
positively to modern technical innovations (rejecting the notion that
potters are averse to technological change). To her, this process of change
has been participative, voluntary and gradual. Here people’s participa-
tion again turned out to be the key to technological changes.

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 PART I
Role of Science (Theoretical)
1
The Role of Science in
Modern Society
N.A. Mavalankar

O
urs is an age of science. It is also known by other names such as
the “Age of Anxiety1” or the “Unsuccessful Age”. But all such
names derive principally from the ‘Scientistic’ character of our
times. It is the birth and progress of modern science that has raised all
our questions and created all our anxieties.
Since the times of Bacon, science has been making continual pro-
gress. That this has resulted in man’s mastery over nature has been well-
known and obvious to everybody. The application of science to industry
has also resulted in raising the material standard of the people. The
world today has a bigger population at a higher standard of life than at
any time in the past. But, as has been well said, in changing nature men
change themselves. In the process of establishing new relations with
nature, men alter their relations with one another. This latter change has
largely been unconscious in character. Men were so absorbed in study-
ing the secrets of nature, that they had neither the time nor the inclin-
ation to study changes in their social relations.
The story of the transition from medieval to modern times has
often been told. Laski treats of it in his scintillating essay on The Rise of
European Liberalism. The medieval society was essentially a static, more
or less homogeneous society. It was other-worldly in character domin-
ated by visions of life after death. Customs and traditions and the
injunctions of the Church ruled men in every sphere of their life. Status
determined a man’s rights and duties with respect to those of other men.
4 N.A. Mavalankar

Everyone had his fixed role to play in the social order. There was no
social ladder and everyone had to stay where he was born. From the
cradle to the grave every important occasion in life had its appropriate
rules and regulations.
The birth of modern society is marked by a complete overthrowing
of this authoritarian order. With the decline of the authority of the
Church by the end of the 13th century, and the subsequent flowering of
the Renaissance and the Reformation a veritable revolution took place.
The Humanists preached a new view of life. Men rediscovered a fresh
joy in life. This earth was good and worth living for. Scepticism was
abroad and men began to question old values of life. Everything was
subjected to the test of reason.
To this restless spirit of enquiry are to be traced the beginnings of
modern science and philosophy. Within a couple of centuries, the old
authoritarian, traditional, conservative order was replaced by a dynamic
aggressive society, making every new experiment with its growing
powers.
The impact of the progress of science on modern society may be
summed up in one phrase: the emancipation of the individual. The dis-
covery of the New World and the Industrial Revolution with their
unlimited possibilities of exchange and production made a secular view
of life imperative. The possibilities could not be exploited to the full
unless subsistence production gave way to unlimited production, pro-
duction for the market. The Church could not be allowed to stand in
the way of the pursuit of worldly gain Indeed, worldly success was proof
positive that He approved of the ways of His flock. Religion after all was
entirely a personal affair between man and his Maker. The individual
was thus left free to pursue his happiness unhampered by the restrictions
of the Church.
The rapid and phenomenal progress of industry was due to the
initiative and enterprise of the private capitalist. The medieval rules and
regulations governing trade and industry had speedily become obsolete.
The era of guilds was at an end. Free competition became the necessary
condition of progress.
The State which had stepped into the seat of authority vacated by
the Church was confined within the narrowest limits by the rising capit-
alist class. Adam Smith gave characteristic expression to the optimism of
the 18th century when he asserted that the individual left free to pursue
THE ROLE OF SCIENCE IN MODERN SOCIETY 5

his own self-interest would as by an indivisible hand promote social

good. The best government was thus that which governed least.
Thus the authoritarian structure that had cribbed, cabined and
confined the individual during the middle ages slowly gave way as sci-
ence transformed religion, industry, politics and social life.
But there is another side to this picture. Men win freedom only to
become slaves to new masters. Freedom sometimes is a greater burden to
bear than the humiliations of slavery. We must understand the dialecti-
cal nature of individual freedom and social progress to realize the full
significance of the role that science has been playing in modern society.
It is no doubt true that science freed the individual from spiritual,
economic and political bonds; it is, however, equally true that it has
reduced him to the position of an atom, swayed hither and thither by
the vast, impersonal, incalculable forces which he is unable to under-
stand, much less to control. While medieval society restricted a man’s
freedom, it gave him a secure and unquestioned place within its struc-
ture from the moment of his birth. So long as a man performed the
duties which belonged to his status, he was also guaranteed his rights.
The individual today has freedom to worship God according to his own
conscience; but he must face him all alone, without any protective guid-
ance or fellowship. Economically speaking, a man is free to make mil-
lions by his cunning and deftness, his initiative and enterprise. But if he
fails to make way he has himself to blame. He has a vote and feels him-
self master of his political destiny, but in reality he is a victim of the huge
party organization and its propaganda machinery. Economic emancipa-
tion of women has led to broken homes and neglected children, to the
disintegration of the family, the last resort of the shattered, frustrated
individual. Freedom to the modern man spells isolation and moral
loneliness.
This phenomenon characteristic of modern society, has been called
‘spiritual civilization’ by Ropke. According to him, “during the last hun-
dred years, society has disintegrated into a mass of abstract individuals
who are solitary and isolated as human beings, but packed tightly like
termites in their role of social functionaries.”2 Men living like competi-
tive ants in giant urban ant-heaps as complete strangers to one another,
can hardly form a community. There is no warmth of direct human
relationships, no sharing of purposes, feelings or actions. It is this lack of
human fellowship, of the consolations of religion, of the support of the
6 N.A. Mavalankar

men of their caste or guild that makes the men of our time yearn for
many of the values of medieval society. We yearn for the continuities,
securities, certainties of that humbler time which now seems lost for
ever.
A similar process of disintegration has affected the world of thought
as well. The fundamental unity of medieval life had informed men’s
thinking of the scene. It was not possible to understand economic or
political events without studying their interrelations as well as their con-
nections with religion, art, morality etc. The only way to get a know-
ledge of anything was to see it in relation to the polydimenaional
structure of the whole social process.
With the destruction of medieval homogeneity, the thinkers of the
modern era quickly adjusted themselves to the new life pattern. The
different sciences developed as independent disciplines. The world of
thought was divided into water-tight compartments and there came
into being a pure science of economics, a pure system of psychology, of
ethics, of political science etc. This process of specialization undoubt-
edly contributed greatly to the progress of the individual sciences. But
this progress has not been achieved without paying its price. While each
group of specialists is engaged on the study of its special subject, it is no
one’s business to study the hinterlands that divide any two separate dis-
ciplines. It is a kind of no scholar’s land in the world of knowledge. One
result of this has been the increasing remoteness and irrelevance of each
specialized discipline to the immediate urgencies of our life. This is one
of the principal causes of the present crisis in the world of thought. It
raises the scientist’s dilemma: should he carry on his good work of scien-
tific investigation and research when its foreseeable consequences are
war and the destruction of civilisation? Are the economist’s solutions
politically practicable? Is the politically expedient morally right? There
is hardly any one competent to resolve these dilemmas.
But science has been responsible for more dangerous consequences
still in the field of social sciences. Max Scheler has distinguished three
kinds of knowledge: Beherrschungswissen, Bildungswissen and
Erlosungwissen.3 Physical science has all along been the first kind of
knowledge, knowledge for the sake of control, power or action. It has
been essentially instrumental in character. It is not an exploration in the
field of values but a technique for better and fuller realization of what-
ever values happen to exist. It has taken long strides in the understand-
ing and control of physical nature but is unable to meet Lynd’s challenge,
THE ROLE OF SCIENCE IN MODERN SOCIETY 7

Knowledge for What?4 Western man has been so absorbed for the last
few centuries in the pursuit of knowledge for the sake of controlling
nature that he has almost lost the faculty for spiritual experience of any
kind. That is the tragedy of modern Western civilization which
Rabindranath Tagore has symbolised in the picture of the giraffe.
The phenomenal success of physical science and its consequent
prestige have led to a mechanical and uncritical application of its meth-
ods in the study of social sciences with disastrous consequences. It is this
procedure which Hayek has called scientism.5 It must be remembered
that Science itself had to fight in its early stages against the anthropo-
morphic interpretations of natural phenomena. It could make progress
only when it studied objective facts independently of what men thought
about them. The same procedure was uncritically adopted in the social
sciences and facts were studied, emptied of all their meaning and value.
Some social scientists show the same preconception with the means and
the neglect of values characteristic of physical science. Grandiose pro-
jects have been designed for controlling human behaviour by planning
the growth of reason and of the human mind itself. Fascist totalitarian-
ism was the last word in the latest technique of social control for
enchanting the individual mind adrift from its medieval moorings.
Such is the tragedy of the modern individual which victorious sci-
ence and its methods have brought about. In making use of the discov-
eries of science we must never lose sight of the fact that ultimate value
lies in the freedom and happiness of the individual mind. If we bear this
in mind and alter our habits of thinking in accordance with the new
material environment science has created, there is still no need to
despair. The medieval unity was imposed from above; it was secured by
repressing the individual personality in the interests of society. It is idle
to hope that the individual freed from the medieval shackles, will once
again submit himself to be suppressed even in order to tide over a great
crisis in the society of which he is a member. Fascism tried that reaction-
ary experiment and failed ignominiously. What we wish to achieve is a
fresh synthesis, a conscious integration of the individual and society.
Science has been creating the material conditions in which such a new
type of equilibrium will be possible, when individual fulfilment will also
be the fulfilment of the society. ‘By triumphing over time and distance
it has constituted the different countries into one world. While the rel-
ative independence of the countries cannot be denied, the fundamental
fact is that of interdependence. Peace and Prosperity, it is increasingly
8 N.A. Mavalankar

being realized, are indivisible. Poverty and crisis anywhere threaten the
whole world. The scramble for raw materials points to the necessity of a
world communism of resources. Hence also the various plans for the
development of backward economies.
To translate this fact into the daily life of individuals, two things are
necessary: We must change our habits of thinking and we must build
appropriate institutions for the new behaviour pattern of individuals
living in an interdependent world. According to Mannheim there are
three stages in man’s thinking, viz. chance discovery, invention and
planned thinking. We have now to make transition from the second
stage to the third, “from the deliberate invention of single objects or
institutions to the deliberate regulation and intelligent mastery of the
relationships between objects . . . . . . . .At the second stage the pattern
of thought is a linear one; it takes the form of a circular flow where the
first elements in the causal chain are in our new model of thought sup-
plemented by further elements, the movement of which tends towards
an equilibrium, and in which all the factors act upon each other simul-
taneously instead of in an endless succession.”6 It is this lack of inter-
dependent thinking which is responsible for many of our problems
today. It was thought in the 19th century that the device of the vote
would solve all the problems of political society; it has led, as we now
see, only to ‘the private ownership of government by business’. As
already noted, technological progress has led to spiritual and moral atro-
phy. For every problem solved, half a dozen fresh ones have arisen. It is
the aim of interdependent thinking to take into account the multidi-
mensional structure of society and to realize and provide for not merely
the immediate effects of individual actions in single spheres, but also
their long-run effects affecting society as a whole.
It is of course of the utmost importance to organize institutions for
this new type of behaviour pattern of individuals. So far the philosophy
of Liberalism, characteristic of the modern scientific age, has only served
to destroy certain medieval institutions; it has done nothing to construct
new ones in their place. When the state takes over the functions of the
family, or of the caste or guild, it is necessary to link the individuals to
the larger social unit through 01 organizations involving new habits of
behaviour. It is no use merely condemning the caste or the family as
being parochial or even nationalism as the nucleii of anti-social loyalties;
the problem of supra-national unity, or of an interdependent world is
THE ROLE OF SCIENCE IN MODERN SOCIETY 9

just the problem of building up appropriate interrelations between the

people of the different nations as at present exist between the people of
the same nation.
It is clear that a competitive capitalist economy has no place in such
a world. In such a community the individual will is free just because it
is blind to the total result of the actions of many millions of separate
wills. A farmer is free to produce what he wishes, just because he does
not know the final state of the supply in relation to effective demand. As
every one knows, the assumption of perfect knowledge renders choice
illusory. We may ask ourselves how far we would have felt ourselves free
to make the choices we did in 1918, had we foreseen even vaguely in
advance their consequences in the present state of the world. In an indi-
vidualist economy, the individual is only ‘functionally rational’. He
knows only so much of the total social process as is necessary for the
efficient progrime of his own function; he has very little knowledge how
his function dovetails with those performed by the other individuals in
the community so as to form a complete social whole. He is not ‘sub-
stantially rational’. It is the function of interdependent thought and
action to make men as far as possible conscious makers of their own
history. What we have to create is a new functional, homogeneous soci-
ety, without the rigidity of the caste and guild system. And in place of
the medieval sanction of religion, which repressed individuality we must
substitute the conscious cooperation of the ‘substantially rational’ indi-
viduals. Our hope lies in the growth of intelligence and radius of fore-
sight of the common man. It is when we succeed in forming new habits
of such cooperative endeavour that the individual will lose his sense of
moral isolation and realize the freedom secreted in the recesses of human
fellowship. In such a second Renaissance, bread will lose its present
inflated significance and free will will attain its true meaning of
self-realization.

References
1. Eucken, This Unsuccessful Age, Hodge, 1951.
2. W. Ropke, The Social Crisis of Our Time, p. 10, Hodge, 1950.
3. Quoted by Fritz Machlup, What Do Economists Know? in American Scholar.
4. Lynd, Knowledge for What?, Princeton University, 1945.
5. Hayek, Scientism and the Study of Society, Economica.
6. Mannheim, Man and Society, p. 153, Kegan Paul, 1940.
2
Robert Merton’s Formulations
in Sociology of Science*
Pravin J. Patel

S
ociology of science, broadly speaking, is concerned with the
construction of logico-empirical propositions about the dynamic
interdependence between science and society. In this sense it is a
branch of sociology of knowledge, since the latter studies different types
of idea systems (science, religion, philosophy, ideology etc.) and their
relations with various societal factors.
Merton’s formulations in sociology of science may be considered as
centred around the following main themes:

(i) Social origin of scientific knowledge.

(ii) Science and the environing social structure.
(iii) Normative structure and reward system of science.

These themes will form the main rubrics of our discussion here. We
will discuss them one by one without suggesting, however, that Merton’s
views are formulated in this sequence.

(i) Social Origin of Scientific Knowledge

Since the adherents of structural-functional theory in sociology consider

man’s behaviour as a response to certain functional problems, man’s
response to science is also seen as a response to his need to generate
ROBERT MERTON’S FORMULATIONS IN SOCIOLOGY OF SCIENCE 11

adjustive knowledge about the environing empirical world (Barber,

1968: 92). Thus science is considered as a social product rather than the
product of a few gifted individuals.
Being a functionalist, Merton also subscribes to this view. In sup-
port of his stance, that science is a social product, like Ogburn and
Thomas (1922), he also refers to the strategic phenomenon of multi-
ple independent discoveries, which is quite common in all sciences
and at all times (Merton, 1961). Multiple independent discoveries
are those discoveries which are made by several scientists (at the same
time or at different times). For example, many of the discoveries by
an eminent scientist like Cavendish were made independently by
other contemporary scientists or those who came later. The proof of
this lies in the fact that Cavendish’s discoveries were not known to
them, as they remained unpublished for a pretty long time (Merton,
1961: 478).
In collaboration with Barber, Merton has intensively examined
264 such multiples, out of which 179 were doublets; 51, triplets; 17,
quadruplets; 6, quintuplets; 8, sextuplets; 1, septuplet; and 2, nonar-
ies. Moreover, it is ascertained that 20 per cent of these discoveries
occurred within an interval of one year and some of them on the same
day or in the same week; another 18 per cent occurred within a two-
year span; and 34 per cent involved an interval often years or more
(Merton, 1961: 483). Merton has come to the conclusion that, by
and large, every discovery is a multiple, either potentially or in actu-
ality; multiple is a rule rather than an exception (1961: 475–482).
While explaining this phenomenon Merton observes that certain
social needs of a society, demanding urgent solutions, pressurise the
men of science to do scientific research, which in turn is facilitated by
the prevailing culture of the society, accumulated knowledge, scien-
tific methods, interaction among the scientists etc. Therefore, a
number of scientists come to the same discoveries simultaneously
(Merton, 1961: 470–75).
While, he refutes the excessive claims made by the greatman theory,
which overemphasizes the role of the scientific geniuses, like Kelvin or
Newton, Merton does not completely dismiss the role played by them.
For, scientific genius single-handedly discovers so many scientific truths,
which otherwise require a sizeable number of lesser talents. For example,
Kelvin, the great scientist, made at least 32 such discoveries which were
12 Pravin J. Patel

simultaneously made by an aggregate of 30 other scientists. Thus, it

required the labour of 30 scientists to contribute what Kelvin alone con-
tributed. Similar was the case of Freud (Merton, 1961: 485); and the
same is true in the case of Galileo, Newton, Clerk Maxwell, Hooke,
Cavendish and many others, including most Nobel laureates (Merton,
1968a: 60).
However, this does not mean that in the absence of great scientists
science would not have advanced. Because, most of the discoveries of
such scientists are always rediscovered, as they are generally involved in
many-fold multiple discoveries. Therefore, Merton says, if any scientist,
including the great one, had failed to make a discovery it would have
been made by other scientists, involved in such multiples. Thus, a
number of lesser talents are a functional equivalent to the great scientist.
In this sense, though geniuses do play an important role in enhancing
science, they are not indispensable.
Thus, Merton has enlarged the conception of scientific genius by
construing him sociologically, rather than psychologically, and thereby
muted the false controversy over the issue of social determination of
scientific discovery versus the role of individual men of scientific emi-
nence (1961: 483–85).

(ii) The Interdependence between

Science and the Social Structure

The above theory of the social origin of scientific discoveries can explain
universal occurrence of at least the modicum of scientific knowledge.
But the variation in the growth of such knowledge from society to soci-
ety, time to time, and discipline to discipline, still remains to be
explained. Posing this problem Merton has observed that in order to
explain such variation it is necessary to understand the reciprocal rela-
tionship between science and other social constellations1.
Agreeing with Max Weber’s proposition that definite cultures, and
not nature, produce faith in scientific truth, Merton adds that some-
times science is opposed by certain socio-cultural structures (1938:
591). Therefore, he has examined the dynamic relationship between sci-
ence and other social institutions at two levels: (1) the functional inter-
dependence between science and other social institutions and (2) the
sources of strains between the two.
ROBERT MERTON’S FORMULATIONS IN SOCIOLOGY OF SCIENCE 13

(1) The Functional Interdependence

Merton’s analysis of functional interdependence between science and

society is mainly based on, what he calls, the middle range theory of the
interdependence of institutions (1968: 63, 68) on the one hand, and, on
the other, empirical data of the seventeenth century England.
Espousing the hypothesis suggested by Max Weber about the
significant influence of Calvinist puritanism, the ideal typical expression
of “Protestant ethic”, on the development of science and technology
Merton has examined the growth of science in the seventeenth century
England (1936: 628–670)2. Through content analysis of various histor-
ical documents, he established that interest in scientific study was
steadily increasing in the seventeenth century England.
Then he tried to explain this phenomenon by showing value integra-
tion between science and Puritanism. Again through content analysis of vari-
ous theological writings, sermons, and books of moral guidance for laymen
he came to the conclusion that Puritanism embodied following values:

(a) Rationalism. Men chosen of God, alone possess reason. Reason constrains
the passion. Experience and reason must be the bases for action and belief.
(b) Empiricism. The observation of nature, and unravelling its mysteries by dis-
covering the order in it, is an effective means of promoting the glory of
God—the Creator.
(c) Utilitarianism. Social welfare and public service were prescribed as God’s
greatest service.
(d) Secularism. Systematic, methodical labour and constant diligence in one’s
calling were emphasized.
(e) Scepticism and Free Inquiry. Libre-examen was considered not only a right
but also an obligation. Even Bible as final and complete authority was sub-
ject to the individual interpretation.

All these values of Puritanism were obviously in harmony with the

institutional values of science. However, this shows only a certain prob-
ability of the connection between Puritanism and science. But it is not
a sufficient verification. Therefore, Merton sought the crucial test of his
hypothesis in the following behavioural evidences.

(i) The norms of Puritanism wore deeply internalized and consciously

expressed in their writings and behaviour by Puritan scientists like Robert
Boyle, John Ray, John Wilking, John Wallis, William Oughtred etc.
14 Pravin J. Patel

(ii) The Puritans had greater prosperity for science and technology as against
Catholics in proportion to their total population. For instance (a) out of
the ten initial members of the ‘invisible college’, the prototype of the Royal
Society of London, seven were decidedly Puritans; only one was non-
Puritan and about two no information was available regarding their reli-
gious orientations and (b) these Puritan scientists played a very important
role in the Royal Society of London. Out of sixty eight listed members of
the Royal Society for the year 1663, whose religious background was
known, forty two were clearly Puritans. Thus, the Puritans formed the hard
core of the scientific corps of the seventeenth century England, though they
were a minority in the total population.
(iii) The inclination of the Puritans for science and technology was likewise
manifested in the type of education introduced and fostered by them. They
established new universities and academies with a pronounced stress on
realistic, utilitarian and empirical education.
(iv) At other places (i.e. U.S.A., France, Germany and other European coun-
tries) and at other times (i.e. even after the seventeenth century) where and
when Puritanism or its variant religion (e.g. Pietism) was effective, its rela-
tionship with science was also found intact. Thus, the elimination of other
extraneous or non-religious factors, like political regime or economy, fur-
ther confirms the hypothesis about the functional interdependence between
science and the Protestant ethic.

By mustering all this evidence Merton has cogently demonstrated

that the ethos of Protestantism induced its members to form socially
favourable attitudes for science, and thereby enhance the growth of sci-
entific knowledge. This also explains that in the medieval era when these
values were absent science did not develop as rapidly as it did later on.
But, it would be incorrect to presume that there was perfect integra-
tion between Puritanism and science. For instance, as Gillispie (1951)
has observed, some of the geological discoveries (e.g. the concept of
geological uniformitarianism) were opposed by the Puritans, since these
came into conflict with Biblical ideas of Puritanism. Though Merton
has paid attention mainly to the positive relationship between the two,
he is not unaware of such conflict. Therefore, he has added the follow-
ing necessary qualifications to the proposition. First, the favourable con-
sequences of Protestantism for science were not intended by the initiators
of “that ethic. For example, Luther, Calvin and others, from whose
teachings Protestantism emerged, paradoxically did not approve of the
scientific activities of their contemporaries. Thus, the increased interest
in science among Protestants was the unintended consequence of a
ROBERT MERTON’S FORMULATIONS IN SOCIOLOGY OF SCIENCE 15

manifest commitment to the Protestant ethic. Second, the mere fact of

an individual being nominally a Catholic or Protestant has no bearing
upon his attitudes toward science. It is only when the tenets and impli-
cations of the religious teachings are deeply imbibed by its followers, the
religious affiliation becomes meaningful. Third, the supporting values
of science tended to be secularized as time passed and science acquired
its autonomy with its proven utility. Therefore, it has continued to
thrive, even after the weakening of the theological base of the religion
which supported science (Merton, 1936: 660).
Further, it must be noted that Merton construed the relationship
between science and religion in the seventeenth century England in
conjunction with other societal factors. For instance, England’s insular
position, its nascent capitalism, widening markets and military warfares
caused a remarkable expansion of both mercantile as well as military
marine. However, the increased economic and military sea voyages, in
turn posed a series of problems such as finding out longitude and lati-
tude, determining the time of tides, preservation of timber, develop-
ment of effective fighting warships etc. All these problems created a
pressure on the scientists to solve them. Moreover, scientific achieve-
ments which promised profitable application were applauded by the
leading men of the society, including the King, and thereby enhanced
the status of scientists. Therefore, the curious men of science were also
socially motivated to do scientific investigations in order to solve con-
temporary problems. As a result the field of astronomy, geography,
mathematics, mechanics, botany, hydrostatics, hydrodynamics etc.
developed fast in the seventeenth century England (Merton, 1939:
661–681).
But, Merton notes that just as there are certain social and cultural
factors which support science, similarly there are certain factors which
oppose it. Interaction between these two sets of contrary forces account
for the lopsided development of scientific knowledge in different societ-
ies, times and disciplines.
Though, Merton’s analysis of the forces producing strains and ten-
sions between science and the social-structure is not based on any sys-
tematic empirical study, it suggests a few significant hypotheses which
can be mentioned as follows.
(a) Value-dissensus between sciences and the socio-cultural struc-
ture produces strains between the two. When other constitutent parts of
16 Pravin J. Patel

the social structure try to expand their control and encroach upon the
autonomy of science then strains and tensions develop.
In a liberal social order, where limited loci of power are vested in
several domains of human behaviour, other non-political institutions,
including science, enjoy considerable autonomy. But in a totalitarian or
a dictatorial social structure, where power is centralized in political insti-
tutions, science and other social constellations are not given much free-
dom (Merton, 1938: 591–594).
For example, in the Nazi Germany of the 1930’s it was believed by
the ruling party that, only those persons having ‘Aryan’ ancestry, and not
others, were capable of undertaking scientific activities. In accordance
with this dogma of race purity the ‘non-Aryan’ scientists were driven out
of the German universities and scientific institutions. Even the cooper-
ation with a ‘non-Aryan’ scientist or acceptance of his theory was con-
sidered as a symbol of political disloyalty and hence frowned upon. The
latent function of this racialist purge was that the growth of science was
adversely affected in Germany, since many eminent ‘non-Aryan’ scien-
tists were considered as ‘outcastes’.
Thus the demand for primary loyalty to racialistic, nationalistic,
ideological or religious dogma of a dominant institution contradicts the
important values of science like rationalistic utilitarianism and univer-
salism, and thereby hampers the development of scientific knowledge.
Similarly, science values scepticism by advocating explicit question-
ing of certain bases of established routine, authority, procedures and the
realm of the ‘sacred’. This may be considered by other organised reli-
gious, political or economic groups as encroachment of science into their
respective institutional domains, since science subjects them to detached
scrutiny. This leads them to revolt against science. According to Merton,
in the past such resistance mainly came from organised religion. But now
as the locus of power has shifted from religious to economic and political
institutions the source of revolt against science also has changed.
Another source of tension is a conflict between the value of com-
munication and the value of secrecy. In modern competitive states
(both totalitarian and democratic) secrecy is valued, particularly in the
field of military and strategic research. Besides, certain industrial organ-
izations in capitalist countries also keep some of their formulae as busi-
ness secret. Even a patent is a device to maintain the exclusive use or
often non-use, of invention. This value of privacy is at variance with the
ROBERT MERTON’S FORMULATIONS IN SOCIOLOGY OF SCIENCE 17

value of science that knowledge should be freely communicated. Thus

it does not accelerate the accumulation of certified knowledge. However,
Merton does not mention the methodological difficulties involved in
observing and measuring the exact damage done to science by secrecy.
One more barrier to the growth of science is the social pressure to
‘deliver the goods’. Too many utilitarian demands upon science also
affect the growth of science, since its pure branches are neglected in
favour of applied ones. In Nazi Germany, for instance, financial support
was given to those applied scientific researches which had immediate
practical utility. As a result pure sciences suffered very badly and the
growth of science as a whole was hindered in the long run.
(b) Another important surmise by Merton is that the dysfunctional
consequences of science and technology are also responsible for the
social resistance of science (1947: 616–627). Especially, if the effects” of
scientific knowledge are considered as socially undesirable then, rightly
or wrongly, science becomes the target of social revolt.
For instance, processual or technological innovations stemming
from scientific inventions require the workers to give up their old work
habits as they become obsolete. Besides, specialization is also increasing
and this leads to changes in work routine, meaning of work, social rela-
tions and consequently work satisfaction. Moreover, unplanned intro-
duction of such innovations also has some adverse consequences. For
instance, the introduction of labour-saving automatic machines at the
time of economic depression may render many workers unemployed
and many of them may be reduced to the status of unskilled workers.
This creates an atmosphere of anxiety, uncertainty, distrust and fear,
which may naturally invite a hostile reaction.
Merton feels that such dysfunctional consequences are partly due to
the overcommitment of the scientists to the values of pure science and
disinterestedness.
Nevertheless, it may be mentioned that scientists are not always
indifferent to such dysfunctional consequences of science. As many sci-
entists have expressed their deep concern about the use of poisonous gas,
germs and, above all, the atom bomb in war. Besides, their concern
about air-pollution, water pollution etc. is also well known.
(c) Thirdly, it is conjectured by Merton that the esoteric nature
of  science is also a source of tension between science and society
(1938: 600–601).
18 Pravin J. Patel

Each scientific discipline has developed its own special language.

As a result, the gap between science and the lay man is ever widening.
Thus in the garb of scientific jargon new mysticism has developed
which helps the business and political propagandists. The borrowed
authority of science becomes a powerful prestige-symbol for unscien-
tific doctrines produced for the consumption of the intellectually
unsophisticated laity. This creates distrust even in truly scientific state-
ments and thereby weaken the social support for scientific activity.
Here again Merton has ignored, or perhaps he is not concerned with
the methodological problems involved in measuring the damage done to
the status and consequently to the growth of science by its esoteric nature.

(iii) Normative Complex and the

Reward System of Science

While discussing the normative complex of science he has pointed out

that the norms of science are moral as well as technical prescriptions. They
are binding to the men of science because they are considered to be tech-
nically efficient and morally right. For example, it is the technical pre-
requisite for sustained, true and systematic prediction that evidences should
be adequate, valid, reliable and logically consistent. Generally, scientists
follow these standards, not only because they are a technical prerequisite
but also because the deviation from these standards is morally condemned,
since they are institutionalized norms (Merton, 1942: 604–615).
Some of the important institutional imperatives which, according
to Merton, comprise the ethos of modern science are as follows:

(a) Universalism

A scientific statement should be evaluated according to the established

impersonal criteria of science and not according to the particularistic
attribute of the individual who has made the statement.

(b) Communalism

In science collective ownership of knowledge is emphasized. Intellectual

product is not a private property. Therefore, scientists should freely
exchange and communicate their scientific findings. In order to avoid
ROBERT MERTON’S FORMULATIONS IN SOCIOLOGY OF SCIENCE 19

ideological connotations Barber prefers to call it “communalism” (1952:

9, 268”).

(c) Disinterestedness

A scientist should examine the worth of scientific research with detach

objectivity and without emotional involvement.

(d) Organized Scepticism

No scientist is supposed to accept any idea or belief, how-so-ever popu-

lar or sacred it may be, without freely testing it—both logically and
empirically.

(e) Originality

A scientist is expected to contribute something original in the already

existing fund of scientific knowledge.
In addition, humility, intellectual honesty, integrity etc. are also the
cherished norms of the institution of science.
Since these norms are transmitted by precept and example, and
reinforced by operative sanctions, they have not remained merely as
normative prescriptions but have also become institutionally patterned
motives. Moreover membership group of scientists is also their reference
group, because they consider their peers as significant others. Therefore
they always try to conform to the accepted norms of their group and
thereby gain status among their own group members.
Nevertheless, they are not equally internalized by all the scientists.
In this connection it may be noted that in order to understand the vari-
ation in internalization of values it would be interesting to examine the
socialization process of the scientists in different disciplines and in dif-
ferent societies.
However, Merton expounds that these effectively loaded norms of
science are functional because they facilitate the continuity of science as
a large scale social activity. But, he adds that they have some dysfunc-
tional consequence too. Especially because, like other social institutions,
science also has a hierarchy of values, by which certain values are consid-
ered as more important and therefore highly emphasized in comparison
20 Pravin J. Patel

to other less important values. For example, originality is more import-

ant a value and hence more fully rewarded. Because the main function
of originality is to give an impetus to science with every new discovery
or invention. Therefore, there is a greater cultural emphasis upon it. The
manifestation of this cultural emphasis is found in an elaborate and
graded reward system which is developed to motivate talented persons
in a given population to do some original scientific work (Merton,
1957: 642–646).
For instance, the eponymy is the highest kind of reward given to a
scientist by which his name is associated with a scientific era (e.g. Newton’s
age), or with a science as its father (e.g. August Comte is considered to be
the father of sociology3) or with a law or a theory (e.g. Einstien’s theory
of relativity) or a method (e.g. Bogardus scale), discovered by him. Thus
his name is remembered for ever in human history and thereby he gets
ever lasting fame. In addition to eponymy there are other rewards also,
though less prestigious than the former, such as: Nobel prize, other
medals or prizes, honorary membership of a scientific society, or honor-
ary degree conferred by a university. Besides, the historians of science also
support this reward system by correcting the errors in giving (or not
giving) the reward and thus putting the record straight. The function of
this elaborate reward system is to encourage original scientific research
and thereby to advance science. (Merton, 1957: 658). But, this very
emphasis on the value of originality has some dysfunctional conse-
quences too. These dysfunctional consequences pointed out by Merton,
can be classified in two categories: (1) related to the deviant behaviour of
scientists and (2) related to the opportunity structure of science.

1. Deviant Patterns of Scientists’ Behaviour

Since the social organisation of science allocates highest rewards for

originality, the individual scientist is always motivated to get such
reward. But often this leads to the deviant patterns of behaviour also.
One such pattern is found in the form of priority conflicts (Merton,
1957). These conflicts are centered around the issue of the priority of
one scientist over the other for a discovery, and hence to get social rec-
oggnition for the same. Even the great scientists like Galileo, Newton,
Hooke, Civendish, Watt, Darwin, Freud, Comte, and Sorokin, to
mention only a few, were involved in such conflicts. Merton considers
ROBERT MERTON’S FORMULATIONS IN SOCIOLOGY OF SCIENCE 21

this as a repetitive and regular pattern because the history of science is

full of such bitter disputes over priority; they are found in all sciences
and in all times (1969; 1971). Hence it requires explanation.
However, Merton rejects the psychological explanation which con-
siders the egotism of scientists and their quarrelling nature as respon-
sible for these conflicts. Because, he contends all scientists, who are
involved in priority contests, do not have such quarrelling nature. As a
matter of fact, some like Darwin or Cavendish or Watts were very
modest and shy persons and yet they got involved in such conflicts.
Besides, instead of the affected scientists themselves, sometimes, their
friends and colleagues have fought the battles for priority who had obvi-
ously nothing to gain personally out of these conflicts. As for illustra-
tion, it happened in the case of Wallaston, whose friends, rather than the
distinguished scientist himself, involved him in a priority conflict with
Faraday about the experiments on electro-magnetic rotation. Similar
was the case of Cavendish and-Watts-conflict over the water-controversy.
Moreover, another lacuna of this psychological explanation is that it
does not explain the priority conflicts between the scientists of different
nations putting forward their national claims for the priority of a discov-
ery or invention. As Merton observes, from at least the seventeenth cen-
tury, Britons, Frenchmen, Germans, Dutchmen and Italians have urged
their countries’ claims for priority; a little later Americans and Russians
also joined this race (1957: 637–642).
In place of this psychological explanation, therefore, Merton has
proposed a more adequate sociological explanation, which can stand the
empirical test. For this he seeks the clue in his own theory of deviant
behaviour. He considers the priority conflict as a form of deviance from
the another important value of science i.e. humility or modesty.
To explain this he argues that because of the phenomenon of mul-
tiple independent discoveries and because of the institutional emphasis
on originality, the scientists involved in such a multiple discovery are
putting forward their claims for recognition. This competition for social
recognition leads to claims and counter-claims, asserting the priority of
one scientist against the other over a discovery or an invention. Because
there is a cultural pressure on the scientist to prove his originality
and because, the only right of a scientist over his intellectual property is
the right of recognition, (when it is lost he has nothing more to lose) the
scientists caught in such multiples, contest their claims with intense
emotional involvement.
22 Pravin J. Patel

This is further complicated by two other factors: eureka syndrome

and cryptomnesia. Eureka syndrome means socially reinforced elation
that comes with having arrived at a new and true scientific idea or result.
Therefore, there is a deep concern about establishing priority or at least
the independence of one’s discovery. Cryptomnesis means unconscious
plagiarity. Sometimes, a seemingly creative thought of a scientist is based
on his past reading or discussion. But it is not recalled by him and hence
he takes the idea as new and original. This further complicates the
already complex emotions related with multiple discoveries (Merton,
1963a: 270–282).
Thus, according to Merton the culturally induced motives for ori-
ginal contribution and the phenomenon of multiple independent dis-
covery along with eureka syndrome and cryptomnesia explain the priority
conflicts in science and not the psychological dispositions of scientists.
However, these conflicts have led to a variety of institutional innov-
ations designed to cope with the strains caused by them. Among these,
following are specially mentioned by Merton: (a) to report the discovery
in the form of anagrams, (b) to publish the abstracts of one’s original
ideas before publishing the detailed account of the same, (c) to deposit
sealed and dated manuscripts with scientific academies while working
on it, (d) to print the date of receiving a manuscript along with the arti-
cle published by the scientific journal and (e) some personal expedients
like to write personal letters detailing one’s own ideas to one’s potential
rival, or to circulate preliminary and confidential reports of one’s work
to the select few or to keep meticulously dated personal records of one’s
research (1957: 654).
Moreover, the strains caused by such dysfunctional conflicts on the
social structure of science also have been responsible for some changes
in the behaviour of scientists. As Merton and Elinor Barber have found,
there is a gradual decline in the number of priority conflicts. For
example, as many as 92 per cent of the multiples were subjected to con-
flict before 1700 A.D.; 72 per cent in the eighteenth century; 74 per
cent in the first half of the nineteenth century and 59 per cent in its
second half; whereas only 33 per cent of the multiples were subjected to
the contest for priority in the first half of twentieth century. (Merton,
1961: 483). This shows that there is an increasing recognition by the
scientists that multiples is a fact; that they can be anticipated, or their
contemporaries may arrive at the same result at the same time; and that
others can be truly independent in their discoveries.
ROBERT MERTON’S FORMULATIONS IN SOCIOLOGY OF SCIENCE 23

Another trend which indicates change in the social organisation of

scientific research is registered in the form of publications. As evidences
show an increasing tendency is found for joint-authorship in research
papers. Besides, proclivity for team research is also remarkably increas-
ing. Of course, the extent of this change varies from discipline to discip-
line (Merton, 1963: 94–95; Merton, 1963a: 278–279).
But, there should not be any misgiving that the value of originality
or even individual work has become less important, or that the scientists
have become large-hearted and broad-minded. Furthermore, in some of
the sciences the concern about originality has either led to intense con-
flicts or to extreme secrecy (Kaplan: 857–60). Even Merton accepts that
priority conflicts are still prevalent (1971), and that, in the collaborative
works the individual scientists are concerned about the recognition of
their own contribution in the total work (1963: 95; 1963a: 279).
However, priority conflict is not the only form of deviant behaviour
found among scientists. Merton has observed certain other patterns also
(1957: 649–658). The use of fraud to obtain credit is one such active
pattern of deviant behaviour. It is observed that the pressure to demon-
strate the truth of a theory or to produce a sensational discovery has
some times, motivated some scientists to produce fake evidences. For
example, Paul Mammerer, the biologist who was offered a chair in the
university of Moscow had created fake specimens to prove Lamarkian
thesis experimentally. But, when it was exposed, he attributed the fraud
to his research assistant and committed suicide. Another instance of
such fraud was revealed recently when it was found that the skull and
the jaw from which the existence of piltdown man was inferred were
nothing but a carefully contrived hoax. Similarly, cooking of evidences,
triming closely guarded secrecy of one’s research, plagiarity or even the
false charges of plagiarity are the instances of this type of deviant
behaviour. These patterns of deviancy can be classified as ‘innovation’
according to Merton’s paradigm of deviant adaptations. Because, in this
type of behaviour some illegitimate, or socially disapproved, means are
accepted to achieve the goal of successful recognition of originality.
There are some passive forms of deviant behaviour also found among
the scientists. One such form of behaviour is ritualism, which is expressed
in the behaviour of those scientists, who continuously publish just for the
sake of publication. Thus publication becomes a ritual. Here the means
becomes the end. Another passive form of deviancy is found in the form
of retreatism. That means, to abandon the cultural goal of originality and
24 Pravin J. Patel

also to abandon the means useful to achieve the goal. Here, the scientist
withdraws from the field of scientific research. Either he gives up the
scientific pursuit itself or he accepts another alternative role, such as
teaching or administration. Moreover, in certain cases the scientist’s
ambition becomes too high to be realized and it results into apathy
imbued with fantasy. In such instances, a scientist nourishes, of course
secretly—the hope of making some great discoveries some day in future.
Nevertheless, Merton observes that though there are some such
instances of deviant behaviour in the institution of science it is not a
dominant pattern. Rather, such instances are exceptions from the gen-
eral rule of conformity (Merton, 1957: 657–658). Because, other insti-
tutional norms of science, like, humility, disinterestedness, communism,
intellectual honesty and integrity curb the deviant tendencies.
Merton notes that sometimes these other norms do produce
ambivalence among the scientists. For example, it is found that scien-
tists often contest the claim of priority with painful feeling of dislike for
such conflicts. Because they are caught in the conflict between the value
of originality on one hand, and the value of humility on the other. But
the contest between these two values is unequal, as originality is more
important and more fully rewarded than the value of humility (great
modesty may elicit respect, whereas great originality may promise
immortality). Therefore, even very modest persons (like Cavendish or
Watts or Darwin) are dragged into such conflicts. But as they also value
humility they hate or dislike their own behaviour. Thus this ambiva-
lence shows that the scientists are contemptuous of the very attitudes
acquired by them from the institution which they support. In addition,
motivated neglect to recognize the fact of priority conflicts, or not
expressing the ambivalence (Merton, 1957: 647–649; Merton, 1962).

2. Normative Complex and the Opportunity

Structure of Science

Merton observes three more consequences of the graded reward system

of the institution of science: (a) the phenomenon of the 41st Chair4,
(b) The ratchet effect5, and (c) The Mathew effect6 (1968a).
(a) The phenomenon of the 41st Chair. This is an outcome of the limited
positions at the top of the ranking system.
Particularly in a more productive era quite a few of the talented
individuals are likely to be excluded from the top positions who may be
ROBERT MERTON’S FORMULATIONS IN SOCIOLOGY OF SCIENCE 25

possibly superior to the ‘tops’ of the low productive era. Of course, there
are other rewards also but because of their low ranking they do not enjoy
the same prestige as Nobel prize or its equivalent.
(b) The Ratchet Effect. Second consequence of the reward system is the
ratchet effect. A belief that ‘once a Nobel laureate, always a laurete’ tends
to induce continued effort on the part of a Nobel laureate or, an equally
honoured scientist. As more and more is expected from him, it creates
its own measure of motivation and stress. Merton concedes that this
social pressure keeps the eminent scientists continuously at work; and
hence it is functional.
But, partly as unintended consequence, this affects the “class struc-
ture” of science by providing honoured scientists some enlarged facilities
for further work. Thus, the scientists are located in varying positions
within the opportunity structure of science which is favourable to some
and unfavourable to others.
(c) The Mathew Effect. Third consequence of the reward system in sci-
ence, which partly stems from the above two, is the Mathew effect. That
is, the eminent scientists get disproportionately great credit for their sci-
entific contributions, whereas comparatively less known scientists tend to
get disproportionately little credit for their comparable contributions.
This pattern of recognition, which is more favourable to the estab-
lished scientists, is revealed in collaborative works and also in the case of
multiple independent discoveries.
When a Nobel laureate or an equally eminent scientist writes in
collaboration with less known scientists the entire credit generally,
though not correctly, is given to the former because of his reputation.
Similarly when the same discovery is made independently by various
scientists of distinctly different ranks the more eminent scientists get
the recognition of the discovery and the unknown scientists are
deprived of it.
According to Merton, this Mathew effect has both functional and
dysfunctional consequences. It is functional for the system of communi-
cation. As an eminent scientist is involved in a collaborative writing or
in a multiple discovery, the visibility of that writing or invention tends
to be heightened.
However, it has some dysfunctional consequences too, particularly
for the careers of the young scientists as they are deprived of social rec-
ognition in the early stages of their development when they want it the
26 Pravin J. Patel

most. As for illustration, many young or unknown scholars’ articles or

books are not published by established journals or publishers, in the
beginning of their careers, because they are not considered as capable to
contribute something significant.
Similarly, the centres of demonstrated scientific excellence are allo-
cated far larger resources for scientific research than the centers which
have yet to make their mark. In turn the high reputation of established
centers attracts a disproportionately higher share of the truly talented
and promising students. These processes of social selection help the con-
centration of research funds, facilities and scientific talents in the reputed
centers and create problems for the growth of new centers of scientific
excellence. Thus, the Mathew effect sometimes violates the norm of
universalism and hinders the growth of science, particularly when it is
transformed into an idol of authority.

Concluding Remarks

According to Merton, science is a societal product which requires social

support for its continuity and development. Therefore, variation of the
growth of scientific knowledge depends upon the dynamic relationship
between science and the social structure. Neverthless, once science
proves its utility, it becomes autonomous and acquires its own institu-
tional imperatives along with operative sanctions. However, like the
normative complex of science its reward system also has functional and
dysfunctional consequences, which necessitate some organizational
innovations.
It is clear from the foregoing that Merton has consistently used his
theoretical frame of reference to formulate a series of propositions
regarding science and the behaviour patterns of scientists.
However, a few words are in order with reference to his theoretical
stance.
1. Since he uses functional approach, his propositions share some of
the limitations inherent in this approach. For instance, he does not con-
sider Protestantism as the cause of the growth of science in seventh cen-
tury England. His contention is modest. He considers that the growth
of science at that particular time and place was the latent consequence
of protestantism. Thus, religion is neither a sufficient nor a necessary
condition for the growth of science.
ROBERT MERTON’S FORMULATIONS IN SOCIOLOGY OF SCIENCE 27

Therefore, at the outset he begins with Waber’s hypothesis about

the interrelationship between Protestantism and science but finding it
inadequate he has to clarify that “Puritan ethic . . . . . . . . . . . . constitute
one important element in the enhanced cultivation of science” (1936:
628) and has to add other antecedent variables also viz. economic and
military needs of the society, accumulation of scientific knowledge,
opportunities for sustained interaction between scientists, development
of techniques and methods of research, reward system of science etc.
(1935, 1939, 1961).
2. The growth of science reveals following empirical diversities:

(a) Substantive and methodological growth of science is not monolithic

(Kaplan, 1964: 854). The natural sciences are more advanced than social
sciences. Even among natural sciences some are pretty well developed than
the others. Besides, various sub-branches of a particular science also may
not be equally developed.
(b) The “normal” growth of science is different from its “revolutionary” growth
(Kuhn, 1962) as was the case of the seventeenth century England. The
same type of scientific revolution may be said to have occurred in twentieth
century U.S.A. and post-revolutionary Russia.
(c) Even among the societies sharing almost the same type of cultural back-
ground, the rate of scientific growth is uneven. For example, the contempor-
ary U.S.A. is much more productive in scientific activities than the
contemporary Europe.
(d) All sciences do not enjoy the same degree of autonomy in all times and
places. Perhaps, as Marx has observed and Mannheim has reasserted
(Barber, 1956: 92–94) the natural sciences are more autonomous than their
social counterparts in almost all societies. (This also raises a methodological
question: is it possible to measure the exact degree of autonomy of a science
at a given time in a given society?)

Perhaps, realizing some of these problems Merton has emphasized

that it is necessary to find out the types, extent and processes of the
non-scientific determinants of science in different social structures
(1939: 661; 1968: 589).
3. Kaplan (1964: 855) feels that the four institutional imperatives
of science formulated by Merton (1942) have not remained uncharged
ever since their early origins. This is a debatable hypothesis. But it must
be mentioned that Merton does not consider science as a perfectly inte-
grated social institution (1963: 77–80). Besides, he has perceived the
changes taking place in the organization of science indicated by the
28 Pravin J. Patel

form of publication, priority conflicts etc. which also suggest that values
do change from time to time.
4. Merton’s use of anomie paradigm to explain some of the deviant
behaviour patterns of the scientists (1957) confirms his assertion that
the middle range “. . . . . . theories are sufficiently abstract to deal with
differing spheres of social behaviour and social structure. . . . . . . . .” and
that “These theories do not remain separate but are consolidated into
wider networks of theory. . . . . .” (1968: 68).
5. Merton very often rejects, in true Durkheimian tradition, the
psychological explanations, and proposes alternative sociological ones.
But his approach is not that of a reductionist. In his sociological explan-
ations he generously incorporates the psychological facts and concepts.
For instance, he tries to explain the growth of science in the seventeenth
century England by showing the value-integration between puritanism
and science. Yet he frequently states that the puritan values were inter-
nalized by the scientists; that the consciously expressed motivation was
provided by this ethic; that this ethic produced favourable attitudes for
science; that eureka syndrome and cryptomnesis (unconscious plagiarity)
play very important role in the priority conflicts; that psychological pro-
cesses of creative work and psychological traits of the scientists also are
significant in scientific activity etc. Thus, his propositions become
socio-psychological, instead of purely sociological ones.

Notes
* This is a revised version of a paper presented at the research seminar, on September
4, 1974, in the Department of Sociology, M. S. University, Baroda. I am grateful to
Professor Robert K. Merton for providing the reprints of a number of his articles on
sociology of science which induced me to write this paper. I am also indebted to
Professor K. C. Panchanadikar and Dr. (Mrs) J. Panchanadikar for their valuable com-
ments on the basis of which the earlier drafts of this paper were extensively revised.
However, the final responsibility of the views expressed and errors that might have
crept in, is mine.
1. Although Merton accepts that psychological traits, and the psychological processes of
the creative work along with the interpersonal relations in the formal organization of
scientist’s work-place do affect his scientific activity, he asserts that outstanding sci-
entists tend to be ‘cosmopolitans’ rather than ‘locals’ and that the scientific behaviour
is not merely the result of the idiosyncratic characteristics and the local ambiance of
the scientists. The influence of the wider social and cultural structure is not insignifi-
cant (19636: 239–243).
ROBERT MERTON’S FORMULATIONS IN SOCIOLOGY OF SCIENCE 29

2. Merton’s earliest formulations regarding this are found in his “Science, Technology
and Society in Seventeenth Century England” in George Sarton (ed.) Orisis, 4: 2,
Bruges, Belgium, 1938, pp. 360–632; which are aptly summarized in his “Puritanism,
Pietism and Science” (1936), and “Science and Economy of 17th Century England”
(1939).
3. Though Merton considers eponomy as the highest reward given to a scientist he does
not agree with the belief based on biological metaphor, that a science can be fathered
by one person. He says, polygenesis is the rule in the realm of science (1968: 2).
4. This concept is based on the example of French Academy which earlier decided that
only a group of 40 could qualify as its members and thus emerge as immortals.
As a result, some equally competent persons, excluded from the Academy, have
become immortal by occupying the ‘41st Chair’.
5. Ratchet means a set of teeth on edge of bar or wheel in which a pawl engages to
ensure motion in one direction only.
6. According to Gospel, St. Mathew puts it this way: “For unto every one that hath shall
be given and he shall have abundance, but from him that hath not shall be taken away
even that which he hath” (Mathew, 25: 29, The New Testament).

