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Language is a medium that allows us to communicate, identify, and express ourselves. However, this kind of expression, along with other social identities, usually results in systemic prejudice against particular communities. Whether it’s the language’s fundamentals, which reflect and reinforce gender binary norms, or its intersection with an individual’s religion, nationality, or place of belonging.

Religion, gender, and language are often categorised as the building blocks of an individual’s identity. Each of these factors influences a person’s beliefs, values, and perceptions of themselves and others. Often, discrimination based on religion, gender, or linguistic choices is seen independently; nevertheless, the confluence of gender and religion, as well as linguistic preference, has a significant influence on individuals and communities. While religion influences a person’s moral and ethical ideals, gender incorporates social and cultural expectations, and language both reflects and reinforces gender binary norms in society.  

Religion & Language:

Language has always been a fundamental tool for portraying a religion. Whether it’s Arabic for Islam, Sanskrit for Hinduism, or Hebrew for Christianity, all of these affiliations stem from sacred texts written in these languages. Harold Schiffman in his book, “Linguistics, Culture and Language Policy’ explains that “One of the most basic issues where language and religion intersect is the existence, in many cultures, of sacred texts […]. For cultures where certain texts are so revered, there is often almost an identity of language and religion, such that the language of the texts also becomes sacred…”) 

However, with the need for a separate identity, this linkage of languages tied to certain religions mutated over time. The shift in language of South Asian Muslims to Urdu, Hindus to Hindi, and Christians to English is an important example of this. This language shift describes how linguistic choices change as the need for a separate identity grows. 

However, these linguistic freedoms quickly devolved into systemic discrimination against minority populations. Massive protests erupted at Banaras Hindu University (BHU) in 2020 over the appointment of a Muslim associate professor in the faculty of literature of Sanskrit Vidya Dharm Vigyan (SVDV). Protesters argued that a Muslim professor would be incapable of teaching Sanskrit, a Hindu language. NDTV writes, “The administration backed the professor. The panel that selected him, which includes Professor Radhavallabh Tripathi, one of India’s most eminent Sanskrit scholars, repeatedly said he(the appointed Muslim professor) was the most qualified candidate.”

Not only that, but hate campaigns and violence erupted in various parts of India in light of the use of Urdu in advertisements for ‘Hindu festivals.’ Nivedita Menon, a professor at the Centre for Political Studies at JNU, told Al Jazeera, The Hindutva project sees Urdu as a ‘Muslim’ language. And invisibilising Urdu is part of the larger project of marginalising the Muslim community, in fact, physically eliminating it.” Linguists and historians contend that Hindi and Urdu evolved from ‘Khadi Boli,’ a dialect of the Delhi region, and are profoundly influenced by Persian, Turkish, Arabic, and Sanskrit. This hatred of a language because its identity is associated with a minority religion, despite its origins in India, highlights how segregation and systematic hatred towards minority religions are carried out through the use of languages.

Gender & Language:

Languages reflect and reinforce gender norms and the gender binary. This has an intricate connection with the culture, religion, and history of the language. In recent years, queer activists and linguists all over the world have advocated for the necessity of gender-neutral terms. While some languages incarcerate gender in binaries, others prove gender’s presence outside of binaries by not gendering inanimate objects. While individuals assert that gender-neutral language is a Western concept, many Indian languages dispute this claim. Languages like Bangla, Assamese, Bhojpuri, Kannada, Angika, Maithili, and others do not limit gender into binaries, while Sanskrit uses masculine, feminine, and gender-neutral terms to refer to inanimate objects.

However, the most widely spoken languages, such as Hindi and French, do enforce binary. So, why are certain languages unable to use gender-neutral verb conjugation? While extra research is needed, basic efforts by native speakers of these languages may increase the possibilities of making these languages inclusive for everyone.

