Complaint and allegations

The application, filed under Section 175(3) of the Bharatiya Nagarik Suraksha Sanhita (BNSS), was moved by Manisha Pande on behalf of six complainants, all media professionals associated with the digital platform Newslaundry. The complainants alleged that Mitra had, through a series of posts on his X handle, repeatedly used sexually derogatory language to describe them, including referring to them as “prostitutes” and characterising their workplace in deeply offensive and demeaning terms.

The complaint specifically relied on multiple tweets, including one dated April 28, 2025, containing explicit and abusive language directed at the organisation and its women employees. Another tweet dated February 8, 2025, targeted Pande individually with sexually explicit and degrading remarks. Screenshots of these posts were placed on record before the Court.

Court’s Findings: “Sexually coloured remarks” and prima facie offence

Judicial Magistrate First Class Bhanu Pratap Singh, after examining the material on record, found that the content of the tweets clearly fell within the category of “sexually coloured remarks.” The Court noted that the language used was not merely offensive but carried a clear intent to demean and insult the dignity of the complainants, particularly as one of the tweets explicitly named Manisha Pande.

On this basis, the Court held that the allegations, supported by documentary material, prima facie disclose the commission of cognizable offences under:

• Section 75(3) of the Bharatiya Nyaya Sanhita (BNS), which penalises sexually coloured remarks, and
• Section 79 of the BNS, which deals with acts, intended to insult the modesty of a woman.

The Court’s reasoning underscores a recognition that online speech, when sexually abusive and targeted, can attract serious penal consequences under criminal law.

Necessity of police investigation in cyber context

The court order emphasised on the need for a police investigation, particularly given the digital nature of the alleged offences. Observing that the acts were committed in cyberspace, the Court held that investigative intervention was necessary to:

• Verify the authenticity and ownership of the X account from which the tweets originated, and
• Trace and recover the electronic devices used to publish the content.

Court criticises inadequate police response

The Court also expressed dissatisfaction with the Action Taken Report (ATR) filed by the police. It noted that the report failed to consider the specific tweets relied upon by the complainants, thereby rendering the response incomplete and inadequate.

In light of its findings, the Court directed the Station House Officer of Malviya Nagar Police Station to:

• Register an FIR against Abhijit Iyer Mitra under Sections 75(3) and 79 of the BNS, and
• File a compliance report by May 4, 2026.

The application under Section 175(3) BNSS was accordingly disposed of.

Parallel defamation proceedings before Delhi High Court

The criminal proceedings arise alongside a pending civil defamation suit before the Delhi High Court, where the complainants have sought a public apology and damages amounting to ₹2 crore. In those proceedings, the journalists have contended that Mitra’s posts were not only defamatory but also deliberately malicious and intended to harm their professional reputation and dignity.

The High Court had earlier taken note of the objectionable content and reportedly admonished Mitra, following which the posts in question were taken down. An application seeking rejection of the defamation suit remains pending adjudication.

The order may be read here:

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Though often overlooked in official narratives, Shariati remains one of the most influential intellectual figures behind the Iranian Revolution. His ideas, which linked Shi’ism with modern revolutionary theories drawn from thinkers such as Frantz Fanon and Jean‑Paul Sartre, helped shape the ideological climate that culminated in 1979.

Revisiting his legacy is essential not only for understanding Iran’s modern history but also for examining the broader intersections of religion, social justice, and political transformation in the Muslim world.

Born in 1933 in Mazinan, Shariati grew up in a religious household during a turbulent era. The 1953 overthrow of Prime Minister Mohammad Mosaddegh and the Shah’s subsequent modernization drive—perceived by many as an attempt to erase cultural and religious roots in favor of Western approval—formed the backdrop of his intellectual evolution. Shariati’s activism led to imprisonment, and later, study in Paris, where exposure to existentialist and anti‑colonial thought profoundly shaped his worldview. He rejected Marxist materialism but embraced its critique of inequality, reinterpreting Islamic history to highlight figures such as Abu Dharr al‑Ghifari as symbols of resistance and social equality.

From this synthesis emerged Shariati’s concept of “Red Shiism,” a dynamic, activist Islam rooted in sacrifice, justice, and resistance, inspired by the legacy of Karbala. His slogan “Return to the Self” urged Muslim societies to break from blind imitation of the West and rediscover their intellectual heritage. His lectures and writings reframed Islam not as a passive spiritual refuge but as a force for liberation, capable of mobilizing the masses against tyranny. By the late 1970s, his ideas circulated widely among students and activists, laying the intellectual foundations of revolution.

Shariati’s critique extended beyond Marxism to liberalism and existentialism, which he faulted for neglecting the spiritual dimension of humanity. In works such as Marxism and Other Western Fallacies: An Islamic Critique, he argued that Islam offered its own emancipatory paradigm, distinct from Western secular traditions. He did not seek to make Islam socialist but rather employed Marxist sociological tools to galvanize Muslims into revolutionary action. His criticism of Iran’s Marxist Tudeh Party underscored his insistence on adapting political thought to Iran’s cultural and religious context.