References
Barber, Bernard. 1952. Science and Social Order. Glencoe, III.: The Free Press.
———. 1956. Sociology of Science: A Trend Report and Bibliography. Current Sociology 5(2).
———. 1959. “The Sociology of Science”. In: R. K. Merton, L. Broom and L. S. Cotrell, Jr.
(eds.) Sociology Today: Problems and Prospects, pp. 125–288. New York: Harper
Torchbooks.
———. 1968. “The Sociology of Science”. In: David L. Sills (ed.) International Encyclopedia
of Social Sciences 14: 92–100. New York: The Macmillan and the Free Press.
Gillispie, Charles C. 1951. Genesis and Geology. Cambridge: Harvard University Press.
Kaplan, Norman. 1964. “The Sociology of Science”. In: R. E. L. Faris (ed.) Handbook of
Modern Sociology, pp. 852–881. Chicago: Rand McNally and Company.
Kuhn, T. S. 1962. The Structure of Scientific Revolution. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
Merton, R. K. 1935. Science and Military Technique. Scientific Monthly 44(37): 542–545.
———. 1936. “Puritanism, Pietism and Science”. In: R. K. Merton Social Theory and Social
Structure, pp. 628–660. New York: The Free Press, Enl. ed., 1968. (Hereafter referred
to as STSS).
———. 1938. “Science and the Social Order”. In: R. K. Merton, STSS, pp. 591–603.
———. 1939. “Science and Economy of 17th Century England”. In: R. K. Merton, STSS,
pp. 661–681.
———. 1942. “Science and the Democratic Social Structure”. In: R. K. Merton, STSS,
pp. 604–615.
———. 1947. “The Machine, The Worker and the Engineer”. In: R. K. Merton, STSS,
pp. 616–627.
———. 1957. Priorities in Scientific Discovery: A Chapter in the Sociology of Science.
American Sociological Review 22(6): 635–659.
———. 1961. Singletons and Multiples in Scientific Discovery: A Chapter in the Sociology
of Science. Proceedings, American Philosophical Society 105(5): 470–486.
30 Pravin J. Patel

Merton, R. K. 1963. The Ambivalence of Scientists. Bulletin of the John Hopkins Hospital
112(2): 77–97.
———. 1963a. Resistence to the Systematic Study of Multiple Discoveries in Science.
European Journal of Sociology IV: 237–283.
———. 1968. STSS, op. cit.
———. 1968a. The Mathew Effect. Science 159(3810): 56–63.
———. 1969. Behaviour Patterns of Scientists. The American Scholar 38(2): 197–225.
———. and R. Lewis. 1971. The Competitive Pressures (1): The Race for Priority. Impact
of Science on Sociology 21(2): 151–161.
Ogburn, W. F. and D. S. Thomas. 1922. Are Inventions Inevitable? Politcal Science Quarterly
37(32): 82–98.
 PART II
Scientific Community
3
The Emergence of the
Indian Scientific Community1
V.V. Krishna

T
he growth of science organized in terms of specialist groups or
small communities sharing a set of ‘social’ and ‘cognitive’ values
to explore and advance systematic knowledge is a recent histor-
ical development.2 The centrality of science in the transformation of
modern societies was, to a large extent, the result of what Ben-David
(1971) refers to as the growth of professionalization associated with the
emergence of effective scientific communities. Even though science
appeared in its institutionalized form from as early as the late 16th and
17th centuries, the transformative role of science did not come about
until the emergence of professionalized communities in 19th century
Europe and 20th century North America.
When we speak of a scientific community, the size of professional
grouping becomes more meaningful in terms of what Whitley (1976)
defines as disciplines, specialities and research areas, which may hold
together between three or four to a few dozen scientists.
The drive towards professionalization and the emergence of scien-
tific communities in 19th century Europe shows that these develop-
ments have come about in a somewhat ‘organic’ mould catalyzed by the
prevailing political structures. Even though the Euro-centred investiga-
tion of Ben, David and others offers little insight into the understanding
of non-Western cultures such as India, the social context mapped by
them is not without relevance in so far as the development of institu-
tional factors are concerned. Despite the implantation of modern
34 V.V. Krishna

science from about the 18th century onwards, colonial structures sepa-
rated institutionalization from professionalization. So far, some socio-
logists in India have mapped the growth of modern science but have not
paid adequate attention to the emergence of an Indian scientific commu-
nity.3 Did the advent of modern science in India entail the advent of
professionalization and the formation of specialist groups? What was the
social character of science under colonialism? What were the social iden-
tities of scientists at large? And, how did the Indian scientific community
emerge? These are some of the issues raised in this paper.
The period chosen for study is instructive for two main reasons: the
emergent nationalism, among other economic issues, opened a dis-
course for the first time on the role of modern science and made it an
integral part of the struggle for independence; and, the period witnessed
a significant break from the phase of colonial scientific enterprises as a
result of the indigenous participation of resources in science and educa-
tional infrastructure.

The Goals and Social Character of

Colonial Scientific Enterprise

Some historians have defined the practice of research in the colonies

after the mid-19th century as colonial science (MacLeod 1975, 1987
and Kumar 1986). Colonial science by definition meant a ‘derivative’
science identified with ‘fact-gathering’ activity. When viewed from the
metropolis it was a ‘low science’. MacLeod adds psychological connota-
tion to science in colonies as the work ‘done by lesser minds working on
problems set by savants in Europe’.4 The way science was organized in
the colonies was indeed a planned activity from the metropolis, the
periphery being assigned the subordinate task of ‘data gathering’, while
the actual theoretical synthesis (pure or fundamental research) took
place in the metropolis. Devoid of its intellectual essence, the goal of
scientific practice in the colony was not the advancement of science but
the exploration of natural resources, flora and fauna (Mukherjee 1989)
to feed the intellectual and industrial ‘revolutions’ in the metropolis. As
argued elsewhere (Krishna 1992), the definition of colonial science fits
well with the activity undertaken by scientific enterprises such as the
geology, education and survey departments. The Asiatic Society of
Bengal cooperated with the British Geological Society to promote
THE EMERGENCE OF THE INDIAN SCIENTIFIC COMMUNITY 35

Table 1
The Composition of the Scientific Staff in Colonial Scientific Enterprises in 1920

Imperial Grade Average Pay in Rs.

Name of the Service European Indian European Indian
Botanical Survey 2 0 1000 0
Geological Survey 16 0 1010 0
Zoological Survey 3 1 970 700
Agricultural Service 38 5 1000 460
Forest Service 9 1 1040 660
Medical and Bacteriological Service 24 5 1220 520
(on civil employment)
Indian Munitions Board 11 1 780 300
Meteorological Dept. 10 2 970 770
Veterinary Dept. (civil) 2 0 1100 0
Educational service 34 3 910 470
Indian Trignometrical Surveys* 46 0 – –

195 18 – –
Note: All of these officers except one were Royal Engineers and held military ranks. The
provincial service, also highly paid, consisted of 112 officers, of whom 80 per cent were
Europeans and Anglo-Indians without any academic qualifications.
Source: P. C. Ray (1920).

Indian resources development. The data gathered and sifted from the
colonies not only enhanced the horizons of British geology but served as
an important basis for colonial policies on minerals, coal mining, agri-
culture, transport surveys and communications (Stafford 1990).
One notable feature of the colonial scientific enterprise was that it
was entirely government controlled: scientific personnel were employed
by the East India Company (before 1857) or by the British government
from both military and civil services. Undue preference was shown to
scientific personnel of European origin both in the recruitment and
promotion to higher positions (Kumar 1983). The organizational basis
for the emergence of a scientific community therefore, greatly depended
on the flexibility of the scientific organizations. As late as 1920, P. C. Ray,
the doyen of chemistry in India, presented figures on the scientific
36 V.V. Krishna

personnel employed in scientific enterprises. Out of eleven scientific

services, including the educational service, P. C. Ray could count only
eighteen Indians out of 213 scientific personnel.5 Highly qualified and
deserving Indian scientists were discriminated against and relegated to
positions below their entitlement. Whereas the Europeans employed in
the education department were placed in the elite Indian Educational
Service (IES), Indian scientists were placed in the Provincial Educational
Service (PES), and given half the salary of their counterparts in the IES.
The first and perhaps only Indian who found a berth in the IES was
J.  C. Bose, but his monthly emoluments too were half those of a
European’s salary in the IES. P.C. Ray on his return from England in
1888 with a Ph.D. in Chemistry had to wait for one year to be employed
in the PES, whereas British chemists with similar qualifications and
experience were immediately placed in the IES by the Secretary of State.
Ray’s complaint against the unequal treatment evoked the retort, ‘there
are other Walks of life open to you. Nobody compels you to accept this
appointment’ (Ray 1958: 65). H. B. Medlicott, Head of the Geological
Survey of India (GSI) held that ‘Indians are incapable of any original
work in natural science’. He wanted to wait till the scientific chord
among the ‘natives’ was touched and added that, ‘if indeed it exists as yet
in this variety of human race so let us exercise a little discretion with our
weaker brethren and not expect them to run before they can walk’.6 The
most glaring example of applying discriminatory policies in the GSI was
that of P. N. Bose. In 1903 T. Holland superseded P. N. Bose for the
position of Director of GSI even though Holland was ten years his
junior in the service. In protest against the injustice meted out to him,
Bose retired from the service the same year.7
A small section of Indian scientists associated with colonial scien-
tific organizations resorted to struggle from within against this blatant
racial discrimination. By the last quarter of the 19th century, due to
these inherent tensions the social organization of colonial science
showed definite cracks. Towards the turn of the century, pressures
towards professionalization of science and scientific autonomy were
struggling to find expression as part of the emerging Indian national
consciousness. A small section of the scientific and political intelligensia
set an agenda to fight colonial science, on the one hand, and to create
alternative structures to professionalize and integrate modern science
within the framework of nationalism, on the other. This development
THE EMERGENCE OF THE INDIAN SCIENTIFIC COMMUNITY 37

led to divisions within the scientific establishment as a whole and as the

size and social consciousness of Indian scientists grew, the division came
into sharp focus with a clear-cut agenda.

Social Divisions among

Scientists and Their Orientations

From the sociological point of view, one can identify three categories of
scientific and technical personnel and associated institutions from about
the third quarter of the 18th century.
The first category relates to the transplanted or settler scientists
employed by the British government. The scientific and technical per-
sonnel belonging to this category identified themselves with the colonial
administration. They were basically the ‘gate keepers’ of colonial science
who controlled and regulated research strategies to serve colonial ends.
They promoted discrimination against native Indian scientists as
exemplified in the instances cited earlier, operated on several fronts—in
education, industry, finance and science departments.
In the second category were scientific and technical personnel who
were called upon by the colonial administration to execute specific tasks.
They had no commitment to the promotion of scientific disciplines or
scientific societies, and their goal was limited to the accomplishment of
their assigned tasks. When these British scientists completed their
assignments or attained the age limit, they returned to their country
taking with them a vast treasure of experience. They can be referred to
as ‘scientific soldiers’. In the whole Empire, as MacLeod (1975: 348)
observes, ‘the adventures of Indian civil servants and “scientific soldiers”
gave them experience second to none in the lessons of administrative
organisation and coordination’.8
As a product of continuing British colonial policies, particularly
discrimination in science, the third category of scientific personnel
became prominent after the 1870s. They were mainly native Indian
scientists supported by a small group of Western settler scientists, mis-
sionaries and Jesuits, who relentlessly worked towards the profession-
alization of science in India. Their numbers run into a few hundreds;
to mention a few important personalities: David Hare, Father Eugene
Lafont, William Carey and Marshman of Serampore missionaries,
P. C. Ray, J. C. Bose, C. V. Raman, M. N. Saha, Ashutosh Mukerjee,
38 V.V. Krishna

M. L. Sircar and Visvesvaraya. Basalla (1967) and many other historians

club together Medlicott, O’Shaughessy and J. C. Bose as colonial sci-
entists. Sociologically, the three categories of scientists each had their
constituencies, their goals, network of relationships and scientific pro-
grammes. While scientists in the first two categories were part and
parcel of the colonial scientific enterprise and shared with and bene-
fited from the colonial structures in science, the third category strug-
gled against these structures. The term ‘struggle’ acquired an important
place in the scientific discourse although its meaning and implication
for action differed from one individual to another. At the national
level, however, these scientists widely shared the national obligation to
transform colonial structures of science and create alternative support
structures with the necessary autonomy to embark on an independent
scientific status.

Support Structures and Nationalist

Orientation in Science

Indian scientists with the support of a small group of missionaries and

British scientists embarked on a programme to professionalize science
in  India within a national perspective. An important objective of the
programme was the constitution of specialist groups and small commu-
nities in various scientific disciplines. The Indian intelligentsia realized
that the success of this objective greatly depended on a series of institu-
tional support structures.
The first organized effort in this direction was the creation of the
Indian Association for the Cultivation of Science (IACS) on 15 January
1876. The person behind this venture was Mahender Lal Sircar (1833–
1904), a man trained in modern science but a staunch advocate of
homeopathy. Sircar stated that ‘the object of the Association is to enable
natives of India to cultivate science in all its departments with a view to
its advancement by original research, and (as it will necessarily follow)
with a view to its varied applications to the arts and comforts of life’.9
Independent of the government and with a modest collection of Rs.
61,000, Sircar pleaded that ‘we should endeavour to carry on the work
with our own efforts, unaided by the government. I want it to be entirely
under our management and control. I want it to be solely native and
THE EMERGENCE OF THE INDIAN SCIENTIFIC COMMUNITY 39

purely national’ (IACS 1976: 9). Within a few years of its establishment,
seven sections in general physics, chemistry, astronomy, systematic
botany, systematic zoology, physiology and geology were organized.
Until the turn of the present century the greatest contribution of the
IACS was the propagation of nationalism in the cultivation of science.
A direct spin-off from IACS was the creation of at least four institutions
to promote technical education with a national perspective.10
Satishchandra Mukherjee, a leading educationist of Bengal, launched
the Dawn Society in 1902 to promote the idea of national education.
The society’s magazine, The Dawn, provided an important forum for
Indian scientists to promote science and literature and popularize
science.11
In 1903 and 1905 Curzon’s attempt to control technical education
and exclude advanced research from its definition evoked sharp reac-
tions from the protagonists of national education. The Dawn Society
transformed itself into the National Council of Education (NCE) in
1906 with a membership of ninety-six intellectuals to organize a parallel
structure of scientific and technical education ‘on national lines under
national control’ (National Council of Education 1956: 3). Two schools
of thought emerged in the NCE over the emphasis to be placed on sci-
entific and technical education. Tarak Nath Palit and others launched
the Society for the Promotion of Technical Education in 1906 which
established the Bengal Technical Institute to promote technical educa-
tion. The other group of the NCE involving Satish Mukherjee and
others established the Bengal National College and School in the same
year to promote science along with literary courses both at school and
university. In 1907 there were a total of 270 students, out of which 223
were in the school section, ninety-eight at the intermediate level and the
rest at the degree and diploma levels. There were eleven national schools
under ninety-eight the NCE in different districts of Bengal with a total
enrolment of 731 students. In 1910 the rival camps joined hands again
giving birth to the nucleus of the present day Jadavpur University and
the University College of Science of the Calcutta University. This
research centre received Rs. 24 lakhs from Taraknath Palit and Rash
Behari Ghosh and the assets of the Bengal Technical Institute, which, by
the turn of the century, immensely contributed to the advancement of
science.12
40 V.V. Krishna

The national education movement was however not confined to the

Bengal intelligentsia. The Poona Sarvajanik Sabha’s demand of 1882 to
strengthen higher technical education was taken up by the Indian
National Congress after 1885. The Congress passed a Resolution at its
third session in Madras in 1887 stating that ‘it is desirable that the gov-
ernment be moved to elaborate a system of technical education’, which
was repeated in different forms in the succeeding years. In the princely
state of Baroda, Maharaja Sayaji Rao Gaikwad III established Kala
Bhavan in the 1880s, the biggest technical institute established by native
Indian states at that time. The significance of Kala Bhavan is that the
present-day technology and engineering faculties of M. S. University,
Baroda, owe their origin to it.13
Between 1870 and 1920 the native Indian and missionary contribu-
tion to the establishment of colleges and initiation of science teaching
exceeded British efforts. In the nine universities established between 1857
and 1918—Bombay, Madras and Calcutta (1857), Allahabad (1887),
Punjab (1882), Banaras (1916), Mysore (1916), Patna (1917) and
Osmania (1918)—the Indian contribution was substantial. By 1907, for-
ty-five affiliated colleges were established in the three presidency regions
where ninety-one lecturers, most of them of Indian origin, taught B. A.
and M. A. subjects in science and engineering.14 Between 1910 and the
1920s, Indian universities including those in the presidency towns
awarded 2,134 degrees in all the sciences (Mahalanobis 1971: 221).
A major break with colonial science teaching set in with the efforts
of M. L. Sircar, Nilratan Sircar and J. C. Bose which resulted in the
setting up of the Science Degree Commission in 1898.15 This
Commission recommended the introduction of separate science courses.
When Ashutosh Mukherjee took over as the Vice-Chancellor of Calcutta
University in 1912, he sought to give a new lease of life to post-graduate
science teaching and research. The colonial government however refused
to finance post-graduate research in science at the Calcutta University.
The donation of Rs. 24 lakhs by Taraknath Palit and Rash Behari Ghosh
made it possible to establish the University College of Science at Calcutta
University. This initiative, the establishment of the Indian Institute of
Science (1909) through the efforts of Jamsetji Tata and the princely state
of Mysore, the efforts of Father Lafont at St. Xavier’s College, Calcutta,
of P. C. Ray and J. C. Bose at the Presidency College (after 1885) and of
J. C. Bose at the Bose Research Institute (1917), laid firm institutional
foundations for systematic science by 1920. As the encouragement from
THE EMERGENCE OF THE INDIAN SCIENTIFIC COMMUNITY 41

Table 2
Publications on Science in Indian Languages in the Provinces of India between
1875 and 1896

Provinces Medicine Mathematics Natural Sciences Total

Bengal 472 180 124 776
Madras 83 35 43 161
Bombay 210 101 102 413
Punjab 264 183 17 464
NWP, Oudh 116 174 20 310

Total 1145 673 306 2124

the government in the form of scholarships to train Indian students in

India and abroad was not forthcoming, a number of scholarships and
endowments were instituted by wealthy Indians.16
Parallel to the establishment of scientific institutions and scholar-
ships for advanced research, popularization of modern science and
translation of science literature into local languages received attention
from the Indian intelligentsia for the first time. Following the initial
efforts of the Serampore missionaries in the 1820s and the Delhi College
in the 1830s, Bengal provided the lead in the late 19th century for ver-
nacular publications of magazines and books in science. Between 1868
and 1910, ten journals and magazines in science alone and forty-seven
in technology were reported from Bengal.17 Efforts invested in creating
a base for modern science in Indian languages were however not con-
fined to Bengal. These activities extended to other parts of India, as is
evident from Table 2.18
In 1875 the Calcutta Book Society (formed in 1817) contained
1,544 titles out of which 333 were its publications on science and tech-
nology (Bhattacharya et al. 1989). Between the University College and
specialized institutions, there were half a dozen societies whose main
objective was to popularize science and create a base for modern science
among Indians. Besides the Dawn Society (1904), there were the Aligarh
Scientific Society founded by Syed Ahmad in 1864, the Bihar Scientific
Society, Muzaffarpur, founded by Syed Imdad Ali in 1868 and the
Punjab Science Institute, Lahore, established in 1886. The main thrust
of the activities of these societies was in creating a base for modern sci-
ence in the vernacular language, i.e., Urdu.19
42 V.V. Krishna

Construction of Specialist Groups:

Genesis of an Indian Scientific Community

With J. C. Bose and P. C. Ray joining the Presidency College in 1885

and C. V. Raman joining the LACS a little later on a part-time basis, the
‘cultivation’ of science was transformed into the ‘advancement’ of sci-
ence. Father Lafont at St. Xavier’s College, Calcutta, established an
excellent observatory for spectro-telescopic investigations. Together
with these centres, the Indian Institute of Science (1909), University
College of Science, Calcutta University (1913) and Bose Research
Institute (1917) constituted research programmes to give a new ‘iden-
tity’ to Indian science. In advancing modern science, Indian scientists
resolved to struggle on two fronts. Whilst the existential circumstances
compelled them to struggle against colonial structures, the goal of
advancing science was also to revive the rational and experimental trad-
ition. The assertion that the method of science is Western and hence
alien to our Indian tradition was rejected as baseless by J. C. Bose and
others. P. C. Ray’s two volumes on the History of Hindu Chemistry
(Calcutta 1896) and Binoy Sarkar’s Hindu Achievements in Exact Science
(New York 1918) are examples of this orientation. Thus, advancing sci-
ence meant giving a new status both to the self and to the national
prestige.
J. C. Bose’s work on micro-wave (1895) and plant physiology
(1900) earned him world-wide recognition and he was elected to the
Royal Society in 1920. On radio receivers, Patrick Geddes, biographer
of J. C. Bose, accords him priority over Marconi who patented it.
P. C. Ray in 1896 discovered mercurous nitrite and C. V. Raman who
entered the IACS in 1907 published about fifty-eight papers by 1920.
The research programmes initiated by J C. Bose, C. V. Raman,
P.  C.  Ray, Father Lafont and others were not individual-based pro-
grammes. They constituted, for the first time, the embryo of the Indian
scientific community. At St. Xavier’s College, Father Lafont was instru-
mental in organizing a research group on spectro-telescopic investiga-
tions and in contrast to the data-supply scheme of colonial science,
he set up facilities for undertaking basic studies. During the transit of
Venus, Lafont collaborated with the famous Italian astronomer
P. Tacchini in the astronomical investigations in Madhupur, Bihar.
Four miniature observatories with revolving cupolas were con-
structed and Lafont recorded the total time of transit. Impressed by the
THE EMERGENCE OF THE INDIAN SCIENTIFIC COMMUNITY 43

value of solar observations in the cloudless Indian sky, Tacchini per-

suaded Lafont to erect a spectro-telescope at St. Xavier’s College. Lafont
brought a number of instruments from Germany and France by raising
private donations (Biswas 1989, Kochhar 1991).
Mathematician-cum-astronomer, Father Alphonse de Penaranda,
joined Lafont in 1876 on an astronomical programme until his death in
1896. Father Penaranda regularly contributed to the column on ‘astro-
nomical occurrences’ in the weekly periodical 77ie Indo-European
Correspondence, launched in 1865 by the Catholics of Calcutta. Father
V. de Campigneulles joined Lafont in 1882–83 and continued the work
on spectro-telescopy. He published two books based on studies of the
famous total solar eclipse of 1898 by a team of Jesuit scientists of
St. Xavier’s College, Calcutta.20 Several international teams too came to
India for the study of this famous total eclipse.
After serving Presidency College for thirty-eight years P. C. Ray
joined the University College of Science in 1916. For the first time,
what is known as the Indian School of Chemistry emerged by the 1920s.
Referring to the 126 papers contributed to various societies such as the
Chemical Society (London), Journal of the American Chemical Society
and others, Nature in its 23 March 1916 issue observed: ‘some of these
papers are of very considerable value and interest, and indicate enthusi-
astic work on the part of this newly created school’ (Ray 1958:150).
Rasik Lal Datta, Nilratan Dhar, Jnanendra Chandra Ghosh, Jnanendra
Nath Mukherjee, Pulin Behari Sarkar, A. C. Ghosh, P. C. Bose,
G. C. Chakravorti, to name a few, were part of the School constituted
by P. C. Ray as shown in Table 3. By 1920 the active publishing com-
munity of chemistry was around fifty and about 160 papers were
published. The credit for the first advance in research in physical chem-
istry goes to N. R. Dhar who also made original contributions to
electro-chemistry. J. C. Ghosh’s theory (1918) on the abnormality of
strong electrolytes created a stir in the international community when it
was first published. Similarly, the credit for initiating advanced research
on  colloidal chemistry in India goes to J. N. Mukherjee. The school
of chemistry under Ray contributed immensely to the development of
chemistry departments in Indian universities. This school contributed
to at least four generations of chemists. The base for the Indian Chemical
Society (1924) was given by the students of P. C. Ray. Besides Ray, J. C.
Ghosh, J. N. Mukherjee and S. S. Bhatnagar were involved in planning
the organization of the society in its initial year. (Bhatnagar 1928).
44 V.V. Krishna

Table 3
The Indian School of Chemistry in the 1920s

No. of Collaborating
Main Researcher Period of Activity No. of Publications Researchers
P. C. Ray 1894–1920 107 37
E. R. Watson 1910–1924 25 12
P. Neogi 1907–1917 14 3
J. J. Sudborough 1912–1925 30 24
R. L. Datta 1912–1918 28 14
J. N. Rakshit 1913–1917 12 3
B. K. Singh 1913–1926 17 12
S. C. Jana 1914–N. A. 1 2
H. K. Sen 1914–1915 5 2
A. C. Sircar 1915–1926 12 9
J. L. Simonsen 1915–1926 27 4
N. R. Dhar 1913–1917 18 4
S. Dhar 1916–N. A. 1 1
P. C. Ghosh 1917–1920 4 2
J. C. Ghosh 1914–1918 7 4
P. C. Mitter 1918–1926 4 4
B. N. Ghosh 1918–1920 7 3
B. B. Dey 1911–1918 5 3
Source: Ray (1918, 1958) and Guay (1986: 82).

In physics, C. V. Raman, J. C. Bose, S. N. Bose and M. N. Saha

constituted the Indian School of Physics, but it was C. V. Raman who
gave the lead during the first quarter of the present century. The cen-
tenary volume of the IACS recognizes this as the ‘school of Raman’.
A.  Dey, S. K. Banerjee, S. Appasamyar, S. K. Mitra, D. N. Ghosh,
D.  Banerjee, T. J. Chinmayanandan and K. S. Rao are some of the
scientists who constituted Raman’s School of Physics.21
Under the leadership of Raman, for the first time physics acquired
a professional status at the IACS. Raman and his associates published in
reputed foreign journals like Nature and Philosophical Magazine, but
soon the IACS launched its own Bulletin of the Association from 1909,
THE EMERGENCE OF THE INDIAN SCIENTIFIC COMMUNITY 45

which became a vehicle for publishing original Indian contributions.

With the coming of Raman and the increase in research activities, the
IACS held regular scientific meetings around three sections viz.,
physico-mathematical, chemical and biological. Geology was added in
1916. The scientific meetings graduated into the Annual Science
Convention, the first of which was held in 1917 in which nine papers in
physics, four in chemistry and seven in the biological sciences were pre-
sented. Surveying the work of physics in Calcutta from 1907 to 1917,
Raman observed, ‘a real school of physics has grown up in Calcutta the
like of which does not exist in any other Indian university and which
even now will not compare very unfavourably with those in European
and American universities’ (IACS 1976: 30). Raman in this meeting
also gave a list of twenty-five original papers from the School of Physics
in Calcutta which included the works of S. K. Banerjee, S. K. Mitra and
M. N. Saha. Around 1918, the Calcutta Physical Society was established
under the auspices of Calcutta University. To provide a publication
outlet of the annual meetings of the IACS, the Proceedings of the IACS
was launched from 1917.
K. S. Krishnan, the first Director of the National Physical
Laboratory, joined Raman after 1920. The most spectacular advances in
optics were carried out by the Raman school which later won world
recognition for the Raman Effect. In theoretical astrophysics, Saha’s the-
ories of thermal ionization and radiation led to the physical theory of
stellar spectra by the 1920s. Saha produced thirteen papers between
1917 and 1920, including the work on ‘ionization in the solar chromo-
sphere’ (1920). Saha provided the base for the ionospheric school at
Allahabad University in which he spent seventeen years of his life. Saha’s
basic work was further advanced by S. Chandrashekar, D. S. Kothari
and Majumdar who studied problems connected with the atmosphere
of stars, application of Fermi-Dirac statistics to elucidate the internal
structure of stars and Kothari’s theory of pressure of ionization (Mahanti
1990; Prasad 1938; Sen 1954). S. K. Mitra’s research programmes in the
1930s on radio science, wireless research and chemical physics devoted
to the interpretation of absorption spectra owe much to the initial
impetus in physical sciences given at the turn of the 19th century.
Another group which became active between 1900 and 1920 was
the group on plant physiology under J. C. Bose. Following his paper in
1900 on the ‘Generality of Molecular Phenomena Produced Electrically
in Living and Non-living Matter’, Bose published four monographs
46 V.V. Krishna

through Orient Longman: ‘Response in the Living and Non-living’

(1902), ‘Plant Response as a Means of Physiological Investigation’
(1906) with 315 experiments, ‘Comparative Electro-physiology’ (1907)
with 321 experiments; and ‘Researches on Irritability of Plants’ (1913).
With this base, J. C. Bose organized a research group at his Bose Research
Institute from 1917. N. N. Neogi, S. C. Das, Gurupadaswamy Das,
Jyotiprakash Sircar, S. C. Guha and Lalit Mohan Mukherji worked with
J. C. Bose and published about twenty papers on various facets of plant
physiology. In all J. C. Bose published ninety-seven papers from 1895 to
1920 and collaborated with nine colleagues in a quarter of these publi-
cations. From 1917 the Bose Research Institute launched its own jour-
nal called the Transactions of the Bose Research Institute. All the twenty
papers in plant physiology referred to above appeared in this journal
(Science Today 1983; Sen and Chakraborty 1986).
In mathematics, the Calcutta Mathematical Society was estab-
lished in 1908 with Ashutosh Mukherjee as President. Little known
about Ashutosh was his original contribution to differential equations,
known as ‘Mukherjee theorems’. Ashutosh became a member of the
London Mathematical Association and the University of Cambridge
honoured him by including his theorems in their curriculum.22 Through
the efforts of V. Ramaswami Iyer the ‘Analytical Club’ at Fergusson
College, Poona, was upgraded as the Indian Mathematical Society in
1911. In 1914, the Rash Behari Ghosh Chair of Applied Mathematics
was created at the University College of Science, Calcutta, and Ganesh
Prasad the first D. Se. of Allahabad University was appointed to it.
After the establishment of Benaras Hindu University in 1918 by
M.  M.  Malaviya, Ganesh Prasad founded the Benaras Mathematical
Society. Prasad’s main contribution was in applied mathematics. His
discourse with professionals in this area appeared as a memoir entitled,
‘Constitution of Matter and Analytical Theories of Heat’, published by
the Royal Society of Sciences of Gottingen (1903). The other area of
his interest was in the theory of real variables mainly on Fourier Series
published in the late 1920s.
The constitution of specialist groups in the university centres and
specialized institutions such as the IACS and the Bose Research Institute
enabled Indian scientists to assign a distinct national identity to science in
India by the 1920s. These achievements, which remained a dream during
M. L. Sircar’s lifetime, were a significant departure from the era of colo-
nial science. Indians could hardly publish eighteen papers in the journal
THE EMERGENCE OF THE INDIAN SCIENTIFIC COMMUNITY 47

of the Asiatic Society during 1836 and 1895. The European (mostly
British) scientists on the other hand accounted for 1,021 papers
(Viswanathan 1985: 27). In the next twenty-five years research output
from the Indians alone accounted for over 350 papers, the bulk of it con-
cerning original investigations.23 Another major step in the professional-
ization of Indian science during the 1920s was the creation of a common
forum for scientists in different parts of the country through the establish-
ment of the Indian Science Congress Association (ISCA) in 1914, mainly
due to the efforts of two chemistry professors, J. L. Simonsen and
P. S. MacMohan. Beginning with a membership of sixty scientists in 1914
the ISC quickly expanded to 300 members in 1916, and 360 in 1920. In
1914, thirty-five papers were presented in different scientific disciplines
which gradually increased to 120 for the successive years upto 1920.
The Science Congress served as an important platform to catalyze
community consciousness as well as unify the scattered specialist groups
on a national scale during its annual conventions which took place in
different parts of the country.24 During its formative period, especially
after 1917, the Congress attempted to organize scientific associations in
different disciplines through the formation of sectional committees.
The specialist groups provided a base for the formation of all-India soci-
eties in every scientific discipline. Beginning with the establishment of
the Indian Botanical Society (1920), the professionalization of science
entered a new phase. During the fifteen years up to 1935, seventeen
more societies or associations were constituted on an all-India basis cov-
ering all major scientific disciplines.

Conclusion

For countries such as India, colonial experience is important in consider-

ing the social processes of professionalization of science and the emergence
of national scientific communities. Colonial science or scientific work in
colonial enterprises had little to do with the emergence of the Indian sci-
entific community in its emergent period (1900 to 1920). After the 1870s
it becomes sociologically meaningful to speak of three categories of scien-
tific personnel, ‘gate keepers’ and ‘scientific soldiers’, who were part and
parcel of the colonial scientific enterprises, and native Indian scientists and
their missionary supporters who constituted the third group.
The major conclusion of this paper is that the third category of sci-
entists for the first time made organized attempts to undertake basic or
48 V.V. Krishna

fundamental research by the 1920s. Specialist groups, schools and insti-

tutions were constituted in physics, chemistry, mathematics, biological
sciences and astronomy by the early decades of this century. By the early
1940s the Indian scientific community made its intellectual presence felt
in the international scientific world. There were at least nine fellows of
the Royal Society as well as a Nobel Laureate in physics. An Indian sci-
entific community was created which notwithstanding its limited sphere
of influence, regarded advancing the frontiers of knowledge as a means
by which an Indian national identity could be established at the interna-
tional level of science. Emerging nationalism after the 1870s and the
‘ideological’ position of Indian scientists were in no small measure
unconnected to their struggle to achieve international recognition.
The support structures created through indigenous initiatives from the
1870s onwards gave a new meaning to the career structure in science.
These scientists espoused professionalization by remaining outside the
colonial enterprises and worked against the prevailing discriminatory
practices in recruitment. Even though the scientific community of this
era, as with any other international group of scientists, interacted with the
Western metropolis, the research agenda and social goals in advancing
scientific research came from their nationalist orientation. During 1900
and 1920 the Indian scientific community was by no means large enough
to reflect an ‘all-India’ character. It was mainly concentrated in some
pockets of the Indian ‘metropolis’, particularly in the Bengal Presidency.
The Indian encounter with modern (Western) science has evoked
considerable sociological debate. This paper differs from Shils’s observa-
tion that:
the Indian intellectual’s feeling of alienation, of unconnectedness with his
society, is in some measure a result of a desire for a complete immersion, a
complete renunciation of his modern intellectual identity and its replacement
by complete ‘Indianisation’ (Shils 1961: 69).

It is argued in this paper that the Indian scientific community was

certainly committed to the Indianization of science in the country but
this drive did not imply a complete renunciation of its modern intellectual
identity. P. C. Ray, J. C. Bose, C. V. Raman and others never resented
being part of the modern intellectual world in science. Rather, they
struggled to establish an Indian identity in the world of science. The
dichotomy between Indianization and the modern intellectual identity
implied by Shils is not founded among the Indian pioneers of modern
science in the late 19th century. They were certainly alienated from
THE EMERGENCE OF THE INDIAN SCIENTIFIC COMMUNITY 49

colonial scientific enterprise, and for the greater part of their intellectual
careers lived with a feeling of unconnectedness with that structure. Their
substantial efforts made to popularize science by translating modern sci-
ence into local languages negates Shils’s thesis. True, some of the leading
Indian scientists had deep religious orientations. J. C. Bose and P. C. Ray
started as Brahmo Samajists and C. V. Raman was a religious person. But
Bose did excellent work on electromagnetic waves around 1894 within
the modern scientific ‘paradigm’ and pursued basic work in plant physi-
ology, and later went on to build the Bose Research Institute in the image
of a temple (Nandy 1980: 54). Jairath’s (1984: 127) characterization of
P. C. Ray’s monumental work on the History of Hindu Chemistry as a
revivalist streak is questionable. P. C. Ray undertook this work in
response to the French chemist, Berthelot’s similar work, L’ Alchimstes
Grecs, for the middle ages. In this work Ray tried to trace the rational and
experimental tradition in modern chemical sciences in Indian (Hindu)
history—signifying a project to link the modern sciences with the rele-
vant domain of Indian tradition. He wrote: ‘If the perusal of these lines
will have the effect of stimulating my countrymen to strive for regaining
their own position in the intellectual hierarchy of nations, I shall not
have laboured in vain’ (Habib and Raina 1989: 63). As with J. C. Bose,
Ray’s orientation in the historical examination of Indian science since
antiquity was to revitalize our own rational tradition. The experimental
orientation of Indian scientists has, of late, been incorrectly underplayed
by some scholars. For instance, Raj (1991: 123) holds that Hindu knowl-
edge was clean in contradistinction to Western science which is linked to
laboratory and experimentation and which entails soiling one’s hands.
Referring to the orientation of scientists in mathematics, algebra, astron-
omy, optics, hydrostatics, etc., Raj concludes that ‘it is in the old image
of knowledge qua clean knowledge that the Bhadralok sought those
aspects of western science that would best correspond to it’. Such an
observation certainly cannot be stretched to an extreme ‘cultural deter-
mination’ mould for the simple reason that scientists such as J. C. Bose,
C. V. Raman, P. C. Ray and others established their laboratories by con-
structing much of their own apparatus. Even though C. V. Raman
claimed to have spent only about Rs. 200 for the equipment on his
Nobel Prize winning work, his work was not theoretical. In 1930, award-
ing the Hughes Medal of the Royal Society, Lord Rutherford observed
that ‘Raman’s effort must rank among the best three or four discoveries
in experimental physics in the last decade’ (Bhagvantham 1972: 32).
J.  C. Bose for instance did not only write books on plant physiology
50 V.V. Krishna

containing descriptions of about 636 experiments, but is also credited

with developing 100 ‘sensitive and experimental instruments for investi-
gating plants’. In the realm of chemistry P. C. Ray notes, ‘the fact that
Hindus had a very large hand in the cultivation of the experimental sci-
ences is hardly known’. Works on chemistry in the Rasendra Chintamani
by Ramachandra and Rasa—Prakasha Sudhakara by Yasodhara are
referred to by Ray as testimony to the tradition of experimentation and
observation in India. C. V. Raman in a different vein drew our attention
to the ability of the Indian mind in his own words:

I can assert without fear of contradiction that the quality of the Indian mind
is equal to the quality of any Teutonic, Nordic or Anglo-Saxon mind. What we
lack is perhaps courage, what we lack is perhaps driving force which takes one
anywhere . . . we need a spirit . . . that will carry us to our rightful place under
the sun . . . as inheritors of a proud civilization (Venkataraman 1988: 504).

In their efforts to revitalize the tradition of science, Indian scientists

did not attempt to selectively glorify all that was ‘good’ in the past. In
his own words, J. C. Bose observed that ‘it is a false patriotism to assert
that our ancestors knew everything and that we have nothing further to
learn . . . the real golden age is not the past but in the future . . . advance-
ment of positive knowledge and the method of experimental verifica-
tion is most essential’ (Sen 1989). Indian scientists denounced the social
forces which caused the downfall of experimental and inductive sciences
in the middle ages and in doing so cautioned against the prevailing
social and political conditions in early 20th century India.
As noted earlier, nationalism provided an ideological base for the
emergence of the scientific community. Advancing scientific research
formed an important object of their ‘ethos’. As Visvanathan (1985: 31)
implies, ‘ethos’ has both the ‘cultural’ and ‘economic’ versions. Some con-
nections between science and economic growth through technological
progress were apparent both in practice and in intellectual discourse.
However, as far as practice was concerned it was in no way comparable to
early 20th century Germany and America or even to later decades of Japan.

Notes
1. I have gained immensely from discussions held with Deepak Kumar, Irfan Habib,
Dinesh Abrol and Shiv Visvanathan at various points. I also wish to acknowledge the
support of SUD, ORSTOM, Paris for providing the opportunity to interact with a
THE EMERGENCE OF THE INDIAN SCIENTIFIC COMMUNITY 51

number of researchers working on scientific communities in developing countries.

Thanks are due to J. Gaillard, R. Waast, R. Arvantis, Y. Goudineau and Y. Chatelin.
I also thank Dr. Ashok Jain and Prof. M. N. Panini for their suggestions in the final-
ization of this paper.
2. See Whitley (1974) for ‘cognitive’ and ‘social’ institutionalization. For a critical review
of these concepts see Blume (1974) and Bourdieu (1975).
3. Visvanathan (1985) is, however, an exception. Adhikari (1987) deals at length with
growth patterns of science in terms of ‘extractive and servicing mode’, ‘intelligensia-
generated mode’ and ‘state-organized mode’ which I share with her in so far as I am
talking in terms of colonial science and non-colonial independent tradition in science
(see also Krishna 1992). However, given Adhikari’s objective to specify its (science)
different organizational modes of existence and their social dynamics of growth and
change, the interaction perspective was not specifically directed to establish the emer-
gence of an Indian scientific community. Jairath (1984), on the other hand, relies too
much on Basalla’s model and falls short of informing us about the emergence prob-
lem within the colonial context. There is another aspect of Jairath on which I differ
which is taken up in the concluding section. The ‘colonial’ phase of Indian science
in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, covering industrial, agricultural and
university-based education and research is discussed at some length in Ramasubban
(1977: Ch. 3). Ramasubban and Singh (1987: 166) rightly imply the development of
the Indian scientific community in its embryonic stage with the formation of the
Indian Science Congress in 1914. In this paper I go on to establish its origins much
earlier, in the late 19th century, sharing their idea of the scientific community as
‘young’ in its historical growth by the 1920s.
4. While I do not accept this connotation given by MacLeod, I am in general agreement
with scholars on colonial science in so far as it is considered one among other phases
of science in India for the period up to the late 19th century. The colonial phase could
be considered a dominant phase of science in India but all other scientific activities
including local, indigenous traditions cannot be subsumed under the umbrella of
colonial science.
5. P. C. Ray’s Presidential Address to the Seventh Indian Science Congress (ISC). Ray
(1920).
6. See Review of Agriculture survey No. 25, September 1830 as quoted in Kumar (1986).
7. Bagal (1955) in an illuminating biography of P. N. Bose also records that Bose played
an important part in the creation and expansion of Tata Iron and Steel Works through
his discovery of iron ores in Gurumahishini, Durg district.
8. Biographical details on some of these ‘soldiers’ are available in the excellent work of
Armytage (1961). It may be noted that my usage of ‘scientific soldiers’ is somewhat
different from MacLeod’s (1975), although I owe the term to him.
9. Mahender Lal Sircar’s address to the provisional committee of the LACS. The
Committee consisted of twenty-five members with Father Lafont as Chairman and
Sircar as Member-Secretary. See IACS (1976: 9).
10. P. N. Bose, member of the IACS, launched the Indian Industrial Association in 1891
which organized popular lectures on coal and fibres. The Association for the Advancement
of Scientific and Industrial Education was founded by J. C. Ghosh in 1904; it sent many
students abroad for higher education in science. See also Sarkar (1977).
11. Sircar, J. C. Bose and many leading Indian scientists contributed articles on physical
and biological sciences in The Dawn. The magazine launched in 1897 continued till
1913. In 1905 The Dawn had about sixty members.
52 V.V. Krishna

12. Some eminent scientists were on the faculty of the University College of Science.
C. V. Raman and P. C. Ray were the first Palit Professors. Ashutosh Mukherjee invited
a group of brilliant scientists like J. C. Ghosh, M. N. Saha, J. N. Mukherjee and
S. N. Bose as lecturers.
13. For further details on Kala Bhavan see The Dawn, Calcutta, from September 1910 to
February 1911.
14. K. R. Kirtikar in The Modern Review, Calcutta, 1907, in a five-part series dealt exten-
sively on the native contribution to the development of science education in affiliated
colleges (see also Kirtikar 1907).
15. From the communication of D. Bose, Member, Governing Body of the Bose Research
Institute and member of J. C. Bose Trust. See Science Today (1983: 21).
16. The famous Premchand Roychand offered five scholarships of Rs. 1,400 per year
from an endowment of Rs. 2 lakhs in 1879 to Calcutta University. The Rajabhai
Tower and Library at Bombay University were established by the generous grant of
Rs. 400,000 given by Roychand. Dadabhai Naoroji offered Rs. 50,000 and collected
Rs. 1.75 lakhs for Canning fellowships at Bombay University. J. N. Tata’s contribu-
tion of Rs. 30 lakhs and Sheshadri Iyer, the Mysore Dewan’s offer of 300 acres plus
Rs. 5 lakhs for the establishment of the Indian Institute of Science had no parallel.
The Association set up by J. C. Ghosh in 1910 raised Rs. 1 lakh per year to provide
scholarships for higher education in science and engineering. See also Visvanathan
(1985) who traces at length the professionalization of science accomplished by a
group of Indian scientists.
17. Vigyan Rahasya (1871). Vigyan Vikas (1873), Vigyan Darpan (1876), Sachitra Vigyan
Darpan (1882), Chikitsa Darshan (1887), Tatwabodhini Patrika and Bengal Spectator
are some of the important periodicals in Bengali dealing with science and
technology.
18. An excellent survey of writings in science and technology between 1800 and 1950 is
reported by Bhattacharya et al. (1989). This Table and information on sciences in
Bengali literature is taken from this source, and Ray (1918).
19. See Report on Industrial Education, Pan II, National Archives of India, New Delhi,
1903. This report covers some details on the Punjab Science Institute, Lahore. For
details on the Aligarh and Bihar Scientific Societies, see Habib (1985).
20. These books are: V. de Campigneulles and H Josson. 1898. The Total Solar Eclipse—
January 22, 1898. Calcutta: Thacker, Spincie and Co., 1898, and V. de Campigneulles,
Observations Taken at Dumroan, Bihar India During the Eclipse of the 22nd January 1898.
London: Longmans Green and Co. (Biswas 1989).
21. C. V. Raman himself refers to the work on physics as the ‘school of physics’ at
Calcutta: see IACS (1976) and Venkataraman (1988).
22. From the biographical account of Ashutosh Mukherjee. See Sir Ashutosh Mukherjee
Memorial Volume Calcutta: Aronodaya Art Press (published by J. N. Samaddar).
23. This figure is only the conservative estimate made from different sources. The actual
figure could cross 600.
24. The Association, as early as 1911, made explicit reference to the equality principle in
its statement of the objective the proposed Association sought: ‘to give a strong
impulse and more systematic direction to scientific enquiry, to promote the inter-
course of societies and individuals interested in science in different parts of the coun-
try, to obtain a more general attention to the objects of pure and applied science and
the removal of any disadvantages of a public kind which may impede progress’. See
Science and Culture, December 1937, HI (6): 307.
THE EMERGENCE OF THE INDIAN SCIENTIFIC COMMUNITY 53

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———. 1974. ‘Cognitive and Social Institutionalization of Scientific Specialities and
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Routledge and Kegan Paul.
4
A Large Community but
Few Peers: A Study of the
Scientific Community in India1
E. Haribabu

Introduction

I
n almost all societies of the contemporary world modern science
is recognized as a legitimate social activity and various levels of
public support are extended to it because of its perceived role in
socio-economic transformation. Comparative analysis of science in
different societies would illuminate specific features of the structure
and organization of science, values and norms guiding the cognitive
activities of the communities of scientists and interaction between
science on the one hand and economic and political power structures
of a given society on the other. In the context of underdeveloped
countries, linkages between members of their scientific communities
on the one hand and their counterparts in the advanced Western
countries on the other should be studied. It is important to under-
stand such interactions based on shared interests including cognitive
orientations. This paper is an attempt to understand the Indian sci-
entific community by focusing on the pattern of evaluation of scien-
tific work.
56 E. Haribabu

Studies in the Western Context

Merton’s pioneering contributions to the sociology of science within the

framework of functionalism facilitated several empirical studies of scien-
tific communities in Western countries. According to Merton, science is
a social institution with extension of certified knowledge as its goal.
Four sets of institutional imperatives—universalism, communism, dis-
interestedness and organized scepticism-are derived from the technical
methods and the goal of science (Merton 1973a: 270). These four sets
of imperatives constitute the ethos of science. A scientist’s role is to
advance scientific knowledge by making genuinely original contribu-
tions. High quality role performance (original contributions) brings rec-
ognition and rewards to individual scientists. Whether or not a scientist
has made an original contribution is evaluated by competent peers in
the community of scientists. Peer recognition is a testimony of the
extent to which a particular scientist has conformed to the institutional
norm of originality. Thus, quest for peer recognition is a motive derived
from institutional emphasis on the norm of originality (Merton 1973b:
293). Hence, peer recognition is more important than other rewards.
Journals are the vehicles of communication among members of a
scientific community. Evaluation of manuscripts submitted for publica-
tion is institutionalized through the referee system. Referees are status
judges charged with the responsibility of evaluating the quality of role
performance of scientists (Zuckerman and Merton 1973: 460). Similarly,
assessment of research proposals for grants is made by peers or experts.
Recognition and rewards in science are highly stratified and are concen-
trated almost entirely among a relatively small number of recipients-a
few scientists, laboratories and universities get the lion’s share
(Zuckerman 1988).
Studies conducted within the Mertonian paradigm attempted to
show that universalistic criteria are employed in evaluation of the scien-
tific work, allocation of recognition as also rewards and research funds.
Cole, Rubin and Cole (1977), Cole, Cole and Simon (1981), and
Mullins (1985) observe that-universalism in the form of peer judge-
ment has been adjudged to be the most important determinant of their
acceptance or rejection; universalism has been shown to govern the
evaluation of manuscripts for publication (Zuckerman and Merton
1973). Kuhn’s (1970) influential work has opened up possibilities of
alternative conceptions in the sociology of science. Mulkay’s (1979 and
A STUDY OF THE SCIENTIFIC COMMUNITY IN INDIA 57

1980) critique of the Mertonian paradigm has brought out the

epistemological basis of Merton’s functional analysis and the difficulties
involved in accounting for the behaviour of scientists in terms of the
Mertonian ethos of science. Mulkay (1980: 50) argues that Merton’s
claim of the existence of strong moral consensus on the goal of science
and Mertonian norms of science may be challenged on the grounds that
scientists may seek goals other than the Mertonian one and there is no
satisfactory empirical evidence for assuming commitment or high rates
of conformity to these norms. He further argues that the system of allo-
cation of recognition and rewards in science may be far from universal-
istic in the absence of a universal equality of opportunities for producing
scientific work.
Merton’s perspective accounts for differentials in productivity in
terms of differences in individual abilities. Mulkay (1980), however,
argues that productivity differentials are socially produced. This alterna-
tive line of analysis views productivity differentials in science both
within a country and across nations in terms of variations in the avail-
ability of training facilities, research resources, cultural capital and infor-
mal access to information about current developments at the frontiers of
knowledge (Mulkay 1980). Published productivity and citation prac-
tices, generally taken as measures of the research performance leading to
allocation of recognition and rewards, do not give the overall picture. As
mentioned above, equal opportunities to produce are not universally
available. Furthermore, not enough is known about the citation prac-
tices of scientists to facilitate an estimate of the extent to which they
might result from particularistic or localistic judgements (Zuckerman
1988). Latour and Woolgar (1979: 200–08) challenge Merton’s claim
that the quest for peer recognition is more important than are material
rewards in accounting for the motives of scientists in making contribu-
tions. They propose a credibility cycle model. They argue: ‘If . . . we
suppose that scientists are engaged in a quest for credibility we are better
able to make sense both of their different interests and of the process by
which one kind of credit is transformed into another.’ The notion of
credibility ‘makes possible the conversion between money, data, pres-
tige, credentials, problem areas, argument, papers and so on.’ In other
words, scientists ‘invest’ their credibility in problems which they think
will further enhance their credibility, which in turn: (i) helps them get
more support for their work; and (ii) allows them to realize their career
aspirations.
58 E. Haribabu

Comparative analysis of science in different societies presupposes

variation over time and space in norms and goals of scientific commu-
nities and motives of scientists in making scientific contributions. What
are the distinguishing features of the scientific community in India?
This paper attempts to throw some light on the scientific community in
India by focusing on the pattern of evaluation.