“On my first day of my bachelor’s degree, when I addressed myself as ‘hum’, my professor asked me how many people I am addressing with myself.”- Chandan Kumar, in an article by Youth ki Awaaz. This linguistic rigidity is a result of the Hindi belt’s class superiority. Hindi teachers must stop such rigorous pronoun implementation, and textbooks should be revised to include a discussion of gender outside of binaries. Another source of optimism is the use of second-person pronouns in Hindi. The usage of ‘aap’ while speaking to elders or as a sign of respect, regardless of gender, supports the idea that ‘aap is neutral and assuming someone’s gender is disrespectful.’ Aside from this, we can make our language more inclusive by not strictly categorising non-living things as masculine or feminine.

While language has the potential to bring people together, it can also be used to isolate and oppress them. While individuals argue that changing language to incorporate gender-neutral terminology is impossible since language represents history and culture, the development and shift to new languages by religious communities as the need for a separate identity emerged rejects this notion.

Read Also: Language and Patriarchy: The Case of Gendered Language

Featured Image Credits: Deccan Herald

Dhruv Bhati

[email protected]

 

 

The following piece seeks to present yet another easily dismissive view (read rant) of a Muslim in India. All names, people and incidents mentioned are NOT fictitious. Resemblance to any past event of dictatorship and fascism is NOT AT ALL coincidental. Any attempt to debase the piece as “anti-national” comes from a shrouded majoritarian privilege.

Few days back while I was flipping through the memories laden pages of my eleventh standard Political Science NCERT textbook revelling on the old nostalgia, I chanced upon Faiz Ahmed Faiz lines in one of the cartoons.

Hum to thahre ajnabi kitni mulakato ke baad

Khoon ke dhabbe dhulenge kitni barsaaton ke baad

(We remain strangers even after so many meetings

Blood stains remain even after so many rains.)

Indeed, the ongoing insurgency of our once dear democracy in the hands of the incumbent government gave new meanings to these lines. It is a known fact that the constant othering of the Muslims and other minorities has been normalised and conveniently subsumed in the state apparatus in the recent years. This manufacturing of hatred by the ruling party is certainly not a new phenomenon, but the extent to which it is practiced is certainly something that cannot be easily dismissed. The dehumanisation and humiliation experienced by certain sections of the people, especially religious minorities, cannot be easily language-d.

An imam stabbed and shot to death in a mosque that was burnt to the ground. A young doctor, walking home, set upon by an armed mob who thrashed and molested her. A teacher asked a kid to slap his classmate. An MP ridiculing another MP “terrorist” and hurling dehumanising slurs in the Indian Parliament. The incidents which took place in India over the last few months (and are increasingly a common sight), are seemingly unconnected, yet the victims were united by a common factor: they are all Muslims.

“In the early days of my college, in a class of 80+ students, my friend who was sitting beside me and I were made to stand up, our identities assumed because we were wearing hijab and asked by one of our senior professor, in a very condescending tone, if we ever faced discrimination in India,”

-a second year student of Delhi University.

A socially identifiable Muslim that fits in the perfect imagination of a stereotypical archetype is often seen at odds with the usual surroundings–worthy of suspicion, stares and second looks. In times of blatant and unapologetic Hindutva outfit of the government, practicing religion in public has become an increasingly dangerous exercise. A burkha donned lady is more carefully and suspiciously frisked at the metro station so does a cap wearing long bearded Muslim is exoticised and immediately seen as out of the place. Last month, when the violence against Muslims broke down in several parts of the country, I remember my father telling me that he has removed the hanging from his car’s rear-view mirror that had the verses of Qur’an written on it, as a step towards “precaution”. Muslim families are increasingly moving towards, what they consider, “religious neutral” names like Alia, Amir, Ayesha etc. to avoid being outrightly identified as Muslims. People avoid putting nameplates on their front doors for the fear of becoming targets of Hindutva outfits in the next communal violence. In such a political environment of Right-wing extremism, the public practice of religion for the minorities is becoming difficult day by day.

