उमेद देणारी माणसं

माझा नुकताच डॉ. आ. ह. साळुंखे या विख्यात विचारवंत, विद्वान, आणि साहित्यिकांच्या लिखाणाशी परिचय झाला— श्री राजू परुळेकरांनी घेतलेल्या त्यांच्या एका मुलाखतीद्वारे. ही मुलाखत YouTube वर उपलब्ध आहे - link. 

(राजू परुळेकरांच्या कामाबद्दल विशेष कृतज्ञता- Thank you!) 

मी संस्कृतमध्ये MA करत असताना संस्कृतच्या जगात किती जातिवाद आहे हे माझ्या लक्षात आले. काही शिक्षक आणि विद्यार्थी बहुजनांना, विशेषतः दलितांना, सरसकट कमी लेखायचे. त्यांच्याबद्दल त्यांच्या मनात असलेली हीन भावना ते अगदी सहज आणि निःसंकोचपणे व्यक्त करायचे. हे सगळं बघून मला इतका मोठा धक्का बसला की, “सुरू केले आहे तर संपवले पाहिजे,” या भावनेने मी MA पूर्ण केले खरे; पण माझा संस्कृतमधला रस मात्र संपूर्णपणे निघून गेला होता.

लवकरात लवकर संस्कृतपासून दूर कसे जाता येईल, यासाठी मी धडपडू लागले.

त्यानंतर मी फ्रेंच भाषेवर माझे सगळे लक्ष केंद्रित केले. काही काळ मुंबईमध्ये फ्रेंच शिकवत होते. पुढे मी शिक्षण (Education) या विषयात PhD पदवी मिळवली. त्यावर काम करत असताना अमेरिकेमध्ये teaching assistantship अंतर्गत होतकरू शिक्षकांना (B.Ed.च्या विद्यार्थ्यांना) ‘बहुसांस्कृतिक शिक्षण’ (Multicultural Education) हा विषय शिकवू लागले.

पुढे DEI (Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion)—म्हणजे विविधता, समता आणि समावेशकता—या क्षेत्रात एका अमेरिकी नॉन-प्रॉफिट संस्थेत काम केले. या सगळ्या प्रवासात ‘Social Justice’ (सामाजिक न्याय) हा विषय माझ्या मनाला भिडत गेला आणि आता तर मला दुसरे काही सुचतच नाही.

मी श्रीमंत घरात जन्मले नाही. पण मध्यमवर्गीय, विशेषाधिकार (privilege) लाभलेल्या ब्राह्मण कुटुंबात जन्मल्यामुळे मला शोषण ह्या विषयावर आयुष्यभर शिकत राहावे लागेल. कारण मी काही गोष्टी कधीच अनुभवू शकणार नाही. माझ्या identity मुळे, माझ्या नकळत, माझ्या मनात अजूनही काही पूर्वग्रह असू शकतात—ज्यांचा सतत विचार करून स्वतःमध्ये बदल घडवण्याचा मी प्रयत्न करत राहीन.

आजवर माझा जन्म ज्या जातीत झाला, त्यामुळे मला अनेक गोष्टी सहजपणे मिळत आल्या आहेत, ज्या इतर जातींच्या लोकांना खूप कष्ट करूनसुद्धा अनेकदा मिळत नाहीत. ज्या समाजव्यवस्थेमुळे हे शक्य झाले, ती समाजव्यवस्था आमूलाग्र बदलण्याच्या कामात माझा इवलासा का होईना, पण हातभार लावण्याची माझी इच्छा आहे.

गेल्या दीड दशकात संस्कृतपासून दुरावल्यामुळे संस्कृतसंबंधित माझे जवळजवळ काहीच वाचन झाले नाही. जातीवादी, मनुवादी लोकांच्या scholarship किंवा विद्वत्तेमध्ये मला काडीमात्रही रस नाही. त्यामुळे साहजिकच, जेव्हा मला कळले की डॉ. साळुंखे यांच्यासारखे विद्वान या जगात आहेत आणि त्यांच्या लिखाणाचा एवढा मोठा खजिना उपलब्ध आहे, तेव्हा मला कधी एकदा त्यांची पुस्तके वाचायला सुरु करते असे झाले.