Although Shariati died in 1977, two years before the revolution, his intellectual imprint was unmistakable. Pakistani writer Mukhtar Masood recorded that Iranians across social strata identified Shariati as the architect of the movement. Yet, as the revolutionary state consolidated power, charismatic leadership overshadowed intellectual activism, and Shariati’s role receded into obscurity. His story illustrates how revolutions often celebrate political victories while neglecting the thinkers who shaped their ideological foundations.

Shariati’s legacy endures as a reminder that religion, when reinterpreted through the lens of justice and resistance, can become a powerful agent of social transformation. His vision of Islam as a force for liberation continues to resonate in debates over faith, identity, and political change across the Muslim world.

Author is freelance journalist.

Courtesy: CounterView

The post Faith recast as social justice? Revisiting Shariati’s vision of Islam as liberation appeared first on SabrangIndia.

Yet, almost as quickly as the legal process began, the case moved beyond its evidentiary foundations. Across television debates, digital media platforms, and social media networks, it was reframed as something far more expansive: a coordinated religious conspiracy, a conversion racket, even what some political figures and commentators began calling “corporate jihad.” These framings did not emerge from the FIRs, nor from confirmed findings of the investigation. Instead, they were constructed through a mix of speculation, political rhetoric, and amplified media narratives.

Media coverage and television debates across channels began invoking terms like “corporate jihad” and “love jihad” shortly after the first FIR was filed on March 26, 2026, even as the investigation was still in its initial stages. The first FIR centred on a complaint filed by a 23-year-old employee at Tata Consultancy Services’ Nashik unit, who alleged that a colleague, Danish Shaikh, had induced her into a relationship on the false promise of marriage, engaged in a physical relationship with her, made derogatory remarks about Hindu deities, and spoke in praise of Islam. According to Newslaundry. she further alleged that she later discovered he was already married with two children. These framings, which did not appear in the FIRs themselves, played a key role in shifting the narrative from specific allegations to a broader, and as yet unsubstantiated, claim of organised conspiracy.

This trajectory is not without precedent. The murder of Shraddha Walkar—a case that was, at its core, one of intimate partner violence and extreme gender-based brutality—was similarly pulled into a communal frame in sections of media and public discourse. What should have remained a conversation about violence against women, coercive relationships, and systemic failures was, in many instances, recast as evidence of a larger religious conspiracy. The language of “love jihad,” which had circulated in political discourse earlier, found renewed force in Maharashtra in the aftermath of that case. It was no longer invoked as an abstract claim; it was anchored to a specific, widely publicised crime.

Detailed report may be read here.

The consequences of that shift were not merely rhetorical. The communal framing of the Walkar case fed into mobilisation on the ground, with far-right groups organising rallies and demonstrations that explicitly linked individual acts of violence to broader claims of religious targeting. These mobilisations, in turn, contributed to a political climate in which the idea of regulating interfaith relationships—particularly those involving conversion—gained renewed traction. Over time, this discourse fed into legislative developments, including the push for and eventual passage of strict anti-conversion frameworks in Maharashtra. What began as a criminal case involving one victim and one accused thus became part of a larger ideological and policy arc.

Detailed reports may be read here and here.

The pattern is instructive. Individual acts of violence or alleged wrongdoing are lifted out of their specific contexts and embedded within broader narratives about community, identity, and threat. In the process, the nature of the case itself changes. What begins as a question of individual accountability and institutional responsibility is transformed into a story about collective identity and civilisational conflict. The focus shifts away from the victim, the evidence, and the mechanisms of justice, and towards questions of community, intent, and imagined networks.

The TCS Nashik case now sits within this pattern. Its rapid reframing as a case of organised religious conspiracy echoes earlier moments where gender-based violence or criminal allegations were communalised to serve broader political narratives. To understand it fully, it must be read along two tracks—what the FIRs and investigation actually establish, and what the public narrative has turned it into. The distance between these two is not incidental; it is the story itself.

The Genesis of the FIRs: Intervention, mobilisation, and legal framing

What remains crucial—but often underexplored—in the public telling of the case is the genesis of the FIRs themselves. The trajectory from an individual complaint to the registration of nine FIRs within days raises important questions not only about the allegations, but also about how the case entered the criminal justice system.

According to statements made to Newslaundry, Nitin Gaikwad, a local leader affiliated with the Shiv Sena, acknowledged that he and members of Hindutva groups were involved from the very beginning. He stated that they met the complainant and “counselled her for at least two to three days,” after which they accompanied her to the police station to register the FIR. He further claimed that “all Hindu organisations” had come together in this process under the banner of a united “Sakal Hindu Samaj,” though he did not name specific groups.