Another second year student who wishes to remain anonymous expressed her grief,

“I see way too many people than I’d like, defending violence against Muslims by turning the table and just blaming the Muslims for committing the violence themselves. Most of the times it’s my acquaintances or even friends; it makes me wonder how they actually perceive me.”

Being an ordinary Muslim in India involves waking up to at least one Islamophobic news and then for the rest of the day dissimulating your own identity for the fear of being identified. After a point our identities are just subsumed in the mere everydayness of these stories of discrimination and violence. The identity of a Muslim is battered against the social realities of the present systemic state oppression and is mutilated every single day–the vilified hypersexual outlook of Muslims that feed into the insecurity of the hyper-masculine Hindutva narrative of the nationalist discourse. The ritualistic nature of endless and unresponsive humiliation has led to conscious effort to not socially “appear as Muslims”; running away from our own identities. Will an ‘Indian Muslim’ continue to be an oxymoron? How long will our words of endearment—ammi, abbu, bhaijan, aapa will be misappropriated to give perverse connotations? How long our citizenship questioned, our identities thwarted, our cultures denigrated and our existence diminished? Maybe in the end of the day, what remains is the tiredness and a helpless resignation when we are questioned and made to question ourselves—who are we?

Read Also: Islamophobia in Delhi University’s Student Community: A myth or Reality?

Image credit: The Indian Express 

Samra Iqbal

[email protected]

Within the dichotomy of growing up in metro cities and of belonging to places far removed from them, exists the colourful void that is your identity. But don’t they say that too many cooks spoil the broth?


All of my life I have struggled with being Haryanvi. Born and brought up in Gurgaon (we will never call it Gurugram), I have seen both sides of the story–the gaon and the galiyaan of Haryana and the elitist metropolitans that exist on the fringes of it. I have always existed in the middle of these two worlds: too elite for the Haryanvi kids but too “rowdy” for the city ones, something which always left me struggling with my identity.

 

Stepping outside Haryana and moving away from its people, you come across a different (if you ask me, distorted) image of Haryana–its people are rude, its culture is not modern, its the land of Fortuners and doodh, dahi, aur ghee–and even though there are things that might be true, but the demarcation of the culture of a whole state as “barbaric”, for the lack of a better word, is outrageous.

 

Living in Delhi NCR makes you come face-to-face with a very mutated version of the Haryanvi culture. For most, it becomes a culture that is the voice of political parties and a platform for all your gaalis. It becomes an identity of the “uneducated”. “Haryana walon ke toh munh hi nhi lgna chahiye (You shouldn’t get involved with people from Haryana)” is one version of the many taunts and judgments that have come to be accepted by people over time. Schools ban you from using the language because more than being associated with a culture, it has come to be associated with a select few, who have gone on to create a specific image—one that we are all okay turning a blind eye to—and this is the image that gets carried home. “I usually try staying away from people who say that they are from Haryana. It might be prejudice but I wouldn’t want to take that risk,” said a third-year student, in conversation with DU Beat. 

 

With a rise in an elitist crowd and an even more elitist NCR culture, Haryana has come to be that one state everyone conveniently forgets. Now, when asked, even Gurgaon is seen as being a part of NCR before it’s a part of Haryana.

 

But on the flip side, exists another reality, completely opposite. Adoption of the Haryanvi culture, particularly the Haryanvi language and the distinct, heavy accent that comes with it, has become a commonplace phenomenon in the Delhi NCR circuit. When you look around, you see a certain accent being used by the Delhi kids. You see that same accent find its way into the NCR, from Noida to Faridabad. From schools to colleges to drivers on the road, you find the echoes of Haryana, if not its whole culture.

 

This accent might be very Haryanvi, but that doesn’t necessarily mean those who use it are. Most people speaking the language or imitating the accent are imposters, romanticising the existence of a culture that is shunned by too many. This might be out of love for the culture but it ends up doing more harm than good, simply because it usually turns out to be nothing more than the appropriation of an image of Haryana and its people that is more about chaud and tora. Most people in this crowd end up using Haryana for reasons of the wrong more than of the right, trying to capitalise on this image that the other half has created of Haryana in their heads, a villain of their own making.