याआधी असेच मला डॉ. रूपा कुलकर्णी यांच्याबद्दल कळले होते. त्या नागपूर विद्यापीठाच्या संस्कृत विभागाच्या माजी विभागप्रमुख असून त्यांनी बुद्ध धर्म स्वीकारला आहे. त्यांच्या मुलाखती मी YouTube वर पाहिल्या होत्या; पण त्यांची पुस्तके अजून वाचलेली नाहीत. तीही लवकरच मिळवण्याचा प्रयत्न करीन.

डॉ. साळुंखे यांचा चार्वाकावर गहिरा अभ्यास आहे, प्रभुत्व आहे. खरे तर त्यांना ललित लेखक व्हायचे होते. पण संस्कृत साहित्याचा अभ्यास करताना हे ज्ञान बहुजनांना उपलब्ध करून देणे ही आपली नैतिक जबाबदारी आहे, असे त्यांना वाटले. म्हणून त्यांनी ललित लेखन सोडून वैचारिक लेखन करण्यास सुरुवात केली. (ही माहिती परुळेकरांच्या वीडियो मधून मिळाली) 

त्यांची काही पुस्तके—उदा. ‘मनुस्मृतीच्या समर्थकांची संस्कृती’—ई-बुक स्वरूपात उपलब्ध आहेत. हे पुस्तक घेऊन मी सध्या वाचत आहे. पण त्यांची इतर पुस्तके—‘आस्तिकशिरोमणी चार्वाक’, ‘विद्रोही तुकाराम’, ‘सर्वोत्तम भूमिपुत्र गौतम बुद्ध’ इत्यादी—फक्त कागदी स्वरूपात मिळू शकतात.

ही पुस्तके शोधत असताना माझ्या वडलांची विदर्भातील एका पुस्तकविक्रेत्याशी ओळख झाली. माझ्या बाबांनी अलीकडेच या विक्रेत्याकडून ‘मनुस्मृतीच्या समर्थकांची संस्कृती’ची कागदी प्रत विकत घेतली होती. त्यांनी त्या विक्रेत्याला डॉ. साळुंखे यांच्या इतर पुस्तकांबद्दल विचारले आणि सांगितले, “माझ्या मुलीला वाचायची आहेत.”

त्यावर ते म्हणाले, “अरे वा, वाह! किती छान. मी तुम्हाला लगेचच यादी पाठवतो.”

आणि चक्क अर्ध्या तासात त्यांनी त्यांच्याकडे असलेल्या साळुंखे यांच्या सगळ्या पुस्तकांची शीर्षके आणि किमतींची एक हस्तलिखित यादी तयार करून पाठवली. मी परदेशात राहत असल्यामुळे मला हवी असलेली सात पुस्तके पोस्टाने पाठवण्याचा किती खर्च येईल, हेही त्यांनी काही तासांत कळवले.

मी त्यांना WhatsApp वर मेसेज पाठवला आणि म्हटले, “तुम्ही हे जे काम करता ते खूप महत्त्वाचे आणि चांगले आहे. त्याबद्दल thank you!”

त्यावर ते म्हणाले—

“थँक्यू दीदी, मी फक्त फुले-शाहू-बाबासाहेब यांची पुस्तकं विक्री करतो.”

हे ऐकून मला भरून आले. त्यांचे खूप कौतुक वाटले.

मुळातच पुस्तकविक्री हा फार पैशाचा धंदा नसावा. त्यातही नैतिक मूल्यांवर ठाम राहून फक्त फुले-शाहू-बाबासाहेबांची पुस्तके विकायचे ठरवले, तर बहुधा विक्री आणखी कमी होत असावी. तरीही पैशासाठी आपल्या तत्त्वांशी तडजोड न करता हे काम चालू ठेवणे खरंच कौतुकास्पद आहे.

मी त्यांना म्हटले, “मला नुकतेच डॉ. साळुंखे यांच्याबद्दल कळले आणि कधी एकदा त्यांची पुस्तके वाचायला सुरु करते असे झाले. मला जसे—उशिरा का होईना—त्यांच्याबद्दल कळले, तसेच अजून लोकांना त्यांच्याबद्दल कळावे, त्यांनी त्यांची पुस्तके तुमच्याकडून विकत घ्यावीत आणि वाचावीत, अशी माझी इच्छा आहे.”