Gaikwad also indicated that this involvement did not end with the filing of the first complaint. He stated that they continued to assist the police by identifying other individuals and sharing information, following which further action was taken. This account suggests that the case evolved not solely through institutional mechanisms, but through a combination of community mobilisation, political involvement, and police action.

The first FIR reportedly named three individuals. In the span of the following week, eight additional FIRs were registered, all at the same police station, with some filed in rapid succession, including multiple complaints in a single night. The pattern and pace of these filings point to a case that quickly expanded in scope, moving from a single complaint to a cluster of allegations involving multiple accused.

Instead, several FIRs invoke Section 3(5) of the Bharatiya Nyaya Sanhita (BNS)—the provision relating to acts done in furtherance of common intention. This suggests that the police are, at least in part, examining the allegations through the lens of possible coordinated conduct among individuals, rather than as evidence of a broader, ideologically driven conversion network.

This brings the focus back to a critical question: do allegations of workplace sexual harassment—undoubtedly grave and demanding institutional accountability—necessarily require immediate criminalisation through police intervention, particularly when workplace redressal mechanisms exist? Or does the route through which these complaints were mobilised and formalised reflect a more complex interplay of legal process, social intervention, and political framing?

Data from the Maharashtra State Commission for Women for 2023–24 provides important context for understanding how workplace-related complaints are typically registered and addressed. Out of a total of 12,019 complaints handled during the year, the overwhelming majority relate to marital disputes (4059 cases) and broader social issues, including rape (2940 cases). In comparison, complaints specifically categorised as sexual harassment at the workplace number just 69, with 44 disposed of during the same period. This indicates that while such cases are serious, they form a relatively small proportion of the overall complaints landscape.

A broader category of “harassment at the workplace” records 667 complaints, suggesting that workplace grievances are more frequently framed in terms of general harassment, hostility, or discrimination rather than strictly sexual misconduct. At the same time, the disposal rate across categories remains relatively high, with over 10,000 complaints resolved. However, sexual harassment cases show a comparatively slower rate of disposal, pointing to the complexity and sensitivity often involved in such matters, including evidentiary challenges and institutional processes.

This data also offers insight into how such complaints are usually processed. Workplace harassment cases are, in most instances, expected to be addressed through internal mechanisms such as POSH committees and institutional grievance systems, with criminal law typically invoked in more escalated or severe circumstances. The relatively low number of cases reaching the Commission under the category of sexual harassment suggests either under-reporting, reliance on internal processes, or both.

Against this backdrop, the TCS Nashik case—marked by the rapid filing of multiple FIRs within a short span—appears unusual in its trajectory. The scale and speed of criminalisation stand in contrast to broader trends, raising questions not about the seriousness of the allegations themselves, but about the process through which workplace complaints move from internal grievance to criminal prosecution, and whether that transition, in this instance, followed the typical institutional path.

The answer to that question does not diminish the seriousness of the allegations. But it does underscore that the making of the case—how it was initiated, expanded, and framed—is as important to examine as the allegations themselves.

The Legal Core: What the FIRs actually establish

The legal foundation of the case rests on nine FIRs registered between March 26 and April 3, 2026, across Deolali Camp and Mumbai Naka police stations. These FIRs, taken together, form the only formal basis on which the case currently stands, and any assessment of the matter must begin with them.

The first FIR, registered at Deolali Camp Police Station, outlines a relationship between the complainant and the primary accused that allegedly evolved from a prior acquaintance into a personal and intimate association. According to the complaint, the accused established sexual relations with the complainant under the promise of marriage, a promise that she later discovered to be deceptive when she was informed by another woman that the accused was already married and had children. The FIR further records that during the course of their interactions, discussions relating to religion took place, and certain remarks were perceived by the complainant as derogatory towards Hindu beliefs. It also alleges that the complainant faced pressure and intimidation in connection with both the relationship and its possible disclosure.

As with all FIRs, these allegations represent the complainant’s version of events. They initiate a legal process but do not constitute proof. Their veracity must be tested through investigation and, ultimately, adjudication.

In the days that followed, eight additional FIRs were registered. These complaints describe a range of alleged misconduct within the workplace, including unwanted physical contact, inappropriate remarks, coercion, and the misuse of authority by senior employees. Some FIRs also refer to behaviour perceived as affecting religious sentiments, and in at least one instance, a male complainant alleged that he was pressured in relation to religious practices. The FIR compilation indicates that these allegations span a period from 2022 to 2026 and involve multiple accused individuals, some of whom are named across more than one complaint.

The sections invoked under the Bharatiya Nyaya Sanhita include provisions relating to sexual harassment, outraging modesty, criminal intimidation, and acts affecting religious sentiments. Taken together, the FIRs suggest the possibility of a pattern of alleged misconduct within the workplace. At the same time, they do not establish guilt, nor do they conclusively demonstrate the existence of any organised conspiracy. This distinction remains central, even as it is frequently blurred in public discourse.