The Scientific Community in India

In the Indian context, the observation made by Aurora and Kumar

(1985) that sociologists have so far paid scant attention to the sociology
of science holds true to a large extent even today. There are very few
systematic studies on the Indian scientific community and fewer still on
the evaluation system in science. However, attempts were made to
examine the specific features of the organization of science. Bhabha
(1966) and Shils (1968) examined the implications of the decline of
support for academic and basic research and hence for the constitution
and growth of research groups in the universities. It is also argued that
science in India is largely administered by the government and an inde-
pendent scientific community is unable to develop under the auspices of
the government (Seshachar 1972). Although in numerical terms the sci-
entific community is large, it is fragile (Shiva and Bandhopadhyay
1980). Jairath (1984) raises a fundamental question as to whether we
have a scientific community in the sociological sense of the term.
Indian culture has been shown to be incompatible with values of
modern science (Parthasarathi 1969a, 1969b; Rahman 1970). It has been
argued that one of the reasons for the crisis in Indian science is its linkages
with international (Western) science and that for the Indian scientific
community the western metropolis is still the centre (Visvanathan 1985).
Very few researchers have focused their attention on the system of
evaluation in Indian science. Krishnan and Visvanathan (1987) ana-
lyzed the impact of Indian science and technology journals and found
that over 50 per cent of Indian scientific output is published abroad.
Indian journals, according to them, do not serve as an effective medium
of communication among Indian research workers in science and tech-
nology. They further observe that the fact that ‘we do not give the better
of our research output to our own journals is not merely the conse-
quence of our journals being poor, it is the very cause of it.’ They also
note that lack of proper and rigorous referencing is one of the problems
A STUDY OF THE SCIENTIFIC COMMUNITY IN INDIA 59

faced by Indian journals. However, they do not explain why there is no

proper review of the papers submitted to Indian journals.

Objectives of the Study

The present study explores the following questions: Given the location
of the Indian scientific community in its specific socio-cultural context
and its historical interaction with international (Western) science, how
does it operate with reference to the evaluation of scientific contribu-
tions? Does a peer review system exist? If it does exist how effective is it?
How do we account for the preference to publish their research abroad?

The Setting and Method

Data for the present study were collected from the Indian Institute of
Science (IISc), Bangalore, is one of the premier institutions of scientific
education and research. Many scientists who worked here or were associ-
ated with it received national and international recognition. At present, the
institute has the largest concentration of scientists who have won national
awards such as the S. S. Bhatnagar Award and the Young Scientist Award.
The author spent nearly four weeks at the IISc during May and
August 1990 collecting data. Primary data from the scientists were col-
lected through in-depth interviews. In addition, bio-datas of the scien-
tists were collected to look at the pattern of publication and choice of
journals for publishing their research output.
A group of nineteen scientists were selected for the present study.
The scientists were selected from departments/units where they were
engaged in research in ‘frontier’ areas. Eight scientists from the Molecular
Biophysics Unit (MBU), four from the Biochemistry department, and
seven from the Solid State and Structural Chemistry Unit (SSCU) were
selected. The SSCU and MBU were relatively small units with full-time
scientists numbering eight and twelve respectively. Because of the size, all
the scientists available at the time of the study were selected. In the case
of the Biochemistry department, the number of scientists was over thirty.
Hence, one scientist from each area of specialization was selected for
interview. The major objective of the MBU is concerned with ‘explain-
ing biological activity in molecular terms’. In the case of the SSCU, solid
state chemistry, surface chemistry, amorphous materials and theoretical
60 E. Haribabu

chemistry are the major areas of specialization. Research on

superconductivity was initiated nearly five years ago. In the Biochemistry
department, the four major areas of specialization are developmental
biology, bio-energetics, reproductive biology and molecular biology. Out
of nineteen scientists interviewed for the study, ten were professors, two
were associate professors and seven were assistant professors. One of the
scientists was a woman holding the rank of assistant professor.
The scientists’ bio-datas show that they are highly productive.
Most of them have achieved national and international recognition and
a majority have received national awards. Seven have received the
S. S. Bhatnagar Award, three the Young Scientist Award of the CSIR
and another three recipients of the Young Scientist Medal of the Indian
National Science Academy (INSA). In addition, some have received
awards from the UGC and other agencies. Eleven scientists have received
more than one award. Seven are members of the INSA and the Indian
Academy of Science. The scientists in our study participated in evalua-
tion both as contributors and as referees. That is, as contributors they
subjected their work to be evaluated by others. Many of them, as refer-
ees, evaluated the work of other scientists in the form of papers meant
for publication or as proposals submitted to grant-giving bodies. Each
of the scientists was asked to respond to the following questions: Does
he/she think that peer review exists in: (i) the evaluation of manuscripts
communicated to Indian journals; and (ii) the evaluation of research
proposals sent to funding agencies in India?
Since the number of scientists interviewed for the study was very
small their responses are not tabulated here. Excerpts from the inter-
views are presented to indicate the pattern of responses. The names of
scientists are not mentioned so as to maintain confidentiality.

Findings and Discussion

Eighteen of the nineteen scientists mentioned that peer review does exist
in Indian science but it is not satisfactory because of various factors. A
young scientist specializing in theoretical chemical physics and the
winner of two national awards said:

Peer review does not exist in our country. Big professors review my work. They
are not critical. I review papers for foreign journals not for Indian journals.
A STUDY OF THE SCIENTIFIC COMMUNITY IN INDIA 61

Another scientist holding the rank of professor, who achieved

international recognition for his work on DNA and won the
Bhatnagar Award, stated that peer review does exist in some form
now. But, he said:

It may not exist after some time because mediocrity will be the order of the
day in the absence of a conscious attempt to develop excellence.

The scientist is obviously concerned about the increasing ‘medioc-

rity’ in Indian science. Another internationally recognized scientist of
the SSCU who won several national and international awards including
the Bhatnagar Award mentioned that ‘peer review succeeds where good
science is done’. In his assessment peer review is not ‘sufficiently good’
in our country.
Responses of other scientists indicate various factors that affect the
peer review system in Indian science. From this at least four factors were
shown to affect the peer review system in a significant way: (i) a very
small number (scarcity) of peers in research areas; (ii) lack of profession-
alism and rigour; (iii) a preference for seniors as status judges; and
(iv) scientists’ association with governmental work.
1. Scarcity of competent peers. Eighteen out of the nineteen scientists
mentioned that the peer review system is not satisfactory because there
is no objectivity in the reviews. They related lack of objectivity to the
very small number of competent peers in their research areas. A chemist
holding the rank of professor in the MBU and a winner of the Bhatnagar
Award said:

Peer review exists but it does not work efficiently because the number of
people working in each specialization is small. Objectivity is achieved in a
large population.

The majority shared this view. Scientists also recognize the fact that
in India there are a few exceptionally good scientists but in the commu-
nity as a whole there are few peers. A scientist who specializes in theoret-
ical solid state chemistry said:

In our country proper peer review does not exist because of very few people in
each specialization. There are people with accomplishments but they cannot
evaluate objectively.
62 E. Haribabu

Relative to the total size of the scientific manpower in India, the

number of scientists working in a given area is too small. An assistant
professor affiliated to the SSCU said:

Peer review that exists is not professional. There is no large enough peer group
in each area though we have a large community.

Lack of objectivity in evaluation which is a consequence of the

small number of competent peers affects the review of manuscripts sub-
mitted to Indian scientific journals and research proposals for grants. In
the case of journals, the editors have to depend on a small number of
referees in a given area or send manuscripts to those who are not directly
engaged in doing research in the area to which the particular paper
belongs. A scientist of the MBU, winner of the Bhatnagar Award,
pointed out:

From Indian journals I receive papers for review in areas which are peripheral
to my research interests whereas papers that come for review from foreign
journals are directly related to my field.

The lack of a sufficient number of peers in any particular area has

implications for communication and collaboration. In the absence of
critical size, the small number of scientists specializing in a particular
field tend to work in isolation and are compelled to actively communi-
cate with their counterparts outside the country. The scientist further
pointed out:

I have invitations from abroad. But I do not visit. However, I send samples
and my colleagues abroad make measurements. Techniques are available in
India but people in my field outside India are interested in my work and they
readily agree to undertake measurements and this collaboration results in joint
publications with them.

A junior scientist who specializes in macromolecular crystallog-

raphy and is currently engaged in research on structure of viruses, said:

There are not many people in my field in India. If there are no competent
peers, it is possible for a scientist to convince others that his work is high
quality work and get away with big grants. If there are twenty to thirty peers,
the review becomes more objective.
A STUDY OF THE SCIENTIFIC COMMUNITY IN INDIA 63

When scientists are engaged in mobilizing resources for research

there may be a conflict between those whose proposals have to be
reviewed and those who review these proposals. A senior scientist spe-
cializing in biomolecular crystallography and winner of the Bhatnagar
Award stated:

Peer review does exist but it is not satisfactory. In many areas we do not have
high quality people. We keep chasing the same small number of people for
evaluation. In our country if one does not get a grant the person does not
admit that he lost out in competition. Our assessment gets coloured by other
factors. However, there are some people who review without fear or favour.

We have seen that much of our research output is denied to our

journals (Krishnan and Visvanathan 1987). The publication behaviour
of Indian scientists seems to be based on a certain value judgement
according to which Indian journals rank lower than foreign journals and
because of this the scientists’ belief that the credibility of scientists would
be enhanced by publishing in foreign journals is nurtured. This is
reflected in the behaviour of scientists both as contributors and as refer-
ees to Indian journals. Contributors either do not send their research
output to Indian journals or at best send those papers which do not have
a chance of getting published in foreign journals. The referees do not
seem to perform their role as status judges conscientiously. A senior
molecular biologist specializing in genetic engineering and winner of
the Bhatnagar Award, admitted that Indian journals have a low impact.
He edits a journal, the impact factor of which is 0.4. He pointed out:

In the case of journals, the problem (peer review) is much more acute. We are
not in a happy situation. It is because of lack of expertise and a tendency of
referees to devalue papers sent by Indian journals for review. The referees
would not spend as much time as they would on papers received from foreign
journals.

We may perhaps explain the motive of Indian scientists to publish

in foreign journals in terms of the Latour and Woolgar (1979) model of
the credibility cycle. It appears that Indian scientists seek to enhance
their credibility in the international (Western) scientific community by
publishing in foreign journals. Further, by visiting foreign countries for
conferences and seminars they hope to establish contacts with scientists
abroad which may give them opportunities for collaborative research
64 E. Haribabu

with them. Thus, by enhancing their international credibility they also

enhance career prospects at home. It is a fact that in the matter of recruit-
ment and promotions in many of the Indian scientific organizations and
universities, a premium is placed on foreign publications and training.
Related to this quest for international credibility is the negative atti-
tude towards problems unique to India. The experience of one of the
scientists, trying to get a paper published in an Indian journal, led him
to question the criteria adopted for judging scientific research. His paper
which reported his research on improving fuel efficiency of cooking
stoves meant for rural areas was rejected by a journal. He later sent it to
another journal but did not get a response from its editor for a long
time. He then enquired about the fate of his paper from a member of its
editorial board. At the latter’s intervention the paper was subsequently
published in that journal. This experience prompted him to remark:

In India scientists want to do the kind of science that goes on in the West so
that they can publish in Western journals and get recognition abroad.
Members of our scientific elite advocate the cause of science relevant to India’s
needs but when this is done the work is not given due recognition.

2. Lack of professionalism and rigour. Professionalism involves the adop-

tion of certain impersonal criteria and standards. Rigour implies meticu-
lousness in evaluation. The majority of scientists in our study expressed
the view that the review system suffers from a lack of professionalism
and rigour. This is noticeable in the case of the referee system of journals
and also assessment of project proposals.
3. Preference for seniors as status judges. Although almost all the scientists
complained about the unsatisfactory project review system, the junior
scientists were more dissatisfied. A junior scientist of the SSCU and
winner of the Young Scientist Award as well as the Indian National
Science Academy Award, said:

Grants are monopolized by big guys. They get a lot of money. I reviewed some
project proposals and recommended them for funding. But the funding
agency declined to support the proposals. In our country decisions are made
by seniors. We give importance to age.

The scientist further mentioned that persons working in reputed

institutions such as the Indian Institute of Science do not have any
A STUDY OF THE SCIENTIFIC COMMUNITY IN INDIA 65

problem in being funded. Is this an Indian version of stratification in

science? It certainly is. Another scientist holding the rank of associate
professor in the SSCU also drew attention to the role of seniors. He
remarked:

Some big men who have big contacts have access to big funds. They carry out
big research and faster research.

A woman scientist holding the rank of assistant professor and spe-

cializing in biomolecular structure and function was more critical about
the project review system. She said:

There is some peer review but whether the review is objective or not is the
question. In India it is not objective. When large money is involved in grants,
personal knowledge and social interaction play a role. We go by seniority.
Seniors become important because they are involved in decision making. We
should de-emphasize seniority. The funding agencies should go by bio-data
rather than seniority.

4. Scientists’ association with governmental work. Involvement of scientists

in the committee system of the funding agencies of the government as
advisors and experts and in the government as advisors on various tech-
nical issues brings scientists closer to the bureaucracy and political
decision-makers. The number of scientists involved in such activities in
every country tends to be small. This small group of elite scientists tends
to influence decisions connected with defining the thrust areas for the
scientific community as a whole and with regard to research funding.
Members of the scientific elite try to project their own research areas as
the thrust areas and thus gain access to funds. We have already seen that
some of the scientists in our study are aware of the role played by seniors
in evaluation. A senior professor in the biochemistry department and
winner of the Bhatnagar Award, whose research area is carrier proteins,
said:

A few-scientists, bureaucrats and politicians-decide everything about science.

A few scientists involved in government think that they are experts in all
fields.

Because of their access to the government and funding agencies the

big people do not face problems in mobilizing funds for their research.
66 E. Haribabu

Sometimes, funds meant for an the entire department may be

monopolized by one individual if he happens to be associated with the
funding agency in some capacity.
In India, the era of big money and big projects began in the early
1980s, after the establishment of the Department of Science and
Technology (DST). Earlier, scientists had to depend on organizations
like the CSIR, Bhabha Atomic Research Centre (BARC) and the Indian
Council of Medical Research (ICMR) which provided funds for small
projects through their extramural research programmes. According to a
senior molecular biologist, the Project Advisory Committee (PAC)
system of the DST has made the project review a broad-based one. He
is the chairman of one of the project advisory committees. He, however,
pointed out that problems still exist.

Earlier, the project advisory committees were dominated by seniors. Now it is

changing. But there are problems. In our country merit alone cannot be a
consideration. The complaint is that Indian Institute of Science scientists get
away with a lot of project money. Now we have to take care of proposals from
other areas—north-east, Punjab and other border areas.

This indicates that the evaluation system in Indian science is sub-

ject to pressure arising from political considerations as well. Needless to
say, equal opportunities for research must be provided. It is, however,
difficult to achieve the goal without sacrificing standards.
We have seen that most of the scientists in our study lay the blame
for lack of objectivity on the small size of the peer groups in their fields
of specialization. Objectivity is related to inter-subjective meanings.
Unless there is agreement between the scientists whose work is reviewed
and those who review them about the judgement of the work, the legit-
imacy of the review system is likely to be questioned. Some scientists
drew attention to this aspect when they said that those scientists whose
proposals are denied support do not accept the judgement of the
referees.
Another point that emerged from the study is that scientists are
aware of how the peer review system works in Western countries; that
there are anomalies even there, with undeserving proposals sometimes
getting grants and awards. However, because the scientific endeavour in
the West is large, these anomalies are not as conspicuous as they are in a
country like India which is not as advanced scientifically.
A STUDY OF THE SCIENTIFIC COMMUNITY IN INDIA 67

Conclusion

The present study is based on the experiences of scientists located in an

institution which occupies a very high position in the stratification of
scientific institutions in India. Many of the scientists in our study are
highly productive, having received international recognition and won
national awards. Many of them are engaged in research in ‘frontier areas’.
The present study raises questions which must be explored further.
Given the large size of the Indian scientific community, why is it that
competent peers are in short supply? Is it a problem of those doing
research in ‘frontier areas’ or is it one faced by all scientists? Is it that only
a few scientists in reputed institutions are involved in active research in
specialized fields or is it because our scientists spread themselves too
thinly over several ‘frontier areas’, as a result of which the number of
peers in a given area at a given point of time tends to be small? With
regard to the publication behaviour of scientists, why is it that scientists
both as contributors and as referees tend to devalue Indian scientific
journals? Is it due to an ambivalent attitude or due to the practice of
adopting double standards? Further empirical studies involving scien-
tists in universities and government laboratories are needed to compre-
hend the pattern of evaluation in the scientific community.
One of the scientists in our study remarked that ‘peer review suc-
ceeds where good science is done’. What then is ‘good science’ in the
Indian context? If ‘good science’ implies international (Western) science
in which a few resourceful scientists participate, then inadequacies in
evaluation highlighted by the scientists in our study are likely to persist.
If, on the other hand, ‘good science’ implies widely shared cognitive
orientations coupled with equality of opportunities to do science then
the inadequacies can be minimized.

Note
1. The data presented in this paper were collected as part of a wider study of brain-drain
sponsored by the Council for Scientific and Industrial Research (CSIR). The author
thanks Drs. Ashok Jam, V. V. Krishna, P. V. S Kumar and Subodh Mahanty of the
National Institute for Science, Technology and Development Studies (NISTADS),
New Delhi, and Dr. Vinod Jairath of the Department of Sociology, University of
Delhi, for their suggestions and interest in the study. The author also thanks his col-
league Dr. S G. Kulkarni for his comments on an earlier draft of the paper.
68 E. Haribabu

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Sociology, pp. 517–74. Beverly Hills: Sage Publications.
Zuckerman, H. and R. K. Merton. 1973. ‘Institutionalised Patterns of Evaluation’, in R. K.
Merton (ed), Sociology of Science, pp. 461–96. Chicago: University of Chicago Press 8.
 PART III
Scientific Productivity
5
Scientific Productivity:
Sociological Explorations
in Indian Academic Science
Binay Kumar Pattnaik

Introduction

S
cientists differ enormously in the number of papers they publish:
The possible range of publications generally expected in any
sample of scientists varies as widely as from zero to more than
200 during a scientist’s career. Some scientists publish in the beginning
of their career and are never heard of again. Some publish late in their
career and continue publishing. A few scientists start publishing early in
their career and continue publishing as long as they live. Besides, while
some publish at a very slow rate, others do at a very fast rate. In aca-
demic science, where the tradition of pure research holds sway, publica-
tion is valued most, as contribution to the common fund of human
knowledge is regarded as the basic goal of science. Nevertheless, the
societal criticisms of the relevance of extended public funding to aca-
demic research, funding of scientific research by the industry, increasing
competition among scientists, etc., have not only directed scientific
academic research industry-ward, but have also changed the nature of
its output.
This paper seeks to examine the bearing of sociological factors on
scientific productivity. Of the two lines of analysis available, namely, the
72 Binay Kumar Pattnaik

‘sacred spark’ hypothesis, entailing predetermined differences among

scientists (involving mostly psychological variables), and the ‘cumulative
advantage’ hypothesis (involving a variety of social mechanisms) (Allison
and Stewart 1974:597), I follow the latter.

The Study: Hypotheses, Indices, and Data

The five hypotheses tested in this study are as follows:

1. Types of scientific institutions vary significantly in terms of the quantity of

research performance/scientific productivity.
2. The infrastructure facilities in the scientific institutions significantly affect
the research performance of their scientists.
3. Research environment in the department/centre is a positive correlate of
scientific productivity, for colleagues work as bouncing boards to the ideas
of a fellow scientist, and a competitive environment created by peers pres-
surises a scientist to publish more.
4. Institutional reward system is positively correlated with scientific product-
ivity. Hence, apart from professional awards, timely and early promotions
encourage the scientists for high productivity.
5. The alumni of major departments/centres show high productivity, whereas
those who start on a weak foot (that is, acquiring educational credentials
from and taking jobs in minor departments/centres) tend to establish a
pattern of failure that eventually pushes them out of competition.
Therefore, graduate school prestige of the scientist is positively correlated
with scientific productivity.

For measurement, the variables in the hypotheses are operation-

alised as follows:

1. Types of institutions
a) Departments at the national institutes
b) University post-graduate departments
c) Departments at the Regional Engineering Colleges (RECs) and other
technical institutes.
2. Infrastructure facilities
a) Material resources (funds, equipments, workspace, etc.)
b) Human resources
c) Information resources (library, data bases, Internet, etc.).
3. Research environment
a) Degree of cooperation in sharing knowledge sources and handling
bottlenecks
SCIENTIFIC PRODUCTIVITY 73

b) Degree of cooperation in sharing common technical facilities

c) Frequency of research-group meetings and concern for the welfare of
group members
d) Extent to which ideas from junior scientists are accepted.
4. Institutional rewards
a) Promotions within the organisation
b) Professional awards received/won.
5. Graduate school prestige (GSP) is based on the ratings made by the peer
experts in the concerned area of research.
6. Scientific productivity (otherwise technically termed Total Quantity
Performance (TQP)) includes all the possible kinds of research output the
academic scientists produce:
a) Research publications, including those in journals and edited books,
books, research reports, and conference papers.
b) Allied research products, including patents, prototypes, industrial
designs, new experimental methods, new experimental materials, algo-
rithms, new or improved instruments/processes/products, trouble-
shooting, evaluation techniques, etc.

The study is based on primary data collected from 250 academic

scientists from various disciplines/areas of chemical sciences, food tech-
nology and chemical engineering during 1996–97. These scientists
occupied various teaching positions in three national institutes (includ-
ing the Indian Institutes of Technology), four state universities, and four
technical institutes (including RECs). In view of the diverse nature of
academic institutions in the country, the sample scientists were drawn
from institutes and universities that represent variations in the type of
academic institutions (such as national and regional), the strata/ranks
of departments of chemical sciences and technology, and the system of
administration and funding.
Although, statistically speaking, these 250 chemical scientists of
11 departments cannot be presumed to represent the entire community
of academic scientists in India, they can give us a fair understanding of
the research performance of academic scientists in the country. The
immediate universe of the study was the total number of scientists (398)
working in these 11 departments. Though randomness was ensured in
drawing the sample scientists, it was somewhat constrained owing to
cynicism among some scientists resulting in their non-cooperation
and  the non-availability of some others during our visit to these
departments.
All the data collected were primary, and that concerning the per-
formance of scientists was for five consecutive years-1991–92 to
74 Binay Kumar Pattnaik

1996–97. The instrument of data collection was a structured question-

naire. The number of items for each variable in the questionnaire
varied suitably. Since the variables included in the exercise were quan-
titative in nature, these were measured at ordinal or interval levels as
the case may be. For ordinal level measurement, a three-point scale was
used, and for interval level measurement, particularly for rating output,
a four-/five-point scale was used.
‘Scientific productivity’ (the dependent variable) can be measured
either by the subjective statements of scientists concerned or by their
colleagues’ evaluation of their scientific performance. Since both these
approaches are subjective in nature, I have chosen to use such objective
criteria as the number and size of the units of output that are tangi-
ble and recognised by the scientific community worldwide. Such a mea-
surement of scientific productivity may appear to be a simple task, as it
is based on total output of a scientist during the stated period of five
years. However, the authorship for different outputs was a problem, as
single-author outputs could not be equated with multi-author outputs.
In comparison to solo authorship, multiple authorship facilitates greater
volume of output to one’s credit. To neutralise this ‘group effect’ and to
ensure equality in TQP, the score of a particular output was placed on a
decreasing (ratio) order as its number of authors increased. Varying
weights, like 1, .75, .5, and .25, were assigned to solo-authored, coau-
thored, triple-authored and multiple-authored outputs respectively.
Thus, the sum of the scores of both publications and allied research
products gave us the total score of a particular scientist. The jury (the
peer) opinion exercise had already taken into consideration the varying
sizes of various outputs, like research papers, research project reports,
books, patents, experimental methods or designs, experimental mater-
ials, algorithms or prototypes, etc. for TQP. Therefore, the weight of
authorship was multiplied with the output size score like, 1, 2, 3, 4, and 5.
This ascertained the quantity value of a single output, and the summa-
tion of such values of all outputs made by an individual scientist indi-
cated her/his TQP score.

Institutional Variations and Productivity

Academic institutions in which the sample scientists are employed form

subcultures within the broader cultural system of society. Each subcul-
ture has its relevant institutions, a prescribed status system, a value
SCIENTIFIC PRODUCTIVITY 75

system, and a system of rewards, as well. Each sub-culture is similar to

others with regard to some of its organisational features, but in other
aspects it may differ and manifest its uniqueness. This section discusses
whether specific organisational structure and related environment of
academic institutions affect the productivity of scientists. That is, in the
context of institutional variables, we shall examine Hypothesis 1: that
types of scientific institutions vary significantly in terms of the quantity of
research output. We may recall here Krohn’s (1972) study supporting the
hypothesis that major differences in research activities are based on
organisational (as well as disciplinary) distinctions, and G.A. Cole’s
(1979:369–77) emphasis on the relevance of organisational setting for
scientific performance.
The differences in productivity among scientists working in differ-
ent institutions can be observed from Tables 1 and 2. Table 1 gives an
initial picture of the differences among types of institutions with regard
to TQP. The ANOVA in that Table shows that the three types of insti-
tutions differ significantly in terms of TQP. The TQP of scientists in
national institutes is significantly different from that of the scientists in
RECs/other technical institutes and university departments. Table 2
also reflects the level of difference in TQP among the sample scientists
in different types of institutions. Only 1 (3.3%) scientist from the
RECs/other technical institutes is found in the category of high per-
formers, whereas as many as 25 (83.3%) scientists from the national
institutes are found in that category. This is mainly due to the

Table 1
ANOVA: Types of Scientific Institutions and Total Quantity Performance (TQP)

Source of Mean Square

Variation DF Sums of Squares (Variance) F Ratio F Prob.
Between groups 2 32.7945 16.3972 21.6977 .0000
Within groups 247 186.6615 .7557
Total 249 219.4560
Mean Group 1 2 3
1. 0.88331 1. RECs/Other Institutes
2. 1.84032 2. Universities +
3. 2.99023 3. National Institutes + +
‘+’ denotes that the pair of groups significantly differ from each other.
76 Binay Kumar Pattnaik

Table 2
Total Quantity Performance (TQP) by Type of Scientific Institutions

Institution Type
REC/Other National
TQP Tech. Inst. University Institute Row Total
Nil * 28 11 19 58
** 48.3 19.0 32.8 100
*** 46.7 16.4 15.4 23.2
Low TQP * 26 39 43 108
** 24.1 36.1 39.8 100
*** 43.3 58.2 35.0 43.2
Moderate * 5 13 36 54
TQP ** 9.3 24.1 66.7 100
*** 8.3 19.4 29.3 21.6
High TQP * 1 4 25 30
** 3.3 13.3 83.3 100
*** 1.7 6.0 20.3 12.0
Column total * 60 67 123 250
** 24.0 26.8 49.2 100
*** 100 100 100 100
* = Frequency, ** = Row percentage, *** = Column percentage.

Chi-Square Value DF Significance

Pearson 47.04471 6 .00000

Cramer’s V .30674

differences in the organisational variables, like infrastructure facilities

that they enjoy (in material resources, quality of human resources and
access to information technology/resources), their research environ-
ment, and their reward system.
It is seen from Table 2 that 23.2 percent of the sample scientists did
not have any research output (during the 5-year period). Whereas 43.2
percent of the sample scientists have low TQP and 21.6 percent have
SCIENTIFIC PRODUCTIVITY 77

moderate TQP, only 12 percent have demonstrated high TQP. The aver-
age quantity performance level among the sample scientists is much
lower than the performance median. Table 2 shows a very strong Chi-
square value, as it is very highly significant. The Cramer’s V (.30) is also
indicative of a relatively strong association between TQP of scientists
and the different types of institutions in which they work.
While examining TQP with reference to only the quantity of
research publications (first of the two components of TQP), it is found
that, among high performers, there is no scientist from the RECs/other
technical institutes, and there is a wide gap between the quantity perfor-
mance of scientists from university departments and national institutes.
Among the high performers, whereas only 5 (15.67%) scientists are
from the universities, 27 (84.4%) are from the national institutes. The
Chi-square value was found to be very highly significant (P = .00000).
A similar analysis for quantity of allied research products (the other
component of TQP) showed that, in the high performers category, all
seven scientists were from the national institutes. The scientists from
university departments and RECs/other technical institutes came under
the moderate and low performance categories. The Chi-square value
was also found to be very highly significant (P = .00000).

Infrastructure Facilities and Productivity

It is axiomatic that any scientific activity presumes the availability of

certain resources- for example, funds, equipments, qualified personnel,
and information (journals, books, computing and communication facil-
ities, etc.). Taking the cue from the existing literature, it is hypothesised
that the infrastructure facilities in the scientific institutions significantly
affect the performance of their scientists (Hypothesis 2). For analytical pur-
poses, ‘infrastructure’ has been operationalised here by taking into con-
sideration three components: (1) the material resources, like funds,
equipments, etc.; (2) the human resources, like the quality of scientific
manpower; and (3) the information resources, such as library, data
bases, and computational, word processing, Internet and mailing facili-
ties. Our data confirmed that infrastructure facilities affect the TQP of
scientists. The correlation coefficient of infrastructure with TQP is
highly significant (p = .000), though the correlation value (r = .314)
shows a positive but moderate relationship.
78 Binay Kumar Pattnaik

The ANOVA in Table 3 shows that the three types of institutions

differ significantly as for (perceived) infrastructure facilities. The infra-
structure facilities are unequally distributed among different types of
institutions, reflecting the principle of cumulative advantage that oper-
ates in a stratified science. According to this principle, the rich get richer
at a rate that the poor become poorer (Allison and Stewart 1974:597).
This happens in the case of scientific institutions because centres of
proven excellence are allocated far larger resources than centres which
are yet to make their mark. In turn, their prestige attracts a dispropor-
tionate number of promising graduate students and faculty members.
High calibre students naturally choose the top-rated departments in the
country because of the high quality of the faculty and facilities available
there.
Table 4 shows a significant relationship (at .011 level) between the
perceived quality of infrastructure and the TQP. This confirms
Hypothesis 2. Interestingly, the 30 high performers are distributed
across the categories of the quality of infrastructure: 50 percent per-
ceived the quality of infrastructure as good, 23.8 percent as excellent,
and 10 percent and 23.7 percent of them perceived the quality of
infrastructure as poor and fair respectively. Similarly, 38 (35.2%),
32  (29.6%), and 29 (26.9%) of the 108 scientists in the low TQP
category perceived the quality of infrastructure as poor, fair, and
good respectively. This seems to suggest that an unlimited supply of

Table 3
ANOVA: Types of Scientific Institutions and Infrastructure Facilities

Mean
Source of Sums of Square
Variation DF Squares (Variance) F Ratio F Prob.
Between groups 2 13334.25 6667.13 138.28 .0000
Within groups 247 11909.20 48.21
Total 249 25243.45
Mean Group 1 2 3
1. 20.8000 1. RECs/Other Institutes
2. 29.1642 2. Universities +
3. 38.5528 3. National Institutes + +
‘+’ denotes that the pair of groups significantly differ from each other.
SCIENTIFIC PRODUCTIVITY 79

Table 4
Infrastructure Facilities and Total Quantity Performance (TQP)

TQP
Infrastructure Facilities Nil Low Moderate High Row Total
Poor * 24 38 12 3 77
** 31.2 49.4 15.6 3.9 100
*** 41.4 35.2 22.2 10.0 30.8
Fair * 20 32 16 7 75
** 26.7 42.7 21.3 9.3 100
*** 34.5 29.6 29.6 23.3 30.0
Good * 13 29 20 15 77
** 16.9 37.7 26.0 19.5 100
*** 22.4 26.9 37.0 50.0 30.8
Excellent * 1 9 6 5 21
** 4.8 42.9 28.6 23.8 100
*** 1.7 8.3 11.1 16.7 8.4
Column total * 58 108 54 30 250
** 23.2 43.2 21.6 12.0 100
*** 100 100 100 100 100
* = Frequency, ** = Row percentage, *** = Column percentage.

Chi-Square Value DF Significance

Pearson 21.26 9 .011

funds, equipments and personnel by itself does not ensure high

productivity.

Research Environment and Productivity

It has been argued that, once the optimum level has been reached in
material resources for research, it ceases to determine the performance of
scientists. This implies that non-material aspects of the organisation are
also important for scientific productivity. Suitable work climate or
80 Binay Kumar Pattnaik

research environment is one such non-material variable (see Guion

1973). According to Bonmariage et al. (1979), general R&D effective-
ness of a research unit is significantly related to the general research cli-
mate in that unit. Acceptance of new ideas, dedication to work,
cooperation among scientists, frequency of scientific and technical
meetings, etc. (which resemble closely the components of the ‘research
environment’ variable in this study) are strong correlates of general
R&D. The interaction between a scientist and her/his environment
stimulates her/his productive potential. However, since neither scien-
tists nor their environments are homogeneous, we could expect that
different types of mix would produce different results (see Cotgrove and
Steven 1970:143). Thus, we may infer that research environment in the
department/centre is a positive correlate of scientific productivity.
Defining ‘research/work climate’ is, however, not an easy task,
because of the ambiguities involved in the concept. Of the several views
on this, two are important. One view is that it is a systemic phenomenon,
and that it can be explained through the universal characteristics of an
organisation and its functioning. Another view is that it is a perceived
phenomenon, and that the subjective perceptions of the people or group
determine the climate of the department or institution. We have used
the latter view for our analysis.
Table 5 shows that the research environment in national institutes
differs significantly from that of the RECs/other technical institutes.

Table 5
ANOVA: Research Environment and Types of Scientific Institutions

Mean
Source of Sums of Square
Variation DF Squares (Variance) F Ratio F Prob.
Between groups 2 2661.49 1330.74 17.98 .0000
Within groups 247 18279.63 74.00
Total 249 20941.12
Mean Group 1 2 3
1. 29.8500 1. RECs/Other Institutes
2. 35.5970 2. Universities +
3. 37.9675 3. National Institutes +
‘+’ denotes that the pair of groups significantly differ from each other.
SCIENTIFIC PRODUCTIVITY 81

There is no significant difference between the research environments of

national institutes and university departments, although the mean score
of the former is numerically higher than that of the latter. In our attempt
to understand the nature of research environment in different types of
institutions, several questions were formulated on the frequency and range
of interactions among scientists, satisfaction in professional life, auton-
omy enjoyed, the overall cooperative atmosphere in the laboratory, etc.
Statistical analysis shows that, while the correlation coefficient between
TQP and research environment (r = .31) is not very high, it is positive and
highly significant (p = .000). Thus, it follows that more conducive the
environment in the department, higher is the TQP. Data analysed in
Table 6, especially its Chi-square value (P = .004) reinforces this finding.
Of the 250 scientists, 58 (23.2%) are from less conducive environ-
ment, and most of them are also low- and non-productive scientists,
Table 6
Research Environment and Total Quantity Performance (TQP)

TQP
Research Environment Nil Low Moderate High Row Total
Less * 22 25 7 4 58
conducive ** 37.9 43.1 12.1 6.9 100
*** 37.9 23.1 13.0 13.0 23.2
Moderately * 31 61 31 15 138
conducive ** 22.5 44.2 22.5 10.9 100
*** 53.4 56.5 57.4 50.0 55.2
Highly * 5 22 16 11 54
conducive ** 9.3 40.7 29.6 20.4 100
*** 8.6 20.4 29.6 36.7 21.6
Column total * 58 108 54 30 250
** 23.2 43.2 21.6 12.0 100
*** 100 100 100 100 100
* = Frequency, ** = Row percentage, *** = Column percentage

Chi-Square Value DF Significance

Pearson 18.74 6 .004
Cramer’s V .19
82 Binay Kumar Pattnaik

whereas 138 (55.2%) are from moderately conducive environment, and

54 (21.6%) are from highly conducive environment. Considering the
distribution of these scientists in terms of their different levels of
productivity, it is clear that Indian scientists, by and large, do not have
a highly conducive research environment. Thus, environment appears
to affect productivity, but not greatly. Although Hypothesis 3, positing
a positive relationship between the two variables, is corroborated, the
strength of the relation between the variables is weak as shown by the
low value of Cramer’s V (.19). This is because, along with research envi-
ronment, other variables also play a role in effecting variations in the
TQP of scientists.
I have already discussed the accumulation of advantages in access to
resources. Obviously, the institutions having better research facilities
attract good researchers and students, and thereby create a good research
environment. While the less conducive research environment does not
necessarily push the scientists out, neither does it enable them to pro-
duce satisfactorily. Hence, we find that most scientists from the less con-
ducive environment are also low or non-productive scientists. Of the
192 productive scientists, 138 are from the moderately conducive
research environment and only 54 are from the highly conducive one.

Reward System and Productivity

Institutions vary as regards the nature of incentives they offer for con-
forming to their norms and helping them to achieve their goals. In
academic institutions, scientists are encouraged to excel in their fields
of research through recognition of their work by a reward system. The
reward system in science refers to the relationship between effective
role performance and the recognition of that performance by the pro-
fession of science, the institutions of scientific research they are affili-
ated to, and the group of scientists (peers) engaged in research in the
same area. As mentioned earlier, the rewards include scientific awards,
fellowships, nominations to professional bodies, etc. Such recognition
at the institutional level of science apart, at the community level of
scientists, recognition comes in the form of citations, naming the con-
tribution after the scientist, etc. Alhough Gaston (1978:1–16) said
that recognition does not come to a scientist merely in terms of imme-
diate monetary incentives like salary or income (except award money),
SCIENTIFIC PRODUCTIVITY 83

upgradation in position within the organisation is also a form of recog-

nition. Timely and early promotion always encourages scientists to be
more productive. Hence, it is hypothesised that, in academic science,
reward system is positively correlated with the productivity of scientists.
(Hypothesis 4).
Table 7 shows that 90 (36%) of the sample scientists have not
received any kind of reward. Of the remaining 160 scientists, only 30

Table 7
Rewards and Total Quantity Performance (TQP)

TQP
Rewards Score Nil Low Moderate High Row Total
Nil * 38 43 6 3 90
** 42.2 47.8 6.7 3.3 100
*** 65.5 39.8 11.1 10.0 36.0
Low * 7 29 20 6 62
** 11.3 46.8 32.3 9.7 100
*** 12.1 26.9 37.0 20.0 24.8
Moderate * 12 24 17 15 68
** 17.6 35.3 25.0 22.1 100
*** 20.7 22.2 31.5 50.0 27.2
High * 1 12 11 6 30
** 3.3 40.0 36.7 20.0 100
*** 1.7 11.1 20.4 20.0 12.0

Column total * 58 108 54 30 250

** 23.2 43.2 21.6 12.0 100

*** 100 100 100 100 100

* = Frequency, ** = Row percentage, *** = Column percentage.

Chi-Square Value DF Significance

Pearson 54.82 9 .00000

Cramer’s V .27
84 Binay Kumar Pattnaik

Table 8
ANOVA: Awards and Types of Scientific Institutions

Mean
Source of Sums of Square
Variation DF Squares (Variance) F Ratio F Prob.
Between groups 2 136.94 68.4718 5.7517 .0036
Within groups 247 2940.43 11.9046
Total 249 3077.37
Mean Group 1 2 3
1. 0.0000 1. RECs/Other Institutes
2. 0.2687 2. Universities
3. 1.6098 3. National Institutes + +
‘+’ denotes that the pair of groups significantly differ from each other.

have received high recognition as regards rewards. The Chi-square value

is significant (P = .00000), and substantiates Hypothesis 4.
Table 7 also shows that rewards are unequally distributed among
the scientists. The ANOVA in Table 8 shows the unequal distribution of
professional awards among scientists in different institution types, as
they also differ in their TQP. There exists no significant difference
between the REC scientists and those of the universities. However,
having received more awards, the scientists of national institutes differed
significantly from those in universities and RECs/other technical insti-
tutes. A higher percentage of scientists in national institutes have
acquired recognition by winning more professional awards.
The scientists of national institutes differ significantly from their
counterparts in the universities and RECs/other technical institutes not
only in scores of winning awards (see Table 9), but also in their TQP (see
Table 1). An analysis of the relationship between scores on awards won
and TQP reveals it to be significant (P = .00000). Thus, owing to the
common pattern of institutional differences observed in scores of awards
won and in TQP, differences in scores on awards won are attributable to
differences in TQP.
Studies have examined the correlation between the unequal distri-
bution of rewards and differences in scientific productivity (see J.R. Cole
and S. Cole 1967; Gaston 1970). In the present study, the correlation
between scores of TQP and those of rewards is positive and significant
SCIENTIFIC PRODUCTIVITY 85

Table 9
Awards Won by Type of Scientific Institutions

Institution Type
REC/Other National
Awards Won Tech. Inst. University Institute Row Total
Nil * 60 63 91 214
** 28.0 29.4 42.5 100
*** 100.0 94.0 74.0 85.6
Less prestigious * 0.0 3 18 21
awards ** 14.3 85.7 100
*** 4.5 14.6 8.4
Moderately * 0.0 0.0 9 9
prestigious awards ** 100 100
*** 7.3 3.6
Highly prestigious * 0.0 1 5 6
awards ** 16.7 83.3 100
*** 1.5 4.1 2.4

Column total * 60 67 123 250

** 24.0 26.8 49.2 100

*** 100 100 100 100

* = Frequency, ** = Row percentage, *** = Column percentage.

(r = .38). If taken separately, the correlation of awards won (a compo-

nent of the variable ‘reward system’) and quantity of research publica-
tions, the value remains positive (r = .31) and significant (P = .001)
implying that higher the rate of publication, higher is the recognition.
However, it is to be noted that awards and honours are conferred on
scientists for the high quality of their work, and not for their TQP.
Nonetheless, the fact remains that even little recognition, in whatever
form it may be, works as a stimulus to productivity.
We have earlier observed that the national institutes have better
infrastructure facilities and better research environment, factors that pro-
mote higher productivity among their scientists. Obviously, these scien-
tists have gained higher levels of recognition. The differences in
86 Binay Kumar Pattnaik

recognition among scientists, in terms of their access to resources and

affiliations to powerful institutional positions and bodies, even if their
contributions are more or less on equal footing, is called the Mathew
Effect (Merton 1973: 443–47): Those who have got enough, get more;
and those who have got very less, have a hard time even to maintain what
little they have. That is, the reward system helps the already established
scientists by according them more recognition for a particular contribu-
tion than what others would have got for the same or equivalent
contribution.
Researchers have investigated various aspects of the reward system
in science, especially the trend towards accumulation of advantages. For
example, Crane (1965:699) found that highly productive scientists at a
major university gained recognition more often than equally productive
scientists at a lesser known university. Likewise, J.R. Cole and S. Cole
(1973) and Zuckerman (1977) have found that, scientists who receive
recognition for their work during the early stages of their career become
more productive afterwards, than those who do not. In what follows,
we shall deal with the other aspects of the cumulative advantage hypoth-
esis (Allison and Stewart 1974:597).

Graduate School Prestige and Productivity

Several studies abroad have shown that, scientists working in major uni-
versities are more likely to be highly productive and more likely to
receive recognition, than those working in minor universities (see Crane
1965; Gaston 1970:721–123). The variable ‘graduate school prestige’
(GSP) refers to the prestige/ranking of the university/institute where the
scientist has done her/his doctoral work. It has been obtained by merg-
ing their scores derived from jury opinion and ranking of universities/
institutes by the American Science Association.
The ANOVA between the GSP of scientists and the type of institu-
tions in which they are employed reveals that the scientists in national
institutes have a higher GSP background than their counterparts
in  RECs/other technical institutes and university departments (see
Table 10). The scores of the latter two vary significantly from the
former. Table 11 presents the distribution of scientists in different types
of institutions by their graduate school background. Cross-tabulating
the GSP scores with the type of institutions in which the scientists were
SCIENTIFIC PRODUCTIVITY 87

Table 10
ANOVA: Graduate School Prestige (GSP) and Types of Scientific Institutions

Mean
Source of Sums of Square
Variation DF Squares (Variance) F Ratio F Prob.
Between groups 2 116.64 58.3246 76.2972 .0000
Within groups 247 188.81 .7644
Total 249 305.45
Mean Group 1 2 3
1. 1.7153 1. RECs/Other Institutes
2. 2.0547 2. Universities
3. 3.2392 3. National Institutes + +
‘+’ denotes that the pair of groups significantly differ from each other.

first employed, it is seen that scientists graduating from less prestigious

departments are employed more in the RECs/other technical institutes
(46%) and university departments (39%), and only a small percentage
of them are employed in the national institutes (15%). Conversely,
most of the sample scientists from high GSP background (81.5%)
found jobs in the national institutes, where the scientists are also more
productive. In Table 11, the three figures in low GSP and high GSP
rows occur exactly in a reverse order-the former descending and the
latter ascending. A column-wise reading of Table 11 shows that fre-
quencies in the three GSP levels vary in a reverse order if the two end
categories are compared, that is, the RECs/other technical institutes
and the national institutes. This is indicative of co-variation in the two
variables. So, the Chi-square value (P = .000) of the cross table, which is
highly significant, suggests a high degree of association between the two
variables.
The above finding is corroborated by a reasonably high correlation
(r = .60) between the prestige of graduate schools from which the sample
scientists have passed out and the prestige of their first place of employ-
ment. This implies that research training in a major department fetches
a scientist her/his first job in a major department, and that training in a
less prestigious department is more likely to fetch the scientist her/his
first job in a minor department.
88 Binay Kumar Pattnaik

Table 11
Graduate School Prestige (GSP) and First Place of Employment

First Place of Employment

REC/Other National
GSP Tech. Inst. University Institute Row Total
Low GSP * 48 41 16 105
** 45.7 39.1 15.2 100
*** 80.0 61.2 13.0 42.0
Moderate * 7 16 41 64
GSP ** 10.9 25.0 64.1 100
*** 11.7 23.9 33.3 25.6
High GSP * 5 10 66 81
** 6.2 12.3 81.5 100
*** 8.2 14.9 53.7 32.4
Column total * 60 67 123 250
** 24.0 26.8 49.2 100
*** 100 100 100 100
* = Frequency, ** = Row percentage, *** = Column percentage.

Chi-Square Value DF Significance

Pearson 92.82 4 .000

Evidently, the alumni of major departments tend to take up jobs in

major departments, and thereby acquire additional advantages. Conversely,
those who acquire their research degree from and take up their first job in
minor departments tend to attain limited success, and are eventually
pushed out of the productive category. Thus, Hypothesis 5 stands corrob-
orated. This finding unfolds another stage in the long process of accumu-
lation of advantages, and reinforces the argument that, success breeds
success. (In our sample, there exists very little difference between the data
on the first and later places of employment of scientists.)
Cross-tabulating the GSP scores of scientists with their TQP, Table
12 finds these to be correlated significantly (P = .007). Of the 250
SCIENTIFIC PRODUCTIVITY 89

Table 12
Total Quantity Performance (TQP) & Graduate School Prestige (GSP)

GSP
Moderate
TQP Low GSP GSP High GSP Row Total
Low TQP * 51 25 32 108
** 47.2 23.1 29.6 100
*** 68.9 48.1 48.5 56.3
Moderate TQP * 19 18 17 54
** 35.2 33.3 31.5 100
*** 25.7 34.6 25.8 28.1
High TQP * 4 9 17 30
** 13.3 30.0 56.7 100
*** 5.4 17.3 25.8 15.6
Column total * 74 52 66 192
** 38.5 27.1 34.4 100
*** 100 100 100 100
* = Frequency, ** = Row percentage, *** = Column percentage.

Chi-Square Value DF Significance

Pearson 13.88 5 .007

sample scientists, only 30 (15.6%) are high performers; of these 30, 17

(56.7%) and 9 (30.0%) are from highly and moderately prestigious
graduate schools respectively. But, 32 (29.6%) of the 108 scientists in
the low performers category, who have high GSP scores happen to be
young scientists who had just begun their career or older scientists who
are nearing their superannuation. In either case, it is natural that they
would be low performers. Not surprisingly, of the 74 scientists with low
GSP scores 51 (69%) are low performers as well.
Scientists may have attended the graduate schools either in India or
abroad. In either case, the graduate schools may be classified as major
and minor universities based on their GSP scores. The ‘t’ test in Table 13
shows that scientists trained in major and minor universities in India
90 Binay Kumar Pattnaik

Table 13
‘t’ Test—Scientists Trained in Major vs. Minor Indian Universities and Total
Quantity Performance (TQP)

Number of Standard Standard

Type of University Cases Mean Deviation Error

Major Indian University 92 1.7315 1.544 .161

Minor Indian University 60 2.8650 3.229 .417
T Value = 2.90 DF = 151 P = .004.