सध्या भारतातून आणि जगभरातून वाईट, भयानक, चिंताजनक बातम्याच आपल्या कानावर पडतात. Instagram वर कुत्र्या-मांजरांचे videos सोडले, तर मन प्रसन्न होईल असे फारसे काही दिसत नाही. कोणाशी बोलायला गेले तर अंधभक्त भेटतात आणि अजून निराशा वाटू लागते.

अशा परिस्थितीत या पुस्तकविक्रेत्यासारखी एखादी व्यक्ती भेटली की खूप आनंद होतो. आणि समाजात चांगला बदल होऊ शकतो, अशी आशा बाळगण्याचे पुन्हा एकदा धाडस मिळते.

या छोट्याशा संवादाने मला नवीन उमेद मिळाली. तशीच उमेद तुम्हालाही मिळो, ही सदिच्छा! ❤️

आणि जर तुम्हाला डॉ. आ. ह. साळुंखे यांनी लिहिलेली पुस्तके—किंवा फुले-शाहू-बाबासाहेबांवरील पुस्तके—वाचायची असतील, तर मला कळवा. मी तुमची भेट या पुस्तकविक्रेत्याशी करून देईन.

(माझे संपूर्ण शिक्षण इंग्रजी माध्यमातून झाले आहे. माझे बहुतांश वाचनही इंग्रजीतच झाले आहे. मराठीत पहिल्यांदाच इतके लिहिले आहे. त्यामुळे काही चुका असतील तर प्लीज माफ करा! 🙏)

Standard "Shuddha" Marathi and The Sound of Caste

 A lot is being said about Vidyanand Bapat’s “शुद्ध/ चांगली/ स्पष्ट ” (pure/ good/ well-enunciated) Marathi. Have you also stumbled upon memes where he has been called the Marathi Shashi Tharoor (refering to his command over Marathi)?

 
I want to urge us to think about how the current discourse on the language he uses is loaded with casteism.

At the outset, let's call it what it is. What Bapat is speaking in is Brahmanical Marathi which is considered “standard”… and is also often aspirational for non-Brahmins. 

Language is one of the easiest weapons humans use to classify people in a hierarchy and discriminate against them. Language carries a lot of power and Brahmins have known very well how to use it to their advantage and to exploit Bahujans and keep them perpetually subordinated. 

When I was in Mumbai in 2024, I spoke in Marathi with someone and they suddenly interrupted me mid-sentence and asked, “what’s your surname?” They then proceeded to say, “meaning, Brahmin right?” Without waiting for me to say anything, this person said in a voice thick with awe and admiration, “you don’t have to tell me you are. Who else could speak such शुद्ध (pure) Marathi?” And then made very appreciative comments about how clear my pronunciations are, how well I enunciate etc. 

So many complex layers here. I got my style of Marathi from my home and then it was also shaped by my learning of Sanskrit to a certain extent. I haven’t, unfortunately, read as much Marathi as I should have or retrospectively speaking, would have liked to. Very frankly, I’ve almost read no Marathi literature. So this linguistic capital came to me entirely due to the identity I was born into and doesn’t really speak to any personal effort on my part. Yet, I promptly reveal myself when I open my mouth to talk in Marathi and get treated unnecessarily and unfairly better than others because of how I speak. The irony is that I actually think more easily in English (case in point - I am writing this in English and not Marathi). So just look at how ludicrous it is that my Marathi gets compliments and yet someone else, who is not a Brahmin but who has spent far more time and effort and perhaps feels a deeper connection with Marathi than I do gets mocked and treated poorly because it is not “standard” and/ or is a regional variant. This is completely underserved Brahmin privilege. 

I do not mean to say that if I had worked harder on Marathi and achieved this standard language through effort then that should have made me deserving of this privilege.  Language is for communication. If that is achieved, then the use of language has been successful. We must consciously make an effort to stop associating standard language with notions such as 'good/civilized/ pure" etc. We don't realize how easily we dehumanize people, but it is rampant. I will elaborate on this with some very current examples from the social media realm.  