 

Stuck between these two opposing sides—in a tug-of-war of language, culture, state, and identity—sits the real Haryana. No culture is without faults of its own, but the least it can ask of people is to be true to themselves. The doodh, dahi, aur ghee are the base pillars of Haryana in its truest form, but then so are its people. A certain rise of voice here and a different accent there don’t make the culture of Haryana a monster to be feared or a beast to be tamed. To the outsider, each culture may be a specimen, and words of love can be of hatred, but it’s only Haryana that knows the love it hides behind its Bawlibooch and Bawli Tared.

 

Feature Image: The Tribune

 

Manasvi Kadian

[email protected]

What if your options did not have to be between queer ally or queerphobia? What if your options could rather be between flawed and flawed?


TW: Queerphobia

“It is only a pollution instigated by the West!” or “This goes against Indian sabhyata!” are just some of the things you might have heard when the discussion approaches queerness— in any shape and form; statements, that more often than not, have come to become the defensive pedestal of the right-wing, hetero-patriarchal ideology of modern India. But to what extent can it be considered the gospel truth (minus, of course, all the homophobic sub-text)? 

From vows of celibacy going hand-in-hand with intimate same-sex friendships, to rebirth in different gender forms, or sex change and the existence of gender fluidity— accounts from ancient India might have been somewhat successful in pulling a thin curtain over the Indian queer reality but that doesn’t make India devoid of queer representation. Mahabharata with its story of Shikhandini or Shikandi, King Bhagiratha with his two mothers, the story of Babur and Baburi, or the existence of an Indianized version of Achilles and Patroclus found in the walls of the Jamali Kamali tomb, all points far away from the fact that India’s “sabhyata” might have only existed in gender binaries.

But that doesn’t mean that living in ancient India as a queer person was a bed of roses; It also had its own share of thorns. With extremes like depictions of same-sex intimate interactions being largely confined to Rakshasas (a literal demonisation of queer identities) to Manu smriti listing a range of quixotic punishments for homosexual men and women, the relation between queerness and Indian history isn’t much less of a Pandora’s box— it might seem all bright and rainbow-coloured from outside but the real horrors only come through when the box finally lies open in your hands. 

So, does that mean that all those statements made under the veil of nationalism and rightist ideologies are true? Does it mean that phrases stringed together in hatred and queerphobia are what we need to fall back to?

When the landmark Article 377 verdict was given by the Supreme Court, Rajya Sabha MP Subramaniam Swamy took to telling news channels how “homosexuality is a genetic flaw”. This was the same person who had earlier told the media that “being gay is against Hindutva” and it needs a cure (Source: moneycontrol.com). But couldn’t that easily be just one person’s point of view out of a few hundred? Or is that something only said because the queer community happens to be a huge vote bank nobody wants to lose out on?

It is true that the British came to India and brought something in this regard with them; just that the something wasn’t the reality of queerness but, in contrast, the institutionalisation of queerphobia with the Vatican’s puritanical ideology finding its echo in the anti-sodomy law, something that did not leave India even when the Britishers did.

These two sides of a coin that exist when talks of queer identity travel through the air of India—in whispers or in free cries, in solidarity or in phobia — are as flawed as they are pure. Two rotting but shiny sides,  existing as an anomaly in oxymorons, leave you with only one outcome, however impossible: the coin landing on its edge, the coin landing on neither. 

 

Feature Image: economictimes.indiatimes.com

 

Manasvi Kadian

[email protected]

DU Beat’s Sex Amma column started off as an anonymous advice column for students delving into college life and exploring their sexuality and identity. It was a column meant to facilitate a conversation on something normal, but so often frowned upon. It was supposed to be a safe space for students to discuss personal issues and educate readers about topics considered taboo with people their own age, with no fear of judgment or assumption. And for the past 13 years, has continually been so.