The Investigation: Scope, Method, and Limits

The Nashik Police constituted a Special Investigation Team to examine the allegations. As part of the investigation, several accused individuals were arrested, statements were recorded before magistrates, and digital and documentary evidence began to be scrutinised.

What makes the trajectory of this investigation particularly unusual is its point of origin. As reported in Hindustan Times through its article dated April 13, the case did not begin with a formal workplace complaint or even an immediate allegation of harassment filed with the police. Instead, it appears to have been triggered by a complaint from a political party worker regarding a woman employee’s religious practices. In the report of Times of India dated April 16, it was provided that according to Nashik City Police, the complaint alleged that a Hindu woman in her early 20s had begun following Islamic practices under workplace influence. This led to a covert police operation, during which personnel were reportedly deployed undercover within the workplace. It was only after this phase that the first FIR was registered on March 26, followed by additional complaints.

As the investigation progressed, the SIT examined not only the allegations in the FIRs but also the functioning of internal workplace mechanisms, particularly the Prevention of Sexual Harassment (POSH) framework. The role of supervisory personnel, including HR officials, came under scrutiny in light of allegations that complaints may have been discouraged or ignored.

Crucially, police statements reported indicate that, at this stage, there is no confirmed evidence of any organised or externally funded conversion network linked to the case. While inputs have been sought from agencies such as the Anti-Terrorism Squad (ATS) and the National Investigation Agency (NIA), this appears to be a response to claims circulating in the public domain rather than confirmation of those claims.

This distinction—between investigating allegations and endorsing narratives—remains one of the most important, yet least emphasised, aspects of the case.

The Company Response: Institutional responsibility under scrutiny

TCS, in its official communications, has stated that it has taken the matter seriously, suspending or terminating employees named in the FIRs and cooperating fully with law enforcement authorities. The company has reiterated its commitment to a zero-tolerance policy towards harassment and has initiated an internal inquiry.

Public statement by Mr. K. Krithivasan, Chief Executive Officer and Managing Director, related to the recent matter in Nashik. All details here: https://t.co/sOEGI7jmtV pic.twitter.com/iTfu1yeCuz

— Tata Consultancy Services (@TCS) April 17, 2026

At the same time, the case raises deeper questions about institutional responsibility. Several accounts since April 14, including those reported by outlets such as NDTV, suggested that employees who experienced harassment may not have found effective redress through internal mechanisms. If complaints were indeed raised and not acted upon—or if employees felt unable to use formal channels—it would point to significant gaps in the implementation of POSH guidelines.

The role of HR personnel is particularly significant in this context, especially because one of the most widely circulated claims in the case—that Nida Khan was the HR head—has been explicitly contradicted by both company statements and subsequent reporting. In the early days of the controversy, several media reports and television debates repeatedly described Nida Khan as an “HR manager” or even the central authority responsible for handling complaints. 

A detailed report by AltNews dated April 18 showed that since April 14, 2026, NDTV reporters claimed that Nida Khan was an HR official at TCS Nashik. The same claim was made in multiple bulletins on the channel by Shiv Aroor.  

However, a report by Times of India as well as the statement of TCS of April 17 clarified that she held no leadership responsibilities, was not part of the HR structure, and had no role in recruitment or institutional decision-making. Instead, as per Hindustan Times dated April 17, she was employed as a process associate/telecaller at the BPO unit, not a senior managerial figure.

Godi Media Anchor @anjanaomkashyap says Nida Khan is the main Mastermind and was a HR Manager. But Nida Khan was an employee and not HR Manager. HR manager was Ashwini Chainani, the HR head and operations manager of the company who was arrested recently. Ashwini Chainani is… pic.twitter.com/Y3M7tHzJtf

— Mohammed Zubair (@zoo_bear) April 17, 2026

In the #Nashik #TCS case, not only Arnab Goswami’s Republic made Nida Khan a “terrorist,” even Vijeta Dahiya, script writer for Dhruv Rathee, went a step further and called her and other accused “Islamist terrorists,” dragging an entire religion into it.