Table 14
‘t’ Test—Scientists Trained in Major vs. Minor Universities Abroad and Total
Quantity Performance (TQP)

Number of Standard Standard

Type of University Cases Mean Deviation Error

Major University Abroad 27 2.4111 1.686 .324

Minor University Abroad 60 2.8650 2.212 .374
T Value = 2.28 DF = 61 P = .026

significantly differ in their TQP (P = .004), confirming the hypothesis

that prestige of the doctoral department in India is also responsible for
significant differences in TQP. Likewise, Table 14 shows that scientists
differ significantly in their TQP in terms of the prestige of their doctoral
schools abroad: those who got their doctoral/post-doctoral training in
the major universities abroad tend to be more productive, than those
trained in the minor universities there. Although this difference is
statistically significant, it is not reasonably wide, because, despite their
training abroad, these scientists have taken up jobs in India and thereaf-
ter worked under similar material and cultural conditions. Thus, apart
from their knowledge, what the products of elite universities abroad
bring to India are motivation, a better work culture and a feeling of
being distinct from their colleagues. These qualities may also erode over
years.
The differences in TQP of scientists with reference to their graduate
school background, that is, Indian universities versus universities
abroad, are significant (P = .011), but not highly (see Table 15). However,
SCIENTIFIC PRODUCTIVITY 91

Table 15
‘t’ Test—Scientists Trained in Indian University vs. University Abroad and Total
Quantity Performance (TQP)

Number of Standard
Type of University Cases Mean Deviation Standard Error

Indian University 152 2.1789 2.412 .196

University Abroad 62 3.0710 2.069 .263
T Value = 2.55 DF = 213 P = .011.

Table 16
‘t’ Test—Scientists Trained in Minor vs. Major Universities and Total Quantity
Performance (TQP)

Number of Standard
Type of University Cases Mean Deviation Standard Error

Minor University 119 1.8857 1.596 .146

Major University 95 3.1284 2.904 .298
T Value = 3.98 DF = 213 P = .000.

training in the universities abroad affects, to a certain extent, the later

productivity of the Indian scientists. This may be due to their exposure
to the obvious advantages associated with the academic institutions of
developed countries, which they could carry forward to India. However,
more interesting is the significant difference in TQP (P = .000) between
doctoral/post-doctoral products of elite and non-elite institutions, irre-
spective of their location in India or abroad (see Table 16). The product-
ivity is distinctly high among the alumni of major institutions/
universities across the world, thus corroborating Hypothesis 5 and con-
firming Crane’s (1965: 703–04) findings on this.
Since recognition is the principal motive for any scientist to be pro-
ductive (Merton 1962:454–56), the nature of rewards expected and
obtained for scientific work may also affect the productivity of scien-
tists, irrespective of whether they were trained in major or minor univer-
sities. It is generally believed that scientists from major universities have
an advantage in that their peers (assumedly) have a positive impression
of their work. It is also believed that, since major universities facilitate
92 Binay Kumar Pattnaik

interaction between junior scientists and eminent scientists (who have a

say in allocating scientific rewards), the junior scientists tend to be more
productive there. While the highly productive scientists are generally
expected to win rewards, such scientists in major universities win most
of the rewards/recognitions, marginalising such scientists in minor uni-
versities. The latter are no more likely to win rewards/recognitions than
the unproductive scientists of major universities. Crane (1965:710–13)
has, therefore, argued that productivity does not bring rewards/recogni-
tions to scientists, visibility in a major university does. This is in tune
with the cumulative advantage hypothesis.
A position in minor universities seems to delay, rather than inhibit
altogether, a scientist’s productivity. In such universities, a scientist’s first
major publication generally appears later in her/his career. Also, many
scientists who have been trained in minor universities are less likely to
have studied with highly productive scientists to have imbibed the spirit
and culture of scientific research. These reasons suggest why doctoral
products of minor universities are less productive than their counterparts
from major universities. As J.R. Cole and S. Cole (1973) argue, the accu-
mulation of advantage also takes place during the educational process.

Productivity and Elitism in Science

In industrial societies, compared to many other occupational groups,

scientists rank high with regard to both income and social prestige. For
those outside science, scientists form a homogeneous social group.
Scientists, however, are stratified based on their influence and perform-
ance; we may identify two broad groups among them-the elites and the
commoners. In this study, elites in science are defined as those scientists
whose scientific capacities are indisputable and whose contributions are
rated very highly compared to others. What logically follows from this
is another hypothesis: that elitism in science is an observed phenome-
non, and that the top class of scientists makes a disproportionate contri-
bution to research work. To examine this hypothesis, the top 30 (12%)
of the sample scientists, who were identified as high quantity perform-
ers, are taken for analysis. The TQP scores of all productive scientists
(192 or 76.8%) is 544.10, of which the contribution of the top 30
(12%) scientists is 207.30 (or 38.1%). Twenty-five (83.3%) of these top
scientists are from the national institutes, 4 (13.3%) are from the
SCIENTIFIC PRODUCTIVITY 93

universities, and only 1 (3.3%) is from the RECs/other technical insti-

tutes. Whereas 36.7% percent of these scientists work in highly condu-
cive research environment, the majority (50%) work in moderately
conducive research environment. Moreover, as many as 17 (56.75%)
and 9 (30%) of these scientists are from the highly prestigious and mod-
erately prestigious graduate schools respectively. In brief, the elite scien-
tists are not only high performers, but they also have an elitist
background-for example, acquiring training from prestigious depart-
ments, gaining employment in equally prestigious departments, sustain-
ing a highly conducive research environment, and enjoying better
infrastructure facilities and reward system. As for the 60 (24%) non-
productive scientists in the sample, we find that a little more than 50
percent of them are working in the RECs/other technical institutes,
54 percent come from less prestigious graduate schools, and nearly 92
percent have less or moderately conducive research environments.

Conclusion

With the help of the statistical analysis of data all the five hypotheses of
the study have been verified. Even the consequential hypothesis, that
there prevails an elitism in science, has been proved. It has been repeatedly
observed that the ‘type of institution’ in which the scientists are employed
plays the role of an intermediary variable between ‘scientific productivity’,
on the one hand, and each of the five determinant variables, on the other.
It is, in fact, found to be instrumental in accumulating the effects of allied
determinants of scientific productivity. Accordingly, the well-known
cumulative advantages hypothesis in science has been verified with refer-
ence to the present sample of academic scientists in India.
Having analysed scientific productivity based on the functionalist
approach to social stratification in science, founded by Merton and car-
ried forward by J.R. Cole and S. Cole, Crane, Gaston, and others, this
paper could invite the familiar criticism that it offers a circular explan-
ation to (individual) scientific productivity. Mulkay (1980), having
negated the assumptions of this approach, offers an alternative explan-
ation, emphasising the recognition of structural factors like supervisory
positions, leadership in research units, etc. Yet, he candidly confesses
that ‘unfortunately, till date no coherent alternative framework to the
functionalist one is available in literature’ (Ibid.:42).
94 Binay Kumar Pattnaik

References
Allison, P.D. and J.A. Stewart. 1974. ‘Productivity differences among scientists: Evidence
for cumulative advantage’, American sociological review, 39: 596–606.
Bonmariage, J. et al. 1979. ‘Ratings of research unit performance’, in F.M. Andrews (ed.):
Scientific productivity (305–07). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press and UNESCO.
Cole, G.A. 1979. ‘Classifying research units by patterns of performance and influence’, in
F.M. Andrews (ed.): Scientific productivity (353–94). Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press and UNESCO.
Cole, J.R. and S. Cole. 1967. ‘Scientific output and recognition: A study in the operation of
the reward system in science’, American sociological review, 32: 377–90.
——— .1973. Social stratification in science. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press.
Cotgrove, S. and B. Steven. 1970. Science, industry and society. London: George Allen Unwin.
Crane, D. 1965. ‘Scientists at major and minor universities: A study of productivity and
recognition’, American sociological review, 30: 699–714.
Gaston, J.C. 1970. ‘The reward system in British science’, American sociological review, 35:
718–32.
———. 1978. The rewards system in British and American science. New York: John Wiley
and Sons.
Guion, R. 1973. ‘A note on organisational climate’, Organisational behaviour and human
performance, 9: 120–25.
Krohn, R.G. 1972. ‘Patterns of institutionalisation of research’, in S.Z. Nagi and R.G. Corwin
(eds.): The social context of research (29–66). New York: Wiley Inter-science.
Merton, R.K. 1962. ‘Priorities in scientific discovery: A chapter in sociology of science’, in
Bernard Barber and Walter Hirsch (eds): Sociology of science (447–85). New York: The
Free Press.
———. 1973. ‘The Mathew effect in science’, in R.K. Merton (ed.): The sociology of science
(439–59). Chicago: The University of Chicago Press.
Mulkay, M. 1980. ‘Social inequality’, Current sociology, 28 (3) (Special issue on ‘The sociology
of science in east and west): 23–42.
Zuckerman, H. 1977. Scientific elite. London: Collier Macmillan.
6
Scientific Goods and
Their Markets1
Kamini Adhikari

Introduction

T
he products of agriculture, industry and services become goods
in some markets, in the sense that they become objects of cer-
tain economic transactions between producers and consumers.
The products of scientific work embodied in the ever-increasing
stock of scientific knowledge are also increasingly acquiring the charac-
teristics of goods. This process may be called the ‘scientification of
industry’. My purpose here is to present an understanding of this ascen-
dant trend in the contemporary dynamics of science and to situate
India in relation to it.
In order to examine this phenomenon, it is necessary to start with
the nature of the transactions into which scientific knowledge is brought
in the course of its marketization. This paper, while making this examin-
ation, looks more particularly at the effects of these transactions on the
process of knowledge production itself. Economic transactions on scien-
tific knowledge take place between scientists and agents from different
societal spheres, i.e., economy, polity, law, etc., directly (e.g., use of
explicit devices such as patent legislation) or indirectly (e.g., dissem-
ination of the tradition of openness of research results), and often
involve items of knowledge which are being processed and are yet to be
certified as scientific contributions. Through these transactions, the sci-
entist’s thought processes are significantly influenced by social forces
96 Kamini Adhikari

which emanate from outside the scientific community and the

disciplinary boundaries of science. These dimensions of knowledge are
created through the requirements of utility, control, competitive advan-
tage and other such ‘trans-scientific’ considerations. The next part of the
paper is a general discussion about what is distinctive in the knowledge
products which have been called, in the conceptual shorthand of the
title, ‘scientific goods’, and presents the analytic concept of the scientific
goods-producing transactions it uses.
Each society has its own history of development of science and of
the economy, constituting particular conjunctures of intellectual and
social forces, both local and global. How the conversion of scientific
knowledge into scientific goods that are bought and sold or employed in
economic activity works out in the process of knowledge production as
to its sources, mechanisms, operations and consequences, can be seen
only by entering into its particularity. The third part of the paper is such
an illustrative study of the Indian experience.
The paper, in brief conclusion, seeks some generalizations from
the study.

Distinctiveness of Scientific Goods

Let me start by distinguishing scientific goods from kindred concepts.

Elements of the stock of scientific knowledge are commonly referred to as
mental products. The idea of a scientific good denotes a particular kind of
mental or cognitive product of science, one to the ‘content’ of which is
attached some notion of economic value or money-worth. This content-
specific valuation, with reference to its external relations of use, market-
ability and economic function, is the core attribute of a scientific good
which makes it different from scientific products of other kinds, such as
those resulting from the activities of teaching, guiding research, publishing
in professional journals, contributions to conferences, and research for dis-
cipline advancement. Most often the latter also involve payment of money
in terms of salaries, fees, etc., but such transactions are not strictly depen-
dent on a valuation of the economic worth of an individual item of know-
ledge transacted. They reflect, characteristically, factors that are rather
more scientist-specific or activity-specific, such as standing, reputation,
speciality, or match or fit with prevailing ideas of ‘good’ science (Segerstrale
1989), success in the increase in the number of locations of the mental
SCIENTIFIC GOODS AND THEIR MARKETS 97

product as seen in citations and other kinds of dissemination. Transactions

in the constitution of scientific goods imbue a specific content, at a level
of unprecedented detail, with money value in consideration of the differ-
ent potential or actual consequences of its passage into the economy.
The distinction is frequently made between science-based ‘tangible
goods’ (e.g., industrial products, processes, instruments, equipment) and
science-intensive ‘services’ (e.g., systems, information-services, telecom-
munication). For the notion of scientific goods, this distinction is irrele-
vant since a scientific good may result in either a tangible good (e.g.,
a drug) or an intellectual commodity (e.g., a computer software algo-
rithm  or source programme). It should be seen as narrower in scope
than  Machlup’s ‘knowledge-industries’ (1962) which encompass all
knowledge-related activity sectors, including education, informa-
tion-handling and all research. Nor is the concept of a scientific good
co-terminus with science innovation or simply ‘innovation’, in Freeman’s
sense of origination of new and improved materials, products, processes
and systems, i.e., of an innovation in the economic sense, accomplished
only with the first ‘commercial’ transaction involving the new product,
process, system or device, rather than with the ‘whole process’ (Freeman
1974: 22). The idea of a scientific good, in contrast, is meant to take in
knowledge transactions concerned with shaping, through different
mechanisms and operations, the (mental) products of science, at any
point in their career, into products to which economic valuations have
been ascribed. Hence it is necessarily involved with the ‘whole process’
and with casualties induced at any point of the way, not solely with
commercially actualized transactions as such.
How can one recognize scientific goods? What specific differences
have evolved in the cognitive results of science in the transactional pro-
cesses of their passage into the “intellectual economy”, to use Simon
Kuznet’s phrase (1972: 246)? These are often most clearly visible in
countries with more highly developed scientific research and economic
activity, but countries with natural resources and industrial or services
potential supply equally distinctive manifestations of the generic condi-
tions of interest here. In their roles as buyers, sellers or as other kinds of
participants in an increasingly global economy, these countries have
clearly entered the transactions arena of scientific goods.
The most obvious general candidates for inclusion in the category
of components of scientific knowledge in existence as scientific goods
98 Kamini Adhikari

are the production-relevant sciences with explicit economic identities

(e.g., materials sciences, biotechnologies, information sciences, telecom-
munications, electronics) as a consequence of incremental advances or
of intellectual breakthroughs in disciplinary development. Typical
instances are provided by the protein sciences, enzymology, embryology,
plant sciences, genetic engineering and allied specialities, which are
opening up new product development possibilities in chemicals, phar-
maceuticals and in the agricultural and synthetics industries, because
scientific goods have been constituted with the ability of a science to
manipulate genetic material at the molecular level (thus the possibility
of creating new micro-organisms, economic plants, farm animals and
other life forms); to generate hybridomas for producing monoclonal
antibodies (hence results which are as important for research as they are
relevant for medical and pharmaceutical application); and to produce
chemical entities of unprecedented accuracy and specificity (so shaping
new areas both of synthetic chemistry and industrial processes). Other
examples could be given of entire production-relevant specialities, but
perhaps it suffices by showing how scientific goods can arise from what
a science is or what its specialities can do.
Scientific goods may be recognized in their several trans-scientific
features, such as factors of scientific performance, defensibility, usability,
saleability, technology-locatedness, which are being constituted by the
continuous adaptation to, or by, the conscious interiorization of scien-
tific activity of forces linked to other institutional areas. For example,
environmental, natural resources preservation or regeneration, and cost
considerations can expand the definition of a scientific product (e.g.,
cost-saving sample survey designs) or what the meaning of research
effectiveness is (e.g., survival-enhancing qualities of the ecological sci-
ences). Another performance factor, the ‘dependability’ of scientific
results, entails new meanings of risk and how it should be measured.
Particularly important where science is attached to technology, is the
element of ‘risk’ which has generated a whole new domain of mental
production: Technology Assessment and Risk Acceptance Research,
which is a pointer to the contingent and negotiated nature of ‘com-
pleted’ scientific products and ‘dependable’ technologies.
Scientific goods must not only be considered to be doing their job
well, they must also be ‘defensible’. Research activity now internalizes a
host of practical defensibility dimensions: (i) commercial defensibility
SCIENTIFIC GOODS AND THEIR MARKETS 99

or the business legitimacy of a scientific product in terms of a correctly

perceived market opportunity for R and D activity, newness of an item
or its competitiveness, etc.; (ii) legal defensibility, e.g., patentability,
protection in the law of exclusive rights to control innovations and to
determine their price; and (iii) proprietary defensibility, e.g., satisfying
such proprietary factors as secrecy of scientific results and suitability for
companion lines of development. A contentious defensibility factor
now emerging is that of the international defensibility of intellectual
property rights while the prevailing laws are mainly country-specific.
‘Usability’ as a dimension of scientific goods is well-known to com-
puter scientists, defined by computer users not only in terms of hard-
ware speed but also as ample software, easier-to-use systems and data
communication networks which link multiple investigators to compu-
ters (Scientific American 1989: 53). As already seen in the studies of
Von Hippel (1976, 1977), users of a scientific end-result may influence
scientific activity by supplying essential information and playing a
dominant role in successful new commercial innovations.
Again, a ‘saleability’ dimension both opens and closes territories for
science and for its industrial form, research and development (R&D).
Management literature refers to many saleability factors of a product
which may have relevance to research, such as its appearance, unique-
ness, price, user-compatability, timing and adaptation to trade. Third
World analysts cite such phenomena as the replacement of bulk drugs
by proprietary products, corporate disinterest in leprosy cures, and the
entry of trans-national corporations into seed development to suit their
agrochemicals, which have set the whole course of research in certain
scientific areas away from the mass needs of developing countries.
Consumer action groups and alternate science, green and ecological
movements, have lately become a new source for the definition of scien-
tific goods by their efforts at conscientization and development of crit-
ical consciousness about the industrial uses of science and the ethics of
private control over the natural world.
The central process-concept of this paper, ‘constitutive transac-
tions’, is meant to focus on social actions stemming from some social
base that links (or not) both already achieved and ongoing science to
other parts of science or to technology, social structure and to nature
itself, in order to act on the conversion of a scientific process into
an  economically  evaluated cognitive outcome. These actions are
100 Kamini Adhikari

conceptualized as transactions to stress the core characteristics by which

they can be recognized: the presence of negotiation, exchange, directed
interaction, elective choice, contending claims and evaluations, hence
their unpredetermined negotiated nature as a general feature of scien-
tific goods.
For ordering the analysis which follows, the conceptual tools
include, besides ‘elective transactions’ (a variety of social action), the
‘transacting social units’, i.e., sites, individuals, collectivities at different
levels or phases of their organizational development, and transaction
arenas, i.e., the focal objects of the transactions themselves. Important as
transaction arenas in the constitution of scientific goods are: the ‘defini-
tion of a scientific product as a good’, i.e., which product, why and
where, would be assigned some economic valuation; ‘product regulation
and control’ or the means to be employed for it, i.e., law, market power,
pricing, international negotiations and the composite devices which
have recently appeared for the purpose, such as the Trade Related
Intellectual Property Rights (TRIPS), which India and the United States
of America are currently negotiating at the level of the two states; and
‘distribution’ of the product via the market, state intervention, use of
monopoly power and other economic forms, or by the dissemination of
scientific products within educational systems and into the conven-
tional media of science diffusion, such as publications and conferences.
These processes can be illuminated more precisely by investigating
concrete instances. The Indian experience provides one such possible case.

Indian Experience

The core problem for analysis here is to identify some of the factors that
have led to the interiorization of economic or use dimensions in certain
parts of science and to try and illustrate more precisely the mechanisms
by which this interiorization was structured or distanced in particular
social settings, as well as the new conditions for the growth or arrest of
scientific activity that were induced. Western analysts observing similar
phenomena in situations of ongoing instituted scientific activity from
within an advanced and diversified base, give priority in their analyses to
the structures of ‘innovation’ as the frame in which the most influential
welding of science and production takes place.2 For adequately repre-
senting and giving proper significance to this dynamic of science
SCIENTIFIC GOODS AND THEIR MARKETS 101

development in Asian and other developing countries, it is, however,

essential, given their generally weak or unevenly developed science and
production activity, to consider the full range of relevant settings, and
not the sites of commercially effective science innovation alone. From
this perspective, looking at India, one may discern a plurality of five
major types of complexes on the articulation of science and production.
These are the complexes (or clusters of complexes) of, first, ‘adoption,
assimilation and diffusion’, based largely on state action and control
over industrial technology strategies; second, “inventive activity”, based
on the development of business needs as well as on the activities of lab-
oratories in the government sphere; third, ‘innovation’ (in its well-
understood sense of industry-specific R & D, progressing from
laboratory to market place), which is spurred by major long-wave
changes in knowledge, methods and practical results of the physical sci-
ences as they act in production, and in which the main shift discernible
has been from the early modern industrial technologies, in which the
engineering disciplines figured prominently, to the more science-
intensive developments in chemicals, electronics, biological sciences and
instrumentation; fourth, a newer mode of innovation resting on the
‘combination of key technologies and generic scientific results’, many
still in the stage of experimental research, which exhibits altered rela-
tions between science, economy and innovation in many unforseeable
ways; and, finally, the much more heterogeneous complexes of ‘applica-
tions of known science’ that are considerably affected by country-specific
forces influencing the use of science in a society.
1. Adoption — assimilation. What has been called the Nehruvian model,
set the course for several technology-centred areas of scientific interest in
the early years after independence. This was the election of a heavy
industry-oriented strategy to lead to independent industrialization in
the long run, through state investment in the capital-intensive basic
industries (steel, basic chemicals, heavy power equipment) and the
adoption of foreign technology to this end. A large system of technical
and scientific education and laboratories meant for technological innov-
ation and import-substitution through fundamental and applications
research, was brought into existence. On these foundations, a diversified
technical base was erected, and selfsufficiency attained in manufacturing
capacities based largely on conventional technologies.3 The common
mechanisms for this have been the acquisition of technology, mainly
102 Kamini Adhikari

through the contractual means of transfer of foreign technology, rather

than by licensing of patents; efforts at acquiring ‘know-how’, i.e., details
of manufacturing drawings, designs and allied information which for-
eign collaboration agreements do not ordinarily supply, providing as
they do mainly capital equipment and core components; initiation of a
process of their indigenization through internal resources; and upgrada-
tion of technologies and equipment design along generally predeter-
mined paths.4 In terms of systems of knowledge, the paradox of a
‘technology gap’ with the borrowing of tested technology, can be under-
stood as an inability of the recipient unit to maintain its engagement in
R & D projects on the more science-intensive technologies (e.g., chem-
icals and metallurgical process technologies), yet its growing compe-
tence in other components of knowledge, such as plant construction,
machinery-building, computer controls, equipment design and engin-
eering consultancy services. This is the pattern frequently seen in
important projects in the public sector. One example is provided in
steel-making by the basic oxygen furnace process.
When the Linz-Donawitz (LD) basic oxygen steel process section
was commissioned in the Rourkela Steel Plant in 1959, it was consid-
ered a significant entrepreneurial act by the main decision-maker, the
government, as its commercial inception had taken place in Linz, Austria
only in 1952.5 Since Rourkela, twenty-one LD converters of varying
capacity, vintages and provenance have been (or are soon to be) installed
in the integrated steelworks of the state sector alongside the conven-
tional open hearth furnaces. Why the LD process is relevant for our
purpose is that while there have been several important technological
changes in steel-making, the basic oxygen process with its improved ver-
sions is distinguishable by the extent of research it has entailed, and by
its identity as an evolving scientific good with inherent technological
dimensions. The possibility of using pure oxygen instead of air for
steel-making, as also the essential design of the basic oxygen process, had
been seen by Bessemer in 1856 but its commercial application was to be
delayed for over nine decades (Meyer and Herregat 1974: 147).
Meanwhile, the technical problems of producing high purity oxygen
had to be solved, and were solved at the turn of the century; and a series
of patents were issued covering the application of oxygen (ibid: 148).
Manifold facets of research were opened up connected with economic
viability, technical feasibility, adaptability to particular kinds of ores: in
SCIENTIFIC GOODS AND THEIR MARKETS 103

brief, with improvements that could only be accomplished by an

interlinked research structure for basic research, design and technologi-
cal innovation.
It has been estimated that in India, the standard open hearth fur-
naces account for about 46 per cent of steel-making, while their share is
nil in Japan, South Korea and Taiwan, which use either the oxygen or
electric arc furnaces (Das 1987: 23). The early introduction of the LD
process in India did not serve as a stimulus for the rapid expansion of
the basic oxygen furnace process or for the promotion of a culture of
process innovations, for example, in continuous casting, raw material
treatment or computerization of process controls. Plant engineering dis-
ciplines, machinery-building capacities, consultancy services and aware-
ness of developments in the design features of the converter, however,
did grow. This hiatus has been reinforced by production criteria in which
quantity rather than the maintenance of quality and higher-value added
products assume importance, and the influence of a ‘strong import
lobby by the entrepreneurs of heavy engineering iailustry’ (ibid: 33).
From the standpoint of the social constitution of knowledge fields
whose growth consists in the linking of improvements in production.
economic costs, productivity and production of an expanded range of
quality steels, the potential from the early entrepreneurial lead for the
adoption of new process technologies by the integrated steelworks was
thus lost. Is this an irreversible trend? It might not be, depending upon
state policy and national compulsions in this arena of technology choice,
and in the capacity of the state to develop organizational mechanisms
for the purpose. This coherence has been achieved in steel-making else-
where as the Dertouzos et al. and MIT Commission on Industrial
Productivity report (1989) shows, and in some other basic industrial
branches in India.
2. Inventive activity. In sociological perspective, if the sites and operation
of science development associated with technology-borrowing and redif-
fusion in India are traced to the ideas and workings of the state and its
ancillary power structures, the social locations for invention lie princi-
pally in the functioning centres for research, innovation and develop-
ment, such as the corporate, education system-based and special-purpose
research laboratories. These complexes rest doubly on the expression of
commercial needs by the entrepreneurial classes and on the translation
of the nationalist theme of self-reliant development into the promotion
104 Kamini Adhikari

of endogenous inventive activity for economic production and the elec-

tion of strategic areas for independent development either by the state, or
by state scientists and academic personnel. Chemical research serves as a
general example of how transactions surrounding inventive activity work
out in the constitution of scientific goods. Chemistry-underlain scientific
goods disclose, in particular, the specific agents, mechanisms and social
processes by which the ‘economic’ relevance of the boundaries between
‘products’ and ‘process’ as objects of research was brought to the fore, at
first within India and, later, in international arenas; the distinctive ‘defen-
sibility’ factors of the results of invention which were injected into scien-
tific work; and how a human, environmental or social character was
added to the ‘meaning of scientific-technological risk’. A key point in the
institutionalization of some of these shifts is the drastic restructuring in
1970 of the Indian patent laws which reduced the duration of patents
from sixteen to fourteen years, curtailed the term of patents in pharma-
ceutical drugs and food to seven years, disallowed patents on a wide range
of ‘products’ or substances produced by chemical processes, including
alloys, optical glass, semiconductors, intermetallic compounds and sub-
stances capable of being used as food, medicine or drugs, while retaining
patentability of ‘methods’ and ‘processes’ for their manufacture, such as
in almost all unit processes like nitration, preparation of catalysts, refrac-
tories, fertilizers, and in chemical reactions; and introduced compulsory
licenses of rights which make it possible for any applicant to use a patent
in reasonable public interest, at a reasonable price after three years of its
sealing, and for the government to endorse patents with the License of
Rights.6 This theme of patentability of ‘products’ versus ‘processes’, two
decades later in 1990, again needed to be taken up in the Presidential
Address of the Indian Science Congress (Yashpal 1990: 25–28) to
counter the pressures from some Western countries now seeking revi-
sions in the Indian Patents Act by stipulating seventeen to twenty years
as the duration of patent protection and the reintroduction of product
patents. This transaction arena, now international and between govern-
ments, i.e., the definition of a scientific good as product or process, is
occurring at a time when considerable progress has been made in the
endogenous production of drugs, medicines, food products, chemical
intermediates and other substances. This, in turn, has introduced fresh
contending claims internally on the issue of product versus process pat-
entability and arguments against the 1970 Act (PEDDI1990).
SCIENTIFIC GOODS AND THEIR MARKETS 105

The conversion of inventions into innovations is of course a

well-understood directive force for both the track and speed of inventive
activity. With few exceptions, such as the invention of an anti-malarial
drug following the discovery of the malaria parasite and the invention of
the kala-azar treatment, institutionalized inventive activity mainly
began after independence, in the state sphere, around a number of ini-
tial nuclei: industrial research, atomic energy, university research,
defence, research design and standards for railways. The history of
inventive activity in organized commercial R & D is shorter. Today,
inventive activities are not concentrated in a few areas of politico-
economic interest but are distributed across many fields. However, bar-
riers to the conversion of invention research into innovations operate at
many stages, from its weak and uneven backward linkages with discip-
linary developments to its forward links with factors which act in phe-
nomena-oriented research meant for eventual commercialization. Some
of these are, besides inadequate scientific information and inter-
institutional communication and exchange, the conflicting ideas about
usership, shifting themes of import-substitution (leading to research on
substitute products and alternative materials) or export promotion
(leading to the incorporation of quality, cost-reduction and internation-
ally required performance standards). In strategic fields, disciplinary
development and use factors have come together in the areas of nuclear
physics, computers and instrumentation, among others. However, other
examples have been cited of inventions in which innovation could not
be realized due to pressures to provide markets for foreign suppliers
(Dogra 1980: 23–25). The ethic of ‘development’ as self-reliance is still
dominant in the institution of inventive activity and has been seen in
the recent patent legislation negotiations in international arenas; but
other meanings of development, such as competitiveness, advance
through liberalization measures, access to the state-of-the-art, have
grown in economic and political importance in the domestic sphere.
3. Innovation. Innovation includes an array of intellectual processes
essential to the linking of theoretical and laboratory work to the practice
of production. Two socially constituted aspects of these processes,
namely, their ‘origination’ and their ‘conclusion’, can be brought into
view by illustrative references to research in the agriculture of cereal
crops (Adhikari 1989) and research in electronic switching systems in
the telecommunications field (Mani 1989a, 1989b). Both fields have
106 Kamini Adhikari

been structured by the timing, nature and speed of alterations in the

principles, methods and results of their respective constituent sciences.
In agricultural research on rice and wheat, there has been a shift from
the more craft-like practices to standard or ‘normal’ botany and agron-
omy, leading on to the new biotechnologies of genetic engineering and
tissue culture. In the case of switching systems, the broad path traversed
since the invention of the telephone has been from manual switching
equipment, through several phases of discrete development, to (in the
late 1970s) electronic time division switches operated fully in the digital
mode, based on the application of a science-technology, microelectron-
ics, to switching equipment, digitization and integration of voice and
non-voice applications; and on to the most recent innovation, still in the
laboratory stage, of photoptic switches based on optical technology.
Cereal research in India shows the social constitution of research chan-
nels by the kind and size of the users of this research and the deliberately
elected operations for its diffusion. Electronic Switching System (ESS)
development research demonstrates the social shaping of conclusion
processes, i.e., when a certain research or product development project
will be called complete, how the cut-off points for the termination of a
project will be determined, and who decides on the finality and usability
of research results.
The science-intensive agricultural innovation to be focused is
widely known as the ‘green revolution’, a set of strategies evolved over
time by official agricultural science, which is basically the production of
new natural material: dwarf varieties with high-yield potential requiring
high inputs of water, fertilizers and other resources. Its clientele was
substantial: medium and large private farmers who were willing to adopt
the new high-yielding varieties (HYVs) and the accompanying input
resources. In north India, farmers worked closely with agricultural sci-
entists for this agricultural innovation in which the scientific compo-
nent was explicit and consciously induced. This ‘modern agriculture’,
notably in wheat and rice, then came to be diffused as a set of practices
and resources consisting of: (i) large tracts of land on which agricultural
operations are mechanized; (ii) use of single varieties over large areas
instead of many varieties traditionally grown side by side; and (iii) exten-
sive use of chemical fertilizers, pesticides and water. Each element of this
combination was the result of research in agronomy, soil science, botany,
genetics and chemistry. Basic research in plant morphology and
SCIENTIFIC GOODS AND THEIR MARKETS 107

variation, genetics, the origin, evolution and dispersal of cereal plants,

etc., had begun early in the universities. Research centres under state-
level departments and agricultural universities initiated long-term
research programmes channelled in specific directions and problem-
solving projects. Applied research towards crop improvement, develop-
ment and extension was the agenda for the chain of laboratories under a
central authority for agricultural research. At the origin was the state
and its decision to rapidly enhance the productivity of food crops in
selective locations with conditions favourable for its strategy of agricul-
tural innovation. Emulation, demonstration and distribution of inputs
were the main mechanisms of its diffusion. Successful in its own terms,
this innovation was not applicable, however, to the rice areas in the east.
A reorientation of research is now in progress there to better suit the
needs of rice, ecological diversity and subsistence agriculture.
The HYV research-based green revolution suggests certain hypothe-
ses on the ‘origination’ of a science innovation for increase in agricultural
production. The full range of alternatives was never considered. Choice
depended upon the influences prevailing on the political decision-makers
and associated agricultural scientists, and the assistance incentive avail-
able to them. In the later application to the eastern rice areas, the weight
of prior successes in wheat productivity of the north influenced the
choice. The desired end-result, a speedy increase in wheat and rice pro-
ductivity, itself dictated decisions as to costs, i.e., the option of an expen-
sive innovation which entails use of chemical fertilizers, heavy irrigation,
particular pesticides, etc. The selection of this locationally-specific strat-
egy and richer clientele or users of HYVs was not the only option. It
matched, however, the agricultural interests of the state, and the state’s
elected developmental goal. Eastern India, in general, was peripheral to
the dominant development scheme for agricultural innovation. The
elimination of alternatives was done silently. Only the elected options
were publicly announced.
Endogenous development research on digital ESS equipment was a
time-targeted undertaking by a self-formed project team in 1984, parallel
with other R & D initiatives under the Ministry of Telecommunications
towards the same end-results. The parameters that the team set for itself
at the Centre for the Development of Telematics (C-DOT) included, as
Mani’s work shows, indigenization and development of local manufac-
turing capabilities using indigenous ancillary industry and Indian skills
108 Kamini Adhikari

in the field; suitability of the system to India’s low density and high
usage pattern of telephones unlike the pattern in developed countries; a
‘technology philosophy’ of the use of modular building blocks for
achieving exchanges of desired sizes through a method of integration;
common components of hardware, software, packaging, installation and
other features; in brief, a design for substitution and manufacture-
promotion to suit the location-specific pattern of telephone demand.
Further, the increased availability of telecommunication services to
rural areas as a ‘mission’ and improvement in the quality of telephone
services in general were among the Ministry’s leading ideas for economic
action.
The virtual freezing of the C-DOT digital ESS project was
announced early in 1990 after a change in political leadership at the
centre. A fresh element of a ‘good’ or ‘bad’ science-technology was
introduced within the discourse of its termination. In this case, the
C-DOT digital ESS research was deemed to have failed on timeliness
and achievability of targets. Progress along the different parameters
given for its design was not of primary relevance for judgement on the
conclusion process. What acted upon the project’s de facto weakening
with changes in its personnel were changes in the power-holders and
introduction of fresh evaluation criteria and policy approaches by new
authority. The act of termination will have ‘proved’ the failure of
C-DOT’s project on digital ESS equipment development, as the per-
sonnel, support, resources and legitimation of the project’s future con-
tinuance in India, on the premise of an Indian technology interlocked
with local manufacturing capabilities, have been pre-empted or severely
strained. For the innovation of digital ESS equipment there is, however,
no unique or necessary path. It is moving along multiple branches, any
of which could have been denied, but only one was, the C-DOT digital
ESS. The advocacy of any other set of evaluation criteria by the author-
ity might have led to a different choice and a different construction of
the ‘good’ and the ‘bad’.

4. Combination of sciences and key technologies. Another model of innov-

ation, seen more clearly now than in the past, is suggested by the new
biotechnologies which span many different areas and owe their exis-
tence  to the combination of biological techniques with knowledge
from the sciences, specially life sciences. In general, the new scientific-
technological innovations assume the special character of ‘key’ or
SCIENTIFIC GOODS AND THEIR MARKETS 109

‘generic’ technologies for production, which have applicability to a

diversity of industries, products and spheres of production, as seen for
instance in the combination of genetics and information theory, elec-
tronics and mechanical engineering, or chemistry and mining technol-
ogy. The essential condition for this complex of articulation of science
and production is the existence of a wide and diversified base of pure
sciences and some technological capability for its actualization, also
comprising centres for systems, devices, information and instrumenta-
tion. Given these, the presence of a large biomass of natural resources
may lead to innovative biotechnologies in agriculture and biomedicine,
but other large-scale biotransformations are equally possible under dif-
ferent resource conditions. The recent entry of India into some
biotechnologies may illustrate features of this system of innovation, its
operations, the influences acting upon it, and its manner of reshaping
the boundaries of scientific knowledge.
The triple activation of this complex of scientific-technological
innovation has come from the existence of a broad spectrum of scientific
disciplines with the goal of science-development in itself, the stress on
higher productivity of agricultural crops, and the advocacy of self-
reliance in selected strategic fields. The wide congruence here in the
aims of the scientific intelligentsia and the state can be seen in any doc-
ument on science and technology planning, as also the organizational
infrastructure resulting from their negotiations: provision of input
resources (e.g., germ plasma banks, facilities for the production of
enzymes, radio-labelled chemicals, etc.) for the new biologies (e.g.,
molecular biology, genetic engineering), and the institution of organiza-
tions like a National Biotechnology Board and a laboratory for micro-
bial technology. In the domain of agriculture, scientists have moved into
new areas of repatterning genetic architecture to increase the productiv-
ity of crops, development of new rhizobium strains for nitrogen-fixation,
use of tissue culture techniques for plant crops, genetic engineering
related to animal sciences, viral genetics and gene-splicing for vaccine
production, cloning and expression of the histone gene in rice.7
The area of biotechnology research is one in which the boundaries
of what a science is, and what it can or should do, have expanded to
include specific changes in plant architecture, with effects on an unprec-
edented scale and precision, by genetic changes at the molecular level,
increases in plant productivity, alterations in qualitative aspects of plant
responses, and genetic manipulations on animals to better suit given
110 Kamini Adhikari

ecological and socio-economic requirements. The sharpest contentions

about the meaning of risk, regulation and control, ethical issues, distri-
bution and ownership have entered the discourse of science within this
complex of science and production, with its growing capacity to create
new economic plants and farm animals; to make possible exclusive pri-
vate control over new life forms through patents and pricing; and to
influence agricultural inputs of seeds, pesticides and fertilizers” on a very
large scale, over a wide range of crops. The role of foreign interests looms
large over developing countries, in the sense in which they are so defined,
as countries which cannot shape and influence world markets.8 The
uncertain outcome of such market-making, as it interacts with the
endogenous processes of research, will constitute the future course of
this track of science-development in India.

5. Application of known science. This is a diversified structure, lacking in

unitary character, except for the common fact that existing scientific
knowledge serves for production in different ways, at many levels: for
high technology, market-creating fields (e.g., software development,
materials science) and for the more self-evident uses closer to subsist-
ence needs (e.g., ‘normal’ science for nutrition, health, etc.). My brief
attempt here will be to single out, as an illustrative instance, a domain
of brain-science, namely, software development and its application to
the growing markets for computers and allied specialities. In this case,
a new medium of intellectual expression (a ‘software program’) has
been created as an element of information sciences based on computer
and communication technologies, which exemplifies the appearance of
socio-economic notions such as ‘property’, and legal concepts such as
‘ownership rights’, as factors in scientific production using known sci-
ence. The addition of these dimensions to the products of scientific
activity as they assume the character of scientific goods, has not
occurred without the interplay of contending forces arising from the
needs of other parts of a society (e.g., educational systems, new entre-
preneurs) and the economic claims of the developing countries, former
colonies, for looser proprietary-legal regimes over intellectual inven-
tion. A focus on Indian software development and application would
also illustrate the significant influence of the ‘elective process’ by which
this area of activity gets attached to particular components of social life
(industry-domestic or foreign “ education, strategic areas, services,
entertainment or computer development itself ) on the specific
SCIENTIFIC GOODS AND THEIR MARKETS 111

transactions, sites, operations, tensions and growth paths into which it

is brought.
A techno-economic change whereby the application of
microprocessor-based systems and easy transmissibility of programmes
could lead to worldwide commercial markets of software, and a business
shift towards the supply of packaged software services by independent
software firms, combined with the high cost of individual software
development abroad, became important conditions for the entry of
Indian professionals into the global commercial market for software
development services and into the domestic markets opening-up. New
forms of manpower contracting, called ‘body-shopping’, and joint ven-
ture companies became some of the ways in which firms abroad began
to use Indian software education and software skills. In 1987, the
Department of Electronics announced a Software Policy which sup-
ported foreign trade in software services. While India remains in the
nascent stage in computer mainframe development and manufacture, so
requiring limited software development support, and office automation
software is increasingly imported as readymade packages or pirated, its
professionals are moving into the high end of data processing, scientific,
and engineering software for exports. Software has also become attached
to a widening range of domestic applications with the growth of com-
puter installations for R & D production, industrial management,
banking and other services since 1983.
Some of the main features of the constitution of software as a scien-
tific good, visible elsewhere, are also evident in the Indian scene: the
growing importance of a proprietary dimension, with legal protection
for ownership of computer programmes; contentions surrounding the
choice of the regime for such protection (patents or copyrights or an
independent regime); and use of different societal mechanisms, such as
legislation, judicial interpretation, official on-site inspection, and eco-
nomic pressure to direct and control software development and applica-
tion activities. Increasingly, as the current spurt of international writing
on the subject shows, contending sets of beliefs about intellectual pro-
ducts stand in mutual confrontation: public interest, with its emphasis
on claims of spreading opportunities for economic creativity versus pri-
vate interest, with its emphasis on rewards and incentives for the inven-
tor; idea-properties to be regulated by law like any other property versus
elimination of the right to exclusive control over scientific goods, such
as basic procedures for transmitting information, and basic computer
112 Kamini Adhikari

methods, invented life forms, chemical and physical reactions which can
eradicate natural resources, indeed, life on earth, itself; and, in the inter-
national arenas of Intellectual Property Rights (in which policy-makers,
economists concerned with trade agreements, and scientists must arrive
at negotiated settlements, at first internally), uniformity in the nature
and extent of protection of intellectual property versus differential sys-
tems of protection which recognize the inequality of economic power
between the richer and poorer countries.
The introduction of ethical-social concerns in scientific knowledge
within this complex of scientific goods may be as significant a shift in
the social constitution of science as the crystallization of positions the
contending claims individually represent.

Conclusion

This study has tried to show how the specificity of the cognitive process
of science attached to production consists in the combination of ‘discip-
linary’ and ‘pragmatic’ representations of desired end-results together. By
this process of the social constitution of science, the boundaries of sci-
ence as a method of acquiring new knowledge and a means of organizing
existing knowledge get altered and expand to incorporate particular
dimensions of performance, effectiveness, defensibility, technology-
locatedness, etc.; and this is a negotiated, elective process, involving
social agency and selected components of a society. Two conditions
which appear to make possible these elective transactions and negotia-
bility as an inherent character of scientific goods are: one, the underlying
‘uncertainly’ in outcomes, more so of the long-span research undertak-
ings; and, two, the engagement of ‘multiple agencies’ in the emanating
transaction arenas, hence different options for linking scientific activity
to economic action and for organization-creation. These agencies,
though different (e.g., scientists, engineers, technology-suppliers,
politicians, officials, producers, users, competitors, etc.), combine in
various ways, through their motivational, intellectual, associational and
interest affinities, to influence the tracks of production of scientific
goods. Consequently, the course of this domain of science-development
might best be represented as a plurality of open processes, structured as
much by their current social existence as by their historical genesis. Such
SCIENTIFIC GOODS AND THEIR MARKETS 113

a depiction precludes the characterization of scientific goods-induced

scientific change as an evolution or a transition, or again as a process of
selection of the fittest elements of knowledge for further extension.
The analysis suggests the following central tendencies in the Indian
case. Early adoption of an explicit state science policy (1958), but tech-
nology policy-formalization only in 1983, has served to enhance the
influence of scientists (rather than engineers) in the operations of the
state. A diffuse strategy of science-development was given a nationalist
legitimacy by the political leadership at independence, interpreted as
self-sufficiency in science and self-reliance in industry and strategic
fields, but the incoherence of industrial policy provisions has made
science-intensive industrialization a field of conflict and contentious nego-
tiation between scientists, the bureaucracy, politicians and industrial-
commercial interests. Hence, it has been the nascent and necessarily
long-term directed undertakings of research for technology-centred
industry which have reflected more the shifts in the structures of power
and its intent. Indian science-industrialization retains a strongly transac-
tional character which is working against the institution of stable organi-
zational processes. Lately, international forces have come into play as
India develops into one of the world’s largest markets for tangible prod-
ucts of scientific goods. In the agriculture-centred arena of science devel-
opment, where the beneficiaries of state science were also the richer
farmers and regions, a greater congruence of goals has been in evidence
between scientists and other social agents. The existence today of a broad
spectrum of scientific disciplines, consisting of the older core of basic
sciences and the newer strategic fields, is allowing the entry of Indian
scientists into certain ‘brain sciences’ and into the selective multidiscip-
linary new frontier areas like biotransformations in industry and agricul-
ture. Particular areas of the application of known science reflect the
segmented interests and fragmentary character of the society’s leading
groups with the intent to produce practical use-values from science, as is
seen in the inequality of development of software and computers.
Scientific goods-generation in India as a whole displays an adaptive char-
acter which can commit itself to any of the five constituent complexes:
adoption-borrowing, invention, innovation, combination of generic sci-
entific results and key technologies, and application of known science.
The preliminary conceptualization offered in this paper does not
permit any cross-national generalization. Nevertheless, to explain
114 Kamini Adhikari

societal variations in the nature, extent and dynamic of the combination

of science and production, there might be a potential utility in the appli-
cation of its basic methodological approach which seeks to identify the
particular influences (history, actors, resources, endogenous processes
and world forces) in a given society that play a part in the origin of the
knowledge-turn for generating scientific goods, the specific components
of the society in which science and industry coalesce, and the tracks of
science development which ensue. For the continuing growth of science
within any of the major scientific-practical complexes for the generation
of scientific goods, the transactional character of the shifts and changes
must be converted into organized forces and organization, in which the
role of a society’s controlling groups, the social bases and alignments of
these groups, the stability and instability of the structures of power and
authority, and the ideological positions and intent of the participating
agencies, would be prominent. The study of Asian diversity in recent
science-related industrialization holds promise of reward for a deeper
understanding of both the Indian experience and world processes.

Notes
1. This paper was presented at the XIIth World Congress of Sociology of the International
Socioiogical Association, Madrid (Spain), 9–13 July 1990.
2. In this context, Yearly (1988 114–19) gives us an insightful analysis of the nature of
innovation in Western economies He finds that innovations do not exclusively
stem from new scientific ideas, other sources of scientific knowledge, publications,
personal contacts, the content of education, also have an impact.
3. Bhagavan (1985) invites attention to the science content of the production of machine
tools, electrical and chemical equipment in the Indian public sector.
4. For a detailed study of how law and other conditions of technology-acquisition oper-
ate, see Bagchi et al (1984).
5. Various aspects of technical change associated with the introduction of the LD pro-
cess in Indian steel-making have been brought out in Section III of Sengupta’s study
(1984).
6. On the issue of patents on products rather than processes, Bagchi (1984) cites, in
Section III, an important case involving a transnational company and a medium-sized
Indian firm using a patent held by the Haffkine Institute, Bombay.
7. A positive scenario for biotechnology research in Third World agriculture was put
forward by Swaminathan (1982) in this well-known paper.
8. An explicit statement on the nature of the interests of Europe and the United States
can be found in a recent publication of the National Academy of Sciences, USA (1987
7–9), see Dataquest (April 1987), also Bhagwan (1987) for the international trade
dimension of services in general.
SCIENTIFIC GOODS AND THEIR MARKETS 115

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7
Scientific Knowledge in India:
From Public Resource to
Intellectual Property
E. Haribabu

I
n contemporary societies, modern science and technology have been
assuming a central place as they have been penetrating more and
more areas in the lives of people and their interaction with nature.
The 17th and 18th century liberal-philosophical assumptions that sci-
ence is a morally neutral study of nature no longer hold true. In the
wake of the WTO (World Trade Organisation) and its provisions on
Trade Related Intellectual Property Rights (TRIPs), the context of prac-
tice of science and its products are increasingly getting intertwined with
economic, social, legal and ethical issues. In other words, the context of
production of scientific knowledge, its organisation and associated
values are changing. This paper attempts a brief survey of literature on
the sociology of science related to the production of scientific know-
ledge. Specifically, it surveys the literature produced by researchers
working on the understanding of the production and application of sci-
entific knowledge by focusing on molecular biology and biotechnologi-
cal research in India. By focusing on the community of researchers in
modern biology and biotechnology, the paper attempts to show that in
India a shift in cognitive values from ‘knowing for its own sake’ to
‘knowing with an eye on patent’ is discernible. This is due to an empha-
sis on strategic research, its organisation and the interests of the corp-
orate sector-both national and multinational. In this context, publicly
118 E. Haribabu

funded research institutions, given their mandate, would have to play a

key role in R&D (research and development) work and transfer of tech-
nology. They also have to evolve an appropriate framework of norms for
collaboration with the corporate sector. The paper further suggests
sociologically significant questions that may be raised in the changing
context.