Criticism and feedback are what keeps a public forum relevant. DU Beat is where it is today because of a combined effort of the team as well as our viewers and audience that makes us, us. A column that had started with good intentions – in an attempt to tackle serious and important issues in an accessible, easy and humorous manner – ended up derailing from its original goal, and turned into something that goes against some of the main principles of DU Beat – clarity, facts, and most of all, respect.

We firmly believe that talks about sex and sexuality, especially in a society that outlaws them as much as ours does, is extremely important, and thus, should continue. After reading the feedback provided by Amal Mathew’s article for the LiveWire, we took the author’s comments into consideration and realised that it was coming from a valid place. We took a long, hard look at ourselves and, as is our duty, decided to course correct.

The misplaced use of words and analogies to describe something as natural and intrinsic as sex can misinform and confuse readers – an end result that is far from our intention. We never meant to showcase disrespect or disregard for any community, and for the hurt caused, we would like to humbly apologise. Our leadership is committed to making our platform a place where everyone feels respected and valid, and we shall be taking active steps to right our errors.

The main points raised in the article were:

  1. Sex Amma’s content contains misplaced words and descriptors that can confuse readers – the food analogies were specifically called out.
  2. Sex Amma’s content uses culturally insensitive tropes and language to talk about sex.

Here are the redressal steps that our editorial team will be committing to:

  1. We shall work to provide clear and unambiguous language when discussing and educating our readers about sex. We realize that while the food analogies were written with the aim to amuse, they can be misinterpreted and confuse the reader. Therefore, we will be rethinking the manner in which Sex Amma offers advice and do away with the using of food as an indicator for certain body parts.
  2. Food and cuisine are extremely important aspects of our identity; we realize that using these as analogies can come across as distasteful, even though that was not our intent. Moving forward, the editorial team shall do away with using culturally significant descriptors and language, and work harder to make our content more inclusive and accessible.

We hope to ensure that Sex Amma is a column that provides a space for talks about sex and sexuality with no disrespect. Though these steps might be belated, we are fully committed to correcting our mistakes.

Sex Amma, ultimately, is a character created as a progressive, strong woman who is not afraid to talk about sexual health. Female sexuality is often frowned upon, but Amma is unabashed and here to help the students of DU without judgement or condescension. We will ensure that with the help of these steps, Sex Amma, as a column, goes back to what it was originally meant to be – a column to educate our readers about traditionally censored topics and experiences.

Shreya Juyal

Editor-in-Chief

[email protected]

DU Beat’s Sex Amma column started off as an anonymous advice column for students delving into college life and exploring their sexuality and identity. It was a column meant to facilitate a conversation on something normal, but so often frowned upon. It was supposed to be a safe space for students to discuss personal issues and educate readers about topics considered taboo with people their own age, with no fear of judgment or assumption. And for the past 13 years, has continually been so.

Criticism and feedback are what keeps a public forum relevant. DU Beat is where it is today because of a combined effort of the team as well as our viewers and audience that makes us, us. A column that had started with good intentions – in an attempt to tackle serious and important issues in an accessible, easy and humorous manner – ended up derailing from its original goal, and turned into something that goes against some of the main principles of DU Beat – clarity, facts, and most of all, respect.

We firmly believe that talks about sex and sexuality, especially in a society that outlaws them as much as ours does, is extremely important, and thus, should continue. After reading the feedback provided by Amal Mathew’s article for the LiveWire, we took the author’s comments into consideration and realised that it was coming from a valid place. We took a long, hard look at ourselves and, as is our duty, decided to course correct.

The misplaced use of words and analogies to describe something as natural and intrinsic as sex can misinform and confuse readers – an end result that is far from our intention. We never meant to showcase disrespect or disregard for any community, and for the hurt caused, we would like to humbly apologise. Our leadership is committed to making our platform a place where everyone feels respected and valid, and we shall be taking active steps to right our errors.