From prime-time TV to… pic.twitter.com/iDBTP4pFeW

— Meer Faisal (@meerfaisal001) April 17, 2026

‘दबंग मैम’ निदा खान ऑफिस में सबको सिखाती थी बुर्का पहनना, बड़ा ही खूंखार था TCS एचआर हेड का प्लान

नासिक के TCS बीपीओ में ‘दबंग मैम’ कही जाने वाली HR मैनेजर निदा खान की तलाश तेज हो गई है. उस पर धर्मांतरण और यौन उत्पीड़न के गंभीर आरोप लगे हैं. FIR में दावा है कि वह कर्मचारियों को… pic.twitter.com/xDARj2rURy

— AajTak (@aajtak) April 16, 2026

TCS में घर्मांतरण के खुलासे का पार्ट-2
TCS में HR मैनेजर निदा खान के कारनामों की पूरी रिपोर्ट#BlackAndWhiteOnAajTak #TCS #CorporateControversy #HRManager | @anjanaomkashyap pic.twitter.com/8jZLVLSvvn

— AajTak (@aajtak) April 16, 2026

This distinction is crucial because the investigation has, in fact, identified actual HR officials—including a senior HR functionary linked to the POSH Internal Committee—whose roles are under scrutiny for allegedly ignoring or failing to act on complaints. Yet, in public discourse, the focus disproportionately shifted to Nida Khan as the “face” or even “mastermind” of the case, often accompanied by an inflated portrayal of her authority.

The result is a telling gap between institutional responsibility and narrative construction. While those with formal power within the workplace structure—particularly within HR—are central to questions of accountability, public attention has instead been redirected toward an individual whose organisational role was misrepresented, reinforcing a narrative that is not fully aligned with the evidentiary record.

Victim Narratives: Allegations of control, coercion, and silence

Accounts from complainants and witnesses, as reported in media interviews including those aired by NDTV, describe a workplace environment marked by control, coercion, and silence. One employee recounted being isolated from colleagues and made to work separately, while others described a culture in which younger employees were allegedly targeted and subjected to inappropriate behaviour.

These narratives also suggest that attempts to raise concerns internally did not lead to meaningful intervention. In some accounts, employees described a sense that even HR mechanisms were ineffective or inaccessible. Such descriptions, if borne out by investigation, would indicate not only individual misconduct but a systemic environment in which alleged abuse could persist.

These accounts are serious and must be treated as such. At the same time, they remain part of an ongoing investigation and must be evaluated through due process rather than selectively amplified or reframed to fit broader narratives.

The Narrative Shift: From workplace crime to communal conspiracy

As the case unfolded, a significant shift occurred in how it was publicly framed. What began as allegations against specific individuals was rapidly transformed into a narrative about an entire community.

Television debates, including those hosted on prominent channels such as played a significant role in shaping the public narrative around the case. Primetime discussions on these platforms frequently moved beyond the contents of the FIRs and the scope of the police investigation, framing the allegations within broader themes of religious targeting and organised conspiracy. In several instances, the language used in these debates echoed terms such as “conversion racket” and “corporate jihad,” often without clear attribution to verified investigative findings.

Grooming Syndicate Busted

The Hindu women employees in TCS were allegedly groomed systematically through a WhatsApp group formed by their team leads. They approached TCS authorities, including the HR manager, multiple times—raising complaints of rape, forced conversion, being… pic.twitter.com/IbZxUUkEfl

— TIMES NOW (@TimesNow) April 14, 2026

This mode of coverage did not merely report on the case; it actively contributed to its reframing. By foregrounding speculative links and emphasising identity over individual conduct, these debates helped shift the focus away from the specifics of the allegations and towards a generalised communal narrative, shaping public perception in ways that extended far beyond the evidentiary record.

Political figures played a visible role in this shift. On April 17, Maharashtra Chief Minister Devendra Fadnavis publicly framed the case in broader ideological terms while responding to media queries. While noting that Tata Consultancy Services had taken the allegations seriously, he described the matter as a cause for concern, suggesting it pointed to what he termed “corporate jihad.” In his remarks to NDTV, Fadnavis linked the case to earlier narratives such as “love jihad” and “land jihad,” arguing that the present allegations reflected a new and serious manifestation of a similar pattern.

Political responses to the case extended beyond formal statements of concern and moved into broader ideological framing. Devendra Fadnavis’s spouse, Amruta Fadnavis, in remarks reported by The New Indian Express on April 18, linked the allegations to wider claims of “forceful conversion” and “love jihad,” urging women to remain vigilant and framing the issue in terms of cultural awareness and the need to reinforce traditional values among youth.

Maharashtra minister and Bharatiya Janata Party leader Nitesh Rane, speaking to the press in comments reported by Press Trust of India on April 16, described the case as indicative of a growing phenomenon he termed “corporate jihad.” He further suggested that employment spaces were being misused for religious conversion and argued that prioritising Hindus in hiring had become “the need of the hour” to counter such alleged activities.

Taken together, these statements illustrate how the case was not only treated as a matter of criminal investigation but also embedded within a larger political narrative—one that framed the allegations as part of a broader pattern of religious targeting, despite the absence of conclusive findings to that effect in the investigation at the time. These statements were subsequently amplified across television and digital platforms, contributing to the rapid communalisation of the case.