Understanding Science: The Sociological Turn

The social origins of knowledge, including scientific knowledge, had

attracted the attention of sociological theorists like Karl Marx (1973),
Durkheim (1915) and Mannheim (1952). However, the rationalist-
positivist (hypothecist-inductivist) epistemology of science had charac-
terised scientific knowledge as universal, atemporal, invariant and
objective. The universalistic view of science implies that science is an
autonomous activity with its own internal dynamics, unrelated to the
social and cultural environment in which it is embedded. In the scheme
of rationalist philosophy of science, sociology has no role to play in
understanding science, as science is autonomous, rational, universal,
invariant and objective and sociology instead is concerned with under-
standing the nature of social phenomena, interrelationship among social
phenomena and variations in social phenomena across time and space.
Sociologists are called upon only to explain irrational and idiosyncratic
elements in science. As mentioned above, the rationalist philosophy of
science also influenced the earlier sociological perspective on scientific
knowledge. Karl Mannheim (1952) argued that all knowledge, except
knowledge generated by the natural sciences, is socially and culturally
conditioned. The rationalist-positivist epistemology of science was
uncritically accepted by sociologists for a long time. In fact it influenced
the development of the discipline of sociology itself.
The rationalist-positivist epistemology influenced Robert Merton’s
work (1973) on the sociology of science. He observed that the goal of
science is extension of certified knowledge and conceptualised science as
a social institution with its distinct ethos-universalism, communism,
organised skepticism and disinterestedness. Norms of originality and
humility are also important in science. The ethos of science has to be
internalised by practitioners of science. A scientist’s conformity to norms
would be rewarded in the form of recognition and any deviation would
attract sanctions. Scientific claims are evaluated by the scientific
SCIENTIFIC KNOWLEDGE IN INDIA 119

community by employing objective and impersonal technical norms

like evidence and logic, which are beyond the purview of sociological
scrutiny, before they are admitted to the body of knowledge.
Merton and his colleagues initiated a series of empirical studies of
science that attempted to examine the extent to which the practitioners
of science conformed to the norms of science. Further, Merton’s analysis
showed that the distribution of the recognition and reward system in
science is skewed. He suggested that inequality in science is functional
to science in the sense that highly recognised scientists provide role
models to younger scientists who are yet to make a mark in the profes-
sion. Merton’s functionalist paradigm on the sociology of science
has been criticised on theoretical and methodological grounds and for
a-historical characterisation of science (Mulkay 1979, 1980), especially
after Kuhn’s work which attempted to understand the action of scien-
tists in historical and sociological terms.
Kuhn (1970), on the basis of his study of history of science, argues
that science should be seen in its historical integrity. The acquisition of
a paradigm creates conditions for the emergence of a scientific commu-
nity with shared cognitive beliefs. Kuhn conceptualises the notion of
scientific community in the sociological sense of the term. Cognitive
norms and related social norms that guide the actions of the scientific
community are shaped by the paradigm. Notions of universality and
objectivity are paradigm-bound. Growth of scientific knowledge does
not follow a linear trajectory but a discontinuous and revolutionary one.
The decision regarding the acceptance or rejection of a theory is not only
based on criteria such as logic and evidence but also to values related to
aesthetics, and considerations of compatibility with religious beliefs and
other preferences. Kuhn also argues that the consensus regarding the
acceptance and rejection of a theory is socially mobilised by members of
the scientific community at a given point of time. A paradigm-bound
community, according to Kuhn, ‘insulates’ itself from the wider society
and formulates its own agenda of cognitive pursuits. Post-Kuhnian
sociology of science has been attempting not only to understand the
organisation of science but also the content of science-descriptions,
explanations, theories and models in relation to the context.
At the same time the post-Kuhnian sociology of science has chal-
lenged Kuhn’s argument that the scientific community can insulate itself
from the wider context. The social action of scientists is understood as
both a cause and consequence of an interplay of cognitive and social
120 E. Haribabu

values internal to science, and social cultural and economic values

external to science. Knorr-Cetina (1981) in her social-constructivist
approach to the study of the production of knowledge found scientists
employing practical, indexical, analogical and socially situated reasoning
in accordance with the context-both internal and external-in which one
is located. Barnes (1983) argues that professional, economic, political
and other interests influence the content of knowledge. For example,
flora and fauna may be classified in a variety of ways depending on the
interest of the classifier. In fact, Karl Marx in his Economic and philosoph-
ical manuscripts of 1844 draws attention to this selectivity in observation
and classification when he argues that in the course of history senses
have become in their practice theoreticians. Collins (1983) shows how
factors other than logic and evidence play a role in the production of
scientific knowledge. Ethnographic case studies at the micro-level, espe-
cially at the level of laboratories, which are the sites of knowledge pro-
duction have shown that the social and cultural context shapes the action
of scientists (Latour and Woolgar 1979). Marx’s (1973) analysis of sci-
ence in bourgeois society and later Bernal’s (1977) analysis indicated a
close nexus between science and the economic ideology of the bourgeoi-
sie. However, the analysis of science in the Marxist tradition does not
provide concepts to understand the practice of science at the micro
level-meanings underlying motivations of scientists, local contingencies
and culture in the process of production of scientific knowledge.
The strong program of Bloor (1976, 1984) argues that all know-
ledge, including scientific knowledge, is socially caused. Philosophers
(Laudan 1984) always call the term ‘social’ into question. Restivo and
Bauchspies (1998), the former an electrical engineer by training, who
has been involved in the study of social and cultural dimensions of sci-
ence, point out, ‘The term “social” is not only in the “external” social
and cultural milieu or context of science, but in the social organization
of science, indeed in scientists themselves. The “social” in this sense is
pervasive, and no more transparent than quantum or gravitational
forces.’
Post-Kuhnian relativist approaches in the sociology of science indi-
cate that the divide between the internal and the external world of sci-
ence is not rigid and opaque but like a semi-permeable membrane. One
can argue on what science and technology are and whether the
interrelationship between them as systems of knowledge and associated
SCIENTIFIC KNOWLEDGE IN INDIA 121

practices is socially constructed rather than pre-given, universal across

time and space. Earlier on, the relationship between basic research and
applied research has been conceptualised in terms of hierarchical rela-
tions where basic research was considered as the act of knowing (episteme)
and hence superior. Applied research was an act of doing or manipula-
tion (techne) and hence inferior. Price (1982) observes that science and
technology are parallel systems and have a symbiotic relationship. The
distinction is at best relative in the sense that ‘today’s basic science will
be tomorrow’s applied science’. Recent trends show that the distinction
between basic (academic) and applied (industrial) research has been
obliterated. John Ziman (1996), a physicist who has been interested
in the study of social dimensions of science, argues that academic sci-
ence, which hitherto has been highly individualistic, has been undergo-
ing change. He observes:

Academic science is undergoing cultural revolution. It is giving way to

post-academic science, which may be so different sociologically, and philo-
sophically that it will produce new type of knowledge (1996: 752).
The transition to post-academic science is eroding the practices that underpin
this norm (disinterestedness). ‘Public knowledge’ is being transformed into
‘intellectual property’. Basic research networks include many industrial
interests. Researchers will not be protected from commercial influences by
academic tenure. Their work will often deal with matters where social
values-safety, profitability, efficacy-must have highest priority. In general,
post-academic research is bound to be shot through social interests
(ibid: 754).

Fifty years ago academic research and applied research were two
distinct cultures. Ziman (1998: 1814) observes, ‘In recent years, how-
ever, these two cultures have begun to merge. This is a complex, perva-
sive and irreversible process, driven by forces that are not yet well
understood.’
One may illustrate this merger by examining the recent history of
biology. The discovery of the double-helical structure of the DNA by
James Watson and Francis Crick (1953) marked a paradigm shift and
ushered in a cognitive revolution in biology. It marked a shift from holis-
tic philosophy to a reductionist philosophy characteristic of physics
and  chemistry. The new paradigm in biology is a product of cross-
fertilisation and a synthesis of ideas from physics, chemistry, and biology
122 E. Haribabu

(Judson 1980). The Watson and Crick paradigm enabled scientists to

understand life processes at the molecular level and also intervene in
them at this level. The discovery in the mid-1970s that discrete genetic
material can be transferred from one organism to another created possi-
bilities of genetic engineering or recombinant DNA (r-DNA) technol-
ogy. Genetic engineering is subsumed under biotechnology, a body of
techniques that use organisms or parts of organisms as means of produc-
tion. Though age-old techniques such as fermentation are included in
biotechnology, modern biotechnology includes in vitro techniques like
r-DNA technology, monoclonal antibodies, and tissue culture. Economic
interests are increasingly influencing research so much so that basic
research in molecular biology is shaped by potential applications.
Modern biotechnology has potential for application in wide ranging
areas such as agriculture, horticulture, animal husbandry, medicine and
environment. This vast potential has economic, social, legal, ethical and
political implications. Further, it has implications for the organisation of
work and the nature of industrialisation. What has hitherto been pro-
duced in factories can now be produced on farms. What has hitherto
been produced on farms can be produced in factories now. In the recent
past, some big multinational chemical and pharmaceutical companies
have transformed themselves into biotech firms in the West, In India big
industrial houses have converted what were hitherto small-scale and
owner-managed activities such as horticulture and floriculture into an
industry by employing the tissue culture technique. They may soon start
production of genetically engineered products. These developments call
for a sociological understanding of the organisation of work.

Modern Science

Modern science was implanted during the colonial period in India.

Historians and sociologists attempted to understand the process of
transplantation and the institutionalisation of modern science (Basalla
1967; Macleod 1975).
After India became independent, the government under the leader-
ship of Jawaharlal Nehru initiated several policy measures to modernise
the Indian economy, polity, society and culture. The modernisation par-
adigm became the over-arching framework of development and social
change. Social justice and equity were to be achieved through planned
SCIENTIFIC KNOWLEDGE IN INDIA 123

development. The ‘socialist pattern’ of society was adopted as the goal of

planned development in 1952. The Industrial Policy Resolution of
1956, based on the 1948 policy statement, envisaged an active role for
the state not only in terms of regulating the economy but also as an
actor in industrial production by reserving certain industries for itself.
In the year 1958 the Scientific Policy Resolution (SPR) was announced.
The SPR recognised the significance of science and technology for the
social and economic development of India and declared that the devel-
opment of modern science and technology would help in bridging the
gap between backward countries like India and the advanced countries.
The SPR aimed at developing adequate human resources, both in terms
of quantity and quality in the area of science and technology and aimed
at securing for the people of the country all the benefits that can accrue
from the acquisition and application of scientific knowledge. It under-
scored the universalistic and internationalist perspective of science and
technology as per the modernisation paradigm. Given the constraints of
lack of capital and modern technology, the government of India, in spite
of the initial resistance, gradually allowed import of capital. Initially
import of technology was allowed with the objective of achieving import
substitution and self-reliance. The Technology Policy Statement (TPS)
of 1983 reiterated the goal of self-reliance. The TPS also emphasized the
need to develop technologies that do not cause environmental degrada-
tion and the need to combine mass production with production by the
masses (as a reaction to the emerging environmental movement and the
limited ability of the five-year plans in generating employment on a
mass scale).

Organisation of Science

Science in India is carried out in various organisational settings: univer-

sities, institutions which have the status of universities, national labora-
tories of the CSIR, of the Government of India, laboratories of state
governments, defense research establishments, R&D establishments of
public and private sector industries and private research foundations,
and international bodies.
The organisation of science and investments in scientific research
indicate that at present the scientific effort is concentrated in state-
funded institutions-mission-oriented national laboratories, research
124 E. Haribabu

councils and their institutions, and defence establishments and

universities. In the year 1994–95 there were 204 universities/deemed
universities, 10 institutions of national importance and 8,613 colleges
imparting higher education in the country. According to the statistics
of the Department of Science and Technology (DST) for the year 1994–
95, 0.81 per cent of the Gross National Product (GNP) was devoted to
R&D during 1994–95. The central government’s share of the expendi-
ture incurred from government sources was 89.7 per cent while that of
the state governments’ was 10.3 per cent. India’s per capita R&D expen-
diture was US$ 2.39 during 1994–95.
It would be interesting to note that 76.9 per cent of the R&D
expenditure incurred by central government sources came from 12
major scientific agencies-CSIR, DAE, DBT, DNES, DOD, DOE,
DOS, DRDO, DST, ICAR, ICMR1 and the Ministry of Environment—
and the rest came from other central ministries, departments and public
sector industries. Amongst the major scientific agencies, the DRDO
accounted for 31.7 per cent of the expenditure. The academic sector
received 65.3 per cent of the extramural R&D support during 1994–95.
Though the industrial sector accounted for 26.5 per cent of the total
national expenditure on R&D activities during the year 1994–95,
it  spent 0.22 per cent of GNP on R&D during the same period.
It should be noted that the private sector R&D expenditure constitutes
16 per cent of the total investment in R&D at the national level and it
was 0.1 per cent of GNP during 1994–95. However, the efforts except
in a few cases, have not generated cutting-edge R&D work.
In 1996 India had 6.91 scientists, engineers and technicians (SET)
per thousand population. Only 0.23 SET per thousand population were
employed in R&D during 1994. There were 10,505 women directly
engaged in R&D activities in this period.
The efforts at organising R&D infrastructure enabled India to
build a wide industrial base. The strategy of industrial development was
based initially on technology imports, import substitution and self-
reliance. Although over the years India has built up a significant indus-
trial base the strategy continues to be import substitution. The
entrepreneurial class has been continuously influencing the state to lib-
eralise technology import policies. In the 1980s and early nineties the
Southeast Asian countries recorded impressive growth rates under liberal
regimes of capital and technology imports. Over time there has been a
SCIENTIFIC KNOWLEDGE IN INDIA 125

liberalisation of import of technology to achieve ‘export-led growth’.

The rationale for importing technology was to make products that could
compete in the international market. The New Economic Policy intro-
duced in 1994 adopted the twin principles of liberalisation and globali-
sation so that the private sector’s participation in the economy would be
much greater and the state would gradually minimise its participation.
In the context of industrial (applied) research, the government’s
policy of import substitution notwithstanding, the avowed allegiance to
the policy of self-reliance makes R&D establishments look elsewhere,
particularly to the West, for technology development (Rahman 1985).
Maddox (1984: 583) observes that import substitution may serve the
policy of self-reliance but it does not result in novel products. He sur-
mises: ‘. . . might there not be greater benefits in manufacturing some
product that nobody else can make?’
These changes in the national policy framework bring into exist-
ence a new context of research. State funded research institutions such
as universities and national laboratories are called upon to raise part of
their resources through their R&D work. The CSIR has responded to
changing national and international economic, trade and IPR regimes
through appropriate organisational and management adjustments. In
the reform process, the CSIR has embarked on re-engineering the
organisational structure; linking research to the market place; mobilis-
ing and optimising the resource base; creating enabling infrastructure;
and investing in high quality science that will be the harbinger of future
technologies (CSIR 1996). Universities have yet to undertake this
reform process in a systematic way.
In the case of agriculture, state funds played a crucial role in the
development of research institutions. Towards the end of the Second
Five-Year Plan, in order to solve the crisis in agriculture the green revo-
lution package was ushered in with the help of the Ford Foundation.
The ICAR and its institutions and agricultural universities played a sig-
nificant role in the development and transfer of green revolution tech-
nology to farmers. The green revolution package did help in increasing
productivity, especially of wheat. The package by its very nature could
only be used in irrigated areas. Literature on the impact of the green
revolution on agrarian relations, wage employment, the weaker sections
and women and environment suggests that the package has benefited
the economically and politically resourceful classes among the peasantry
126 E. Haribabu

as these classes had the wherewithal to mobilise financial resources from

credit institutions. Further, the green revolution adversely affected the
environment by increasing salinity levels, and contributed to a depen-
dence of farmers on the agro-chemical industry for fertilisers, pesticides
and insecticides. In the 1990s it was realised that productivity had
reached a plateau.
There is a need for new technological strategies for augmenting
agricultural productivity. It is likely that the green revolution technology
will be replaced by the gene revolution technology. The cognitive basis
of a gene revolution is different from that of a green revolution. The
gene revolution technology will be a package of patented technology
which will be discussed later.

Culture of Science

We may understand social action on the part of scientists during the

process of production of knowledge and the resultant products—
theories, explanations, laws, and so on-as a cause and consequence of a
complex interplay of culture-cognitive and related social values
internal  to science on the one hand and the external-national and
international-context on the other. As mentioned above, the science and
technology policies of the government have facilitated the growth of
human resources in science and technology.
In the Indian context some attempts have been made to understand
the actions of scientists by relating them to: a) the norms of the scientific
organisations; b) wider cultural context; and c) international links. As
mentioned above, scientific effort is concentrated in state funded insti-
tutions. It has been argued that as the government largely administers
science in India, an independent scientific community is unable to
develop under the auspices of the government. Bureaucratic culture
influences management of R&D work, and interaction among scientists
in research organisations. Krishna (1997) in his study of the evolution
of the scientific community in India observes that in independent India
the scientific community, despite its large size and a degree of interna-
tional visibility, is confronted with problems of peer review system, ‘dys-
functional’ hierarchies and bureaucracy. Others maintain that Indian
culture is incompatible with the culture of modern science (Parthasarathi
1969a, 1969b; Rahman 1970). Peer review system seems to be influ-
enced by cultural values and attitudes such as respect for age, lack of
SCIENTIFIC KNOWLEDGE IN INDIA 127

rigour and professionalism and the sub-critical size of scientists in

frontier areas of research (Haribabu 1991). In relation to international
science, it is said that Indian science is ‘dependent science’, and ‘periph-
eral science’. Science in India continues to be ‘colonial’ in its character
as scientists tend to ‘imitate’ their counterparts in Western countries in
formulating research problems and, as a consequence, much of science
in India is ‘derivative’ in character. India has a large but fragile scientific
community (Shiva and Bandopadhyay 1980). Metaphorically some
practitioners of science describe modern science as a ‘foreign rose on
Indian soil’. In essence, ‘imitative’ science undermines creativity. It has
been argued that one of the reasons for the crisis in Indian science is
due to its linkages with international (Western) science and that for the
Indian scientific community the Western metropolis is still the centre
(Vishwanathan 1985). In this context, only a small section of scientists
have had opportunities to do work that is internationally recognised.
Detaching the country from links with the centre and ‘transcending’
links by social, psychological and epistemological means if the detach-
ment is not a viable alternative is seen as a solution to the crisis
(Goonatilake 1984). However, Raj (1988) argues that research practices
of Indian scientists should be understood by relating them to the shared
ideals of knowledge provided by the historico-cultural Indian context
rather than in relation to practices in Western societies.

Molecular Biology and Biotechnology

Development of molecular biology and biotechnology today are bound
up with the interests of the following groups: scientists located in state-
funded universities, mission-oriented institutions and their organisa-
tions, research fund granting agencies (national and international), the
state and its policy-making bodies, the corporate sector (both national
and international) and the users.
In India, over the last two and a half decades, due to sustained fund-
ing centres of excellence in molecular biology have been built up. In the
year 1986, the government created a separate Department of
Biotechnology (DBT) to take care of training needs, funding of research
and evolving regulatory norms for biotechnology research and develop-
ment. Recently the DBT established two pilot plant facilities, one at
National Chemical Laboratory, Pune, and another at Tata Energy
Research Centre, New Delhi, for mass propagation of plants by
128 E. Haribabu

employing the tissue culture technique. In the case of crop plants like
rice, scientists have transferred two genes of Bacillus turingiensis (Bt), a
soil bacterium, to rice to confer resistance against yellow stem borer
(DBT Annual Report, 1996–97). However, field trials have yet to be
carried out. Earlier, the Indian Council of Agricultural Research (ICAR)
and its research organisations and agricultural universities played a cru-
cial role in developing high yielding varieties and in their transfer to
farmers during the green revolution. The state-funded institutions will
have to play an important role in the development of plant biotechnol-
ogy. As mentioned above, the cognitive basis of gene revolution is differ-
ent. Scientists engaged in applied research have to switch over to applied
research based on the new paradigm and collaborate with molecular
biologists. At present strategic research is assuming importance.

Scientists’ Interests and Strategic

Research Networks

Strategic research aims at finding solutions by making use of molecular

biology tools. In strategic research both basic researchers and applied
researchers network to find out solutions to problems. While doing so,
strategic research may throw up some fundamental research questions.
This new pattern of organisation of science at once reduces the time lag
between basic research and its application. The dominant model of
development of technology will be a non-linear actor network model
(Callon 1989). Networks are seen as the loci of innovation rather than
individual scientists (Powell et al. 1996). Sociologists of science have an
opportunity to study the dynamics of interaction among the specialists
drawn from different disciplines focusing on a research area in the non-
linear model of technology development. At present I am engaged in a
research study2 on organisation and dynamics of research involving
application of molecular biology tools to understand the rice plant at
the molecular level. The objective is of developing varieties resistant to
diseases, agro-climatic constraints such as salinity, drought, and which
can give higher yields. Molecular biologists, geneticists (basic research-
ers) plant breeders, and entomologists, (applied researchers) have formed
a network-National Rice Biotechnology Network (NRBN)—to cany
out strategic research. Strategic research involves construction of prob-
lem domain by the basic and applied researchers. The members of the
NRBN have been involved in the process of construction of problem
SCIENTIFIC KNOWLEDGE IN INDIA 129

domain, that is, rice plant as a cognitive object. As a part of my research

study I have been interacting with the NRBN scientists over the last one
year. I observed that the process of construction is a social process that
involves construction of concepts and arriving at a consensus on the
meaning of concepts and experiments and experimental protocols. For
example, one of the scientists during an annual meeting of the NRBN,
which I also attended, pointed out that same gene was given different
names by scientists. The scientist pleaded for consensus on the nomen-
clature. This problem has been pointed out by Meinke and Koorneef
(1997) who had reviewed the work on Arabidopsis, a model plant which
is one of the simple systems with a life-span of six weeks, and which is
used to understand plant life at the molecular level. They observed that
Arabidopsis researchers tended to: a) use the same symbol for mutants
with completely different phenotypes; and b) assign different names and
symbols to mutant alleles of the same gene. They point out how the
Arabidopsis research community found it necessary to establish stan-
dards for nomenclature, genetic mapping, and genetic analysis of
Arabidopsis.
Further, my study shows that in rice biotechnology research, basic
researchers and applied researchers drawn from different disciplinary
backgrounds have to develop cognitive empathy and understand the
problem from the point of the other. That is, molecular biologists have
to understand the problems from the point of view of plant breeders and
vice-versa. Collaboration between basic researchers and applied research-
ers seems to create anxieties in terms of the relative status of basic and
applied researchers. One of the scientists used an analogy to describe
collaboration. He stated that collaboration is like a ‘marriage’. He fur-
ther said that in reality very few marriages correspond to the ideal mar-
riage. Further, in cases of collaboration between scientists drawn from
institutions with different levels of resource endowments, scientists
from relatively less endowed institutions apprehend that collaborating
scientists from a better endowed institution would get disproportion-
ately more credit in collaborative effort. Does it mean that scientists in
India still espouse the value of individualism in science? Individual sci-
entists have their own anxieties and apprehensions in the process of pro-
duction of scientific knowledge. Their stakes in research are high as the
research output is connected to recognition, visibility and rewards.
Further, scientists, as creative and articulate professionals, have been
reflecting on the relationship between science and society. At this point
130 E. Haribabu

one may also recall the debate between Homi Bhabha and Meghnath
Saha regarding the role of science and technology in a poor country like
India. Bhabha argued for the creation of the finest theoretical schools
comparable to international standards, while Saha argued that science
should focus on problems of India’s millions. Similarly molecular biolo-
gists and biotechnologists have been reflecting on the status of molecu-
lar biology and biotechnology research in India and the role of
biotechnology in Indian society. Padmanabhan (1991: 511), a molecu-
lar biologist, observes that biotechnology has great promise and is sure
to make an impact in India in the nineties and if India does not move
fast it will miss biotech revolution as well. He observes: ‘In the 21st
century the West may dictate what hybrid seeds we should sow or what
brand of r-DNA based insulin we should use, or even what brand of
detergent we should use to remove laundry stains.’
Bhargava and Chakrabarti (1991: 514) hold a similar nationalistic
view. They observe:

The main reason would be that if we do nothing on the area of modern biol-
ogy and biotechnology, we will be exploited by others, and in a manner and
through means that history has not known before. Neocolonialism and dom-
ination of one nation by another tomorrow, will operate through superiority
in regard to biological knowledge.

It is quite clear that for the community of molecular biologists the

question is not whether India should develop biotechnology or not but
how fast India should do it. However, scientists do caution against dan-
gers of uncritically accepting biotechnology. They emphasize the need
for evolving norms related to bio-safety, bio-diversity and environment
to guide research in molecular biology and biotechnology. In this con-
text the DBT appointed a committee of scientists in 1998 to evolve
safety regulations in molecular biology research.

Corporate Sector Interests

The corporate sector’s basic interest is in patents and profits. As molecular

biology and biotechnology have far-reaching implications industry has
turned its attention to biotechnology. As mentioned earlier, several chem-
ical, pharmaceutical and seed companies have transformed themselves
into biotech firms. What the companies typically do is utilise existing
available knowledge in the public domain and make small changes and
SCIENTIFIC KNOWLEDGE IN INDIA 131

claim proprietary rights over the whole. For example, a biotech firm may
access germ plasm of a rice variety and may genetically modify it for a
particular feature, say resistance to a disease or lower starch content, and
patent the genetically modified plant. Some multinational companies
have already developed genetically modified varieties or transgenic variet-
ies of plants like tobacco, tomato and soya. In the case of some crops like
rice, multinational companies are persuading/pressurising the govern-
ments in the Asian countries to allow them to carry out field trials of
transgenic varieties of rice developed by them. In order to maximise prof-
its, seeds are genetically modified in such a way that the germination of
the seed is terminated at the end of one season. The industry also would
collaborate with scientific organisations in the public sector to make use of
the expertise of the scientists for commercial research. In fact, the American
seed industry grew by collaborating with agricultural universities and by
using the research infrastructure of the public institutions (Kloppenberg
1988). The situation in which academic scientists are called upon to col-
laborate with industry creates conditions for a change in the value system.
In this process, conflict between academic values (freedom, openness and
integrity) and those of the industry-control and secrecy-come to the fore.

User Interests

Public perception of biotechnology is another area that has to be probed.

As mentioned earlier, in biotechnology development, organisms or parts
of organisms are used as means of production. In other words, life forms
become raw materials. This marks a shift in the attitude toward nature.
How do people at large react to this shift? How do different sections of a
highly differentiated Indian peasantry-big landowners, middle peasantry,
small and marginal farmers-see the prospects of using biotechnology. As
mentioned earlier, biotechnology solutions tend to be more attractive for
large farms. In countries like India where a majority of the farmers are
small and have marginal holdings, will biotechnology be accessible at
affordable costs? Swaminathan (1987: 9) observes: ‘while new technolo-
gies based on high yielding varieties are scale neutral with regard to their
suitability for being grown by farmers irrespective of their holdings, they
are not resource neutral. Therefore, we need to add a dimension of
resource neutrality to scale neutrality in technology development.’
The question is whether biotechnology will be both scale-neutral
and resource-neutral in the Indian context? Unless a national program
132 E. Haribabu

of biotechnology is evolved keeping in view the differentiation of the

peasantry, different agro-climatic conditions, need to preserve biodiver-
sity, and goals of empowerment of women and oppressed sections, the
equity and justice impact of biotechnology will be quite uneven and it
is likely to perpetuate inequalities. Shiva et al. (1998) observe that while
benefits of globalisation go to the seeds and chemical corporations
through expanding markets, the costs and risks are exclusively borne by
the small farmers and landless peasants. The institutional aspects of
technology development and transfer at micro-level are important
sociological questions. Sociological inputs on these issues are needed so
that state policies and people and their organisations may regulate
biotechnology.
To conclude, the era of industrial research and big science has begun
in India only recently. The essential features of big science are: a) empha-
sis on strategic research; b) increasing the corporate sector’s involvement
in R&D; and c) emphasis on control over knowledge and its dissemina-
tion. Though academic research continues to be carried out the essential
character of science will change.

Notes
The author is thankful to Ms. Laxmi for her help in preparing the manuscript and
Dr. S.G. Kulkarni for his comments on an earlier version of the manuscript.
1. Council of scientific and Industrial Research (CSIR); Department of Atomic Energy
(DAE): Department of Biotechnology (DBT); Department of Electronic (DOE);
Department of Ocean Development (DOD); Department of Science and Technology
(DST); Department of Non-Conventional Sources (DNES); Department of Space
(DOS): Defense Research and Development Organization (DRDO); Indian Council of
Agricultural (ICAR); Indian Council of Medical Research (ICMR).
2. Research project titled: ‘Community or Rice Researches in India: A Study of the
National Rice Biotechnology Network’, funded by the Rockefeller Foundation,
New York, 1998–1999.

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 PART IV
Science, Technology and
Social Change

(i) Modern S&T

8
Science and Social Change:
Emergence of a Dual Society
in India*
V.K.R.V. Rao

S
cience, as an operational force, has to be taken in conjunction with
the technology that results from its application and which in turn
leads to the further growth of science. Science qua science can, of
course, have an independent operational role on the minds of men,
especially in the way they think about men and matters; but, by and
large, science shows its effect by its practical application and the visible
changes it brings about through the use of technology.
There can be no questioning the fact that, during the last 200 years,
science and technology have brought about vast changes in the world, in
our relation to it, and in ourselves. The major impact has been on the
methods of production with a manifold increase in the output of goods
and services. It is, however, not only the techniques of production that
have changed. Contributing to it, but also having independent effects of
their own have been the changes that have taken place in transport,
communication, energy, construction, medicine, weaponry, and genet-
ics. In turn, this has been responsible for changes in the way of life of
people, their demographic pattern, housing, urbanisation, family life,
education, recreation and health care. As consequence of all these
changes, there also take place changes in human relations, changes in
the human being’s conception of himself, and changes in what may
broadly be described as values—individual, social and spiritual. All these
138 V.K.R.V. Rao

changes have the nature not only of cause and effect, but also of effect
and cause. In other words, change is a continuing process that never gets
fully integrated at any one point of time. It is only when one gets into
the realm of mystical experience that one can talk of unchanging reality
(such as God or the individual soul or eternal values) that is indepen-
dent of time, space and interaction.
Modern science came to this country with the British and the estab-
lishment of universities with faculties of science, engineering, agricul-
ture, and medicine during the 19th century. Its impact quickened
during the first half of the 20th century, indigeneous contributions
adding to the wealth of science and technology imported from abroad.
With the advent of Independence in 1947, the national establishment
of social, political and economic goals, the recourse to planned develop-
ment, and the commitment to science and technology on the part of the
Indian Government, largely under the inspiration of Jawaharlal Nehru,
the pace or progress in both knowledge and application of science and
technology grew by leaps and bounds. The result has been an extent of
social change that appears to have had no parallel in any previous period
of recorded Indian history.
The major change resulting from the application of science and
technology has been in the methods of production. In agriculture,
extension of irrigation has been accompanied by a radical change in the
methods of production involving the use of mechanical implements,
chemical fertilisers and pesticides, and high-yielding and fertiliser-
responsive seeds. While this chemico-genetic revolution in agricultural
technology has not covered either the majority of the agricultural crops,
or the bulk of the area under cultivation, and has had differential effects
in terms of both crops and regions, it has certainly made a significant
impact on agricultural production, especially of foodgrains and brought
prosperity to certain selected rural classes and areas in the country.
The changes that have taken place in the methods of industrial pro-
duction have been more startling, not so much in terms of change in
respect of existing industries and industrial processes as in terms of the
introduction of new industries and new industrial processes in the coun-
try, bringing about an expansion of industrial output in both volume
and product-mix, with particular stress on chemical, engineering, capi-
tal goods, and intermediate goods industries. However, the impact of
science and technology has not been so significant either on the volume
SCIENCE AND SOCIAL CHANGE 139

or on the processes of consumption goods industries, except for durable

consumption goods and other consumption goods catering to a class
market. The phenomenal growth of the power industry has not only
sustained the increase in industrial production and made for a more
efficient use of well irrigation, but also helped the growth of small scale
industrial units and brought electricity to more than 160,000 villages.
The rapid growth of road transport has made possible a wide-
ranging movement of raw materials and finished products and acceler-
ated the growth of industrial concentration both by units and by areas.
The development of our transport has also worked in the same direction
by facilitating coordination and centralisation of decision making in
both economic and political spheres.
The development of education has not only helped to produce the
supply of technical and scientific skills needed for the country’s econ-
omic development but also brought westernisation and modernity to
our society, besides ‘sanskritisation’ among those who had traditionally
occupied lower positions in the hierarchy of the Indian social structure.
The development of health facilities and medical aid has led to a reduc-
tion in the death rate, brought about an increase in India’s population
by more than 180 million within two decades, and raised the average
expectation of life while simultaneously increasing the proportion of the
young in the population. It has made possible the prevention of births
and facilitated the exercise of control over the size of the family.
The changes wrought in the economy by the application of science
and technology have also resulted in a startling increase in urbanisation.
While the proportion of urban to total population in India is still a little
less than 20 per cent, our urban population exceeds the total population
of most of the developed and industrialised countries of the world with
the exception of the United States and numbered about 109 million
persons in 1971, of whom nearly 61 million are to be found in cities
with a population of over 100,000 each, and of whose number
34.6  million, or as much as 57 per cent, have been the addition made
during the last two decades.
The development of communications brought about by science
and technology has led to an enormous increase in the use of radio
receivers in absolute numbers, though not impressive in terms of its
proportion to the population. Together with the cinema and popular
periodicals, the communication media have had a significant impact on
140 V.K.R.V. Rao

cultural habits and values in Indian society. Altogether, though India

still ranks as an underdeveloped country or, at best, as a developing
country but with one of the lowest per capita incomes in the world,
there is no doubt that there has been a remarkable development of sci-
ence and technology in the country, specially after the advent of inde-
pendence. And, this in turn, has had a profound impact on material
conditions in Indian society and brought about a significant measure of
social change in India during the last two to three decades.
To identify social change, one has to look at what has happened in
the traditional structure of Indian society, and its institutions like caste,
the Hindu joint family, marriage, status of women, untouchability, cer-
emonials and customs, and religion. The extent to which Indian trad-
itional society has altered and the nature of the alteration that has taken
place would be the most significant aspect of the social change that sci-
ence and technology and their application have brought about in India.
Caste has been the strongest and most traditional form of social group-
ing in India, not so much in terms of the original four-fold varna system,
harking back to the Purushasukta, but in terms of the numerous castes
and sub-castes that have formed through many permutations and com-
binations on the basis of language, region, and local peculiarities. And
caste has sustained itself not only because of its base in heredity but also
because of the internal ties it promotes amongst its members through
marriage and kinship. The continued strength of the caste system also
has rested on its social codes, food habits and taboos, residential proxim-
ity, occupational links and identities, and rituals and religious practices.
The changes effected by the application of science and technology by
way of industrialisation, mechanisation, urbanisation, demand for new
skills and the provision for facilities to obtain the same without restric-
tions based on caste or heredity, the propinquity created by the new
methods of transport, the mobility created by the changing economic
system and the extending spheres of Government, the scepticism gener-
ated for the traditional religious sanction for caste restrictions by the
new education, the new influences created by films and the literature of
scepticism and protest on the masses, and the wooing of the tradition-
ally lower castes by politicians who had to find their activity in a polit-
ical system based on adult franchise and periodic elections—all these
had their in-evitable impact on the working of the caste system in India.
The new industrial occupations and service professions, the new towns
SCIENCE AND SOCIAL CHANGE 141

and cities the new transport system, the new educational centres and the
operation of new political forces all brought about proximity and pro-
pinquity among members of different castes, diluted if not eliminated
their isolation and exclusiveness, and built up new social relations that
broke the old caste barriers.
The process did not, however, proceed to its logical conclusion and
result in the disappearance of the caste system. This was due, partly no
doubt to the regrouping and revival of religious and caste leadership.
But the stronger and much more pervasive factor that came to the rescue
of the caste system was the new use to which the social groupings with
their traditional caste solidarity could be put in the context of a political
democracy based on adult franchise and periodic elections. Caste groups
formed a reliable and readily available base for winning elections by
individual candidates, though the political parties that sponsored them
covered up this ugly fact by high-sounding political and ideological
appeals. Caste, as a social group, also became an active instrument for
sharing the spoils and patronage incidental to a democratic political
system and a developing economy with its new opportunities. In addi-
tion, the Indian institution of marriage restricted choice of partners to
the relevant caste, gave it powerful social sanction, and left it to be
arranged by parents, which was facilitated by the comparatively early
age at which marriages take place in India and the notion that “marriage
is a must” that is dinned into the ears of girls right from their childhood.
The result has been that, while caste has lost some of its external trap-
pings and taboos, it still remains a powerful social grouping, evoking
exclusive loyalties, linked together by marriage and kinship, using its
influence to get its share in economic, educational, and political oppor-
tunities, and throwing up a leadership that uses caste ties to promote its
own interests and also uses its power to better the lot of its own caste.
For completing the picture, I must also mention two other forces
which are tending to undermine the caste system, though without any
significant success so far. One is the new group that has emerged,
cutting  across caste barriers, marrying outside the caste and even
language-group and region, cultivating a western style of living, and
forming a new all-India elite based on education, occupation, economic
opportunities and Government service. Some members of this group
have taken full advantage of the mobility created by modern science
and  technology to establish their outposts even in foreign countries
142 V.K.R.V. Rao

(though largely confined to English speaking areas). While this group

has not solidified itself into a caste, as it is not based on heredity, nor has
any allegedly religious sanction, it is unlikely to do any serious damage
to the caste system, as many of its members take full advantage of their
original caste affiliations to better their own interests. In the very long
run, however, this new group may help to undermine the caste system,
as the gap between its profession and practice is bound to have its effect
on the members of the caste systems it tries to exploit, and as its younger
generation gets gradually influenced by its profession as against practice
and may assume leadership for a genuine assault on the caste system.
The other and more genuine forces operating against the caste
system are the trade unions and the honest propagators and practitioners
of socialist ideology. The institution of caste is wholly inconsistent with
the concept of class. And as long as caste continues to dominate the
Indian social structure, there can be no development of a genuine social-
ist democracy in this country. But socialist ideology is an accepted force
in Indian political thinking; economic exploitation, income and wealth
disparities, and mass poverty are also recognised facts in Indian life
today. The combination of these two factors is bound to lead to the
development of class consciousness and the erosion of caste loyalties and
the ultimate elimination of the caste system in India. But all this will be
in the very long run and who can say how long that will be. Meanwhile,
I must confess that the impact of science and technology on the econ-
omy and on the material conditions of life and work in this country has
not succeeded in shaking the strength of the caste system and to this
extent it has failed to effect a major social change that would have
brought India in line with other countries which have experienced the
impact of science and technology in equal and larger measure.
The position, however, is different in regard to some of the other
traditional institutions in Indian society. The Hindu joint family, for
example, has failed to withstand the impact of the operational effects of
science and technology. New industrial processes, changing forms of
economic activity, increasing mobility of qualified or displaced individ-
uals in search of better opportunities, transfers on service that are affect-
ing increasingly large numbers of the technical, professional and
administrative classes in both the public sector and the larger units in
the private sector, and the increasing assertion for autonomous family
life on the part of younger generations—all these are leading to a rapid
break up of the joint family and its replacement by the nuclear family.
SCIENCE AND SOCIAL CHANGE 143

This is, of course, more true of the urban areas, as in the rural areas the
joint nature of the agricultural occupation still tends to sustain the joint
family system.
Marriage as an institution still occupies its traditional position of
strength in Indian society. But it no longer takes place at an early age.
The average age at marriage has been recording a steady rise, especially
during the last three decades, with increasing education and women’s
participation in non-traditional economic and other activities. This is,
of course, not so true of marriages in rural areas. But the change is evi-
dent in urban areas, and conspicuous in the case of the more educated
sections as also the elite in Indian society and especially of the new
all-India group that I mentioned earlier. Family planning, increasing
preference for working women in marriage, divorce, and preference for
the single state are all emerging in larger or smaller measure as notice-
able phenomena in the more educated, sophisticated and urbanised sec-
tions of Indian society; and in due course the forces of ‘sanskritisation’
will tend to extend their influence in other sections of Indian society.
Given the continuance of the forces of economic and educational devel-
opment, marriage as an institution is likely increasingly to shed its tra-
ditional association with early age, universality, and large families, and
approximate to the institution of marriage as it has developed in the
western world. But this will only be in the long run; and, even then,
one cannot be certain in view of two factors that distinguish India from
the western world, namely, its large number of villages and vast rural
population, and the continuing hold of traditional religion on the
Indian life style.
The most conspicuous change that has taken place in traditional
institutions has been in the status of women in India. It is no doubt true
that religion gave high status to women in India and goddesses have
more worshippers than gods. But in all things that matter in this mater-
ial world, women in India have always been treated as inferior beings,
deprived of both status and opportunities. That position has now under-
gone a radical change. A woman’s right to ancestral property has been
accepted. She now has the right to monogamy, divorce and mainte-
nance. Educational facilities for women have been extended in large
measure, her equality in status with man has been recognised by law and
the constitution, and women are now playing an active role in all areas
of national activity including the political and the economic. Domestic
drudgery has also been reduced by the direct impact of science and
144 V.K.R.V. Rao

technology on energy and gadgets for use in domestic work, thus

releasing opportunities for women’s activity outside the domestic sphere.
True, all this has so far been largely confined to the more educated
sections and upper echelons of Indian society. But the phenomenon is
conspicuously visible and it is bound to set a trend that in due course
and in the long run will give women in India a status and a position
approximating to that of their sisters in the western world.
Another traditional institution that has received a mortal blow, and
will eventually disappear from Indian society, is untouchability. The
material developments resulting from the application of science and
technology to which references have been made earlier have undoubt-
edly led to a recognition of the incompatibility of untouchability with
development and the impossibility of its survival as an enduring institu-
tion. But while untouchability as such is tending, for most practical
purposes, to disappear in urban areas, it has not disappeared in rural
areas either in respect of residence or drinking water, and in many areas
even in respect of other community facilities. Apart from the stronger
hold of traditionalism in rural areas, this has been mainly due to the
negligible introduction of science and technology in rural life except in
agricultural production, and, of course, the negligible share of property
and means of production in the hands of Scheduled Castes.
While untouchability has largely disappeared in urban areas,
untouchables still remain under the nomenclature of the Scheduled
Castes, and constitute the poorest, the most under-privileged and handi-
capped sections of Indian society with restricted opportunities and inad-
equate participation in the mainstreams of different areas of national
and social activity. And they numbered nearly 80 million in 1971.
Government, of course, is committed to their uplift and their getting a
full share of opportunities in all spheres of national activity and has been
attempting to implement a number of programmes for the purpose. But
the pace of implementation is neither rapid nor adequate, genuine
public support from other sections of Indian society is lacking and
the  way the whole problem is being handled both politically and by
the public may lead to the Scheduled Castes being used for or getting
wedded to a continuance of the caste system, albeit in reverse gear, thus
preventing the major social change which is needed, namely, the destruc-
tion of the caste system and all that it implies for the creation of a truly
democratic and socialist society in India.
SCIENCE AND SOCIAL CHANGE 145

In the last analysis, the problem of Scheduled Castes is the problem of

poverty; and the problem of poverty can only be solved by a politico-
economic system that uses science and technology, not only for increasing
production but also for increasing employment and individual labour pro-
ductivity, and at the same time re-structures property relations and invest-
ment patterns in such a way as to reduce disparities in income and wealth
and improves the quality of life for the masses of the people. Such a system
is democratic socialism, and caste has no place in a socialist society.
Two other directions in which the impact of science and technology
has made for social change in India are in the realm of national identity
and cultural development. Thus, industrialisation, urbanisation, com-
mercialisation and extension of educational facilities have led to a con-
siderably larger measure of mobility and internal migration than in the
past. And today we find a greater diversification of language, regional
origin, religion and caste amongst our people who share work and resi-
dence than at any time in previous Indian history. While this is more
particularly true of the big cities and towns, it is not entirely absent in
rural areas. The social change this has brought about is of a mixed char-
acter. On the one hand, it has made for a sharper interaction between
diverse social groups and given a new reality to the concept of Indianness.
On the other hand, it has also given a new life to linguistic, regional and
communal groupings, giving the country an uneasy balance between
national identity and particularist identities in Indian political and
social life. The necessities of economic development, as also the growing
opportunities it gives rise to, have also added to this conflicting trend in
social change, namely, mobility in residence on grounds of efficiency,
and preference for the original residents in the name of a ‘sons of the
soil’ theory. All this again is much more an urban rather than a rural
phenomenon, as is the case with so many other aspects of the social
change that we are witnessing in India.
The other aspect of social change which has been influenced by the
developments in science and technology has been in culture. While India
has had a broad framework of cultural identity cutting across language
and region and to some extent, even religion, indigeneousness and
immense diversity has marked its local manifestations in different parts of
the country except for the elite of the land who had more of a national
culture with a larger measure of non-indigenous origin. The material
developments following the application of science and technology and the
146 V.K.R.V. Rao

developments in transport, tourism, and mass communication media as

well as the extension of primary and secondary education have tended to
reduce this cultural gap between the elite and the masses, giving rise to a
new mass culture of a polyglot character that cuts across not only class but
also region, language and religion. The same forces have also given a new
dynamism to some of the country’s traditional and diversified cultures,
with revivalism and uniformity seeking an uneasy coexistence and making
for a culture of unity and diversity, if not one of unity in diversity.
As regards religion, rituals and ceremonials, these have not suffered
in the manner one would expect during a period of such rapid develop-
ment of science and technology. The questioning attitude and increasing
disregard for traditional forms and ceremonials of worship which marked
the later part of 19th century in England and prevailed during most
periods of modern development elsewhere has been somewhat conspicu-
ous by its absence in India. Religious worship for securing the favours of
the Deity, for the promotion of one’s personal or family interests has
perhaps never been so rampant as it is in India today. Developments in
transport, communication and mass media, made possible by science
and technology, have tended to increase rather than decrease the force of
religiosity in India and its use for personal rather than social ends. Apart
from religiosity, astrology has grown in stature and influence, logic and
rationality have declined in matters other than technical, scientists are
shedding their modesty and taking to wish fulfilment projections and
predictions, futurology is acquiring the status of a science, and new
superstitions and prejudices are being added on to an already heavy pile
accumulated through our long history. I think it is high time that the
practitioners of science and technology turned their expertise on unrav-
elling the mystery of how the so-called scientific temper is so absent in
our country, why the scientific attitude is at such a discount in matters
other than purely scientific, and why scientific endeavour and techno-
logical goals are so poorly related to the achievement of a total enrich-
ment of the quality of life for the masses of our people.
The conclusion I am reaching is that science and technology have
not brought about that measure of social change in India which has
been attributed to it elsewhere. And yet it is not wholly the fault of the
Indian practitioners of science and technology. There is no denying at
least an element of truth in the proposition that our science and tech-
nology have been largely West-inspired, big industry-oriented and
undoubtedly biased in favour of capital and highly specialised expertise,
SCIENCE AND SOCIAL CHANGE 147

accompanied by disregard for indigenous availabilities and constraints

of resources and skills, and a lack of sensitiveness to mass requirements,
rural needs, and backward regions. While the politician and the social
scientist must share the major blame, the scientist and the technologist
must also be held responsible for the dual society which has come up
with such sharpness in our country during the last 25 years.
It is the dual character of the society that has emerged in India that
is responsible for the failure of science and technology to bring about
the massive social change that it should have. Our ethos has been urban;
the complexes we inherited from our colonial past still persist; our aim
has been to become modern which has been interpreted to mean west-
ern. And since we could not achieve western modernity for the whole
our country, we contended ourselves with creating it in a part of our
country, which means the cities and big towns that house 61 million
people, of whom one-third live in seven cities, whose population
number more than a million people each. True there are pockets of west-
ern modernity, and a few stray cases besides, here and there. But the rest
of India, which accounts for well high 80 per cent of our population,
and lives on agriculture, allied activities, traditional industries and ser-
vice occupations, has had, except for some green revolution pockets, but
little impact of science and technology, either on its methods of produc-
tion or its consumption habits and content or its housing or public
amenities. Their life is neither western nor modern, but they constitute
the bulk of India. This is the dual society we have in India, the crucial
differential resting on the relative application of science and technology
to their respective methods of work and style of life.
But this dual society does not function in compartments. It has a
common government, common political parties, common mass-media,
and common elections that temporarily overcome the duality to seek
their verdicts on claimants to political power. There is also movement
between the dual societies but not of an equi-directional character. In
fact, it is a one-way traffic, from the rural and small town areas that house
the non-modern and non-westernised majority of the Indian people to
the cities and big towns that house the modern and westernised minority.
Though the traffic moves in one way, it sends back to the houses of the
immigrants a demonstration effect that adds to the frustration of rural
areas and accentuates the sharpness of the dual nature of Indian society.
But the dual societies are not entirely devoid of social identities. In
fact they share some crucial identities in respect of their economic and
148 V.K.R.V. Rao

social conditions. They both suffer from inequalities in income and

wealth; they both have large numbers of population below the poverty
line; and they both have sizeable unemployment and underemployment
among their numbers. These, combined with elections and political par-
ties seeking popular support, have led to the emergence of socialist ideo-
logies and are stimulating both the desire and the forces of social change.
Unequal application of science and technology and unequal distribu-
tion of the dividends from development are thus the two major factors that
account for the thrust towards a major social change in India, and the focus
is on rural India. There is now a new emphasis on the part of both
Government and of scientists and technologists on rural development. And
Government is seeking not only the application of science and technology
to different areas of rural development, but also attempting to restructure
the institutional and social milieu in rural areas to ensure a more equitable
distribution of the gains that result from development. Simultaneously, the
scientists and technologists are now discovering the social and economic
institutional constraints that stand in the way” of the successful application
of their knowledge to rural problems, and have started stressing the impor-
tance of ensuring the non-scientific conditions for rural development.
Altogether, it is a healthy sign for social change. If the political and
scientific forces effectively operate their professed postures on develop-
ment, they would undoubtedly strengthen the chances of a major break-
through in the realm of social change in India. Whether the social
change that will ensue will take us nearer to a modern and westernised
society with its consumer dominance, gadgets, pollution and the ills of
affluence, or to a society of socialist complexion, like in the Soviet Union
or the people’s Republic of China, or to an altogether different but
eclectic model with a Gandhian accent, are matters on which I am in no
position to venture a categorical answer. But I do see that all these ele-
ments are in operation in larger or smaller measure, and there is always
room for the unknown when one thinks of the future. Whatever be the
society that will emerge, there is no doubt that science and technology
will be playing an important role in shaping its content and contours.