(1) I noticed a few minutes ago that Avadhoot Gupte has dropped a fresh, new song in support of Vidyanand Bapat and the first lines are “स्वच्छ वाणी अन स्वच्छ विचार यावर हसणारी माकडं” - literally translating to “the monkeys who laugh at (his) clean language and clean thoughts". How problematic is this! This idea of "स्वच्छ" is very directly reminiscent of concepts of purity and untouchability. So, people who don't speak like Bapat are 'unclean'? And then he takes it further and dehumanizes them to 'monkeys', and with this metaphor, we directly evoke ideas such as 'animal', 'uncivilized', 'wild', 'savage'. etc.
 

(2) I also watched a reel Nupur Shikhare (clearly a doom scroller here) made where he’s imitating Bapat’s "घटं भिन्द्यात् पटं छिन्द्यात् कुर्यात् रासभरोहणम् " Sanskrit verse referencing and his famous स्खलन स्वातंत्र्य (right to err) comment. Many a Marathi content creator are playing with this and making fun reels. But what caught my attention was Sukanya Kulkarni Mone’s comment right below Nupur's reel. She said,  “चला, ह्या निमित्ताने तू छान मराठी … संस्कृत बोलायला शिकलास” 

(Translation: “oh wonderful.. thanks to this (Bapat situation) you have learned to speak good Marathi.. Sanskrit” ) 

I was triggered by this. How easily and without even an iota of self-doubt do Brahmins appoint themselves judges of linguistic ability! What gives Ms. Kulkarni-Mone the authority to call this version of Marathi “good” and then to applaud Nupur .. if not her caste that comes with heaps of privilege? Note: She didn’t say “we are learning good Marathi”. It was “you are learning”.. so her Marathi (like Bapat’s) is good and  she wants to congratulate him for starting to catch up? I don’t know what Nupur Shikhare’s caste is.. but I imagine it is not Brahmin (I may be wrong, please correct me if so), because Ms. Kulkarni-Mone is unlikely to take such liberties with a fellow Brahmin. Sure, she attempted to soften it with the "” emojis, but that unfortunately does not hide the casteism loaded in her comment. 

As much as I enjoy and joyfully consume Bapat’s use of Marathi (it really is lovely to watch his fluency and vocabulary) and also his command over English and his Sanskrit-verse dropping, I want to state clearly that Bapat is able to do this because he has had a leg up since the time he was in the cradle. He was born in a Brahmin family where this kind of Marathi (which Brahmins decided was standard and shuddha and whatnot) was just normal. He may personally have a knack for languages and he may have consumed a lot of literature and fortified his linguistic abilities. But the fact  that it gets appreciated and admired has mostly, if not entirely, to do with his identity, the easy access it provides to resources, and the very problematic ideas of purity and 'civilized-ness'. There are so many other people with just as much of a command over “non-standard” Marathi who do not get this kind of adulation. 

Bapat absolutely can and should be appreciated for the extraordinary courage he has shown in taking up a rational stance and making a very reasonable demand in a situation where a lot of the people involved are irrational and unreasonable. He knows he is putting his life at risk (which is condemnable, no one should feel threatened because they are asking for no loudspeakers and lowered noise pollution) and he is doing this with full awareness. I salute him. But do not use yet another Brahmin for his “good” Marathi to continue this linguistic oppression. All styles, accents, dialects of Marathi are great. Some of us just have easier access to standard language. But we must absolutely not call his (and other Brahmins') language pure and continue to demean, belittle, and perpetuate this age-old oppression against speakers of non-standard varieities. 

The moment we call one version of Marathi 'स्वच्छ/शुद्ध ,' we are calling those who speak other versions 'impure and dirty'. 

Neither Here, Nor There - A Particularly Lonely Kind of In-Betweenness

Jaayein toh Jaayein Kahaan?

I moved out of India right before the 2014 elections, right before the arrival of the Modi regime. So, I haven't seen firsthand the damage this government has caused within the country. I've read about it, watched the videos, heard from friends and family, and kept myself informed from a distance. 

For eleven years after that, I lived somewhere with very few Indians. The interactions I did have with the diaspora left an impression I couldn't shake: an unofficial competition to prove who was the "true" torchbearer of Indian culture, who remembered it best, who performed it most zealously. Back then it stayed contained – in basements, temples, rented halls for someone's celebration – all very private. It had, to me, an irritating vibe, and I stayed away and went on to build friendships across every kind of background instead, based on the plainest, simplest thing we shared: our common humanity. 