The main points raised in the article were:

  1. Sex Amma’s content contains misplaced words and descriptors that can confuse readers – the food analogies were specifically called out.
  2. Sex Amma’s content uses culturally insensitive tropes and language to talk about sex.

Here are the redressal steps that our editorial team will be committing to:

  1. We shall work to provide clear and unambiguous language when discussing and educating our readers about sex. We realize that while the food analogies were written with the aim to amuse, they can be misinterpreted and confuse the reader. Therefore, we will be rethinking the manner in which Sex Amma offers advice and do away with the using of food as an indicator for certain body parts.
  2. Food and cuisine are extremely important aspects of our identity; we realize that using these as analogies can come across as distasteful, even though that was not our intent. Moving forward, the editorial team shall do away with using culturally significant descriptors and language, and work harder to make our content more inclusive and accessible.

We hope to ensure that Sex Amma is a column that provides a space for talks about sex and sexuality with no disrespect. Though these steps might be belated, we are fully committed to correcting our mistakes.

Sex Amma, ultimately, is a character created as a progressive, strong woman who is not afraid to talk about sexual health. Female sexuality is often frowned upon, but Amma is unabashed and here to help the students of DU without judgement or condescension. We will ensure that with the help of these steps, Sex Amma, as a column, goes back to what it was originally meant to be – a column to educate our readers about traditionally censored topics and experiences.

Shreya Juyal

Editor-in-Chief

[email protected]

Sometimes loving yourself means taking a break from giving so much of yourself to the rest of the world.

-Angel Lindberg Vazquez

 In today’s world, there is this wide uproar to embody the best virtues you discover around yourself. To be more accepting, to be more outgoing and to lose yourself; because reportedly losing yourself is the key to finding your truest essence – arguably, there is some truth to this too. More often than not, this philosophical outbreak confuses me in all my trial-and-error methods of understanding the young minds in college. Are we truly accepting, to the high extents that we presume ourselves to be? Are we truly that welcoming? These are all subjective answers, and unsurprisingly, the youth will agree that they are all these things and much more. But it is our duty to question, to doubt and therefore to discover the truth. Now truth, again, is a matter that is governed by perspectives. So what we do infer is that to discover truth, you need to discover yourself. This discovery will root from the retaining of your own identity. Your own self.

It is natural for many of us to feel at home in college; to not be outcasted. We are fed with this idea that college life is all about the people and your experiences. But in college, you will realise that there are prejudices, hypocrisies, and vanities – present as they are everywhere. You will realise that you are not smart enough, or have some other inferiority of your own liking. These days you will be shook, when you face a reality that will question your outlooks. The most challenging task that you have to accomplish then is to find an answer. It is not that difficult, look closely and you will find answers – within yourself. My argument borders on pessimistic idealism, some might say, but always remember, the greatest power is in you. No question is too big nor too difficult for your comprehension. Believing in yourself is the first step towards the manifestation of the best version of you. And this is what college is about – becoming.

There are some days, when people will make you question your mannerisms and behaviorisms. When you will be left to fend for yourself – am I being too judgemental or too critical or am I out of place? In my not so humble opinion, the fear of judgement feeds on insecurities. Preaching acceptance and practising it are diametric, to say the least. One of my seniors told me once, that to have a judgment means to have an opinion; and that is the idea of education – to invite our self-introspection, to form opinions. In rude terms of this materialistic world, when something true takes roots, others will try to escape from it or in other words, they will escape from themselves; and in that they end up losing themselves. Once assumptions are made, once people start presuming, the only thing to do is steel ourselves against their supposedly true ideas. I have learned this time and again that apology is not taken in its intended spirit by an ignorant mind. It is always something that diminishes your own character in their eyes.

The choice is always ours, and ours alone.