Note
* Based on a lecture delivered under the auspices of the Bangalore University.
9
Is Kerala Becoming a
Knowledge Society?—
Evidence from the
Scientific Community
R. Sooryamoorthy and Wesley M. Shrum

Introduction

K
nowledge has become a buzzword in modern societies,
dominating both capital and labour. A modern society was, until
recently, perceived in terms of property and labour, while a cap-
italist society was viewed as a society of owners and non-owners. Soon it
became a labouring society, and now it is forming into a knowledge
society (Stehr 2001: 495). The link between knowledge and develop-
ment is becoming ever more pronounced. Knowledge is the ability to
transform our resources to our advantage, and it has become the most
important factor determining our standard of life, more than land, tools
or labour (World Bank 1998–99: 16). Today, most technologically
advanced economies are knowledge based. Not only do they generate
new wealth from their innovations, but they also create vast numbers of
knowledge-related jobs (Ibid.). As a consequence, societies are now
being transformed into what many theorists have viewed as true knowl-
edge societies (Lane 1966; Drucker 1969; Bell 1973).1 The emergence
150 R. Sooryamoorthy and Wesley M. Shrum

of knowledge societies, however, is not a spontaneous event but a gradual

process in which societies acquire new traits and features. Knowledge
has become more fundamental and strategic for most spheres of life and
it is modifying, or even replacing, the factors that have been constitutive
of social action (Stehr 2001: 496).
India has one of the five largest scientific communities in the world,
and accounts for about half the scientific production of the developing
countries as a whole (Gaillard et al. 1997: 41). The developing countries
together represent only 7 percent of the world’s mainstream scientific
output, of which close to 80 percent is produced in Asia. India’s main-
stream production has increased at about the same pace as the total
world output during 1985–92.
Given that knowledge is becoming the basis of growth and develop-
ment, this paper examines the institutional settings of knowledge cre-
ation in a small but widely acclaimed State of Kerala. Kerala is regarded
as a model of development, though the initial euphoria about its
achievements and credentials in several socioeconomic and demographic
spheres is on the wane. The setting has significance for two reasons.
First, Kerala has initiated many programmes, following the footprints of
many other southern states like Andhra Pradesh, Karnataka and Tamil
Nadu, to chart a new path for its development by taking advantage of
the demand for information technology (IT) the world over. Its new IT
policy document makes it clear that the growth of the state in the
coming years will be increasingly driven by the knowledge and
service-based sectors where information flow will be a key determinant
of success (Government of Kerala 2001: 5).2
When knowledge is the key for progress and development, its
generation and the structures that facilitate or hinder the process
become important. Added to this is the socioeconomic ambience that
stems from the process of globalisation. Scientific and technical
knowledge produces incremental capacities for social and economic
action or an increase in the ability to ‘how-to-do-it’ (Stehr 2001: 498).
This study focuses on the people who have been involved in the gen-
eration of knowledge in Kerala. Based on a study, first conducted in
1994, then repeated in 2000, in the teaching and research sectors, we
trace the changes that have occurred at the individual and system
levels, and examine how these changes affect the research system in
Kerala.
EVIDENCE FROM THE SCIENTIFIC COMMUNITY 151

Methodology

Kerala was one of the three locations, along with Kenya and Ghana, in
which the original field survey of scientists was conducted in 1994. A
team of three interviewers spent five weeks travelling through the state
conducting approximately 100 interviews in universities, research
institutes and a few NGOs. The primary basis for selecting organisa-
tions in the academic and government research sectors was publication
productivity. The individuals interviewed were all involved in some
aspect of research on agricultural, environmental, and natural resource
issues. First, a search of seventy-nine databases was carried out using
the DIALOG system.3 After discarding sources in irrelevant fields and
those with few hits, seventeen international databases were searched
for the 1992–93 period. This allowed the identification of a group of
organisations and scientists before the fieldwork began. The sample
was stratified by sector, focusing primarily on university departments
and national research institutes, interviewing approximately three indi-
viduals in each institution. Fifty-seven percent of our 1994-respondents
belonged to national institutes, 31 percent to universities, and 12 per-
cent to NGOs. These individuals represent forty-nine organisations in
three sectors, including twenty-two government institutes, twenty uni-
versity departments and seven NGOs. Obtaining the permission and
cooperation from the director/head of each organisation, we targeted
mid-career researchers. We sought to divide our interviews between
those whose names appeared in the international databases and those
whose did not. A special effort was made to interview women
researchers.4
The second set of respondents was contacted during three months
beginning from June 2000. While the 1994 survey sought to be com-
prehensive in its coverage of agricultural, environmental, and natural
resource-related research institutions in the state, because of time and
cost constraints, few individuals could be interviewed in each. In the
2000 survey we decided to attempt to increase the sample size. Hence,
the 2000 survey sought comprehensiveness in the number of individual
scientists interviewed within each university department or research
institute, with less coverage of the full range of organisations in 1994.
The respondents were drawn from the main central and state govern-
ment research organisations in Thiruvananthapuram (the state capital)
152 R. Sooryamoorthy and Wesley M. Shrum

and the science departments of the University of Kerala and the College
of Agriculture in Vellayani. The focus, as in 1994, was on fields of special-
isation in agriculture, biology, biochemistry, geology, mathematics,
physics and social sciences. Thus, we have a total of 404 respondents—
101 from the 1994 survey and 303 from the 2000 survey.
This paper looks at the transformation of the research community
from 1994 to 2000. In the tables that follow, we examine the realms of
personal and academic background of the researchers, their professional
life and productivity, and the research facilities available to them. The
2000 survey contained a variety of new questions on the Internet, a
subject that was only beginning to capture the attention of the Kerala
research community in 1994. However, the analysis here is confined to
items that appear in both the surveys. The survey instrument included
both structured and unstructured items on the major dimensions of
professional research activities, international and national organisational
contacts, frequency of discussions with various groups, supervisory
roles and local contacts, professional memberships and activities, self-
reported productivity, attitudes on agricultural and environmental
issues, and the needs of the research system.

Demographic and Socioeconomic Background

In the sample 37 percent (150 respondents) were women (36.6 percent

in 1994 and 37.3 percent in 2000). The even distribution indicates
that there is no significant change in gender composition between the
two periods. Although the ratio of women to men in Kerala is in favour
of women (1058:1000), it is not reflected in the professional positions
of women in the chosen institutions of higher learning and research.
Such a gender imbalance in the academic hierarchy has also been
reported in a recent empirical study (Kumar 2001). In the mean age of
the respondents, there is a statistically significant difference of four
years, indicating that the research community is ageing (Table 1).
Father’s occupation, which gives an indication of the socioeconomic
background of the respondents, shows some significant changes
between the two periods. Ever more children of civil servants are being
attracted to the field of research and teaching: whereas in 1994 only
13.7 percent of the scientists were children of civil servants, in 2000
this figure had risen to 43 percent. At the same time, as evident from
EVIDENCE FROM THE SCIENTIFIC COMMUNITY 153

Table 1
Characteristics of Respondents

Variable 1994 2000 N

1. Percentage male 63.4 62.7 404
2. Percentage female 36.6 37.3 404
3. Age***b 43.0 47.04 404
4. Father’s occupation***a
397
Farmer/Peasant 33.7 23.2
Teacher/Education 11.6 12.9
Civil Servant 13.7 43.0
Medical/Nurse 5.3 1.7
Researcher/Professor/Scientist 3.2 3.6
Business/Merchant/Shopkeeper 11.6 8.9
Others 21.1 6.6
5. Marital status**a 404
Single 8.9 2.0
Married 90.1 97.4
Widowed 1.0 0.7
6. Spouse’s occupation*** a
386
Farmer/Peasant 0.0 0.7
Teacher/Education 6.6 10.2
Civil Servant 8.8 27.1
Medical/Nurse 3.3 5.8
Researcher/Professor/Scientist 29.7 16.6
Extension officer 0.0 1.4
Business/Merchant/Shopkeeper 5.5 2.4
Housewife 33.0 26.1
Others 13.2 9.8
7. Education a
404
PhD 77.2 77.2
Masters 21.8 19.8
(Table 1 contd.)
154 R. Sooryamoorthy and Wesley M. Shrum

(Table 1 contd.)

Variable 1994 2000 N

7. Education (contd.)
Bachelors 0.0 0.3
Diploma 0.0 0.3
Others 1.0 2.3
8. Year of joining the organisationb 1981 1982 404
9. Year of obtaining highest degree* b
1983 1986 404
10. Degree from developed 6.9 5.3 404
countriesa
11. Years spent outside India for higher 0.53 0.32 404
educationb
12. Years spent in developed countryb 0.6 0.4 404
*p < .1, ** <. 05, *** <. 01, ‘a’ In percentage, tested with Chi-square , ‘b’ Results of t-test.

the data for 2000, respondents with farm origins had declined by
nearly 10 percentage points. There are also fewer respondents in the
2000 data whose parents who are in the medical/nursing profession.
Single respondents were four times higher in the 1994 sample, proba-
bly indicating a higher experience profile of the personnel in the
research and teaching systems of Kerala. This finding is consistent with
the data on age in which the mean difference is notably higher for the
second set of data.
In recent times, the spouses of respondents are more likely to be
civil servants, or those in the educational or medical fields. The increase
in spouses in the teaching profession owes primarily to the fact that
the  male respondents are likely to have wives from this profession. It
implies that female respondents who are scientists, researchers and pro-
fessors do not prefer to marry teachers or those in allied fields. In the
present hierarchy of occupations in the state, teachers in schools fall
below scientists, researchers and professors. In Kerala, women are gener-
ally encouraged to marry men from higher occupational status. In
accordance with such a preference, 40.5 percent of the female respon-
dents in the second survey have husbands who are civil servants holding
regular and permanent positions in the governmental sector, compared
with 19 percent wives for the male respondents.
EVIDENCE FROM THE SCIENTIFIC COMMUNITY 155

To further substantiate this argument, fewer women (only

5.4 percent in 2000) have husbands who are in business or are working
as merchants or shopkeepers. Parenthetically we may note that men too
do not prefer women in such occupations (the percentage of wives in
the said occupations is less than one). Employed men like scientists,
researchers and professors also opt for partners in the regular, secured
positions that bring in a steady income, cementing their position firmly
in the higher stratum of the society. The percentage of respondents’
wives who are housewives, that is, those who are not gainfully employed,
registers a drop from 33.0 in 1994 to 26.1 in 2000, indicating that
more employed men are choosing employed women as their life
partners.
In both sets of data, over three-quarters (77.2 percent) of the
respondents possessed PhD as their highest degree, but this indicates no
advancement in the present system in terms of educational qualifica-
tions. There is even a drop of two percentage points in Master’s level
qualification, with the difference being qualifications such as MPhil.
However, this difference is small. As for educational credentials, the
research capacity of Kerala has not improved since 1994.
As for the year of obtaining the highest degree such as MA, MPhil
or PhD, the sample means show significant difference in terms of the
t-test. This does not make much sense as there are several other variables
that might intervene here. In view of the present rate and extent of
unemployment, the year of obtaining a position varies.5 This reflects the
difficulty of finding employment as soon as one obtains educational
qualifications. It is also common to pursue a higher degree (such as
MPhil or PhD) after one has taken up employment–a prerequisite to
climb the career ladder. For a majority, acquiring higher degrees while in
employment is for promotion within the organisation and owes little to
academic interests. It is quite evident among the teaching community–
not only in Kerala but in many other states as well–that there are teach-
ers who undertake their doctoral study while close to retirement, as this
is essential for promotions to higher levels. At the time of data collection
in 1994, such degrees were not essential for even research positions in
Kerala. Now higher qualifications like PhD are common because there
is a sufficient supply of eligible candidates in the labour market.
Although these qualifications are not mandatory even today, preference
is given to candidates who possess higher qualifications.
156 R. Sooryamoorthy and Wesley M. Shrum

Most respondents (over 90 percent in both years) do not have any

degree from any developed country. For those that do, most were
obtained from the USA, the UK and other European countries (more
from the USA among the 2000 respondents). However, the difference
between the two data sets is not statistically significant. Among
those who obtained higher education in developed countries, the aver-
age number of years spent outside the country was greater in 1994 than
in 2000, indicating that Kerala scientists have, if anything, become less
cosmopolitan over time. Though statistically insignificant, this indicates
that fewer scientists in the Kerala research system have the opportunity
for education outside the country. It seems clear that in the competitive
environment, opportunities in the form of fellowships and study grants
have not improved during the period of the study; if anything, they are
shrinking.

Professional Activities

For those in the research sector, the most significant role partners within
the employing organisation are other scientists and engineers, techni-
cians and field workers, and other non-technical staff. The first six rows
of Table 2 may indicate a general reduction in supervisory and collab-
orative relationships over time for intra-organisational relations. While
there is a small difference in the number of professionals supervised, the
number of technicians, fieldworkers, and non-technical staff has
declined. The reduction in intra-organisational relationships is shown
most clearly in rows 3 through 6 of Table 2, based on a series of ques-
tions on the number of individuals of various types within her/his own
organisation with whom the respondent works closely. We interpret
these items as indicators of collaboration within the organisation or aca-
demic department of the respondents. Clearly, the number of collabora-
tors is lower in 2000 than it was in 1994. For scientific collaborators, as
row 4 of Table 2 shows, the reduction is remarkable (8.63 to 3.23), a
nearly two-thirds drop. There are significant reductions as well in the
number of technical and non-technical collaborators at less than profes-
sional rank (rows 5–6). If this is viewed as a measure of the extent to
which researchers discuss research problems with other professionals,
and the extent to which they are assisted in their research by
EVIDENCE FROM THE SCIENTIFIC COMMUNITY 157

Table 2
Professional Activities

Variable 1994 2000 N

1. Professionals (scientist/engineer) supervised b
1.5 1.29 401
2. Technicians and fieldworkers supervised b
3.14 1.93 402
3. Non-technical staff supervised**b 1.33 0.70 402
4. Professionals (scientist/engineer) 8.63 3.23 402
collaborators***b
5. Technicians and fieldworkers collaborators***b 4.99 1.73 402
6. Non-technical staff collaborators***b 4.59 0.38 401
7. Membership in professional association a
83.7 88.4 401
8. Held office in professional association a
46.9 44.9 401
9. Served on the editorial board of 29.6 31.4 401
professional journalsa
10. Member of government committees or 23.5 53.5 401
advisory group***a
11. Served as a consultanta 56.1 67.0 401
12. Advisor to extension services a
55.1 52.5 401
13. Advisor to an NGO a
28.9 28.4 401
14. Training courses attended a
67.3 68.0 401
15. Professional meetings attendedb 9.91 12.52 389
16. Professional advisor to NGOsa 28.9 28.4 400
17. Days away from organisation for 30.1 22.15 388
professional activitiesb
18. Professional awards receiveda 25.5 22.5 398
*p < .1, **p < .05, ***p < .01, ‘a’ In percentage, tested with Chi-square, ‘b’ Results of t-test.

non-professionals, then the reduction in research capacity is indeed

puzzling, if not disturbing.
Since 1920, when the Indian Botanical Association was formed, the
number of professional scientific associations in India has increased. By
1940 there were about seventeen such professional association in the
country (Krishna 1997: 239).6 Membership in such associations can
facilitate the exchange of ideas and communication among scientific
158 R. Sooryamoorthy and Wesley M. Shrum

professionals and help them keep abreast of developments in their

research fields. A large majority (over 80 percent) of our respondents in
both the surveys, with only a minor change, reported membership in
professional associations.7 Sometimes a keen interest in the discipline
and specialisation motivates a scientist to become involved in profes-
sional organisations. Active involvement in an association and contribu-
tions to it increases the chance of rising to positions of responsibility.
Such positions also indicate expertise and reputation as a researcher,
factors that weigh heavily in the selection of persons for responsible
positions in associations. As indicated in row 8 of Table 2, fewer than
half were officers of such organisations, and this percentage fell slightly
in 2000.
India produces more than half the scientific journals published in
the Third World. In science and technology alone, there are 1,500
journals published in India (Krishnan and Viswanathan 1987, as quoted
in Krishna 1997: 255). Scientific professionals may be involved in the
publication process in various ways, including the editorial and peer-
review activities of journals. This typically occurs once they have an
established standing in their own field of research. Such an acceptance
and recognition can be achieved only after years of research in a specific
area of interest. Peer review is intended to control the quality of the
contributions in the discipline, by collegial review of published prob-
lems, techniques and results. As indicated in row 9 of Table 2, slightly
less than one-third of our respondents had, during the past five years,
served on the editorial boards of professional journals. The trends in
these positional variables for professional associations and journals do
not indicate an improving condition for Kerala research system.
The policy roles of these individuals have improved significantly,
however. A majority of the respondents in 2000 reported serving on
government committees or advisory groups, bodies that play an import-
ant part in the formulation of policies, which represents more than
double the percentage in 1994. There was also a significant increase in
consultancy, from about half the scientists in 1994 to nearly two-thirds
in 2000. Since their roles as advisors of extension services and NGOs
did not change (rows 12 and 13 of Table 2), we can say that Kerala sci-
entists are engaging more with governmental and international agencies
than in the recent past. This is not because of any decrease in the number
of NGOs in the state since 1994, or the number of opportunities.8 But
EVIDENCE FROM THE SCIENTIFIC COMMUNITY 159

such services are often rendered voluntarily rather than for a charge.
Consultancy services to NGOs and taking part in advisory roles in
NGOs are not as lucrative as consultancy work for governmental and
international agencies.
Finally, data on participation in training courses and on the number
of days of remaining away from the organisation for professional activ-
ities during the last five years do not augur well for the scientific com-
munity in Kerala. The percentage of the respondents who had gone for
any professional course or training registered a negligible change in
2000 (row 14 of Table 2). Moreover, the average number of days the
respondents spent away from the organisation for professional activities
had declined considerably (row 17 of Table 2).

Research and Productivity

The expenditure on research and development (R&D) in India, in

terms of its proportion to the GNP, increased after 1975. This is con-
spicuous when it is compared with the proportion among other devel-
oping countries. However, since the 1990s the trend is reversed. The
R&D funding in India fell from 0.92 percent of the GNP in 1990 to
0.70 percent in 2000 (Krishna, 2002: 10). This may be compared with
the figures of 2 to 3 percent for the industrialised countries and 1.5 to
2.5 percent for East Asia. As indicated by the Institute for Scientific
Information (ISI), a widely used bibliometric data source, ten countries
produce more than 80 percent of international scientific literature.9 The
output of research papers produced varies from country to country.
Developed countries such as the USA, the UK, Japan, Germany, France,
Canada and the Netherlands accounted for a range of 1.68 to 36.67
percent of the total world output during 1981–85 (Braun et al., quoted
in Krishna 1997: 253). The range for developing countries such as
Brazil, Egypt, Nigeria, Kenya, Thailand and Algeria was from 0.37 to
0.01 percent. Among them, all except India are the members of the
industrialised world. India, though a developing country, falls some-
where in the middle with an output of 2.68 percent during the said
period. India has maintained its eighth place among publishing nations
since the beginning of the 1970s (Gaillard et al. 1997: 43), above Italy,
Australia, and the Netherlands, Sweden and other European countries.
160 R. Sooryamoorthy and Wesley M. Shrum

Table 3
Productivity of Respondents

Variable 1994 2000 N

1. Hours worked per week b
51.61 49.96 399
2. Hours devoted to research per week b
30.93 30.93 398
3. Number of research projects***b 3.79 7.20 401
4. Number of research projects directed* b
2.20 3.57 401
5. Articles in foreign journals b
2.27 2.21 399
6. Articles in national journals b
5.24 4.90 398
7. Chapters in edited volumes 0.70 0.86 398
8. Reports/monographs produced b
3.30 3.79 392
9. Bulletins for extension b
1.31 1.10 400
10. Papers presented at international conferences/ 2.11 1.78 400
workshops/seminarsb
11. Papers presented at national conferences/ 5.65 6.31 400
workshops/seminarsb
*p < .1, **p < .05, ***p < .01, ‘b’ Results of t-test.

It accounts for about 64 percent of the total scientific output of the

Third World (Ibid.).
At the individual level too, the productivity of scientists is mea-
sured on the basis of their scientific output. This can be assessed in
terms of the research projects conducted or directed, contributions to
national and international journals, research papers in edited volumes,
and the production of monographs, reports and bulletins. Not only
written output, but contributions to national and international con-
ferences are an expression of one’s productivity. As Table 3 shows, our
respondents report working an average of fifty hours a week, fewer in
2000 than in 1994. However, the time investment in research is virtu-
ally the same in both periods. The number of research projects in
which the respondents were involved and the number of projects
directed is another indicator of research activity. Respondents reported
significantly more research projects in 2000 than in 1994, by a margin
of 7.2 to 3.8 (row 3 of Table 3). However, part of this difference is
accounted for by the greater range of responses in 2000 (from 16 in
1994 to 60 in 2000).
EVIDENCE FROM THE SCIENTIFIC COMMUNITY 161

The survey contained a series of ten ‘written output’ questions

asking respondents to report their own productivity within the past five
years. The most salient items pertained to articles in both foreign and
national journals. We used self-reported publication data because of the
absence of good bibliometric sources covering India. Publications are
highly relevant for researchers in developing countries, and generally
they have little difficulty in remembering them. However, there was no
further check on the accuracy of these self-reported publications.10
Table 3 shows little change in the primary types of research output.
The contributions of the respondents to national and foreign journals,
edited volumes, and the production of monographs, reports and bull-
etins do not show positive signs of change between the two periods.
Compared with 1994, self-reported contributions to foreign journals
and national journals have declined. While there is a minor increase in
the production of reports and contributions to edited titles, this is neg-
ligible.11 Such outputs are not treated on par with contributions to
peer-reviewed journals. Most often, reports and monographs may be
converted into publishable forms in journals after considerable intellec-
tual inputs are added. Likewise, the present level of participation in
national and international conferences, meetings, workshops and semi-
nars is not encouraging for the growth of research activities in the state.
The rate of presentation of papers at international meetings has dwin-
dled in recent years, while there is a positive change in the case of
national meetings. These changes are not statistically significant.

Conclusion

This study examines scientists in Kerala from 1994 to 2000, focusing on

stability and change in their personal characteristics, professional activi-
ties and academic output. As for the composition of the research system,
some transformation is evident, including the aging of the Kerala scien-
tific community and the class background of these professionals.
Furthermore, research and teaching have become the preferred profes-
sions of the wards of the middle-class parents in the state. This class
character is maintained and reinforced in the choice of life partners too.
As for positive changes in the system, we found increased participa-
tion in policy-making bodies, a welcome trend that may pave the way
for the integration of scientific knowledge in programmes and policies
162 R. Sooryamoorthy and Wesley M. Shrum

that affect the society. Moreover, there is some indication of an increase

in the number of research projects. However, we are unsure whether the
interpretation of this shift should be positive, and find little else to sug-
gest the occurrence of improvements in the scientific system. Most
characteristics examined showed little change, including such import-
ant indicators as the proportion of scientists with doctoral degrees and
the relative absence of professional training abroad. In comparison with
the 1994-respondents, the time dedicated to research has declined.
While the number of reported research projects has increased, the
number of contributions by the respondents to national and foreign
journals has declined in recent years, and so has participation in national
and international meetings. The slight decrease in participation on the
editorial boards of professional journals may also be a matter of
concern.
One of our most puzzling findings is the reduction in the magni-
tude of interaction and intellectual exchange, indicated in our data on
the number of collaborators within the local organisation. Does this
indicate that the scientists, researchers and professors in the state are
confining themselves to their own academic islands or working on pri-
vate projects, with declining interaction with the scientific fraternity?
Perhaps the feeling for working closely with those in one’s own organi-
sation also involves the competencies of these colleagues, who can be
sought for clarifying thoughts and establishing productive research
directions. The availability of such people may be a factor enhancing or
reducing collaborative relationships among the researchers and teachers
within an organisation.
This pattern may be read in the context of the increase in consult-
ancies, since such work is accomplished without subsequent published
output. The low pay of many teachers and scientists and lack of encour-
agement accorded to these activities may be reducing their interest in
research. Other data (not discussed here) indicate a substantial increase
in concern about the conditions for research, particularly in matters of
pay and perquisites. The organisational approach to reward and recog-
nition has a significant impact on commitment of the scientific commu-
nity to rigorous research activities. Though the current research scenario
in Kerala may be better than that in some northern states of the country,
individuals who are dedicated, considering research as a tapasya, are few
and in need of encouragement.12
EVIDENCE FROM THE SCIENTIFIC COMMUNITY 163

In this respect the current work suggests problems in the research

system as it exists in India as a whole. India is the third largest country
in the world in terms of human resources in science and technology
(Krishna 1997: 263). The feeling that the system is now facing a crisis is
strengthening. Partly, the research system is unable to attract the best
talent. Prospective students are wooed by career-oriented disciplines
such as management, administration, engineering and IT, while pure
science does not appeal strongly enough to the talented (Krishna 2002:
10). Our results show that there is little improvement and much cause
for concern regarding the state of the research system in Kerala.

Notes
The authors gratefully acknowledge the suggestions of the two anonymous referees on the
earlier version of this paper. Data for 1994 were collected under a grant from RAWOO, the
Dutch Advisory Council for Scientific Research for Development Problems. Data for 2000
were collected under a grant from the United States National Science Foundation
Programme in Information Technology Research.
1. The term ‘knowledge society’ came into being in the 1960s. Robert Lane used it for
the first time, and Peter Drucker employed it very specifically. Daniel Bell, too, used
this concept widely in the 1970s.
2. The preamble of the IT Industry Policy of the Government of Kerala states that it will
evolve a strategy to harness the opportunities offered by IT for the comprehensive
social and economic development of the state. This strategy is to serve as a primary
instrument for facilitating Kerala’s emergence as a leading knowledge society in the
region. The Government of India, too, in its IT Action Plan, makes it clear that IT is
an agent of transformation of every facet of human life that will bring about a
knowledge-based society in the twenty-first century.
3. DIALOG is the database of DIALOG Corporation in the USA.
4. Owing to the method used for obtaining the interviews, calculating a standard
response rate was difficult. In 1994, we sought to conduct interviews in most of the
significant government research organisations in the state and at all university depart-
ments engaged in agricultural or environmental research. One difference between the
1994 survey and the 2000 survey was the inclusion of a small number of NGO
respondents in the former.
5. There were 4.186 million unemployed people registered in the Employment
Exchanges in Kerala in 2000. Among them about 75 percent had educational qualifi-
cations of school final and above. More than half (55.27 percent) of these are women.
6. There were societies and organisations of this kind before 1920-Aligarh Scientific
Society (1864), Bihar Scientific Society (1868), Punjab Science Institute (1886), the
Dawn Society (1904), Indian Science Congress Association (1914), and the
Association of Scientific and Industrial Organisation (1904). However, the Indian
Botanical Association marked the professionalisation of science in India (Krishna
1997: 275).
164 R. Sooryamoorthy and Wesley M. Shrum

7. Professional activities cover a period of five years before the data were collected in
1994 and 2000.
8. In fact, the number of NGOs is growing every year. A rough estimate shows that there
is at least one NGO in each of the 991 panchayats in Kerala.
9. Gaillard et al. (1997) note that international scientific databases are highly selective,
and bibliometric studies based on these data represent only a small proportion of the
world’s science. This applies to the data compiled by the Institute for Scientific
Information, though this is the most widely used bibliographical database.
10. One objection to using self-reports is that they are based on memory, but the alterna-
tive is to use curricula vitae, which are often unavailable or outdated.
11. In this respect, the history of India is interesting. For instance, Krishna (1997) notes
that, during 1836–95, India could publish only eighteen papers in the journal of the
Asiatic Society, but within the next 25 years the Indian output was 350 papers.
12. This was the observation made by the famous scientist Professor Jayanth Vishnu
Narlikar in an interview (see Harikumar 2002: 4).

References
Bell, Daniel. 1973. The coming of post-industrial society: A venture in social forecasting.
New York: Basic Books.
Drucker, Peter. 1969. The age of discontinuity: Guidelines to our changing society. New York:
Harper and Row.
Gaillard, Jacques; V.V. Krishna and Roland Waast. 1997. ‘Introduction: Scientific commu-
nities in the developing world’, in Jacques Gaillard, V.V. Krishna and Roland Waast
(eds.): Scientific communities in the developing world (11–47). New Delhi: Sage
Publications.
Government of Kerala. 2001. Information technology: Policy document. Thiruvananthapuram:
Department of Public Relations, Government of Kerala.
Harikumar, M.S. 2002. ‘Avashyamundu, sasthranjare’ (Malayalam), Mathrubhumi
(Thiruvananthapuram): 27 October: 4.
Krishna, V.V. 1997. ‘A portrait of the scientific community in India: Historical growth and
contemporary problems’ in Jacques Gaillard, V.V. Krishna, and Roland Waast (eds.):
Scientific communities in the developing world (236–80). New Delhi: Sage Publications.
———. 2002. ‘The S & T policy’ The Hindu (Thiruvananthapuram): 28 March: 4.
Kumar, Neelam. 2001. ‘Gender and stratification in science: An empirical study in the
Indian setting’, Indian journal of gender studies, 8 (1): 51–67.
Lane, Robert E. 1966. ‘The decline of politics and ideology in a knowledgeable society’,
American sociological review, 31 (5): 649–62.
Stehr, Nico. 2001. ‘Modern societies as knowledge societies’, in George Ritzer and Barry
Smart (eds.): Handbook of social theory (494–508). London: Sage Publications.
World Bank. 1998–99. Knowledge for development. New York: The World Bank.
10
Green Revolution
Technologies and
Dryland Agriculture
Gurdeep Singh Aurora

Introduction

T
his is an exploratory exercise in clarifying our understanding of
the sociological dimensions of dryland agriculture and the role
of sociology in presenting a human perspective to the agricul-
tural sciences. In this exercise I propose to do the following:
First, I shall present a brief agroclimatic-social picture of the Indian
drylands, highlighting major variations in ecology and society in these
drought-prone eco-zones.
Second, I shall make a brief mention of the efforts being made by
the International Crops Research Institute for Semi-Arid Tropics (hence-
forth ICRISAT) to solve the problems of these eco-zones.
Third, I shall discuss, in general, the evolution of the strategy for
enhancing agricultural productivity of drylands adumbrated by the agri-
cultural sciences and policy-makers. It will be found that the prelim-
inary observations indicate that the social sciences, within institutions
dealing with problems of dryland agriculture, are inadequately repre-
sented and sociological and social anthropological perspectives are
almost entirely absent in theory and agricultural sciences.1
In the end I shall suggest an alternative approach to the urgent
problem of the drylands based on a synthesis of the ecological and socio-
logical perspectives.2
166 Gurdeep Singh Aurora

Dryland Agriculture: Social, Cultural and

Technological Dimensions

Figure 1 indicates the arid, semi-arid and humid zones of India. The
arid zone, characterized by less than two months of rain per year, covers
almost 17 per cent of the entire land area. This arid area can be divided
into the following regions- (i) cold hilly arid lands, i.e., Ladakh and
upper reaches of the Himalayas close to the Tibet border; (ii) dry scrub
lands on the western spurs of the Vindhyas and the sandy soils of central
Rajasthan and the Rann of Kutch; and (iii) dry uplands of the Deccan
plateau comprising parts of Gujarat, Maharashtra and Madhya Pradesh.

Figure 1. Arid, Semi-arid and Humid Zones of India

GREEN REVOLUTION TECHNOLOGIES AND DRYLAND AGRICULTURE 167

The semi-arid zone comprises dry and wet sub-zones. The soil in
these parts varies from place to place. In parts of Maharashtra, Gujarat
and Madhya Pradesh it is black, sandy loam (vertisol); in parts of
Andhra Pradesh, Karnataka and Tamil Nadu it is gravelly red (alfisol);
and, in some parts of Andhra Pradesh, such as Medak, it could be a
mixture of various types of soils. Almost the entire Indo-Gangetic
valley and the central and southern plains with fertile sandy loam soils
also come under this classification. Thus, a very large part of India can
be classified as semi-arid tropical. If the plains are not quite arid or
heavily drought-prone, it is largely because of their perennial rivers and
streams flowing down from the Himalayas in the north, the Western
Ghats and Eastern Ghats and the central hill ranges, the Satpura and
the Vindhyas.
The wet semi-arid sub-zone may in fact receive considerable rain
during the three to five months of the monsoon season, the annual rain-
fall varying between 250 mm and 1,250 mm. The rainfall, however, is
highly erratic; the month of June, for example, may be totally dry and
hot or have such heavy rainfall that normal agricultural operations
become difficult. Engelhardt (1984: 1) writes:

Traditional agricultural production in the semi-arid tropics (SAT) of southern

India is predominantly rain-fed and thus dependent upon vagaries of mon-
soon rainfall. The people in this area do, however, obtain their living primarily
from agriculture and so their income is low and varies from year to year.
Traditional farming in the unreliable high-risk environment of the SAT is
notorious for its low and unstable level of productivity.

While it is true that agriculture is the major source of income for

the traditional communities of the arid zones, the marginal groups in
the rural communities have learnt to depend upon different strategies of
generating income by exploiting different eco-niches of the major
eco-zones. For example, the Banjara and Gujar cattle-herding nomadic
communities which operate in parts of Gujarat, Rajasthan and Madhya
Pradesh live mainly by grazing livestock and by trading in salt with other
communities in the tribal villages. The Gadariahs in this region special-
ize in herding sheep and goats, moving from one part of the arid zone to
the other, depending upon the availability of fodder. These herders
come to settled peasant villages after the harvest, the sheep being allowed
to eat up the stubble on the fields and, in turn, leaving their droppings
to fertilize the soil. As the fodder in the villages Sets reduced they retreat
168 Gurdeep Singh Aurora

with their flocks to the less populated forests and grasslands (Adhikari
1984; Sinha 1985).
The tribal populations that live closer to the forests and semi-hilly
areas depend on a combination of gathering and farm technologies
(Adhikari 1984; Sinha 1985). For example, the Bhils and Gonds depend
a great deal on gathering Mahua flowers, palm saps from date and tal
trees and leaves from various trees to feed their goats and cattle, partic-
ularly during the dry season, i.e., March to June. The collection of
wood, grass, honey and Mahua from the forests is often their only source
of income during the lean months from April to October.
Over the centuries the semi-arid tropic (henceforth SAT) zones have
experienced many population movements. By and large the plains and
river valleys were developed as agricultural zones based on the production
of cereals, particularly wheat and rice, in the areas of heavy to adequate
water availability. In those parts where irrigation could not be easily orga-
nized, certain crops which required less water and were more drought-
tolerant were grown. Thus, even in the plains of Punjab, wheat, sorghum,
maize and minor millets as well as various legume crops were tradition-
ally grown. In fact, very often the poor peasant consumed coarse grains
produced in his fields while he sold wheat for cash.3 In the rice-growing
areas, the combination may often be rice, maize, sorghum, minor millets,
legumes, etc. As the pressure of population in the lower valleys increased,
the peasant castes from the valleys pushed towards the uplands and con-
verted many forest regions, which were the abode of tribal communities,
into agriculturally productive lands (Bailey 1958: 5–7).
Tribals have traditionally tended to combine exploitation of forest
resources with very limited agriculture. Tribal agriculture was prone,
more definitely, towards self-sufficiency and tended to exploit the shal-
low soils close to the forests with less exploitative technologies. For
example, the Bhil/Bhilala agriculture with which I am especially closely
acquainted had the following features: (i) ploughing was done with a
light plough and where the soil was too shallow light harrows were often
used to scratch the soil; (ii) polyculture was the rule and rotation of
crops was itself in terms of different combinations of mixed plantings;
(iii) irrigation very rarely accompanied use of chemical fertilizers or pre-
pared compost. Considerable amounts of biomass were recycled,
particularly in fields next to the homestead.
The non-tribal farmer, who penetrated tribal areas, often took to
commercial farming-particularly taking up either sesame or groundnut
GREEN REVOLUTION TECHNOLOGIES AND DRYLAND AGRICULTURE 169

cultivation along with cultivation of traditional varieties of sorghum,

minor millets and legumes. The major effect of the extension of intensive
agriculture on the uplands was the gradual depletion and ultimate dis-
appearance of forests and all the life forms that were nurtured by the
forests. The farming communities in the arid zones tended to extend
their agricultural technology regimes from the lower valleys to the upper
lands. Even while living in the plains they had evolved a system of storing
water in large tanks which was used for drinking and irrigation. Practically
all major towns had stone-lined tanks and most villages had check dams
against streams to collect water for irrigation and use by cattle. Englehardt’s
study (1984) consolidates a great deal of research conducted to describe
traditional tank irrigation in India, the system probably having been
introduced into the interior of the Deccan plateau fairly early in history.
Tanks are managed either by the village communities (small tanks
below 40 ha) or by the Public Works Departments (when larger). Large
tanks generally serve the needs of small towns and large cities while small
tanks serve the village communities. The village tanks were managed
by the village patels assisted by village revenue officers (mali patels) and
the village land record keepers (karanams). Under feudal tutelage, where
land ownership as well as political power was concentrated in a few
hands, the village community could be coerced into cooperating in the
maintenance of the tanks. A village official was in charge of the timely
release of the village tank waters and the village elite supervized the dis-
tribution of water to those whose fields could be irrigated by the tank.
Desiltation work could be imposed on the village servant castes as part of
their community responsibility. After independence and the institution
of land reforms, some redistribution of drylands took place. Democratic
institutions such as the village councils (panchayats) reduced the feudal
monopoly of power. One of the consequences of these developments was
the reduced ability of village officials to coerce the landless to work on
the maintenance of village tanks. The resulting siltation of tanks made
an increasing number of them inoperable. Besides this, increasing pres-
sure of population on land and the dearth of ‘wet’ lands led to gradual
encroachment on land under the village tank during the dry season.
While the village tanks are gradually fading out, their place is being
taken by another technology, viz., deep tubewells drilled. The villages
were, and still are, often served also by open dug wells. These wells are
owned by individual families, who, after the division of property, also
divided rights over well water.
170 Gurdeep Singh Aurora

Although irrigated agriculture was present in the drylands a long time

ago, since the introduction of electric pumpsets it has expanded consider-
ably. The assured water supply provided by the use of pumpsets can be
used for ‘survival irrigation’ of dryland crops during periods of delayed
rainfall or for commercially valued crops such as rice or sugarcane. To be
able to use water for dryland crops, an expensive system of water channels
extending over long distances is necessary. Such a system becomes unecon-
omic if the land owned is heavily fragmented. In contrast, water manage-
ment for rice is relatively easy since the area covered is usually smaller and
heavy doses of water inputs are required. The rice produced is also of
greater market value. Hence the water available is invariably allotted to the
preferred paddy and sugarcane crops rather than to rain-fed crops.
It would be pertinent here to mention the caste/class aspect of the
socioeconomic context within which the dryland agricultural system
exists. In an earlier study I had pointed out that while there is overall
control over land by the dominant castes and richer class of peasants,
domination of the upper caste/class segment over the irrigated (wet)
lands is far more complete than over the drylands. Further, the lowest
castes and poorest class of peasants do have some sub-marginal lands
with them. This land, with the given technology, is not able to provide
the subsistence needs of the poor. They are therefore forced to depend
on wage labour provided by the relatively rich peasants (Aurora 1986).
Some of the points made so far may be highlighted here to bring into
focus their significance for the evolving research strategy for drylands:

1. Dryland agriculture is practised in combination with wetland agriculture

over most of the agroclimatic zones in India.
2. While wetland agriculture, especially associated with paddy cultivation, is
the dominant technology for coastal areas and inland valleys, its intrusion
into uplands has been at the cost of forest cover in the SAT zone. Thus,
land which is essentially suitable only for trees has gone under cereal pro-
duction on a large scale.
3. While tribal populations in the ecologically fragile SAT uplands had lived
in a relatively less exploitative relationship with nature within their eco-
niches, the historical intrusion by peasant communities into these areas had
tended to destroy the ecological balance with greater rapidity.
4. Traditional dryland agriculture with its mixed cropping, shallow ploughing,
and use of organic manures and hardy, drought-and pest-resistant native vari-
eties of major and minor millets, had done without stored water from sub-
soil strata. However, the mono-cultures of rice and sugarcane have had to
draw upon these resources at very high cost: the cost of erecting deep artesian
GREEN REVOLUTION TECHNOLOGIES AND DRYLAND AGRICULTURE 171

wells and pumpsets, and the cost of deepening wells every now and then to
draw the sub-soil water available at levels lower. Such heavy investments were
only possible by the richer sections of the peasantry. However, despite
increasing investment costs of irrigated agriculture, a steadily increasing
demand for rice and sugarcane has strengthened the economy of the richer
segment, while the coarse grain-dependent economy of the marginal and
poor peasants has declined. This is due to the decline in the market for coarse
grains, and their comparatively low value-output as against wheat or rice.
5. Since a great majority of marginal farmers are owners of drylands, they find
it more economical to work as labourers on a daily wage rather than on
their own lands.

Green Revolution Technologies and

Dryland Agriculture

The green revolution technologies, based on the cultivation of hybrid

seeds, chemical fertilizers and pesticides, have made strident progress in
the rice and wheat zones, and some progress in the semi-arid niches
where stored water could be tapped to produce rice, wheat and sugar-
cane. However, these technologies could not alter the overall picture of
stagnation in the production of coarse-grains. This, despite the labora-
tory-level efficacy of green revolution technologies that has been attained
by research scientists.
The green revolution had little impact on dryland agriculture due
to a very fundamental aspect of the technological regime introduced by
these technologies, namely, that they were based on specially designed
high-yielding cereal cultivars which had the capacity to respond to
large quantities of nitrogenous chemical fertilizers and produce short-
stemmed, many-tillered plants. Being crosses of extreme variants, the
seeds were produced by a specialized method of cross-fertilizing opposite
types of strains. The high-yielding variety seeds are genetically unstable;
they can only be grown for one season as they revert back to their paren-
tal genotypes. The hybrids grow well when some irrigation is assured
but do not normally possess high drought resistance. The environmental
conditions of the drylands are totally opposite to the conditions desir-
able for most HYVs.4 Throughout the dryland belt in India, rainfall is
erratic and often also insufficient. Irrigation is available only in the com-
mand areas of village tanks and tubewells. Irrigated lands constitute not
more than 5 to 10 per cent of the land in various dryland ecozones. The
water-holding capacity of the soils is low. The run-off of water is great
172 Gurdeep Singh Aurora

because of the undulating nature of the topography. Thus, fertilizers can

be washed away easily during heavy rains. The traditional varieties of
sorghum and millets, the major dryland cereals, on the other hand, have
well-developed capacities for drought resistance. These cereals have
physiological structures which are almost the opposite of the high-yield-
ing varieties (HYVs) of wheat and rice. Thus, the traditional dryland
cereals are high on straw and low on seed as opposed to the HYV cereals
which are short-statured, low on straw but high on seed. Because of the
better survival rate of the traditional coarse grains, despite their low seed
output, these varieties of millets and corn (maize) have been preferred
for their straw for animal fodder rather than seed.
Traditional agriculture, prior to the advent of HYVs, was based on
self-sufficiency of the farmer with regard to major inputs to the produc-
tion system of agriculture. Seeds, fertilizers, and implements were all
locally Produced. With the advent of modern agricultural practices, the
farmer has become deeply tied to the industrial/commercial system. In
the rice and wheat belts, especially, farmers are dependent on industri-
ally produced chemicals (fertilizers and pesticides) and seeds and large
farmers are mechanizing their farms. Because of the restricted impact of
the HYVs on dryland zones, the rural production system of drylands is
not fully a part of the urban commercial structure which dominates the
rural communities of the wetland cultivators.
While the production system of traditional dryland technologies
has remained largely unaltered, the dryland rural communities have not
remained unaffected by the extending power of the regime of the HYVs
even in the dryland eco-zones. This has happened in two ways. The
great economic and social value attached to rice by consumers, includ-
ing farmers and labourers in the interiors of the dryland zone, is one.
The rice component in the diet has increased at the cost of the millet
component. The other is the increase in rice planting even in the Deccan
uplands where borewells and electric pumps have made it possible to
extend rice and sugarcane production in some upland red and black soil
areas which were previously dominated by maize and sorghum. Rice
cultivation in the uplands, however, covers less than 10 per cent of
arable land. This Jand is largely with the upper caste/class segment of the
rural society.
Various studies dealing with the land distribution pattern in the
drylands show the following characteristics:
GREEN REVOLUTION TECHNOLOGIES AND DRYLAND AGRICULTURE 173

1. The drylands closer to the village-abadi and partially irrigated with tank
and well water systems constitute only between 35 to 40 per cent of the
Deccan plateau’s arable drylands. These lands are by and large owned by
upper caste/class groups.
2. Less valuable drylands (which constitute 50.55 per cent of arable lands) are
shared between rich, middle and marginal farming groups. These lands are
either used for grazing sheep and cattle or for growing minor millets which
are used primarily for cattle feed and payment as wages in kind to landless
labourers.
3. Fully irrigated lands are rarely more than 5 per cent of arable lands. These
are owned mainly by upper class/caste groups. It is interesting to note that
the sub-marginally productive drylands are of marginal economic interest
to the richer upper caste peasants who own wetlands. However, for the poor
and marginal farmers the grazing ‘uplands’ and the ‘middle reach’ drylands
continue to be of crucial importance, even when the lands are by and large
owned by rich peasants.
4. There is considerable fragmentation of land owned by poor farmers.
Wetlands in particular are highly fragmented.

Much of the drylands in the Deccan plateau are today overgrazed,

under-protected and massively wasted. The present system of extensive
cultivation of drylands is by and large uneconomic and continues only
because the working population that tills these lands is paid such a low
wage that they can exist only at starvation levels. The fate of the ‘middle
reaches’ is also sealed because of the decreasing levels of replenishment
of nutrients flowing down to the dryland agricultural eco-niches from
the forests and grazing upper reaches. Added to this is the insufficient
care of the drylands, since the market value of their produce is not very
high.
Can we say that the dryland eco-regions are inherently unproduc-
tive and sub-marginal and should therefore be abandoned to their own
fate? The fact is that the drylands were not always unproductive. These
very uplands had forests where a host of life forms survived only a cen-
tury or so ago. With the spread of urbanization, the forests were cut
down to supply wood for the construction of houses, and thus began the
process of the conversion of subtropical uplands into wastelands. The
secondary stories of small trees and bushes survived until only a few
decades ago. The destruction of the trees was caused by the expanding
population’s fuel needs, while the grasses became depleted due to over-
grazing by goats, sheep and cattle.
174 Gurdeep Singh Aurora

Improved Technologies for Dryland Agriculture

In the late 1960s agricultural sciences began to pay some attention to the
problems of drylands. This was reflected in the creation of the
International Crop Research Institute for Semi-Arid Tropics (ICRISAT)
at Hyderabad. Almost simultaneously in 1970 an All India Coordinated
Research Project for Dryland Agriculture (AICRPDA) was initiated with
headquarters near Hyderabad. Agricultural scientists saw the problem of
the drylands essentially in terms of the following sets of problems:

1. A majority of the agriculturists live in dryland belts and unless their prob-
lem of low productivity is taken care of, the agricultural revolution will
remain incomplete.
2. The basic problem of dryland agriculture is unsure rainfall. Therefore,
water management and its appropriate use is the crucial factor in increasing
productivity (Von Oppen and Binswanger 1983).
3. High-yielding varieties for dryland cereals, oil seeds and pulses must be
developed and should accompany appropriate packages of agronomic prac-
tices (Henderson 1979; Isom and Worker 1979).
4. Physiological characteristics of drought resistance must be identified and
introduced in genotypes which also display high-yielding characteristics (Hall
et al. 1979).

Because of the considerable variability in the arid environments

there are a great number of varieties which have adapted themselves to
specific ‘patterns’ of environmental stresses. The process of evolving a
strategy of optimizing productivity has varied from stress on developing
large varieties of land races through genetic manipulation so that their
yield potential increases within the native agroclimatic conditions, to
developing a few broadly adapted cultivars (Hall et al. 1979: 160–61).
ICRISAT began with the basic aim of concentrating its energies on
developing broadly adapted cultivars of four important crops, viz., pearl mil-
lets, minor millets, chick pea and pigeon pea. Because of the importance of
groundnut in the arid zones in India, this crop was also taken up for research.
Field-level experiments in 1980–81 at Aurepally watershed
(Mahaboobnagar district, Andhra Pradesh) brought out very interesting
results. Let me describe this experiment briefly.
The ICRISAT scientists assembled a set of development technolo-
gies which proved highly effective in the institute’s own fields. These
consisted of the following technologies: (i) high-yielding varieties of sor-
ghum, maize, pearl millets, chick pea and pigeon pea; (ii) agronomic
GREEN REVOLUTION TECHNOLOGIES AND DRYLAND AGRICULTURE 175

practice of broadbed and deep furrows land preparation so that water is

retained for longer periods in the furrows and is available to the root
system of the crops grown over broadbeds; (iii) a bullock-driven, deep
cutting plough which also performed other functions of harrowing and
weeding as well as the preparation of the broadbeds mentioned above.
The experiment was then tried out in a micro watershed in farmers’
fields, where water was available for survival irrigation from an open dug
well close to the foot of the watershed.
For two seasons, the entire input and management was taken over
by the ICRISAT scientists. Productivity increases between 50 to 100 per
cent even under adverse circumstances were demonstrated. However,
once the ICRISAT involvement was withdrawn, the farmers went back
to their traditional varieties of sorghum and minor millets in combin-
ation with castor, the traditional cash crop.
One of the crucial reasons for the failure of the technology to make
any change in the behaviour of the five farmers who took part in the experi-
ment was their preference for paddy as opposed to sorghum and minor
millets. The farmers felt that the scarce water should be used to grow HYVs
of paddy which give assured yields, instead of growing coarse grains.
The second important reason for the preference shown for the trad-
itional varieties of sorghum and minor millets-as compared with their
HYVs-was the fact that the traditional varieties were high on straw, very
useful to feed cattle, even if low on seed. Unfortunately the higher seed
output of the new varieties was also accompanied by a high value of
inputs while the market value of the HYV was lower per quintal on the
market. Because of the high cost of the new system, the risk element
tended to be considerably higher (Binswanger 1978, 1980). Thus the
general preference for the traditional varieties of coarse grains and their
firm location in the marginal drylands.
To quote,

coarse grains are a poor man’s crop in the sense that they are largely produced
and consumed by the poor. . . . Small farmers have good reasons to grow rela-
tively more coarse grain crops than large farmers. Compared to high’ value
crops, coarse grains have lower paid out costs, lower risk. . . higher component
of fodder and are better suited to inter-cropping system . . . (Jodha and Singh
1982: 351–52).

In the entire discourse centred around dryland agriculture, the

inevitability of the need to push the strategy of HYV-based
176 Gurdeep Singh Aurora

development technology into the drylands was taken for granted, until
the very strategy of the ‘green revolution technologies’ came under
severe ecologically motivated critical scrutiny. It was pointed out that
the ‘green revolution’ technologies, despite their power to produce
immediate results, created the following long-term ecologically danger-
ous conditions:

1. The erosion and depletion of top soils and pollution of water-both

underground reservoirs and overground reservoirs-particularly with dan-
gerous pesticides and the oversupply of nitrogen to the lakes and rivers
(Jackson 1980: 14–26);
2. Increasing dependence of the relatively independent farmer on the com-
mercial and industrial system. Seeds, fertilizers, implements and power all
come to the farmer through the system of the market. The power to
manipulate the price of the agricultural inputs rests with the market leaders
except to the extent that it is modified by the governmental subsidy system
of making the tax payer/consumer pay for an inefficient system (Mooney
1980: 43–44);
3. The modern system of agriculture uses large quantities of non-renewable
energy resources. As these resources get depleted, the cost-output ratios
become uneconomical and therefore unsustainable (Doyle 1985: 261–70).

