Dear Reader,
It was a misty Saturday morning in Delhi. I found myself heading to the office unusually early to tackle some pending tasks. As was my habit, I hailed an auto rickshaw for the journey. Delhi was in the grip of winter, with temperatures hovering below 5°C, reducing visibility on the roads. My trip, which began at Chander Vihar in Patparganj, encountered a brief pause near Allah Colony when the auto driver spotted something and brought the vehicle to a stop. Initially frustrated, the driver’s demeanour softened upon closer inspection.
There stood a young girl, seemingly out of breath, clad in a short skirt and a white shirt, with a sizeable backpack. A quick assessment suggested she was an athlete or sportsperson. Her eyes, filled with anxiety, scanned the auto. Had she been hoping for an empty ride? Her disappointment was palpable at seeing me inside, bundled up and relying on heavy breathing to stave off the chill. She took a closer look at me and inquired in Hindi: “Bhaiya, Sarai Kale Khan ki ore jaa rahe ho kya?” (Are you going towards Sarai Kale Khan?) Sarai Kale Khan housed the Nizamuddin railway station, conveniently en route to my office in Ashram. I nodded.
Her relief was evident. Between breaths, she explained her predicament: she was stranded, unable to get a ride to Sarai Kale Khan. Her mother was ill and her father away working in Uttar Pradesh. “Bhaiya, auto share kar lein?” (Can we share a ride please?) she pleaded. I studied her face, struck by its innocence. Perhaps 13 or younger, her hood seemed to mirror her tension.
She kept talking: if she missed her badminton session she might not be selected for a school-level match in Agra. Glancing at the driver, who didn’t seem to care, and asked her to step in. She hastily stowed her bag in the auto, poised to board, then hesitated. After a fleeting glance around, she asked, candidly and apologetically: “Mein Mohammadiya hun, theek hei na bhaiya?” (I’m a Muslim. Is that okay, brother?)
My heart sank. I felt a wave of emotions—shame, sorrow, frustration, complicity—wash over me. It took me a moment to compose myself. Perhaps interpreting my silence as rejection, she withdrew, retrieving her bag and apologising, “Sorry, bhaiya... aapko dekh ke laga aap south Indian ho. Meri mummy bolti hain ki hum log South ke logon ko trust kar sakte hain.” (Sorry. I assumed you were south Indian. My mother told me we could trust people from the South.”) Quickly regaining my composure, I smiled at her and said: “I’m from Kerala,” I proudly said. Before we reached Nizamuddin station, we were in an animated conversation about the “South”, particularly Kerala and Tamil Nadu.
This incident took place in 2009. Narendra Modi’s influence was largely confined to Gujarat, or so we believed. Manmohan Singh was the Prime Minister, while Arvind Kejriwal was on the cusp of making his mark in Delhi politics. Most of us in the media were focussed on criticising the UPA government for “policy paralysis”, a term that, in hindsight, seems quaint given the myriad “paralyses” facing the country today. Yet, here was a young Muslim girl, who had astutely placed her finger on the South’s pivotal role as a bulwark against the BJP’s anti-minority agenda.
Nearly 15 years later, the significance of the southern States in resisting the exclusionary politics of the Sangh Parivar is evident. Despite concerted efforts by the RSS and its affiliates to polarise pockets of the South, the States remain steadfast.
Several factors contribute to this resilience. Chief among them is the enduring influence of movements such as Communism and Dravidian ideology. Left-wing political parties, deeply rooted in select south Indian States, champion secularism and social justice as their fundamental tenets. The Dravidian movement, born in the early 20th century, boldly challenged the hegemony of dominant-caste Hinduism, advocating for equality and social justice. This movement not only laid the groundwork for secularism but also nurtured a robust regional identity very distinct from the North. Further, regional parties, by prioritising local issues over national agendas that promoted religious majoritarianism, have played a crucial role in maintaining secular governance models here.
South India’s storied anti-colonial struggles, known for transcending religious divides, fostered a spirit of tolerance and interfaith cooperation. The region has always boasted a diverse religious landscape, with sizeable populations of Christians, Muslims, and other minorities. This diversity, in turn, has fostered a culture of acceptance that goes against religious majoritarianism.
While the caste system persists in south India, its manifestation differs markedly from the North. Social reformers such as Periyar and Narayana Guru played a pivotal role in challenging caste rigidities. Also, higher literacy rates and better social mobility in south India have contributed to a progressive mindset that stresses on individual rights and equality.
While challenges persist, it is undeniable that the South stands tall in its commitment to secularism and social justice, offering a compelling alternative to the divisive politics of the Sangh Parivar. In this context, Frontline explores the region’s strengths, challenges, and the prospects it offers for a secular future. We invite you to begin with the very insightful essay written by Karthick Ram Manoharan, “How Dravidian politics offers a bulwark against the exclusionary politics of Hindutva”.
As always, write back with your comments.
Wishing you a lovely week ahead,
For Team Frontline,
Jinoy Jose P.
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