Then, after eleven years of that cushioned, comfortable distance, I tore myself out of the community I had created, and moved to Texas, right in the thick of the anti-H1B narrative, which lands on Indians whether we like it or not. It was surreal to suddenly be surrounded by so many Indians again. Surreal, too, to see how many cultural events there were, and then to hear about what was happening not just here but across other pockets of Texas with dense Indian populations. And it turned out that everything I'd found embarrassing, crass, worth avoiding back then was all still here. Except now it was on steroids. 

An abhishek for a film star, with gallons of milk poured onto public streets. Ganesh Chaturthi processions blaring through residential neighborhoods with no thought for the people who live there. Poojas staged in public spaces. People bathing in rivers and lakes with soap and shampoo. Reels of people dancing in the strangest possible locations, including, at one point, the National World War II Memorial. These aren't rumors; there's no shortage of footage, and some of it has made the news. Until a few years ago, this stayed private. Something shifted. With Modi, and the rise of Hindutva, we seem to have decided that being obnoxious in public is not just tolerated but protected, maybe even desired, as though it's supposed to inspire awe and respect in the people watching us. We should be proud of our culture. 

I want to say clearly: this is not my culture. My culture does not inconvenience people at busy airports. It does not pollute the rivers and lakes we claim to revere. Even if, historically, some of this was demanded of people like me (and I know the whataboutery is coming), I'm intelligent enough, and wise enough, to not repeat what can be completely avoided. 

For the nearly thirteen years I've lived in the US, I've mostly kept my distance from the diaspora, for exactly the reason I realized back in 2014: it so often becomes a competition over who's "more Indian," who's more devoted to a version of the culture frozen in the moment someone left the country, sometimes decades ago, still living in an India that no longer exists. I was perfectly happy losing that competition. I'd rather live in the present than try to resurrect somebody's idea of the past. I found people, Indian and not, with whom I could have interactions that meant something. 

Not anymore. Now, when someone who isn't ethnically Indian looks at me, I know part of what they might see. "She's probably one of the ones who dances at airports." I wonder if I've been filed away before I've said a single word. Categorized as a cultural exhibitionist, which is the furthest thing from who I actually am. It's a choice I made a long time ago, deliberately. That sting is real. It affects the opportunities that come my way. It shapes the kind of social interactions I get, and don't get. 

I don't blame the people who are ethnically not Indian and are native to this country for that. In any minority-majority dynamic, the burden has always fallen on the minority: to acculturate, to figure out which parts of our identity can coexist with the dominant culture and which can't. That's not new, and it's not unique to us. But it doesn't make it easy to carry. 

I wonder if the less-than-warm, sometimes prickly nature of interactions here, is a Midwest-versus-South thing, or a direct reaction to the anti-H1B rhetoric, or simply a response to the behavior I've just described. Perhaps it is all three. What I do know is that we, those of us who never wanted the exhibitionism in the first place, seem to have lost our footing on both sides. Not quite comfortable with the diaspora around us. Not quite given a fair chance by the culture we live in now. 

A very particular, very lonely kind of in-betweenness.

Tuxedo: One Year In

Information about "Tango" at the shelter

 On July 5, 2025, a day after the devastating floods in Central Texas, I came across a social media post from a local shelter appealing to the community to temporarily foster some of the dogs and cats in their care. We wanted to do something, and this seemed to be the one thing we could do. On a whim, we took off to the shelter, and three hours later returned home with a black, white, and grey dog with two different colored eyes, estimated to be about six or seven months old. I chose him because he aggressively licked my eight-year-old's fingers when he slipped his hand into the enclosure (despite me telling him not to), and I just knew, deep in my bones, that this dog would not hurt my kids.

Our home, which had lost a lot of its cheer through the many hits 2024 flung at us — the worst being the loss of Sherlock — suddenly woke up to peals of laughter and shrieks of joy, and at times also ick, thanks to the puppy's slobber, doled out liberally through violent licks.