Amid the controversy surrounding the allegations at the TCS Nashik unit, The Print report dated April 21 provided that that the Vishwa Hindu Parishad (VHP), affiliated with the Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh, escalated the issue beyond the immediate case by reaching out to major industry bodies. Its general secretary, Bajrang Bagda, wrote to organisations such as FICCI, CII, ASSOCHAM, NASSCOM and others, urging immediate steps to address women’s safety in corporate workplaces. 

While referring to the ongoing SIT probe into multiple FIRs alleging harassment, coercion, and other offences, Bagda framed the issue as one that had eroded public trust in corporate environments. Significantly, he argued that the allegations should not be seen as isolated acts by individuals, but as part of a “collective conspiracy”, a claim that extends beyond what has been established in the investigation so far.

This transformation did not merely add a layer of interpretation; it altered the nature of the story itself, shifting the focus from individual accountability to communal identity. Even the highest court in the country was not left out of this, with Advocate Ashwini Kumar Upadhyay filing a plea in the Supreme Court on April 16, 2026, requesting that deceitful religious conversions be classified as “terrorism” and “organized crime,” following reports of forced conversions and sexual harassment of female employees at a TCS facility in Nashik. The plea calls for stringent central action, special courts, and to treat the issue as a threat to national security. Ashwini Upadhyay has formerly also been spokesperson for the Delhi unit of the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP). 

You may find CJP’s Hate Busters on four of Upadhyaya’s claims here, here, here, and here.  

The Making of a “Mastermind”: The case of Nida Khan

No aspect of this transformation is more illustrative than the portrayal of Nida Khan. In the FIRs, she is named as one among several accused, with allegations that relate primarily to interactions and remarks perceived as religiously offensive. There is no clear indication in the FIRs that she held a position of authority within the organisation or that she exercised control over institutional processes.

However, in media coverage and public discourse, she has frequently been described as the “mastermind” of the case. Television debates and social media commentary, as evident from the links attached above, have at times portrayed her as an HR manager or a central figure orchestrating a larger conspiracy. This portrayal stands in contrast to clarifications issued by the company, which state that she was a process associate and did not hold a managerial or HR role.

TCS Nashik case ‘mastermind’ Nida Khan’s bail hearing likely today pic.twitter.com/1bDo4yQgae

— NDTV (@ndtv) April 20, 2026

Nashik BPO Case | Who Is Nida Khan? Mastermind Behind Harassment Cover-Up Under Police Lens

Watch video: https://t.co/qWRbVPjzqc#NidaKhan #Nashik #TCS

— News18 (@CNNnews18) April 17, 2026

Nashik ‘Conversion’ Row | First picture: Nida Khan alleged mastermind of the gang is cureently absconding@sujata_dwivedi shares details with @ankit_tyagi01 pic.twitter.com/xVOINfq5Hu

— NDTV (@ndtv) April 14, 2026

In a further development, reports indicated that Nida Khan was in Mumbai and was pregnant with her first child. Even as the Nashik Police’s Special Investigation Team continued its probe and the National Commission for Women took cognisance of the matter, sections of the media continued to describe her as the “mastermind” of the case.

This characterisation, however, has been contested by her legal counsel. Advocate Baba Sayyad pointed out that her name appears in only one complaint and that the FIRs do not substantiate claims of a larger conspiracy. He further clarified that she was not part of the HR structure but worked as a process associate/telecaller, a position also reflected in company records. According to him, the primary allegation against her relates to remarks affecting religious sentiments, raising questions about the disproportionate portrayal of her role in public discourse.

According to the report by Hindustan Times dated April 17  Nida Khan is not absconding in the conventional sense being portrayed in some media narratives. She is reported to be in Mumbai, at her residence with her husband, where she had moved earlier this year after her marriage. Her family and lawyer have also claimed that police had not visited their residence looking for her at the time of reporting. This re-framing or ‘clarification’ on Nida Khan’s position in the company came several days after reports in news channels and newspapers, often showing her photographs and name, framed her as the ‘mastermind.’ The damage then, in a sense, had been done.

This discrepancy highlights how narratives can elevate certain individuals into symbolic figures, often in ways that are not supported by the evidentiary record. At the same time, individuals who may have held actual institutional authority—such as HR officials with decision-making power—have received comparatively less attention in public discourse.

It is essential to note here that on April 20, Nida Khan was denied interim relief by a Nashik court.

Media Conduct: Language, framing, and responsibility

The role of the media in shaping the trajectory of this case has been central. One of the most concerning aspects of coverage has been the frequent collapse of the distinction between allegation and fact. Reports and debates have often presented claims as established truths, omitting qualifiers such as “alleged” and thereby pre-empting the outcome of the investigation.

Equally significant has been the shift in framing from individual conduct to communal identity. Instead of focusing on specific allegations against named individuals, many narratives have generalised the case into a broader story about Muslim men targeting Hindu women. This framing transforms a legal case into a communal narrative, with implications that extend far beyond the facts of the case itself.