People don’t like people for being people these days. You like a model, an ideal image of a character. If someone doesn’t suit that image, you will criticise them, and not even to their face. They can claim all their shams of maturity and sensitivity/sensibility are true, but they know the truth, and unsurprisingly, we do too. When something real happens, people will revert to their unrealistic models. And for all I know, I am not a model. And neither are you.
Judgment and criticism and appreciation follow in a particular fashion, but more often than not, ignorance will only have eyes for the first two.

Whatever you are, hold true to it. Embrace yourself and then embrace this world. No one is you, and that is your power.

 You might be wondering – what is the meaning of friendship and acquaintances then? I do not seek to inspire anyone into a lifestyle of devil-may-care attitude, at all. All I wish for us to learn is that there is a truth, sheer truth within us. I wish to tell you that obstinacy of a character that you are is not wrong. I wish to tell you that this obstinacy must also be withdrawn; not because someone tells you to do so, but because you feel this yourself. So never falter in your own musings, because the best that the world deserves is you and vice versa.

Always question and always answer yourself.

Some days, when I am myself,

Alone and alone, self-cornered, self-doubted,
I fail to explore myself, even when
I am, I think, myself.
And these days I ask myself
In no uncertain terms: who am I?

I forget myself these days,
Failing reminders – I am,
I am myself and my joy is in me.
That endless joy, unmeasured,
Unending – I am, I was, I will be.
An endless ocean, my deepest depth, I am.

Strange how I should lose myself,
Bereft of warmth, bestowed with doubt.
On days like these, when you make me
Question myself and all of me,
I feel reduced, but I learned to rise too.
And so I will, always. I will.

Because on these days,
When I lose myself to your denial,
I find myself too, and I find more.
More to Myself.

 

Feature Image Credits: Favim

Kartik Chauhan
[email protected]

 

 

One lovable thing about Delhi is that it belongs to one and all.  It is a delightful mixed bag of all cultures. It is perhaps one of the only cities where you’ll probably find a Bengali, a Gujarati, a South Indian, an Assamese, and a Bihari – all sitting on one table. Similarly enough Delhi University has its wings spread out in all directions, people from all over the country aspire to graduate from DU.

Over the years, DU has managed to create its very own set of regional stereotypes. Why does one have to be a “bong” a “gujju” a “mallu” a “bhaiyya” or a “chink”? A sense of ‘otherisation’ trickles in with the casual labelling people do to those who aren’t from Delhi. There is absolutely no reason why we should reduce ourselves and others to our regional identities.

If you’re from anywhere outside Delhi, you’re expected to know everything from the language to the myths, the fluency, the music, the dance, the recipes and even the soil type. The stereotype goes like this- if you’re a Bengali, you’re supposed to know all about Satyajit Ray and Tagore, you’re supposed to know which halvai sells the best and most authentic mishti doi and sondes, you’re expected to know ten different ways of frying fish; if you’re a south Indian, you’re expected to know all the dances, you’re expected to pick out the best kanjiverem silk by its texture, you’re expected to know how to fry dosas; if you’re a Kashmiri, you’re expected to be romantic, poetic, and (ridiculous as it may sound) even pretty; and if you’re from the northeast, then you’re expected to love momos and know all about tattoos and piercings  and affordable fashion.

It is considered unnatural for someone from Haryana to be anything but rowdy, just like it is considered natural for jaats to be the gundaraaj of the ilaaqa. The “Delhi Boy” memes would probably explain better. There are “tips” for each region as well, be it “Bongtips” “Rajasthan tips” or “Delhitips”. Sadly enough, the generation of iPods has adopted the trend of categorisation, which has further led to regional stereotyping.

Perhaps regional jokes, region-wise tips, memes, etc don’t mean much harm, but somewhere in the middle of all the casual labelling, the jokes, the general assumptions, etc have smudged the thin line between assertion of one’s regional identity, and limiting oneself to it. Somewhere in the midst of all this, we are forgetting one very important fact-that anyone can do anything, or be anything.