His first photo in our backyard

On July 9, the shelter had scheduled him to come in for his neuter surgery. I arranged for an e-collar for after, and picked up a new bag of food since we were running low on what came home with him. The kids and I reached the clinic and were told, rather gleefully, by the person checking him in, that there was no need to come back to pick him up — he'd be put on a truck immediately after surgery and taken to another shelter in a different city.

Eh... what?

"Do you want to adopt him? If you adopt him, he won't be sent to the other shelter."

We had not bargained for that. I genuinely thought we'd have him for a couple of weeks, or until another family expressed interest — that we'd have time to prepare ourselves.

Instant streams of tears and wails from the kids. My eyes welled up too. I called my husband — the practical one in this family (I never really grew up fully) — and told him. He was shocked as well. "Do you want to adopt him?" he asked.

"We can't send him off on a truck right after surgery, can we?"

He couldn't do that either. "Do you love him?" he asked.

"I like him," I said. "He's sweet." And then, to comfort his own fears as much as mine: "Well, we could always rehome him ourselves." 

Back home post surgery, officially ours

And that was that. I signed some papers, and eight hours later, when we picked him up, he was ours. He came with the name Tango from the shelter. We didn't love it. My brother-in-law suggested Tuxedo, for his black coat and white chest and belly. So he became Tuxedo.

Tuxedo — this black Great Dane–Blue Heeler mix (that's our best guess; we don't know for sure) — was an unlikely choice for me. I usually gravitate toward retrievers and German Shepherds. I like Great Pyrenees too. If you'd asked me, I would have said I go for dogs with lighter coats. But clearly, he was the one.

Life with Tuxedo began. My younger daughter, who was only four when Sherlock passed, hadn't really formed a deep bond with him — she'd pet him only when we coaxed her to. With Tuxedo, though, you could always find her right next to him, her entire hand in his mouth, him diligently suckling on her fingers. He did the same to my son.

My expectations of Tuxedo were low — mostly just don't bite my kids. What can I say? There was never really a question of that. It was his interactions with them that made me fall hard for him. He has been their ultimate fanboy — always sticking close, always wanting to be near them, to the point that I've felt a little envious. I wanted that same adulation for myself.

He's a weird little one. One blue-gray eye, one brown, which makes him look like either a very alert guard dog or an affectionate loverboy, depending on which side you're looking at. Head-on, he just looks wary and suspicious — head bowed slightly, staring at you from several feet away with profound concern and worry. Since he came into our lives, we've lost count of how many times we've said, "Gosh, you are so weird!" or "किती विचित्र कुत्रा आहे."

He's big — 72 pounds — with a loud bark. So when we get unwanted solicitors at the door, I hold him back by the collar while he barks, and, quite predictably, they're afraid. Little do they know the most they need to worry about is his slobber. Still, I'm glad he looks scary. And I'm glad he's a little delusional about wanting to protect me — because if he sensed real fear in me, I know he'd go after whoever caused it. The same was true of Sherlock, who was a वसुधैव कुटुम्बकम् (the whole world is my family) kind of dog.

For a while, I thought I was betraying Sherlock by bringing home another dog. 

Sherlock. My gorgeous 'fur'st baby 💛💛

Grief is complicated. I went through a phase of entertaining thoughts of reincarnation. Sherlock died in August 2024. This boy was seven or eight months old in July 2025, which would put his birth around October — and a dog's pregnancy is about nine weeks. So it was possible, I told myself, that Sherlock's soul had slipped out and found its way into this odd little puppy, who then found his way back to us. It seemed even more plausible given how unlikely a choice a black Great Dane mix was for me. Believing it made it easier to love Tuxedo — I could tell myself I was still just loving Sherlock.

I don't think about it that way anymore, though. He's far too weird for that. Endearingly weird, but weird all the same.

What I've come to realize is this: esoteric ideas about reincarnation aside, loving Tuxedo is the same as loving Sherlock — because all dogs are love, personified. That's all they give us, and all they ask in return. They all come from the same source.

Tuxedo - at home 💛💛

Today marks a year since Tuxedo became part of our family. There's something different about loving a dog whose birth story, and the story of his first few months, we know nothing about. And maybe that's exactly why it feels so overwhelming to watch him grow to trust us, and to be loved by him so wholly. He'd spent only two days in our house before he first sprawled himself belly-up on our sofa. He's been home ever since.