The amplification of unverified claims has further contributed to this distortion. Assertions about international links, funding networks, and organised conversion efforts have circulated widely across television and social media platforms, despite the absence of corroborating evidence. In some cases, even routine investigative steps—such as seeking inputs from central agencies—have been interpreted as confirmation of these claims.

This pattern reflects not just a failure of verification but a broader shift in how stories are framed and consumed.

The APCR Findings: A critical intervention in a distorted narrative

The fact-finding report by the Association for Protection of Civil Rights (APCR) stands out as one of the most detailed attempts to bring the TCS Nashik case back to its evidentiary core. Based on field visits, court observations, interactions with lawyers and families, and a close reading of FIRs alongside media coverage, the report maps a widening gap between what is formally on record and what has come to dominate public discourse.

At its heart, the report makes a crucial clarification: the case, as reflected in the nine FIRs, concerns serious allegations of workplace misconduct—including sexual harassment, coercion, intimidation, and conduct perceived as affecting religious sentiments. These allegations, spanning multiple complainants and a period of several years, are undeniably grave and warrant thorough investigation. At the same time, the report underscores that FIRs represent claims to be tested, not conclusions, and must be evaluated through due process.

What the report does not find, however, is equally significant. It notes that there is, at present, no conclusive material establishing the existence of any organised or systematic religious conversion network—a claim that has nevertheless come to dominate media and political narratives. Terms such as “corporate jihad,” widely used in television debates and public commentary, are identified as originating not from the FIRs or the investigation, but from interpretation and amplification.

The report also documents the trajectory of the investigation itself. A Special Investigation Team has been constituted, multiple arrests have been made, and police have examined each complaint individually. Even the involvement of agencies such as the ATS or NIA, it notes, has been framed as precautionary rather than confirmatory. Crucially, authorities have not, at this stage, substantiated claims of a coordinated or externally funded operation, despite the prominence of such assertions in public discourse.

At the same time, the report does not minimise the allegations made by complainants. It records accounts that point to a hostile work environment, possible targeting of employees, and a lack of effective institutional response. This is juxtaposed with the company’s position that no formal complaints were received through internal POSH mechanisms prior to the FIRs, highlighting a potential gap between lived experiences and formal reporting structures. Whether this reflects under-reporting, institutional failure, or both remains a key question.

A particularly striking aspect of the report is its focus on how individuals have been portrayed in the public sphere. It notes that Nida Khan has repeatedly been described as the “mastermind” of the case and as an HR official with significant authority—claims that are not consistently supported by the FIRs or company records. In fact, available information indicates that she held a non-managerial role, raising concerns about how her position and involvement have been reshaped to fit a broader narrative.

More broadly, the report highlights the role of media ecosystems—particularly television debates and social media—in amplifying unverified claims, including assertions of international links, funding networks, and coordinated targeting. It identifies a dual media landscape, where factual reporting based on police statements coexists with speculative and often hyperbolic commentary, creating confusion and polarisation.

The report ultimately calls for a return to evidence-based investigation and responsible public discourse. It urges authorities to clearly distinguish between criminal allegations and unverified labels, recommends closer scrutiny of workplace grievance mechanisms, and cautions political and media actors against communalising the issue. Its core message is straightforward but significant: that the integrity of the investigation—and the possibility of justice—depends on maintaining a clear boundary between what is being investigated and what is being imagined.

Voices of Dissent and Solidarity: A counter-current emerges

Amid the dominant narrative that has framed the case in sharply communal terms, a quieter but significant counter-current has begun to emerge—one that calls for restraint, due process, and a return to facts. Across social media platforms, independent commentators, academics, and civil society voices have expressed concern not only about the allegations themselves, but about the manner in which the case has been publicly framed.

One such intervention came from Sumathi, whose widely circulated post reflected a tone markedly different from the prevailing discourse. Addressing Nida Khan directly, she wrote from the standpoint of shared humanity rather than communal identity, expressing remorse for the suffering faced and emphasising that fear and isolation are not burdens any individual should be made to carry. The post underscored a key point often missing in louder debates—that regardless of the outcome of the investigation, the dignity and rights of individuals must remain central.

Dear Nida Khan,

As an Indian Hindu woman, I lower my head in deep remorse for the suffering you have faced. Such pain cannot be confined to one faith; it resonates within the shared conscience of us all. When a woman is forced to carry fear along with the life she nurtures, it… https://t.co/j8cMhy4Pmz

— Prof Sumathi (@ProfSumathi) April 19, 2026

Similar sentiments have been echoed by other users and commentators who have questioned the speed with which the case was communalised. Some have pointed out inconsistencies in media reporting, others have highlighted the lack of verified evidence for sweeping claims, and many have simply urged that the investigation be allowed to proceed without prejudice. These voices do not deny the seriousness of the allegations; rather, they resist their transformation into a broader indictment of an entire community.