The intrusion of the ‘contemporary green revolution’ technologies is

even more antagonistic to the interests of dryland ecology as also to
those of the poor people who live by the resources provided by the mar-
ginal eco-niches, viz., forests, grasslands, and marginally productive
lands. In the ultimate analysis the destruction of these marginal eco-
niches also causes the destruction and destabilization of the ‘central eco-
niches’, for example, soil erosion of the upper reaches leads to floods and
the depletion of humus flowing down into the middle and the lower
reaches.

Conclusion
The question then is: What is to be done to tackle the paradox of pov-
erty, exploding population, and unemployment leading to greater pres-
sure on the marginally productive lands on the one hand and, on the
other, the realization that chemical-dependent agriculture is at best only
a temporary and ecologically unacceptable solution? We suggest that a
GREEN REVOLUTION TECHNOLOGIES AND DRYLAND AGRICULTURE 177

strategy to tackle this paradoxical situation may be woven around the

following considerations:

1. Marginal uplands of the SAT zones should be rejuvenated by integrating

the growth of forests and grasslands with fruit tree-based horticulture and
dryland agriculture.
2. The rejuvenating process must begin by the introduction of measures to
protect the lands from human and bovine depredation.
3. Conservation of soil and water management are crucial ingredients of the pro-
cess of rejuvenation Contour bunding (biological) and gully plugging—for the
creation of percolation points, percolation ponds, preservation of grasses and
grass roots-in unutilized lands would help the soil retain more sub-soil water.
4. Mono-cultures should be replaced by maximum introduction of compat-
ible species in planting. The food plantation system should be an integral
part of the non-food plantation system. Agriculture should mimic natural
forests and grasslands. There is an urgent need to develop models of
holistic—plant, bird, insects, animal and human community—living
rather than purely homo-centric agroindustrial living.
5. Research and action, traditional wisdom and modern innovativeness can
combine to create these holistic eco-friendly models.
6. People’s organizations can become the basis for the creation of such models.
There is no need for a single dominant model but many models of
organization may evolve around the holistic value system.

Notes
1. There are at present no sociologists or social anthropologists located at any of the
major institutions dealing with dryland agriculture, viz, ICRISAT, Central Research
Institute for Research in Dryland and Agriculture (CRIDA) and Central And Zone
Research Institute (CAZRI).
2. The ecological perspective is generally opposed to the ‘tech-fix’ perspective dominating
almost all fields of contemporary science and technology. The agricultural sciences are
no exception. However, some alternative technologies such as watershed management
and agroforestry are empathetically closer to the ecological perspective. See Fukuoka
(1988) and Mollison (1988) See for further reference Adhikari (1984) and Sinha (1985).
3. This is part of my own childhood memories of Punjab before partition.
4. There have been attempts at growing hybrids of millets, sorghum and maize in the
dryland belts of Maharashtra. The most successful of these was conducted through
the Pant. Panchayat system near Poona by V. B. Salunke. In this experiment the water
in a particular watershed was collectively managed, harvested and then shared for
protective and stress-relieving irrigation. These experiments using chemical fertiliz-
ers, etc., were successful, but required a high level of cooperation among peasants.
The hybrid varieties of sorghum and millets are used by those farmers who have
access to at least some water for their crops.
178 Gurdeep Singh Aurora

References
Adhikari, Ashim Kumar. 1984. Society and World View of the Btrhor A Nomadic Hunting and
Gathering Community of Orissa. Calcutta: Anthropological Survey of India.
Aurora, G. S. 1986. ‘The Sociological Dimension of the Composite Watershed Management’
Patancheru, Andhra Pradesh: International Crop Research Institute for the Semi-Arid
Tropics.
Bailey, F. G. 1958. Caste and the Economic Frontier. Manchester: Manchester University Press.
Binswanger, H. P. 1978. ‘Risk Attitudes of Rural Households in Semi-Arid Tropical India’,
Economic and Political Weekly, 13 (25): 49–62.
Binswanger, H. P. 1980. ‘Attitude Towards Risk: Theoretical Implications of an Experiment
in Rural India’, The Economic Journal, 91 (4): 867–900.
Doyle, Jack. 1985. Altered Harvest: Agriculture Genetics and the Fate of the World’s Food
Supply. New York and Hammondsworth: Penguin.
Engelhardt, T. 1984. ‘Economics of Traditional Small Holder Irrigation System in the
Semi-Arid Tropics of South India’, Dissertation, Universitat Hohenheim, Germany.
Fukuoka, Masanobu. 1988. The One Straw Revolution (Indian Edition). Rasulia: Friends
Rural Centre.
Hall, A. E., Canwell and W. H. Lawton (eds.) 1979. Agriculture in Semi-Arid Environments.
Princeton N. J: Springer Verlag.
Henderson, D. W. 1979. ‘Soil Management in Semi-Arid Environments’, in Hall et al.
(eds.), Agriculture in Semi-Arid Environments, pp. 224–30. Princeton N. J: Springer
Verlag.
Isom W. H. and G. E. Worker. 1979. ‘Crop Management in Semi-Arid Environments’, in
Hall et al. (ed.), Agriculture in Semi-Arid Environments, pp. 200–21. Princeton N. J:
Springer Verlag.
Jackson, Wes. 1980. New Roofs for Agriculture. Lincoln and London: University of
Nebraska Press.
Jodha N. S. and R. P. Singh. 1982. ‘Factors Constraining Growth of Coarse Grain Crops in
Semi-Arid Tropical India’. Journal of Agricultural Economics, XXXVII (3): 346–54.
Mollison, Bill. 1988. Permaculture: Trainers’ Manual. Tasmania: Tagari Publications
(Republished in India in 1990 by Deccan Development Society, Hyderabad.)
Mooney P. R. 1980. Seeds of the Earth: A Private or Public Resource. London: International
Coalition for Development Action.
Sinha, Dikshit. 1985. The Hill Kharia of Purulia: A Study on the Impact of Poverty on a Hunting
and Gathering Tribe. Calcutta: Anthropological Survey of India.
Von Oppen and H. P. Binswanger. 1983. ‘Tank Irrigation in Southern India: Adapting
a Traditional Technology to Modern Socio-Economic Conditions’, in Alfisols in
Semi-Arid Tropics: Proceedings of a Seminar on State of the Art and Management
Alternatives, December, 1983. pp. 89–86. Hyderabad: ICRISAT.
 (ii) Traditional S&T and
Involvement of Civil Society
11
Traditional Potters and
Technological Change
in a North Indian Town
Geeta Jayaram Sodhi

P
ottery is one of the oldest of crafts engaged in by humankind, and
it has been the subject of study by several scholars. Thus, as
W. Ehrich (1965: 16) points out, ceramics1 may be seen from the
comparative standpoint of ethnology, the more particular one of eth-
nography, the sequential and documented associational one of history,
from elements of all three as reflected in archaeological evidence of the
past, from contemporary institutionalised forms and values of aesthetic
production and artistic appreciation, and from varying types of social
significance. Studies on the last aspect, however, are greatly lacking.
Thus, G.M. Foster bemoans the lack of studies on the sociological
aspects of pottery making:

Beyond telling which sex makes pots, most accounts reveal little about such
things as the status of the potter in his or her society (except, of course, in
Indian caste studies), how potters look upon their work artistically and eco-
nomically, standards of workmanship and the range of variation within a
community, and, above all, about the processes that contribute to stability in
a tradition, which make for change, and which may be involved in the dying-
out of a style (1965: 43).
182 Geeta Jayaram Sodhi

Foster’s own work was one of the earliest accounts on how potters
responded to technological change. According to him, potters, in gen-
eral, are conservative in their work due to the

nature of the productive process itself, which places a premium on strict

adherence to tried and proven ways as a means of avoiding economic catastro-
phe . . . [E]conomic security lies in duplicating to the best of the potter’s
ability the materials and processes he knows from experience are least likely to
lead to failure (ibid.: 50).

Studies in the Indian context confirm the basic conservatism of

potters in relation to their work (see Gupta 1969; Behura 1978).
According to N.K. Behura (1978), any new experiment retards the
output due to lack of proficiency, and it entails risk. When a potter is
thoroughly skilled and uses only tried methods, he has a relatively good
chance of predicting the outcome. Similarly, S.P. Gupta observes that
‘economic security to the potter lies in following the tried process. He
becomes a traditionalist’ (1969: 16).
This paper examines to what extent potters are conservative in their
work sphere, and what are the circumstances under which they respond
to technological innovations, on the basis of a study of potters in the
famous pottery town of Khurja in Uttar Pradesh (UP). The presence of
skilled traditional potters2 transformed Khurja into the biggest ceramics
centre in the country in the small-scale sector of the economy. In
1991–92, when this study was conducted, there were about 490 pottery-
manufacturing units in Khurja. The items manufactured included art
ware (artistic and decorative items such as flower vases and flowerpots),
crockery, hospital ware (gulley pots, medicine trays, etc.), pressed
electro-porcelain (fine electrical ceramic items made by die-press method),
chemical porcelain (ceramic equipment used in science laboratories), and
sanitary ware (ceramic items such as baths, closets, and urinals).
A preliminary survey revealed that the presence of a handful of
Muslim traditional potters in this town had led to the rise of the pottery
industry there. These Muslim potters differed in fundamental respects
from their Hindu counterparts: in origin, traditional techniques and
items of manufacture, as well as in the length of their association with
china clay (chinimitti) as against common clay. Therefore, they called
themselves ‘chinigaar’, as different from the Hindu potters, who were
called ‘kumhar’. This further necessitated that they not be merged with
the Hindu potters as ‘traditional’ potters. Moreover, they constituted
TRADITIONAL POTTERS AND TECHNOLOGICAL CHANGE 183

the original inhabitants and earliest migrants into Khurja, and were the
chief actors in the drama of events that unfolded from the time that they
attracted the attention of the British in the early twentieth century up to
the 1950s when pottery units began proliferating.
In view of the above facts, it was considered necessary to study all
the traditional Muslim potters in and outside the pottery industry in the
town. Within this social category, those who had reached the highest
position as owners of pottery units, were studied in greater detail, as this
constituted the highest economic position in the industry and it was
here that we expected to find the greatest extent of departure if any,
from the early situation of the potters. A comparison of the Muslim
potters with their Hindu counterparts in the field was also essential to
compare their responses to the pottery industry and the technological
changes involved therein.3
Specific socioeconomic data for the study was collected through
household schedules and questionnaires. The collection of genealogies
was both essential to the study and an important aid in establishing
rapport with the informants. The rest of the investigation was carried
out through a combined and contextual use of participant and general
observation techniques, interview schedules, and conversations and
group discussions.

The Traditional Potters of Khurja

The process of manufacture of pottery along modern lines was initiated

in Khurja during the British colonial era when United Provinces intro-
duced the manufacture of white ware, using china clay (which burns
white), feldspar and quartz. There was a need for the manufacture of
hospital ware during the World War II, and the main reason for the
choice of Khurja as a centre was the presence of skilled Muslim potters
who were adept at making glazed pottery.
The Muslim potters of Khurja trace their history back to the
fourteenth century CE. Since then, potters and other craftsmen migrated
from Afghanistan to the Indian subcontinent, accompanying various
Muslim invaders into the country. Being adept at the art of blue pottery
with Persian influence, the potters received royal patronage under the
rulers of the Tughlak, Lodi and Mughal dynasties in the fourteenth, fif-
teenth and sixteenth centuries and were given land to settle down in places
like Meerut, Khurja and Rampur which were located around the seats of
184 Geeta Jayaram Sodhi

power such as Delhi and Multan. With time, they lost their distinctive
organisation and were absorbed into the Indian masses (Tate 1911). These
potters had in common three unique features of Multan pottery: (i) throw-
ing of the ware on the kick-wheel, (ii) application of glaze on the surface
of the red-clay ware, and (iii) firing of the ware in an updraught kiln.
After settling in Khurja and other parts of western United Provinces,
the traditional Muslim potters began making glazed red-clay pottery. It
is believed that glazed4 pottery was introduced in the Punjab and Sind
with the invasion of Chingiz Khan in the thirteenth century (see The
Gazetteer of India 1973). The early Pathan5 kings had brought workmen
from Afghanistan to make blue and painted tiles for the mosques
and tombs around Delhi. These can still be seen in the monuments of
the Tughlaks and the Lodis (fourteenth and fifteenth centuries). This is
the earliest record of glazed pottery in India. Its absence before Muslim
influence is explained by the Hindu belief that an earthen vessel once
used for eating or drinking, became polluted and unfit for re-use. Glaze
rendered the pottery durable and re-usable (Singh 1979). Receiving
patronage later from Sher Shah Suri (1540–56) and the Mughal rulers
(1526–1739), these Muslim potters also started making glazed pottery
such as martban (jar), surahi (pitcher), hukkah (smoking-pipe) stands,
and handi (cooking pots). These were widely made in Peshawar, Lahore,
Delhi, Ajmer, Multan, Khurja, Hyderabad, Lucknow, Kashmir, Chunar,
Gwalior, Agra and other places (ibid.).
Although glazed red-clay pottery was being made in all places in the
United Provinces where these potters had settled, the potters of Khurja
enjoyed a more favourable location geographically and politically. Being
located near Delhi, the seat of power, and Aligarh, which was inhabited
by rich landlords and talukdars, they were able to enjoy royal patronage.
In course of time, some of these potters began making blue pottery
which is supposed to have originated in Multan. A white coating was
applied over the pottery prior to painting blue and green floral designs
on it. The ware was fired at a low temperature before the design
was  painted and at a higher temperature of about 950° celsius, after
glaze had been applied on the painting. This kind of pottery with a
strong Persian influence came to be called ‘blue pottery’. The designs
came to be called ‘Mughal painting’ due to the patronage that the pot-
tery received from the Mughal rulers. By the technique described, the
potters made tiles, minarets, vases, pitchers, flowerpots and fruit-trays of
TRADITIONAL POTTERS AND TECHNOLOGICAL CHANGE 185

blue pottery in Persian design, which were patronised by the royal and
aristocratic families in and around Delhi.
Along with blue pottery, the potters continued to make red-clay
glazed pottery such as hukkah heads (chehlums) and cooking pots
(handis). These items were both sold in the local market and taken to
neighbouring places for sale. According to the Report on Industrial
Survey of the United Provinces of 1923, roughly 20,000 chehlums and
4,000 jars were made in Khurja. Although the downfall of the Mughal
Empire dealt a severe blow to the market for the potters’ blue wares, it
was soon replaced by foreign demand for the same. The ware was sold
chiefly at the Nauchandi Fair at Meerut, where a considerable quantity
was purchased for export to Europe (Dobbs 1895). Besides, the potters
continued to make red-glazed utility-ware for local consumption.
In 1885, a first-class silver medal for pottery was awarded to Abdul
Majid, a traditional potter of Khurja, at an exhibition in Lucknow.
In 1902, he was awarded a medal at the Indian Art Exhibition at the
Delhi Durbar. In 1910, craftsmen from all over the country, including
the Khurja potters, participated in an exhibition at Allahabad. The ware
displayed by two Khurja potters at the exhibition was highly com-
mended, and it was decided that their skills must be demonstrated at the
Coronation6 Exhibition to be held in England the next year. They were
among the five potters sent to London for this purpose along with
495 other craftsmen from all over the country. They stayed in London
for several months, demonstrating their skill on the potter’s wheel and
teaching their craft. In this way, the skill of the Khurja potters attracted
the attention of the British government.
Besides the Muslim potters, the town also had the Hindu caste pot-
ters who made ordinary red-clay pottery and coarser coloured ware.
They used the single wheel or common chak for throwing, and fired
their ware in a shallow circular pit called ‘awa’ They too were witness to
the events leading to the establishment of the pottery industry at Khurja.
However, in contrast with their Muslim counterparts, they did not get
drawn into it. The Hindu potters who did enter the pottery industry
were migrants from outside Khurja.
This paper seeks to examine how and under what circumstances the
Muslim and Hindu traditional potters of Khurja have responded to
technological interventions. Before this, however, it is necessary to give
a brief description of the traditional method of pottery manufacture.
186 Geeta Jayaram Sodhi

The Traditional Process of Pottery Manufacture

As mentioned earlier, the traditional ware made by the Muslim potters

of Khurja included both utility ware and decorative items. The utility
items included the surahi (pitcher, used for holding water); the lutka (a
small tumbler); the badhana (a small pot with a spout, used during
bathing and rituals); the abkhora or bholna (a drinking mug); the handi
and degchi (cooking pots); the kunda (in which flour was kneaded);
eating vessels such as piyala, rakabi, tashtari, chammal and chimli;
martban (pickle jar); and smoking pipes consisting of two parts—the
hukkah (water-holder) and the chilam (tobacco-holder) (Dobbs 1895).
Decorative items which were patronised by the Muslim rulers included
flower-vases, flowerpots, and tiles of Persian design.

Raw Material

Common clay or red clay, as it is technically known, was the basic raw
material used, and it was of two kinds. The first type was dark grey in colour
and was available at the bottom of any local tank or pond. It was called by
various names such as kaali mitti and chikni mitti. The second was red or
yellow clay found on the surface of the ground or just below it. Other special
kinds of clay found in some areas were also used by the potters living there.

Preparation of the Clay

The clay was first left in the open to dry. Once dry, it was pounded with
a heavy wooden mallet called mungari and sifted. The coarser particles
were left to soak in water after which the sifted clay-powder was added
to it and mixed. The yellow clay was added at this stage and the paste
was either kneaded by the hands or feet or sliced up with a two-handled
bow-shaped instrument called lohasu. While kneading, other substances
added in different parts of the United Provinces included wood-ash,
cow-dung ash, river sand, chaff, husks or chopped straw, cotton wool,
limestone, rotten paper, babul tree gum, etc. When ready, this mixture
was shaped into round balls and stored either inside the house of the
potter or in pits, till the superfluous moisture in it evaporated (Dobbs
1895). In Multan, Khurja and Jaipur, the potters used a mixture of
quartz, sand, kanch (powdered glass), soda bicarbonate and multani
TRADITIONAL POTTERS AND TECHNOLOGICAL CHANGE 187

mitti (fuller’s earth). This mixture was allowed to ferment until it became
a sticky paste after which it was kneaded and made ready for making
pottery or tiles (Singh 1979).

Process of Manufacture

(i) Forming the Ware: Having prepared the clay in the manner described
above, the potters formed the ware either by throwing on the wheel or
by casting7 in clay moulds.
Throwing: On the basis of its form, the potter’s wheel or chak used
in India may be classified into two principal types: the single wheel and
the double wheel. The single wheel or common chak is the type com-
monly used by all potters. It is rotated by hand, using a stick. The double
wheel, also called the kick-wheel or the foot-wheel, is, as the name sug-
gests, rotated by using the foot. It is this wheel which was used by the
Muslim potters who came to India from other countries. Hence, in the
Amritsar district of Punjab and in Jammu it is known as the ‘Pathan
wheel’ (Saraswati and Behura 1966). Its origin may be traced to the
Middle East, particularly to Iran.
The kick-wheel is a double wheel fitted into a pit and rotated by
foot. It consists of two wooden discs fixed at a distance from each other
on an axle. The clay is thrown on the small disc called patri. The entire
unit is lowered into a pit about three feet deep, with the smaller disc
being placed level with the ground. The axle or masal turns on a stone
slab at the bottom of the pit and is kept upright by a crossbeam with a
hole in the middle through which it runs. The potter sits on the ground
at the edge of the pit and rotates the upper disc by kicking the lower one
with his foot which is suspended in the pit. This technique permits
continuous rotation of the wheel with the foot while both hands are free
to form the ware. Moreover, the speed of the wheel can be easily
controlled by the foot that kicks the wheel.
A number of implements are used by the potter when he makes the
ware by throwing on the wheel. These are common to all potters, regard-
less of the type of wheel being used. There are, no doubt, regional vari-
ations in the actual shape of the implements and in their nomenclature.8
Here, we describe the implements which are used by the potters of UP,
including Khurja.
After throwing the ware of the desired shape, the potter detaches it
from the remaining lump of clay on the wheel with the help of a strong
188 Geeta Jayaram Sodhi

cutting-string while the wheel is still rotating at full speed. This string is
variously called dora, chemen and chiwan. Smaller ware may be directly
formed on the wheel, but larger ware acquires only a rough shape on
throwing, and requires to be beaten when slightly moist, to attain the final
shape. A number of beating instruments are used for the purpose of shap-
ing the ware. The ware is placed for beating in an earthenware basin called
athri. A pestle or anvil called kuneri or kundari and a ladle-shaped wooden
mallet called thapni or pitan are used for beating. The pestle or anvil is
placed against the inside of the ware and the mallet is used to beat the out-
side on the area against which the pestle is held. Other instruments used
for shaping the ware include the dalvat, which is a sturdy wooden stick.
After shaping, the ware has to undergo finishing by scraping or
shaving, either using the wheel or independently of it. Scraping instru-
ments include a hollow hemisphere of iron with a hole at the bottom
called khuria and long iron-blades which are either straight or bent at
one end called chelni, chilai ki kundi or paththi.
Casting: The second method whereby the ware is shaped is by cast-
ing in moulds made of red clay. The most commonly used are dome-
shaped moulds over the surface of which the ware is moulded. These
moulds are variously called anthura, unir, gota and sancha. After the clay
that is cast has partially hardened, the mould is slowly pulled out, leav-
ing a wide-mouthed vessel. This is further beaten into the desired shape
using a pestle and mallet as described above, and then left out to dry.
(ii) Decoration and Glazing: After forming by throwing or casting, artis-
tic ware such as flower-vases and flower-pots are decorated. Using simple
and sharp tools and brushes, designs may be cut, engraved or painted on
the surface of the ware. The art of glazing was more or less entirely in the
hands of the Muslim potters who were responsible for introducing it
into the country. Different types of glaze were prepared in different areas.
In Khurja, a thin solution of quartz, powdered glass (kanch), soda
bicarbonate and white oxide of lead was applied on the red surface of the
ware to make it white, prior to painting. Over this white surface, floral
designs were painted either freehand or with the help of a stencil using
two or three colours—cobalt blue, copper blue and yellow. The ware was
then covered with a transparent glaze of glass, borax and lead oxide (Singh
1979). The white covering given on the red ware before painting is tech-
nically called ‘engobe’ and the potters of Khurja referred to it as ‘astar’
meaning ‘coating’. The technique of first decorating the ware and then
covering it with a transparent glaze is called ‘underglaze’ decoration.
TRADITIONAL POTTERS AND TECHNOLOGICAL CHANGE 189

The blue glaze of the Khurja potters was their speciality, and they
prepared it with great secrecy. Vitreous9 glaze was applied to all the wares
used by the Muslims and on all the ornamental wares. Once glazed, the
ware was left in the open until fully dry after which it was ready for
firing, which was the final stage in the manufacture.
(iii) Firing: As mentioned earlier, ordinary red-clay pottery and coarser
ware is fired in a shallow circular pit or ‘awa’, using wood, cow dung or
dried leaves. The kiln or furnace used for the firing of the finer wares and
glazed pottery made by the Muslim potters is called ‘bhatti’. The bhatti
used in the earlier days by the potters of the United Provinces is described
as an open-topped cylinder about five feet high, made of bricks and clay,
with two chambers, the upper of which had a perforated clay or iron floor.
The ware was stacked in this upper chamber on clay props or in recepta-
cles of baked clay, then called ‘kolabas’, which were stacked one on top of
the other, in order to prevent the glazed ware from sticking together upon
firing. When the upper chamber was loaded, the open top was covered
with pieces of red clay. The lower chamber was the furnace which was
fired with either firewood or indigo and hemp-stalks (Dobbs 1895). Such
a kiln, in which the draught travels upwards, is called an updraught kiln.
Sample pieces were kept in front of a hole left in the furnace. A wooden
stick was passed through the sample hole which on burning, gave the light
required to see the extent to which the sample pieces had been fired.
After about twenty-four hours of firing, the kiln was left to cool for
six hours, after which the ware, which had now taken its final form, was
unloaded from it. In Khurja, a few potters of lower economic status
continue to use this kind of kiln.
Before concluding our discussion of the early method of manu-
facture of pottery, it is interesting to note that during the end of the
nineteenth century, Khurja produced ornamental wares and flowerpots
to the annual value of Rs 1,000. These were sold chiefly at the Nauchandi
fair at Meerut, where a large quantity of the ware was bought for export
to Europe (ibid.).

Technological Changes in Pottery Manufacture

The first attempts at technological intervention in pottery manufacture

began in Khurja in 1934. Before this, as mentioned earlier, using differ-
ent types of kilns, the Muslim potters were making traditional glazed
190 Geeta Jayaram Sodhi

pottery, which received royal patronage, while their Hindu counterparts

were making unglazed red-clay pottery items for domestic purposes.
From 1910 onwards, the decorative white ware of the Muslim pot-
ters caught the attention of the British, and in the years that followed,
there was a close association between them and the wife of the District
Magistrate (DM), a keen potter herself, who tried to popularise their
work amongst her associates. Their work attracted the attention of a
British ceramic expert who succeeded in getting the state government to
sanction a grant to promote pottery manufacture in the town. It was
around this time, in 1934, that the United Provinces government deputed
the head of the department of ceramics at Banaras Hindu University,
Professor H.N. Roy, who had recently returned from the famous English
pottery town Stoke-on-Trent, to conduct experiments at Khurja for the
manufacture of white clay pottery which could be fired at high tempera-
tures. In 1942, a government factory was set up in the town to meet the
demands for hospital ware during the war, following a curb on its import.
The factory introduced the first modern downdraught kiln, recep-
tacles for holding the ware that could withstand high temperatures
called saggars, and the process of firing the ware at high temperatures.
With the cessation of hostilities in 1946, the factory was converted into
a Common Facilities Centre called Government Pottery Development
Centre (GPDC) and a switchover was made to the manufacture of
crockery, using china clay. GPDC supplied the ‘body’ which was a
mixture of china clay, feldspar and quartz, as well as the glaze and
colours. The potters made the ware in their homes and brought it back
to the Centre’s kilns for firing, at a nominal rent. They came to be
known as ‘dependent potters’. The government also gave grants and
subsidies to enterprising potters.
In 1946, the first private kiln and chimney were constructed by a
traditional Muslim potter. Since 1961, the number of such independent
units has steadily increased, with only coal being supplied by the GPDC.
In 1991, when this study was conducted, there were 489 independent
units and 136 dependent units at Khurja. Unit ownership may be taken
as a reliable measure of the potters’ positive response to technological
innovation and change. Out of the independent units, all but fifty-five
were owned by traditional potters who were largely from outside the
town: thirty by the Muslim potters, and twenty-five by the Hindu caste
potters. Each of these units contains a modern downdraught kiln. All
manufacture white ware, using the techniques introduced by the GPDC.
TRADITIONAL POTTERS AND TECHNOLOGICAL CHANGE 191

The case of these potters seems to question the contention about

their being conservative and resisting technological innovation. A closer
examination reveals that the traditional potters have not all responded
uniformly to the changes. The town had potters who were original
inhabitants of Khurja as well as those who had migrated into it from
outside. Native Muslim and Hindu potters of Khurja responded in dif-
ferent ways to the technological changes. As mentioned earlier, while the
former registered success in white-ware manufacture, their Hindu coun-
terparts were not able to do so. Muslim potters who migrated to Khurja
from surrounding places were influenced by their native counterparts
and registered different degrees of success. Hindu potters who migrated
into the town, unlike their native counterparts, were also able to do
reasonably well, some of them rising to the position of unit-owners. The
issue of traditional potters and technological change will therefore be
examined in relation to the native or migratory status of the potters.

Native Potters and Technological Change

Of the thirty units owned by Muslim potters, the natives own nineteen,
whereas only one unit among the twenty-five owned by Hindu potters
belongs to a native. Thus, the native Hindu potters of the town have not
responded to white-ware manufacture to the same extent as the native
Muslims. Most of them continue in their traditional occupation of
red-clay pottery manufacture, though they too were witness to the
events leading to the establishment of the pottery centre at Khurja. The
possible reasons are revealed when we examine the circumstances, char-
acteristics and experiences of each group of potters.
First, as seen earlier, the Muslim potters were already using glaze
and a white covering over the ware in their traditional method of manu-
facture. In fact, they were even experimenting with china clay and por-
celain with the help of samples provided by the wife of the DM. Again,
they were already familiar with the technique of double-chamber firing,
though using a simple type of kiln.
On the other hand, the native Hindu potters did not know the
use of glaze. In fact, as mentioned earlier, Hindu belief held that once
earthen vessels were used, they were rendered impure and should not be
used again. They fired their ware in shallow pits. Thus, we may say that
the Muslim potters were predisposed to the technological interventions
that were to come, in contrast to their Hindu counterparts.
192 Geeta Jayaram Sodhi

Second, there was a difference in the economic status of the two

groups of potters when the technological changes began to take place.
At the time when they were discovered by the DM’s wife, the Muslim
potters were leading a hand-to-mouth existence, as the aristocratic fam-
ilies who had been patronising their ware were themselves in a precari-
ous state and the Hindu masses did not use glazed ware. The DM’s wife
came to their rescue by promoting their art among the British families
in India and also by exporting their ware to England. The potters began
to prosper and became positively oriented to further technological
innovations. The Hindu potters, on the other hand, were doing reason-
ably well, as there was a good demand for their ware from the surround-
ing rural as well as urban areas. Besides, they had taken up supplementary
occupations, as had a number of castes in the urban areas. Along with
their traditional work, they took up masonry, shop keeping, rope
making and vending. Thus, they did not feel compelled by economic
circumstances to respond to white-ware manufacture.
Third, Muslim potters were directly involved in the events leading
to  the establishment of the GPDC. As early as 1934, when Professor
Roy was deputed to Khurja, the place that was selected for his experiments
was the house of a Muslim potter. Thus, the Muslim potters were able to
witness the trials and tribulations of the Professor and even participate in
the experiments to some extent. When the government factory was set up
in 1942, they readily took up employment in it, because of their familiar-
ity with the work, their early exposure to it and their weak economic
position. When the GPDC was set up, they were the first to use its facili-
ties, registering themselves as dependent potters. They were also the ben-
eficiaries of the early grants and subsidies offered by the government.
By contrast, the native Hindu potters were involved in none of the
above events. In fact, the first attempt at white-ware manufacture by a
Hindu potter was not till the early 1950s. This potter was a close friend of
one of the Muslim potters and learned the work from him. He registered
at the GPDC as a dependent potter and made insulators as well as bowls
and vases. However, just as his work was picking up, he ran into bad luck,
as his ware was ruined twelve times in a row during firing, leaving him
with neither the courage nor the finances to continue with white-ware
manufacture. He returned to red-clay work and died a disillusioned man.
Subsequent attempts by a few other Hindu potters also ended in failure.
By virtue of their success, a number of the native Muslim potters
were able to go on to achieve the status of independent potters, with
TRADITIONAL POTTERS AND TECHNOLOGICAL CHANGE 193

their own units equipped with kiln, chimney and machinery. On the
other hand, the sole unit which was originally set up in partnership in
1981 between two Hindu potters ran into losses after the departure of
one of them over disagreements. It was subsequently hired out by the
owner, who himself reverted to his traditional red-clay work.
From these events, it can be seen that the Muslim potters’ close
involvement in the initial attempts at white-ware manufacture by the state,
contributed to their gradual exposure to the new technology and facili-
tated its easy adoption. This was not the case with the Hindu potters.
Fourth, the contrasting experiences of the first of the native Muslim
and Hindu potters in white ware brings to light another important
factor which may have influenced the subsequent attempts in this direc-
tion of other potters in each category. This might be called the ‘demon-
stration effect’. The success registered by the native Muslim potters
generated a ‘positive demonstrative effect’ upon their kinsmen in neigh-
bouring towns and villages, who began to migrate to Khurja, spurred on
by the success of their kinsmen in white-ware manufacture. On the
other hand, the failure of the first entrants into the field among the
native Hindu potters was enough to deter any further attempts in this
direction. The experience of the first Hindu potters in white-ware
manufacture can thus be seen to have had a ‘negative demonstrative
effect’ which acted as a deterrent against further attempts on the part of
the natives. However, there was an interesting development in the late
1950s. This was the migration into the town, of Hindu traditional pot-
ters from the state of Bihar and from Faizabad district of eastern UP. It
is to the Muslim and Hindu migrant potters that we turn next.

Migrant Potters and Technological Change

The first of the migrants among the Muslim potters entered the town in
1952. He had an affinal relationship with a potter family of Khurja. He
was followed by his brothers and subsequently, other migrants began to
come to try their fortune in Khurja. Economic opportunities played an
important role in the migration of potter groups from other parts of UP
into Khurja. Thus, both the lack of earnings at the place of origin as well
as the better opportunities at Khurja with the coming of the GPDC,
constituted important reasons for the migrations. However, as men-
tioned earlier, the presence of kin in Khurja played a crucial role in
actually inducing migration. Thus, while economic backwardness at the
194 Geeta Jayaram Sodhi

place of origin acted as a ‘push’ factor in migration, the economic

prospects at Khurja and the presence of kin there acted as ‘pull’ factors.
Those who migrated early were able to do well for themselves, and
became owners of the remaining eleven out of the thirty units owned by
Muslim potters. Although a number of Muslim potters were dependent
potters or worked in pottery units, they all aspired to become unit-
owners some day. The high cost involved in setting up a unit in present
times is the only deterrent.
As observed, the influx of traditional Hindu potters into the town
began in the late 1950s. In contrast to their native counterparts, the
immigrant potters were able to register success in white-ware manufac-
ture and, in 1991, they owned twenty-four of the twenty-five units
owned by Hindu potters. One unit, as mentioned earlier, is owned by a
Khurja potter but not operated by him. All except a handful of the
migrant Hindu potters are from Bihar.
How may we explain the different responses of the migrant Hindu
potters vis-à-vis their native counterparts? An examination of their case
shows that similar factors as in the case of the native Muslim potters,
contributed to the success of the migrant Hindu potters.
First, the migrants from both Bihar and Faizabad were driven to
Khurja by sheer economic desperation. They were compelled to work
hard to take up any opportunities that came their way. They joined the
factories in Khurja as workers and slowly worked their way up as depen-
dent potters, finally achieving the status of independent unit-owners,
though the majority of units owned by them were of modest size.
Second, the experience of the first migrant potters exercised a posi-
tive demonstrative effect upon later migrants. The first Bihari potter
came to Khurja in 1956 and joined a pottery unit owned by a Muslim
traditional potter, where he began making insulators on the potter’s
wheel. He soon became a dependent potter at the GPDC and went on
to set up his own unit in 1971, which today ranks as one of the best
insulator-manufacturing units in Khurja. A year after he came to Khurja,
this potter was joined by some of his kin who were first able to become
dependent potters, subsequently setting up small, independent units.
The success of these early entrants acted as an incentive to subsequent
migrants. Similarly, the Faizabad potters too were able to register success
in the field of toy manufacture, though they had difficulties initially.
Third, certain predisposing factors played an important role in the
case of migrant Hindu potters from Bihar, as in the case of the native
TRADITIONAL POTTERS AND TECHNOLOGICAL CHANGE 195

Muslim potters. Virtually all of them had worked in white-ware

manufacturing factories in Kolkata, manufacturing insulators on the pot-
ter’s wheel. This was the field they entered in Khurja, joining first as work-
ers in units manufacturing insulators, before moving up. Thus, they took
up familiar work in a new place. It may be surmised that severe economic
pressure coupled with the predisposing factor of expertise on the potter’s
wheel motivated their joining insulator manufacturing factories in Kolkata.
In the case of the four Faizabad potters, all of whom belonged to the same
family, there were no predisposing factors as such, but a motivating factor,
as against their native counterparts, was sheer economic necessity.
Thus, a combination of factors—predisposition, economic desper-
ation and the positive demonstrative effect of the success of early
entrants—acted in the case of the migrant Hindu potters, as in the case
of the native Muslim potters, in contrast to their native counterparts,
determining the response of each to the changes.
To conclude, our examination of the traditional potters of Khurja
brings to light a number of factors which play an important role in
determining the nature and extent of potters’ response to technological
change. While it seems to be true that fear of economic catastrophe acts
as a deterrent to innovation, it is also seen that poor economic condition
can act as a motivating factor in the adoption of new techniques in
which the potter himself does not have to invest. Other important fac-
tors influencing potters’ response to technological change include pres-
ence or absence of predisposing conditions; the manner of introduction
of new technology–whether gradual or sudden, voluntary or imposed;
role performed by the state; and the positive or negative demonstrative
effect of the experience of the first entrants into white-ware manufacture
upon others of their community.

Notes
This is a revised version of my paper presented at the Anthropology Departmental
Colloquium at Washington University, St Louis in March 1997. The paper is based on my
doctoral thesis in sociology entitled A Sociological Study of Potters in a Town in UP submitted
to the University of Delhi in 1994. I am grateful to the anonymous referee for her/his valu-
able comments and suggestions on the earlier version of this paper.
1. Ceramics or keramics is a general term for the study of the art of pottery. It is adopted
for this purpose both in French (ceramique) and in German (keramik) (Encyclopaedia
Britannica, Vol. 18).
2. Traditional potters are those whose traditional occupation is pottery making.
196 Geeta Jayaram Sodhi

3. The traditional Hindu potters of Khurja are urban potters who sold their ware in the
local market. They are to be distinguished from the rural potters who were involved
in jajmani relationships with their patrons.
4. The Egyptians seem to be the first to have used glaze on pottery. They used the coarse
sand of the Nile along with borax and copper-oxide to make turquoise colour glaze.
The Persians learnt the secret of making turquoise blue when they invaded Egypt.
Later, the Mughal Chingiz Khan, who had a Chinese queen, brought some potters
from China and started the tradition of glazed pottery in Persia. From here, it spread
to other Muslim countries of Turkey, Iraq and Afghanistan (Singh 1979).
5. The name ‘Pathan’ applied to the Pashto-speaking tribes of southeastern Afghanistan
and northern Pakistan. Pathans originated in Afghanistan, and they are considered to
be the descendants of a common ancestor. Several tribes migrated from Afghanistan
to Pakistan between the thirteenth and sixteenth centuries (Encyclopaedia Britannica,
Vol. 17).
6. The coronation of King George V in 1911.
7. G. Childe (1952) observes that the ‘throwing’ method was introduced in Mesopotamia
in the Uruk period before 3000 BCE. Only in the nineteenth century was it displaced
by liquid moulding or ‘casting’.
8. For a comprehensive list of regional distribution of tools and implements along with
their local terms, see Saraswati and Behura (1966).
9. Hard, glossy bodies of ceramic ware which do not absorb water.

References
Behura, N.K. 1978. Peasant potters of Orissa. New Delhi: Sterling.
Childe, G. 1952. New light on the most ancient east. London: Routledge and Kegan Paul.
Dobbs, H.R.C. 1895. A monograph on the pottery and glass industries of the NW Provinces
and Oudh. Allahabad: U.P. Government Press.
Ehrich, W. 1965. ‘Ceramics and man: A cultural perspective’, in F.R. Matson (ed.):
Ceramics and man (1–19). New York: Wenner-Gren Foundation for Anthropological
Research, Inc.
Encyclopaedia Britannica (Vols. 17 and 18). 1962. Chicago, London, Toronto.
Foster, G.M. 1965. ‘The sociology of pottery: Questions and hypotheses arising from con-
temporary Mexican work’, in F.R. Matson (ed.): Ceramics and man (43–61).
New York: Wenner-Gren Foundation for Anthropological Research, Inc.
Government of United Provinces. 1923. Report of the industrial survey of the United Provinces:
Bulandshahr District. UP Government Press.
Gupta, S.P. 1969. ‘Sociology of pottery: Chirag Delhi—A case study’, in B.P. Sinha (ed.):
Potteries in ancient India (11–25). Patna: University of Patna Press.
Saraswati, B. and Behura, N.K. 1966. Pottery techniques in peasant India. Calcutta:
Anthropological Survey of India.
Singh, G. 1979. Pottery in India. New Delhi: Vikas Publishing House.
Tate, G.P. 1911. The kingdom of Afghanistan. Bombay: The Times Press (First Indian reprint,
Delhi: D.K. Publishing House, 1973).
The Gazetteer of India. 1973. Vol.: 2—History and culture. New Delhi: Publications Division,
Government of India.
12
People’s Science:
A Perspective from
the Voluntary Sector1
Vithal Rajan

Introduction

T
he rural population faces an endemic lack of employment, in
some cases only 150 days of employment per year, especially for
women. This lack of employment has also been aggravated by
the use of modern technology and capital-intensive methods for cash
crop cultivation. Poor families regularly face lack of food; endemic
hunger and malnutrition among women and children is common.
Scientific efforts to raise production and productivity of small farm-
ers in resource-poor areas by institutions such as the International
Council for Research in Semi-Arid Tropics (ICRISAT) and the national
research programmes under the Indian Council of Agricultural Research
(ICAR) have not yet yielded tangible results.
The main constraint to genuine development, it has been perceived,
is the lack of people’s participation in the process. The emphasis on such
participation, now being laid by government and development experts,
has been followed by a desire to revitalize people’s grass-roots organiza-
tions and initiate development planning processes from the bottom
upwards. While these development directions are stated in theory, very
little has been done in practice to build up strong people’s sanghams.2
198 Vithal Rajan

A search has been made to involve voluntary agencies with a long

history of working with people in government-initiated programmes.
While it is right for the government to encourage voluntary activism
and collaboration, a focus has not yet been found for such a process to
take place. Since independence, voluntary agencies have on occasion
shifted their focus of work in response to the emerging political and
economic trends on the national scene. Immediately after indepen-
dence, in the wake of the freedom struggle, the government followed up
its ‘Grow More Food’ campaign with the establishment of development
blocks and community development centres. Voluntary agencies basic-
ally saw themselves as the handmaidens of the government in imple-
menting its programmes at the local level. With the slowing down of
economic growth in the 1960s and food shortages produced by the
droughts of that decade, voluntary agencies took on a confrontational
role, partly influenced by the ‘liberation theology’ which shaped post-
colonial struggles in other countries. The 1970s saw the increased mili-
tancy of voluntary agencies, and efforts to raise the consciousness of
people by organizing them. However, by the early 1980s they fell back
to an ‘advocacy’ position: somewhere in the middle of the two extremes
they had originally followed. With the increase of general consciousness
about the environment crisis, which is generally shared by all interest
groups and political parties, a middle area for such collaboration between
government and voluntary agencies has come into existence and could
help genuine people’s participation.

Survival

In this decade, as a result of grass-roots experiences and the failure of

development, voluntary agencies have been made to seriously reconsider
the nature of the strategies they should follow. The word ‘survival’ has
emerged as an accepted term to cover the kind of focus they wish to
adopt. In a sense, survival strategies are those that are within the econ-
omic and social capabilities of the people themselves. This increases the
sense of solidarity among the people, and promotes people’s organiza-
tions and self-help, while being based on accepted local cultural trad-
itions. Such a definition of ‘survival strategy underlines the voluntary
agencies’ awareness about what is at stake: people’s survival as civilized
communities and not the prospect of economic progress and increased
PEOPLE’S SCIENCE 199

living standards. Such a hard-headed response in the development field

has come about because of the setbacks caused by the several droughts in
the 1980s and the refusal of the government and international develop-
ment institutions to go beyond the terms of the ‘green revolution’ strat-
egy which emphasizes dependence on the rich and more productive areas
of the country, as also helps the more ‘progressive’ or rich farmers to
adopt modern high-cost, high-technology practices in these regions. The
government’s technology missions further underline the fact that the
bulk of the poor people, agricultural labour, harijans, tribals, marginal
farmers and poverty-stricken people of drought-prone areas are merely
seen as non-productive ‘social welfare cases’ by development planners.
Under these circumstances, it becomes clear why voluntary agencies
and other grass-roots activists have adopted ‘survival’ as defining their
approach in the late 1980s. However, the term ‘survival’ is also seen as a
limiting rather than a forward-looking notion.
There have been on-going discussions within the voluntary move-
ment in India about the meaning of ‘people’s science’. The overarching
view is a political one with more emphasis placed on the social dimen-
sion than on technological aspects. But there is a wish to avoid an
approach that could be termed as supporting second-rate technology ‘to
keep the people poor’, or falling back on mysticism and feudal practices.
One set of perspectives on ‘people’s science’ stresses the traditional
knowledge of the people. At its root is an ecological awareness and a
desire to integrate humanity with nature. Inherited 19th century
Western science perspectives are seen as inadequate for such a purpose;
the ascendancy of Western science and university-based knowledge over
other systems of thought is questioned; and investigations are conducted
into pre-colonial scientific traditions in India and their relevance to
modern times.3 Another activist stream seeks to extend modern scien-
tific ideas to the needs of the poor. Laudable as these efforts are, how-
ever, we have yet to see on any appreciable scale the involvement of
ordinary people as the main proponents of grass-roots planning and
implementation of development strategies, which utilize people’s own
experience and cultural practices. Left-wing activists, for instance, have
not conceded the scientific capacity of ordinary people, and they do not
accept that people have the skills, capacities and knowledge to develop
their own communities. Marxist and capitalistic ideologies share a
common belief in scientific progressivism. This basic assumption of
200 Vithal Rajan

intellectual inequality is paternalistic and gives no scope for genuine

people’s participation and grass-roots planning where people are seen as
capable of imparting knowledge as well as receiving it.
However, one may find within the voluntary movement a willingness
to try out ideas which are more applicable to real grass-roots development
than the present capital- and technology-intensive top-down processes,
characteristic of government-directed development activity.4 One pos-
sibility for making a start is in an environmental—agricultural area of activ-
ity. Voluntary agencies with government support can, by building up the
confidence of the people, use local experience to solve practical problems
and extend the application of such methodologies to other areas as well.
The parameters that could help define the action values to be
adopted by such people’s science projects are:

1. low-cost technology and cultural practices within the economic reach of

the people;
2. strategies capable of implementation using personal, local, community
skills;
3. strategies utilizing easily available materials;
4. strategies based on people’s knowledge for assured social and cultural
acceptability;
5. strategies generating employment;
6. ecologically sustainable strategies protecting-
i) plant and natural diversity;
ii) processes that do not exploit people or nature; and
iii) processes based on organic farming principles rather than on
chemicals;
7. agriculturally sustainable strategies based on-
i) multi-vector activities of the farmer;
ii) soil regeneration; and
iii) optimal use of water;
8. strategies permitting community group action for mutual economic benefit
and social solidarity;
9. strategies that lead to self-provisioning of communities (which may be
more practical under the present circumstances than the more far-reaching
Gandhian concept of self-sufficiency or the ideological concept of
self-reliance);
10. strategies that increase people’s capacities for long-term planning/resilience
and which help to absorb economic shocks and cyclic fluctuations of
nature; and
11. strategies that are ‘error friendly’, that is, those in which errors could cause
least damage.
PEOPLE’S SCIENCE 201

This paper analyzes an experiment in integrated pest management

based on the above principles.
It is in the area of pest management that modern science has come
to drastically review many of its assumptions within the last decade
(Perkins 1982). Uncontrollable pest attacks in North America have
brought foreign scientists and entomologists to perceive that pests can
be managed by:

1. promoting diversity of the habitat, including farming practices of mixed

cropping and inter-cropping;
2. ensuring the presence of natural control processes by which nature herself
acts through her many species, which have symbiotic relationships with
each other, to keep pest populations down; and
3. strengthening cultural practices by which poor farmers around the world
have learnt to lessen crop loss without damaging the environment or incur-
ring the cost of pesticides.

Integrated pest management has come to be scientifically accept-

able, placing the least emphasis on the use of pesticides, which are to be
used only under specific conditions.5
The experiment discussed in this paper is set in the Telangana
region of Andhra Pradesh, particularly the districts of Ranga Reddy,
Nalgonda, Warangal and Mahabubnagar, which is a centre for castor
cultivation in India. The kharif castor crop in Andhra Pradesh is sown
over 300,000 ha, more land (67 per cent) than in the rest of India put
together for this crop-However, yields of castor, which is a typically dry
crop sown on light red soil by small farmers, is as low as 70 kg/ha in the
state, accounting for only 18 per cent of total all-India production.
Yields have gone down over the last decade because of the emergence of
the red-headed hairy caterpillar (Amsacta Albistriga Walker) as a major
pest. Entomologists believe that the pest’s population has increased
because of biotic disturbances caused by the excessive use of pesticides
which have killed all its natural predators and other species of insects
that used to occupy eco-niches. The pest is polyphagous, feeding on a
wide variety of crops from jowar to greengram and groundnut. It appears
at the time when young castor shoots are in the fields. The pest destroys
castor crops in the short period before it pupates and remains dormant
for ten months. While other crops recover, the earlier sown crop of
castor is totally destroyed and farmers are forced to sow again. Farmers
202 Vithal Rajan

have also been forced to delay castor sowing by a month or more, leading
to the castor crop withering under water stress in its seedling stage which
then occurs for late-sown castor in the post-monsoon period.
The continuous failure of castor crops has led to despondency
among farmers, who have lost control over local production of good
quality seed, and other good farming practices. Gujarat farmers now
dominate the quality of production in Andhra Pradesh by being the
main suppliers of the seed. Marketing functions in Andhra Pradesh are
also controlled by non-local traders.
The concept of controlling the red-headed hairy caterpillar pest by
using cultural practices that were once effectively followed in different
regions in the south was developed with the help of the Regional
Coordinator for the Transfer of Technology, ICAR. His ideas were sup-
plemented by the field experience gained by the Jan Seva Mandal, a
voluntary agency working in the Dhulia district of Maharashtra. In
Andhra Pradesh itself (Rayalseema region) some of these methods had
been used to good effect not very long ago and more recent work also
confirmed expectations that one could develop a viable non-pesticidal
approach towards pest control, for instance, bonfires to destroy large
masses of pest moths.
With this kind of intellectual support, a programme was built up
for the 1989 kharif season involving ten local voluntary agencies in the
districts of Ranga Reddy, Mahabubnagar, Nalgonda and Warangal.
Action for World Solidarity (ASW), a nodal donor agency, coordinated
the efforts of these voluntary agencies. Several meetings were held to
understand the simple people-based technologies that had been sug-
gested and to organize the efforts of the agencies and the farmers in
implementing these technologies for pest control. Scientists under the
leadership of the Regional Coordinator, ICAR, coordinated the training
activities. The State Department of Agriculture not only supported the
programme but gave about Rs. 400,000 towards burning material for
lighting bonfires to destroy the moth—the most vulnerable phase of the
pest. Support from the National Bank for Agricultural and Rural
Development (NABARD) was sought and given. Under NABARD’s
leadership, commercial banks in the region agreed to extend credit to
local farmers for agricultural inputs.
Starting with a simple idea, the approach, involving several such
agencies and a total sum of around two million rupees, was managed
successfully by this ad hoc consortium of voluntary agencies. Such
PEOPLE’S SCIENCE 203

collaboration is unique in other than crisis situations. The reasons for

successful cooperation were:

1. heightened environmental awareness among all voluntary groups, scientists

and government officials;
2. the sensitive and capable handling of issues, differences of opinion, and
personalities; and the maintenance of a sense of independence and equality
among the members of the group;
3. the excitement caused by the possibility of effective grassroots collaboration
between voluntary agencies and the government in a new unexplored area;
4. the sharp focus of the project in time and space, and its delimitation around
one pest (red-headed hairy caterpillar) and one crop (castor).

The Outcome

The technologies consisted of: summer ploughing to kill some pupae in

the first few inches of the soil; bonfires after monsoon rains in every field
to kill moths before they mated; the collection of egg masses; and the
planting of trap crops to attract the caterpillars. The pest has four life
stages: pupa, moth, egg and larva. It is a pest when it is a larva, feeding
on crops as it grows in size, till it pupates and remains dormant from
August till the end of May. Rainfall triggers the emergence of the adult
moth from the earth, but only visual sighting of large numbers of moths
around lights can confirm this. Bonfires must be lit in every field on the
nights of mass emergence to attract and kill the moths before they mate,
which they do within forty-right hours. The egg masses (200–2,000 laid
in a cluster by every female moth) hatch in another seventy-two hours,
and must be collected and destroyed before the tiny larvae emerge. The
trap crops must already be in leaf at this stage in order to attract the
travelling caterpillars, None of this can be done usefully by only a few
farmers, but must be taken up as a village group activity.
While these methods saved on the use of pesticides (which were
known to be ineffective in any case), the technologies had not been
practised before, either by the farmers or by the voluntary agencies and
the scientists. None of the four technologies was practised in any one
target area. Egg collection, which had proved useful in Maharashtra, was
not practised at all.6 Timing was essential and above all there was need
to coordinate the lighting of bonfires on the same night as the peak
emergence of the moth. Trap crops also needed to be planted earlier
with the first crops.7 In many places, the farmers were not able to achieve
204 Vithal Rajan

coordination, timing or skill in the follow-up needed to achieve results.

However, in around 2,000 hectares, castor, yields went up from 70 kg/ha
to between 200–300 kg/ha accompanied by improvement in quality. In
the Jangaon area of Warangal district, farmers not only lit bonfires in
time in the villages but also practised summer ploughing. Crops were
reported to be badly affected over 20 hectares in one village where bon-
fires were delayed. Effective timing and coordination was achieved by
alerting farmers with a drum beat when hundreds of moths were sighted
by the light of the street lights. It must be noted that farmers in the
region are accustomed to taking ecological measures. They have had
unique practice in some villages of attracting pest-eating birds by laying
out cooked rice in the fields.
This clear success encouraged all the partners in this experiment to
continue it for the kharif season of 1991. This people’s science experi-
ment has thrown up many interesting research issues which have so far
not been studied in research stations.

Group Action Technologies

People’s science initiatives or ‘Group-Action Technologies’8 such as the

one described above can only be initiated by the whole community
taking joint action. Such a definition is important to distinguish between
people’s science technologies and more conventional modern scientific
methods, which can be applied by individual farmers irrespective of
social commitment or the actions of the rest of the community.
One such group action technology which can be initiated in the
southern Indian region is village seed production, particularly of
open-pollinated crops, such as castor. Such crops are vulnerable to con-
tamination from inferior strains, the pollen of which can be carried by
the wind. Hence, the involvement of all farmers growing such crops is
necessary for a better variety of crop to be grown and sustained in a
region. In an experiment in Warangal district, ‘Aruna’, a preferred local
variety, was distributed to the farmers, all of whom agreed to grow this
variety. Such control of seed and seed development at the village level
will also help farmers maintain independence at the local level from
outside commercial interests.
Another aspect of group action technology is community credit
management, involving exchanges and repayments in kind. The Deccan
PEOPLE’S SCIENCE 205

Development Society, the group conducting the experiment described

earlier, works in forty villages of Medak district and has established sang-
hams of poor village women. They now control a credit pool of half a
million rupees. These village women have almost eliminated bonded
labour in their villages; and cooperative farming opportunities that have
been opened up have increased employment to 250 days per year per
agricultural labourer and Wage rates from Rs. 5 to Rs. 10 per day.
It has always been the intention of this group, involving research
scientists and voluntary agencies, to broaden from the experience of
working with one Pest and one crop, and start initiating group action at
the village level which will not only strengthen communities but also
increase production and protect the environment. Within the next
couple of years, other projects envisaged include restoration of some vil-
lage tank irrigation systems, which only a hundred years ago exceeded
100,000 in this part of India.9 Another project will be ‘social fencing’ in
agro forestry projects (a key problem in wasteland management). That is,
the community will take the responsibility of protecting the trees that it
plants, and dependence for success will be shifted from expensive techni-
cal solutions, such as wire fencing, to more reliable social methods of
control. This practice has already been established by some of the wom-
en’s sanghams mentioned earlier. Another area of activity will be the
introduction of dry-sown paddy in the kharif season using a seed drill,
followed by rabi groundnut on residual moisture. This method will
extend the area under paddy by over 30 per cent, inhibit brown plant
hopper attack, facilitate more socially equitable distribution of tank
water released later in September, fix nitrogen in the soil through the
action of the legume crop, and finally, give a double income to the
farmer.10 Such water-saving methods using the traditional implement of
the seed drill are now being widely practised over 10,000 hectares near
Atmakur, Kurnool district, Andhra Pradesh. The replacement of rabi
paddy by irrigated dry crops is another possibility. Soil conservation
methods involving field bunding to control rill erosion is another
ecologically sound practice that requires community group action.11
Agricultural scientists at ICRISAT and CRIDA are already establishing
the value of traditional multi-cropping and intercropping practices for pest
management and sustainability. Dryland farmers in the Telangana region
have been found to practise around a hundred combinations of crops to
hedge against agroclimatic variations (ICRISAT 1986). The Ain-I-Akbari
206 Vithal Rajan

mentions how several hundred years ago farmers in a particular region

would grow as many as forty taxable crops in a year (Habib 1982).
Within the next few years, the group expects to initiate experimen-
tal projects on a small scale involving people’s participation and group
action technologies to promote sustainable farming practices that take
care of the earth as well as the poor people who live in the region. Such
a people-based science would also be spiritual and social. Since it can
only be implemented and controlled at the grass-roots level, this form of
science would be a true extension of science to the needs of humanity.

Conclusion

Most groups or agencies that search for alternative methods of develop-

ment have evolved their approach based on certain ideological founda-
tions. There are resistances to working with the corporate sector, utilizing
foreign money, employing modern technology or cooperating with
government officials. While the commitment of the voluntary agencies
involved in the project under discussion here is exemplary, and there is
a genuine attempt to seek new directions, no insistence has been laid
by  any person or group on maintaining ‘ideological purity’. This is
another interesting feature of this project, which is conceived of and
implemented in an open-ended manner. For example, both voluntary
agencies and the government are experimenting with establishing elec-
tric-powered light traps. Though this is modern technology, at present
used by scientists for monitoring insect flight behaviour, it could now
rightly become a tool of people’s science. In fact, it would be preferable
to burning up scarce fuel wood or toxic material such as rubber waste,
which is the only material available at present. Large-sized electric light
traps would not only function better but save time, which is also a pri-
ority in present-day rural India. The experiments to be conducted in
this direction will yield interesting technical, climatic, and social details
for further development of this aspect of people’s science.
One important feature of this kind of work is that it integrates
mobilization of the people in participatory research, even in the natural
sciences. At present ICAR scientists cannot in general undertake exten-
sion work. Nor can the Department of Agriculture extend technologies
not approved by the ICAR. Under these binding conditions, projects
such as the above cannot be carried out except under the auspices of
PEOPLE’S SCIENCE 207

voluntary agencies. It is this form of scientific research demarcation

which has given the project a unique collaborative quality.
Other wider philosophic issues involve the structure of knowledge
and the role of social practice in the building up of scientific knowledge.
Such experiments could also revitalize interest in the extension of locally
gained knowledge over wide areas, which are not strictly restricted to the
location and culture-specific conditions in which such action research
experiments are first carried out. This also throws up the question
whether university-based science is specific to the location, culture and
social conditions found in Western industrialized environments. A small
experiment of this kind, which stimulates people’s participation, could
lead to a wider debate for reorienting development strategies and for
re-examining the philosophic basis of science.

Notes
1. This is a revised version of a paper presented at the Institution of Engineers,
Hyderabad, September 1990.
2. An Administrative Staff College of India report (n.d.) on the Maheshwaram Project
laments: ‘. . . the whole programme was viewed as a government activity and no
farmer has participated in the execution works.’
3. See the writings on the inadequacy of 19th century Western science perspectives
(Ashis Nandy 1988), the discourses on Orientalism, subaltern studies (Ranajit Guha
1982) and Dharampal’s work (1983), that are giving a new air of confidence to work
rooted in Third World perspectives. Compare also the feminist discourse on parallel
issues, e.g., Harding (1986).
4. For an analysis of some examples of coalitions between scientists/technologists and
identified end-users at the grass-roots level as a move to strengthen grass-roots,
bottom-up processes, see Ramasubban and Singh (1987).
5. Perkins’s (1982) book provides a description of the struggles within the life sciences
to bring a more rational and ecological approach to pest management. Of particular
note is the work of pathbreaking scientists who introduced plants to attract pests,
which in turn would attract controlling populations of predators. Also refer to
‘Integrated Pest Management: The ICRISAT Approach’, a “scientific film produced by
Development Perspectives. International Crop Research Institute for the Semi-Arid
Tropics, Patancheru, Andhra Pradesh.
6. Jan Seva Mandal working in Dhulia district of Maharashtra recorded great success in
mobilizing local children to collect and destroy the clearly visible yellow egg masses
of the pest.
7. Dr. Qayum, G, the coordinator, also records that the travelling caterpillars moved
from fallow lands to cultivated fields; and, many times, down the slope. Hence, trap
crops need to be planted on field boundaries between crops and fallow areas of light
red soils.
8. We owe this term to Dr. N. K. Sanghi.
208 Vithal Rajan

9. The reader is referred to M. K. Mukundan’s excellent work on traditional village tank

systems. Patriotic and People-Based Science and Technology Foundation (PPST),
Madras.
10. Reported by Dr. T. Hanumantha Rao, ex-Director General, Water and Land
Management Research Institute, Hyderabad.
11. Dr. N. K. Sanghi reports that some tribals in Adilabad district, Andhra Pradesh are
adopting interesting field bunding practices. Women’s sanghams collectively leasing
in land in Medak district also innovate for soil control—see the Deccan Development
Society’s reports.

References
Administrative Staff College of India. ‘Pilot Project for Watershed Development in Rainfed
Areas: Maheshwaram’, p.54. Hyderabad.
Dharampal. 1983. Indian Science and Technology in the Eighteenth Century. Hyderabad:
Academy of Gandhian Studies.
Guha, Ranjit (ed.). 1982. Subaltern Studies I. Delhi: Oxford University Press.
Habib, Irfan. 1982. An Atlas of the Mughal Empire. New Delhi: Oxford University Press.
Harding, S. 1986. The Science Question in Feminism. Milton Keynes: Open University Press.
ICRISAT. 1986. Annual Report. Hyderabad.
Nandy, Ashis (ed.). 1988. Science, Hegemony and Violence: A Requiem for Modernity. Delhi:
Oxford University Press.
Perkins, J. 1982. Pests, Experts and Insecticides. New York: John Wiley.
Ramasubban, R. and B. Singh. 1987. ‘Orientation of the Public Sciences in a Post-Colonial
Society: The Experience of India’, in S Blume et al. (eds.), The Social Direction of the
Public Sciences, Sociology of the Sciences Yearbook, XI, Dordrecht: Reidel.
INDEX
academic research, 121
agriculture technology in India,
xxxiv–xxxvii
developments, 138
All India Coordinated Research Project
for Dryland Agriculture
(AICRPDA), 174
All India People’s Science Network
(AIPSN), xlii
alternative science, notion of, li
ecological foundation of, liii
alternative science movement (ASM),
xlvii–lxii, xlvi
defence of culture against science, xlix
Feyerabend’s views, xlviii–xlix
Nandy’s defence for religion and,
xlviii, l–li
Nandy’s formulation on modern
science, xlvii
rationality, xlviii
value-free objective science, xlviii
applied research, 121
appropriate technology (AT) move-
ment in India, xxxviii–xl
forms of mobilisation, xxxviii
indicators of, xxxviii
promoting research institutions, xxxviii
Asiatic Society of Bengal, 34
Aurora’s scientific community,
xxv–xxvi
Bengal Technical Institute, 39
Bhabha, Homi J., xxx
Bhabha Atomic Research Centre
(BARC), 66
Bharaat Gyan Bigyan Samiti (BGVS),
xlii
Bhatanagar, S. S., xxx
biotechnological research in India, 117
bio-technology research, lx
Bose, J. C., 36, 45–46
Bose, P. N., 36
Bose Research Institute, 46
bourgeois society, science in, 120
brain drain, concept of, xxix–xxxii
brain gain, concept of, xxix
British Geological Society, 34–35
Calcutta Mathematical Society, 46
Cavendish and-Watts-conflict, 21
C-DOT digital ESS project, 107–8
Centre for Cellular and Molecular
Biology (CCMB), lxv
cereal research in India, 106
chemical research, 104
class formation, role of S&T, lxvi–lxviii
cognitive elements in scientific
knowledge production,
lxx–lxxi
colonial science, xxv, xxvi
composition of scientific staff, 35
210 Sociology of Science and Technology in India
feature of, 35
goals and social character of, 34–47
social divisions among scientists and
their orientations, 37–38
specialist groups, 42–47
structures and nationalist orientation
in science, 38–41
commodification of scientific research,
lxxiii–lxxiv
communalism, 18–19
Community Development Programmes
of 1950s, xxxvi
competitive/rival epistemological
positionings in S&T study, xix
conservatism of potters, 181–82
Council of Scientific and Industrial
Research (CSIR), lxvi, xxv, xxx,
60, 125
cryptomnesis, 22
culture
influence on perceptions, lix
of science, 126–27
Dawn Society, 39
Deccan Development Society, 204–5
Delhi Science Forum (DSF), xlii
discipline-based communities,
xxiv–xxv
disinterestedness, 19
dryland agriculture, 166–71
green revolution technologies and,
171–73
technologies for, 171–76
dual societies, 147–48
ecofeminism to Indian situations/
realities, li–lii
egotism of scientists, 21
Ekalavya, xlii–xliii
electronic switching systems in
telecommunications, 105–8
empiricism, 13
epistemology of modern S&T, xlix, li,
lx–lxi, 118
eureka syndrome, 22
European Association for the study of
Science and Technology
(EASST), xviii
fascist totalitarianism, 7
freedom, 5
free inquiry, 13
functional interdependence between
science and society, 13
Galilean science/modern science, liv
gender-based discrimination, lxvi
genetically modified (GM) crops, lxxi
genetic engineering, 122
George Basalla model of colonial
science, xxv
globalisation, impact of, lxviii–lxx
institutional changes in S&T in
India, lxix
scientific and technological research
in Indian academics, lxix
green revolution, 107
green revolution technologies, 171–73
contemporary, 173–76
group-action technologies, 204–6
highly qualified personnel (HQP),
emigration of, xxx
HYV research-based green revolution,
106–7
IIT Act of 1956, xxx
Indian academic scientists, xxviii–xxix
Indian Association for the Cultivation
of Science (IACS), 38–39
Indian Botanical Society, 47
Indian Council of Agricultural
Research (ICAR), xxx, 197
Indian Council of Medical Research
(ICMR), 66
Indian Educational Service (IES), 36
Indian Institute of Science (IISc),
Bangalore, 59
INDEX
Indian Institute of Technology (IIT), xviii
Indian National Science Academy
(INSA), 60
Indian Patents Act, 104
Indian School of Chemistry, 1920s, 44
Indian Science Congress Association
(ISCA), 47
Indian scientific community, xxvii, 55,
58–59
association with governmental work,
65–66
competency, 61–64
junior scientist, status of, 64–65
observations, 60–67
professionalism, 64
indigenous knowledge systems, li
industrial (applied) research, 125
Industrial Policy Resolution of 1956, 123
industry-sponsored research, lxxvi
institutional changes in S&T in India,
lxix. See also Indian scientific
community
institutionalisation of S&T organisa-
tions, xxii, xxiii
criteria for, xxii–xxiii
Morehouse views, xxiii
intellectual property rights (IPR)
regime, lxxii, lxxiii
Intensive Agriculture Development
program (IADP), xxxvi
International Council for Research in
Semi-Arid Tropics (ICRISAT),
197, 205
International Crop Research Institute
for Semi-Arid Tropics
(ICRISAT), 174–75
International Crops Research Institute
for Semi-Arid Tropics
(ICRISAT), 165
International Sociological Association
(ISA), xx
inventive activity, 101, 103–5
Jana Vigyan Vedica (JVV), xlii
211
Japanese Society for Science and
Technology Studies (JSSTS), xviii
kala-azar treatment, 105
Kerala, knowledge in
demographic and socioeconomic
background in Kerala, 152–56
educational qualifications, 153–56
growth and development, 150
methodology of study, 151–52
professional activities in the state,
156–59
research and development (R&D),
159–61
research and teaching systems of the
state, 153–54
Kerala Sahitya Shastra Parishad (KSSP),
xl–xli, xlii
Khurja potters of Uttar Pradesh (UP),
study of
during British colonial era, 183–85
migrant potters and technological
change, 193–95
native potters and technological
change, 191–93
technological intervention in pottery
manufacture, 189–91
traditional Muslim potters,
183–84
traditional process of pottery
manufacture, 186–88
knowledge
kinds of, 6
knowledge-related jobs, 149
social origins of, 118
Kothari, D. S., xxx
theory of pressure of ionization, 45
Kuhnian sociology of science, xxiv,
119–20
post-Kuhnian approaches, 119–21
License of Rights, 104
Linz-Donawitz (LD) basic oxygen steel
process, 102–3
212 Sociology of Science and Technology in India
man’s thinking, stages in, 8
Marxian sociology of S&T, xxxiv–xxxvii
material environment science, 7
Mathew effect, 25–26
dysfunctional consequences, 25–26
medieval homogeneity, 6
medieval society, 3–5
Mertonian ethos of science, xxiii, lix,
57, 118–19
notions of ‘good science’, lxxv
structural functional perspective,
xxii
Merton’s formulations in sociology of
science
analysis of forces between science
and the social-structure,
15–16
interdependence between science
and social structure, 12–18
normative structure and reward
system of science, 18–26
social origin of scientific knowledge,
10–12
mobilisation theory of social
movements, xxxix
modern science, 122–23, 138
caste system, change in, 141–42
cultural identity, changes in, 145–46
health facilities, 139
industrial occupations and service
professions, changes in, 140–41
marriage institution, changes in, 143
power industry, 139
religion, rituals and ceremonials,
changes in, 146
Scheduled Castes, impact on,
144–45
social changes due to, 138–48
traditional institutions, changes in,
142–44
untouchability and, 144
modern society, role of science, 3–9
impact of progress, 4
specialization, 6
modern S&T, xix
epistemology of, xlix
modern S&T professionalisation of
science, xxiv
modern Western scientific knowledge,
liii
Mohalanabis, P. C., xxx
molecular biology and biotechnology,
127–28
Molecular Biophysics Unit (MBU), 59
Mukherjee, Ashutosh, 46
National Council for Science and
Technology Communication
(NCSTC), xliv
National Council of Education (NCE),
39
national education movement, 40
nationalism/anti-nationalism, lvii
national scientific communities, xxiv
Nazi Germany, 16–17
Nehru, Jawaharlal, xxv, xxx, 101, 122,
138
‘non-Aryan’ scientists, 16
normative complex of science, 18–26
opportunity structure of science, 24–26
organized scepticism, 19
originality, 19–20
Orissa, science popularisation
movement in, xlv
Orissa Bigyan Academy (OBA), xlv
Orissa Bigyan Prachar Samiti (OBPS),
xlv
Ortega Hypothesis, xxiii
Pal, B. P., xxx
patentability of ‘products’ vs. ‘pro-
cesses’, 104
people’s science movement in India,
xl–xliv
People’s Science Movement
Organisations (PSMOs),
xlii–xliv, xliii
INDEX
physical science, 6–7
policy-making in S&T, lxxii
negative effects, lxxiii
radical changes in science funding
and policy-orientation, lxxiv
Poona Sarvajanik Sabha, 40
pottery making, sociological aspects of,
181–82
Project Advisory Committee (PAC), 66
Protestant ethics, 13
Provincial Educational Service (PES),
36
public interest science, liii
Punarjanma (rebirth), l
Puritanism, 13–14
racial discrimination, 36
Raman effect, 46
Ratchet effect, 25
rationalism, 13
rationalist-positivist epistemology of
science, 118
Ray, P. C., 35–36
R&D organisations, lxxv
private vs. public, lxxvi
reductionist science, lii–liii
relationistic epistemology of science,
lx–lxi
Rensellaer Politechnic Institute (RPI),
lv
research agenda in SST, lxxvii
research laboratories, 103–4
reward system of science, 18–26
scepticism, 13
science
growth of, 27
science–industry–state nexus, lxi
science and technology
ancient Indian, xxxiv
competitive/rival epistemological
positionings in S&T study, xix
constructivist perspective,
xxxii–xxxiii
213
institutionalisation of S&T
organisations, xxiii
Max Weber’s proposition, 12
modern, xix
social context of origin and
development of, xxxii–xxxiv
Western, xxxiii–xxxiv
Science and Technology Studies (STS),
xvii–xviii
graduate/fellow programmes, xviii
Marxist approach, xxxiv–xxxvii
professional associations, xix
professional journals in, xix
structural functional perspective in,
xx–xxiii
studies, xviii
science-intensive agricultural innova-
tion, 106–7, 200–206
science popularisation movement in
India, xliv–xlvii
science wars, lxi–lxii
scientific communities, xxiii–xxxii, 150
characteristics of, xxvi
in Western countries, 56–58
scientific community, 33
scientific genius, 12
scientific goods
agricultural innovation, 107–8
biotechnology research, 109–10
distinctiveness of, 96–100
Indian context, 100–112
software as, 110–11
scientific institution, dimensions of,
xxii
scientific inventions, 17
scientific knowledge, 95, lvi
ethical-social concerns in, 112
scientific organisations in India,
123–26
R&D activities, 124–25
scientists’ interests and strategic
research networks, 128–30
Scientific Policy Resolution (SPR),
123
214
scientific productivity, sociological
factors on
elitism and, 92–93
graduate school prestige and, 86–92
institutional facilities and, 77–79
institutional variations and, 74–77
research environment and, 79–81
reward system and, 81–86
‘sacred spark’ hypothesis, 72–74
voluntary agencies, role of, 197–206
scientific rationality, xlviii
Galilean experiment of, lv
scientific soldiers, 37
‘scientific temper vs. humanistic
temper’ debate, lvii
scientism, 7
scientists’ behaviour, deviant patterns
of, 20–24
scientists’ interests and strategic
research networks, 128–30
corporate sector’s, 130–31
user’s, 131–32
secularism, 13
Shantha Biotech, lxv–lxvi
‘socialist pattern’ of society, 123
social origin of scientific discoveries, 12
Societies for Social Studies of Science
(4S), USA, xviii
Society for the Promotion of Technical
Education, 39
Sociology of Science and Technology in India
Solid State and Structural Chemistry
Unit (SSCU), 59
41st Chair, phenomenon of the, 24–25
Swaminathan, M. S., xxx
Tata Institute of Fundamental Research
(TIFR), xxx
technology gap, paradox of, 102
Technology Policy Statement (TPS) of
1983, 123
Trade Related Intellectual Property
Rights (TRIPs), 117
universalism, 18
universalistic view of science, 118
utilitarianism, 13
value-free objective science, xlviii
water-controversy, 21
Watson and Crick paradigm in science,
121–22
Western man, 7
Western science and modernity, lviii
Western science in India, xxvi
women in Indian Science, lxiii–lxvi
World Trade Organisation (WTO),
117
About the Editor and
Contributors

The Editor

Binay Kumar Pattnaik is Professor of Sociology, Department of

Humanities and Social Sciences, Indian Institute of Technology Kanpur.

The Contributors

E. Haribabu is Professor, Department of Sociology, University of

Hyderabad.

V.V. Krishna is Professor, Centre for Studies in Science Policy, School of

Social Sciences, Jawaharlal Nehru University, New Delhi.

Kamini Adhikari was formerly a professor of sociology at the Indian

Institute of Management Calcutta.

R. Sooryamoorthy is Professor, Department of Society and Social

Change, School of Social Sciences, University of Kwazulu Natal,
Durban, South Africa.

Wesley M. Shrum is Professor and Director of Graduate Studies,

Department of Sociology, Louisiana State University, USA.

Gurdeep Singh Aurora was formerly Professor and Head of the

Sociology Unit in the Institute of Social and Economic Change,
Bangalore.
216 Binay Kumar Pattnaik

Vithal Rajan is currently advisor to World Future Council. Formerly he

was at World Wildlife Fund, Geneva; Vice president, Oxfam India and
Chairman Governing Body/Confederation of Voluntary Associations,
Hyderabad.

V.K.R.V. Rao was a prominent professor, economist and politician of

India. Formerly he was the Director, Institute of Economic Growth,
Delhi; Member, Planning Commission; Union Cabinet Minister for
Transport and Shipping; Union Cabinet Minister for Education &
Youth Services; Director, Institute for Social and Economic Change,
Bangalore; National Professor, Government of India.

N.A. Mavalankar—Not known

Geeta Jayram Sodhi was formerly the Reader, Department of Sociology,

Sri Venkateswara College, University of Delhi (South Campus).

Pravin J. Patel was formerly Professor at the Department of Sociology,

M S University, Baroda, and was formerly Vice-Chancellor, Sardar Patel
University, Vallabh Vidyanagar, Gujarat.
Appendix of Sources

All articles and chapters have been reproduced exactly as they were first
published. All cross-references can be found in the original source of
publication.

Grateful acknowledgement is made to the following sources for permis-

sion to reproduce material for this volume:

1. “The Role of Science in Modern Society,” N.A. Mavalankar

Vol. 5, No. 1 (March), 1958: 1–8.

2. “Robert Merton’s Formulations in Sociology of Science,”

Pravin J. Patel
Vol. 24, No. 1 (September), 1989: 55–75.

3. “The Emergence of the Indian Scientific Community,” V.V. Krishna

Vol. 40, No. 1&2 (March–September (1991): 89–108.

4. “A Large Community but Few Peers: A study of the Scientific

Community in India,” E. Haribabu
Vol. 40, No. 1&2 (March–September), 1991: 77–88.

5. “Scientific Productivity: Sociological Explorations in Indian Academic

Science,” Binay Kumar Pattnaik
Vol. 52, No. 2 (September), 2003: 198–220.

6. “Scientific Goods and Their Markets,” Kamini Adhikari

Vol. 40, No. 1&2 (March–September), 1991: 133–150.

7. “Scientific Knowledge in India: From Public Resource to Intellectual

Property,” E. Haribabu
Vol. 48, No. 182 (March–September), 1999: 217–234.
218 Binay Kumar Pattnaik

8. “Science and Social Change: Emergence of a Dual Society in India,”

V.K.R.V. Rao
Vol. 25, No. 1 (March), 1976: 33–44.

9. “Is Kerala Becoming a Knowledge Society?—Evidence from the

Scientific Community,” R. Sooryamoorthy and Wesley Shrum
Vol. 53, No. 2 (May–August), 2004: 207–221.

10. “Green Revolution Technologies and Dryland Agriculture,”

G.S. Aurora
Vol. 40, No. 1&2 (March–September), 1991: 109–122.

11. “Traditional Potters and Technological Change in a North Indian

Town,” Geeta Jayram Sodhi
Vol. 55, No. 3 (September–December), 2006: 367–382.

12. “People’s Science: A Perspective from the Voluntary Sector,”

Vithal Rajan
Vol. 40, No. 1&2 (March–September), 1991: 123–132.
Sociology of Environment
Readings in Indian Sociology
Series Editor: Ishwar Modi

Titles and Editors of the Volumes

Volume 1
Towards Sociology of Dalits
Editor: Paramjit S. Judge

Volume 2
Sociological Probings in Rural Society
Editor: K.L. Sharma

Volume 3
Sociology of Childhood and Youth
Editor: Bula Bhadra

Volume 4
Sociology of Health
Editor: Madhu Nagla

Volume 5
Contributions to Sociological Theory
Editor: Vinay Kumar Srivastava

Volume 6
Sociology of Science and Technology in India
Editor: Binay Kumar Pattnaik

Volume 7
Sociology of Environment
Editor: Sukant K. Chaudhury

Volume 8
Political Sociology of India
Editor: Anand Kumar

Volume 9
Culture and Society
Editor: Susan Visvanathan

Volume 10
Pioneers of Sociology in India
Editor: Ishwar Modi
 READINGS IN INDIAN SOCIOLOGY
VOLUME 7

Sociology of Environment

EDITED BY
Sukant K. Chaudhury
Copyright © Indian Sociological Society, 2013

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or utilised in any form
or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by
any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the
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First published in 2013 by

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Contents

List of Tables ix
Series Note xi
Preface xv
Introduction by Sukant K. Chaudhury xvii

Section I: Conceptual Issues

1. A Demographic Approach to the Study of Urban Ecology
A. Bopegamage 3
2. Bombay: A Study in Urban Demography and Ecology
C. Rajagopalan 16
3. Ecology and Development in India: A Field and Its Future
Amita Baviskar 42
4. Towards a More Meaningful Study of Ecology, Society and
Culture 56
Indra Deva
5. ‘Environment’ in Sociological Theory 73
Indra Munshi

Section II: Environment and Displacement

6. Parks, People and Protest: The Mediating Role of
Environmental Action Groups 89
Ranjit Dwivedi
7. Displacement, Rehabilitation and Resettlement: The Case of
Maldhari Families of Gir Forest 123
Varsha Ganguly
viii Sociology of Environment

8. Coping with Development Pathologies: Resistance to

Displacement 139
T.K. Oommen
9. ‘They are All Set to Dam(n) Our Future’: Contested
Development through Hydel Power in Democratic Sikkim 154
Vibha Arora
10. Revisiting the Baliraja Dam Struggle: A Study of an
Environmental Movement in Maharashtra 176
Satyapriya Rout

Section III: Forest and Water Issues

11. Social and Ecological Drift of a Planned Urban Centre:
A Study of Rourkela, Orissa 201
Rajkishor Meher
12. How Effective are ‘Pani Panchayats’?: A Fieldview from
Maharastra 228
Manish K. Thakur and Binay K. Pattnaik
13. Vosaad: The Socio-Cultural Force of Water
(A Study from Goa) 255
Bernadette Maria Gomes
14. Forest Legislations and Livelihood Strategies:
Khasi Women in Rural Meghalaya 283
Rekha M. Shangpliang

Index 298
About the Editor and Contributors 304
Appendix of Sources 306
List of Tables

Chapter 1
Table 1 Percentage Distribution by Age and Sex of Each
Administrative Ward Population, Old Delhi City, 1931 6
Table 2 Proportion of Males per 100 Females at Different Age
Periods of Seven Selected Wards Lying along One
Arterial Highway between the Centre of Old Delhi
and Its Periphery 12

Chapter 2
Table 1 Growth of Population in the City of Bombay,
1872–1951 17
Table 2 The Proportion of the City-born Population and the
Immigrants in the City, 1872–1951 18
Table 3 Number of Females per 1,000 Males in the City,
1872–1951 19
Table 4 Civil Condition of the City’s Population, 1921–1951 20
Table 5 Population of the City Classified According to
Languages 24
Table 6 Sex Ratios among the Immigrants from the
Nine Contiguous Districts with the Decennial
Variation in Their Number, 1921–1951 25
Table 7 Age Structure of the City’s Population, 1872–1951 28
Table 8 Age and Sex Composition of the City’s Population, 1951 29
Table 9 Birth and Death Rates in the City, 1901–1951 30
Table 10 Average Number of Deaths of Infants under
One Year per 1,000 Live Births in the City, 1911–1951 31
x Sociology of Environment

Table 11 Gross Density in the City, 1872–1951 31

Table 12 Area and Population of the City Classified According to
Wards 32
Table 13 Ward-wise Density of Population in the City,
1872–1951 33

Chapter 7
Table 1 Gradual Decline in Resettled Families 127

Chapter 9
Table 1 Teesta Hydroelectric Power Projects 160

Chapter 11
Table 1 Growth of Population in Rourkela 1951–1991 204
Table 2 Migrant and Non-Migrant Population in the
Class-I Towns of Orissa during 1971 208
Table 3 Precentage Distribution of Males in the Urban Areas of
Sundergarh Born in Other States of India and in Other
District of Orissa, 1981 209
Table 4 Years of Residence of Heads of Households in
Rourkela 210
Table 5 Distribution of Personal Support Received by
Heads of Migrant Households in Rourkela 211
Table 6 Caste, Religion and Linguistic Distribution of
Households in Rourkela Assembly Constituency
According to 1984 Voter’s List 214

Chapter 12
Table 1 Taluka-wise Distribution of Pani Panchayats 233
Table 2 Aggregate Details of Pani Panchayats 233
Table 3 Details of Shindewadi Pani Panchayat 234
Table 4 Details of Pani Panchayats in Mahur 236
Table 5 Categorisation of Farmers in Mahur 236
Table 6 Landholding Pattern of Pani Panchayat Membership
(Households) 247
Series Note

The Indian Sociological Society (ISS), established in December 1951

under the leadership of Professor G. S. Ghurye at the University of
Bombay, celebrated its Diamond Jubilee in 2011. Soon after its founda-
tion, the ISS launched its bi-annual journal Sociological Bulletin in
March 1952. It has been published regularly since then. Taking cogni-
zance of the growing aspirations of the community of sociologists in
both India and abroad to publish their contributions in Sociological
Bulletin, its frequency was raised to three issues a year in 2004. Its print
order now exceeds 3,000 copies. It speaks volumes about the popularity
of both the ISS and the Sociological Bulletin.
The various issues of Sociological Bulletin are a treasure trove of the
most profound and authentic sociological writings and research in India
and elsewhere. As such, it is no surprise that it has acquired the status of
an internationally acclaimed reputed journal of sociology. The very fact
that several of its previous issues are no more available, being out of
print, is indicative not only of its popularity among both sociologists
and other social scientists but also of its high scholarly reputation,
acceptance and relevance. Although two series of volumes have already
been published by the ISS during 2001–05 and in 2011, having seven
volumes each on a large number of themes, yet a very large number of
themes remain untouched. Such a situation necessitated that a new
series of thematic volumes be brought out. Realising this necessity and
in order to continue to celebrate the Diamond Decade of the ISS, the
Managing Committee of the ISS and a sub-committee constituted for
this purpose decided to bring out a series of 10 more thematic volumes
in such areas of importance and relevance both for the sociological and
the academic community at large as sociological theory, untouchability
and Dalits, rural society, science & technology, childhood and youth,
xii Sociology of Environment

health, environment, culture, politics, and the pioneers of sociology in

India.
Well-known scholars and experts in the areas of chosen themes were
identified and requested to edit these thematic volumes under the series
title Readings in Indian Sociology. Each one of them has put in a lot of
effort in the shortest possible time not only in selecting and identifying
the papers to be included in their respective volumes but also in arrang-
ing these in a relevant and meaningful manner. More than this, it was
no easy task for them to write comprehensive Introductions of the
respective volumes in the face of time constraints so that the volumes
could be brought out in time on the occasion of the 39th All India
Sociological Conference scheduled to take place in Mysore under the
auspices of the Karnataka State Open University during 27–29
December, 2013. The editors enjoyed freedom not only to choose the
papers of their choice from Sociological Bulletin published during 1952
to 2012 but were also free to request scholars of their choice to write
Forewords for their particular volumes. The volumes covered under this
series include: Towards Sociology of Dalits (Editor: Paramjit S. Judge);
Sociological Probings in Rural Society (Editor: K. L. Sharma); Sociology of
Childhood and Youth (Editor: Bula Bhadra); Sociology of Health (Editor:
Madhu Nagla); Contributions to Sociological Theory (Editor: Vinay
Kumar Srivastava); Sociology of Science & Technology in India (Editor:
Binay Kumar Pattnaik); Sociology of Environment (Editor: Sukant K.
Chaudhury); Political Sociology of India (Editor: Anand Kumar); Culture
and Society (Editor: Susan Visvanathan) and Pioneers of Sociology in
India (Editor: Ishwar Modi).
Sociology of Environment (edited by Sukant K. Chaudhury is the
seventh volume of the series titled Readings in Indian Sociology. It can
hardly be overemphasised that Environment is of great concern to every
society since people depend on it for resource mobilisation, livelihood
and existence. However, environment or the ecosystem is endangered
because of population pressure, migration, technological changes and
changes in land use for livelihood practices and depletion, as well as
because of destruction of resources due to mega projects. As such, sus-
tainable development has become essential. The present volume consist-
ing of 14 articles is divided into three sections. While section one deals
with the conceptual issues, section two covers issues relating to environ-
ment and displacement, and section three analyses forest and water
SERIES NOTE xiii

issues. On the whole, this volume deals with different issues of ecology
and environment in a comprehensive manner.
It can hardly be overemphasised and can be said for sure that this
volume as well as all the other volumes of the series Readings in Indian
Sociology, as they pertain to the most important aspects of society and
sociology in India, will be of immense importance and relevance to stu-
dents, teachers and researchers of both sociology and other social sci-
ences. It is also hoped that these volumes will be received well by the
overseas scholars interested in the study of Indian society. Besides this,
policy-makers, administrators, activists, non-governmental organisa-
tions (NGOs) and so on may also find these volumes of immense value.
Having gone through these volumes, the students and researchers of
sociology would probably be able to feel and say that now ‘[w]e will be
able to look much farther away as we are standing on the shoulders of
the giants’ (in the spirit of paraphrasing the famous quote by Isaac
Newton).
I would like to place on record my thanks to Shambhu Sahu, Sutapa
Ghosh and R. Chandra Sekhar of SAGE Publications for all their efforts,
support and patience to complete this huge project well in time against
all the time constraints. I also express my gratefulness to the Managing
Committee Members of the ISS and also to the members of the
sub-committee constituted for this purpose. I am also thankful to all the
editors and all the scholars who have written the Forewords. I would
also like to thank Uday Singh, my assistant at the India International
Institute of Social Sciences, Jaipur, for all his secretarial assistance and
hard work put in by him towards the completion of these volumes.

Ishwar Modi
Series Editor
Readings in Indian Sociology
Preface

E
diting a volume on Environment has been a challenging but a
pleasing task because it is of great current relevance. No one
wants to destroy the earth, yet we hardly seriously deal with pre-
venting such destruction. The recent flood havoc in Uttarakhand, India,
has taught the whole humanity a big lesson to prevent mushrooming of
infrastructure and the rapid increase in number of tourists in ecologi-
cally vulnerable areas. The first and foremost task for the sociologists
and social anthropologists is to make a scientific study of the environ-
ment of the world including urban, rural and valley areas.
The present volume consists of 14 articles besides an Introduction
dealing with different issues of ecology and environment. These articles
are chosen from Sociological Bulletin and were published between 1951
and 2012. What I have found is that in 60 years of publication of
Sociological Bulletin, there are about 20 articles published concerning
environmental issues. It mainly started from the 46th Volume; that is,
only in the past 15 years, we have taken interest in environmental stud-
ies. The oldest was in Volume 9 when two articles on urban ecology
were published which are included in this volume. This volume is
divided into three sections: Section I deals with conceptual issues, that
is, now various aspects of environment can be understood sociologically;
Section II covers issues relating to environment and displacement and
Section III analyses forest and water issues.
For editing this volume, I received generous suggestions from
Professor I. P. Modi, President of Indian Sociological Society, and
Professor Vinay Kumar Srivastava, Department of Anthropology,
University of Delhi, besides many others. I am grateful to all of them.
Introduction
Sukant K. Chaudhury

E
nvironment today is of great concern to all of us, particularly in
light of the degradations that have taken place in the past century.
Environment is a part of ecology. Ecology is the study of relation-
ship between living species and their physical and biotic surroundings
through the exchange of calories, material and information. It is con-
cerned with all properties having a direct and measurable effect on the
demography, development, behaviour and space-temporal position of
an organisation. The study of ecology has been conducted by both biol-
ogists and social scientists. In social sciences, geography was the first to
have produced some ecological analysis. Later on, anthropology and
sociology started working on it. In sociology, the Chicago School of
Urban Sociology produced the ecological approach to study of urban
areas developed by Park & Burgess. Social sciences today are more con-
cerned about the social–cultural aspect of both environmental degrada-
tion and environmental sustainability. Today, environmental crises
already have their ill effects on all societies in general and small-scale
societies in particular, that is the tribals, hunters and food gatherers,
pastoralists and nomads, agriculturists, craftsmen and petty commodity
producers. In light of the above, the study of ecology and society assumes
great significance.
Both sociologists and anthropologists have dealt with environmen-
tal issues since long. Anthropological theories have revolved around cul-
ture; it has been viewed as the product of adaptation to a given
environment. The various approaches have dealt with environmental
determinism and environmental possibilism. Determinism tells us
about the deterministic role of environment in shaping culture, that is
xviii Sukant K. Chaudhury

variables like distance from sea, climate type, temperature, humidity,

wild rivers or mountains. They determine personality, physical features,
morality, politics, government, religion, material culture, kinship, mar-
riage and so on. On the other hand, possibilism, mainly started by Boas,
says that environment is only one factor; there are other factors like the
historical tradition, geographical, biological and psychological factors.

Theories of Ecology

Radha Kamal Mukherjee (1930, cf. Guha 1994) tried to develop an

ecological approach to sociology. He said that

[t]here is a balance between the natural and the vegetable and the animal
environment, including the human, in which nature delights . . . . However,
the balance is upset both by natural fluctuations such as are caused by cycles
of rainfall or changes of landscape and river or by long continued human
actions such as the destruction of forest, non-conservative agriculture, and
artificial interference with natural drainage . . .

He focused on the interaction between human beings, their culture

and nature population increase leads to environmental problems in the
sense natural resources are heavily plundered. These are cultivation, fall-
ing of trees, forest clearing, indiscriminate stock-grazing and intension
farming. Further, artificially improved plants are more useful to human
beings, to which Mukherjee says that

they are fitted to survive particular conditions of climate and soil. Men destroy
those plants which they do not tolerate men continuously expanded the yield
of crops and cereals. This led to over exploitation of the natural resources and
which force to bring a type of ecological disequilibrium.

Further Mukherjee says that “increasing population will bring in

more significance of relationship between human beings and the entire
range of ecological forces”.
In Anthropology, theoretical orientation has been given by many
including Daryll Forde, Julian, Steward, Leslie White, Edmund Leach,
Roy Rappaport, Roy Ellen and Clifford Geertz.1 All of them have
focused on the interplay between culture and environment in one way
or the other. Forde speaks on habitat and says that technological and
INTRODUCTION xix

economic elements are closely related to habitat than the expressive cul-
ture. Steward (1955) analysed the ‘culture core’ which consisted of eco-
nomic and subsistence activities. Here eco-culture adaptation becomes
paramount and the ‘cultural type’ is the product of these two factors.
Clifford Geertz (1963) spoke about the ecosystem, which is the logical
conclusion to the idea of constant interplay between culture, biology
and environment. Rappaport’s (1968) ecosystem theory tells us about
the way in which human population and the environment form an
interacting system. According to him, small-scale societies have a
homeostatic system out of the cultural, biological and natural variables,
in which disturbances are eliminated to produce a balanced system.
For environmental possiblism, one can refer to Edmund Leach’s
(1954) study of Kachin of highland Burma. Broadly, three socio-politi-
cal systems are found there: (i) Shan Aristocracy: It is a type of feudal
system having cultural sophistication; it is characterised by Buddhism.
They had trade routes with the Chinese. One of its communities did tea
plantation and were prosperous. They practised wet paddy cultivation
which probably they learnt from the neighbouring Hill Kachins. (ii)
Gumlao Democracy: It is found among the Hill Kachins having a kind
of political integration. It is not exactly the modern democracy, but has
some sense of egalitarianism. (iii) Gumsa: Practically, both Shan and
Gumlao are not constant and consistent. Ideally, a third type exists
called Gumsa that is a compromise between Shan Aristocracy and
Gumlao Democracy. It is feudal in nature having ranked hierarchy,
political integration and fixed relationship with the groups.
The Kachin area has three ecological zones, having three economic
types. The first type has a kind of Jhum cultivation having a long fallow
period, called monsoon taungya. Here wet rice is grown. The Hill
Kachin controls the area. Both Gumsa and Gumlao organisations are
found here. They are economically self-sufficient. Therefore, ecology
cannot be taken as the basis of these organisations, rather it may be one
of the factors. The second type is called grassland taungya, that is crop
rotation is found here. They also have cash crops. It has only the Gumsa
type of organisation. Rice cultivated here is not sufficient. Therefore,
they depend on the Shans of valley area for supply of rice. In this manner,
the ecological situation here requires compulsory cooperation between
the hill area and the valley area. Sometimes, in Shan valley that is feudal-
ism dominated, hence, prevented the development of Gumlao type of
xx Sukant K. Chaudhury

political organisation. The third type is irrigated hill terraces. Here, both
monsoon taungya and grassland taungya are found along with irrigated
hill terraces. Both Gumsa and Gumlao are found which are ecologically
not distinguishable. It has a high population concentration because it
lies on the trade routes of China and India. Their important source of
income is collection of toll tax from the caravans. Hence, it is not related
to any ecological facts. Further, when British Rule came, toll tax system
was scrapped, interestingly, terrace cultivation declined. In this manner,
Leach said that ecological conditions are not determining factor for the
creation of social organisation, rather it is one of the possible conditions.
However, Clifford Geertz criticised Leach and said that Gumsa organi-
sation cannot emerge, without a solid economic resource base. For
example, pastoralism cannot emerge in tropical forest areas, because it is
ecologically impossible to raise animal herds in such environment.
On the other hand, environmental determinism gives environment
a place of prime mover in shaping the culture and its organisation. It
gives a view of dynamic interaction between culture and environment.
Julian Steward’s (1955) theory of cultural ecology is very important
here. He spoke about the ecologically determined culture core, which
consisted of features clustered around subsistence economic activities.
Further, he emphasised the fact that societies are organised differentially
according to the complexity of their eco-cultural adaptation. Therefore,
the levels of socio-cultural integration are different in different cultures.
The combined product of culture core and the level of socio-cultural
integration is nothing but a culture type. Thus, cultures are formed
through economic and ecological factors. For him, a similar culture core
gives rise to similar culture types. For example, cultures evolving in riv-
erine valley surrounded by arid regions, such as the Nile, Tigris and
Euphrates, and Indus valley, shared a common culture core. They dis-
played common traits like irrigation, agriculture, city states, temple-cen-
tred religious system. They might differ in specifics, but they would
tend to follow the same evolutionary sequence. Culture, evolving in
tropical forest zone or in central desert will have different sequences
because their ecologically based core differs. For him, culture may follow
any of the several distinct lines of development rather than a single
sequence or a universally prescribed one.
His analysis of ecological adaptation of patrilineal band and com-
posite bands is unique. According to him, partrilineal band appeared in
semi-arid, tropical, forest and humid coastal environments. It accounted
INTRODUCTION xxi

for exploitative patterns of South African, Bushman, Congo, Negritos,

Australians and Tasmanians. Patrilineal band is a local group of genea-
logically related people who worked together because of subsistence
needs. Males were integral to the organisation of the group, since they
furnished primary food. They had simple technology, and knowledge
was acquired through the clustering of males. Therefore, partrilocality
was the natural choice. In this manner, patrilineal band came into being
which was exogamous in nature.
Similarly, composite band is an eco-social adjustment or adaptation
to the hunting and gathering of food that were seasonally cultured in
good quantity. It comprises unrelated nuclear families and was found
principally among hunters, fishers, gatherers and simple cultivators.
Plentiful supply of food permitted special arrangement that affiliated
other families (unrelated) with patrilocal base and brought about a com-
posite social group. Modifications were possible on social and demo-
graphic grounds; for example, if a man had no son or brother, then
matrilocal arrangement could be made. They had a flexible approach to
residence, shifting bases for membership and band exogamy. Steward
says that these were largely product of pragmatics of ecological adapta-
tion. In this manner, Steward gave prime importance to ecological adap-
tation and cultural change.
Clifford Geertz’s work on Indonesia (1963) is a kind of study of
ecosystem. As a result of Dutch rule, in which Javanese labour was sub-
stituted by Dutch capital, a new cultural system in Indonesia was intro-
duced. It led to a process of involution rather than diversification or
lineal groups because of the unique ecological condition in this area.
Cash crops like sugar and coffee were introduced, the population
increased tremendously, but the peasant subsistence remained static.
Geertz traced a close relationship between sugar, rice and popula-
tion. Sugar and rice require same ecological condition; therefore, com-
panies supporting sugar tried to improve irrigation facility in the area. It
led to a better rice production in the area. However, the level of con-
sumption was minimal because of rising population, notwithstanding
increasing rice production. Thus, the local people continued to work in
rice terraces—it is called agricultural involution, that is a process by
which a cultural pattern, instead of developing and transforming into a
new pattern, stabilises its basic form, but continues to become more and
more complicated internally. Thus, Geertz’s ecosystem idea showed a
constant interplay between culture and environment.
xxii Sukant K. Chaudhury

The ecosystem theory had been fully developed by Roy Rappaport

(1966). His book entitled Pigs for the Ancestors (1968) is the study of
Tsembaga Maring community of New Guinea. They are basically farm-
ers, but pig husbandry is very dear to them. It involves various rituals,
satisfies consumption needs and also helps in warfare. It is a unique
example of ecosystem theory according to which the human population,
the natural and biological environment form an interacting system. It
forms a homeostatic system in which disturbances that tend to eliminate
any of the variables are balanced out through the process of negative
feedback. It is a coherent system. Change in the state of any simple
components immediately results in proportional changes in the states of
all other components. For Rappaport, there are two models of environ-
ment: operational and cognized. The former is anthropologist’s con-
struct of how the system actually works. The latter is the conception of
the people who act in it. For the people, the second model is very
important because it guides their behaviour. The more suited it is to the
actual conditions of existence, the better adopted the people are to the
environment (cf. Channa 1994: 144). Thus, anthropological theories of
ecology provide a clear construct to understand the interplay among the
people, culture and environment.
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