Nida Khan, 26, is pregnant, is in Mumbai, as per her family.

She has been witch hunted as mastermind of running religious conversion racket at TCS bpo in Nashik by many media houses.

TCS clarified she was working as a tellecaller n not in any leadership role to have influence…

— Varsha Torgalkar (@varshasuman) April 18, 2026

This emerging strand of solidarity is important for what it represents. It signals that even within a highly polarised media environment, there remains space—however limited—for empathetic engagement, critical questioning, and a refusal to collapse individual cases into communal narratives.

What Is at Stake: Justice, truth, and public harm

The stakes in this case are both immediate and far-reaching. If the allegations are substantiated, the victims are entitled to justice, and the accused must be held accountable in accordance with the law. Institutions must also answer for any failures that allowed such conduct to occur.

At the same time, the communalisation of the case carries its own risks. When narratives outpace evidence, investigations can be distorted by public pressure, due process may be compromised, and entire communities may be subjected to collective suspicion.

Perhaps most importantly, the pursuit of justice itself may be undermined. When cases are reframed through communal lenses, the focus shifts away from evidence and accountability and towards identity and ideology.

Conclusion: The danger of stories that outrun evidence

The TCS Nashik case remains under investigation. The facts are still being established, and the outcome is yet to be determined. Yet, in the public sphere, a conclusion has already been constructed—one that extends far beyond the evidence currently available.

This is the central danger. When allegations are transformed into narratives, and narratives into communal truths, the space for careful, evidence-based inquiry begins to shrink. In such an environment, justice is no longer the outcome of a process; it becomes collateral damage.

There is no contradiction in insisting that serious allegations be investigated thoroughly while also rejecting their communalisation. On the contrary, both are necessary.

Because without accuracy, there can be no accountability. And without accountability, there can be no justice.

Related:

Allahabad High Court flags surge in “false” conversion firs, seeks accountability from UP government

Censorship and the Drumbeats of Hate: Mapping the state of free speech ahead of the 2026 polls

Maharashtra’s Anti-Conversion Bill: Legislating suspicion in the name of “love jihad”

The post From FIRs to “Corporate Jihad”: How the TCS Nashik case was transformed from an investigation into a communal narrative appeared first on SabrangIndia.

His speech in the Constituent Assembly is significant because it forcefully argues that a good constitution cannot function well if it is handled by bad people. Similarly, even a bad constitution can yield good results if it is used by good people.

In other words, much more than formal rules and procedures, the social location, interests, and intentions of those who interpret or implement them are important—a point which is often missed by liberal scholars but not by Dr. Ambedkar.

The first meeting of the Constituent Assembly, with the aim of drafting the Constitution, was held on December 9, 1946, and it continued to function for around three years, with B. R. Ambedkar, as Chairman of the Drafting Committee, bearing a major share of the responsibility. When the work of drafting the Constitution was completed, Dr. Ambedkar delivered his closing speech on November 25, 1949, a day before the Constitution was formally adopted. November 26 was later celebrated as Constitution Day to mark this historic event.

Giving his closing speech in the Constituent Assembly, Babasaheb put it: “… however good a Constitution may be, it is sure to turn out bad because those who are called to work it, happen to be a bad lot. However bad a Constitution may be, it may turn out to be good if those who are called to work it, happen to be a good lot. The working of a Constitution does not depend wholly upon the nature of the Constitution.”

In his speech, Dr. Ambedkar argued that rules, laws, or the Constitution are not sufficient in themselves, nor do they guarantee justice, however well they may be framed. Beyond the law, the persons who interpret and implement it are the critical factor.

In the context of the Constitution, Ambedkar takes a critical sociological view and said that mere having good rules are not enough, if the person interpreting or implanting it has a bad intention. His argument is directly linked with his political movement to fight for the proportionate and effective representation for Dalits and other marginalised castes and communities.

The opponents of affirmative action, including reservation, often invoke the logic of meritocracy. However, anti-reservationists are not willing to accept the fact that merit is often defined through caste interests.

For example, the skills acquired by rich, upper-caste males are taken as the benchmark and imposed on the rest of society, ignoring the geographical, cultural, and linguistic diversity of the country, as well as the social and economic backgrounds of the people. Unlike such Brahminical logic, B. R. Ambedkar argued for bringing every caste and community within the process of decision-making so that they could not only make laws but also interpret and implement them in their own interests.

Dr. Ambedkar was of the view that if power is not shared and remains concentrated in a few hands, the interests of marginalised castes and communities are bound to be compromised. The same logic extends to the field of law, where mere formal rules cannot ensure justice for marginalised castes; rather, they must be in a position to interpret and implement them to ensure justice in society.

To illustrate B. R. Ambedkar’s argument, let us take the analogy of a car. A new car is not a guarantee of safe driving if it is handled carelessly. Conversely, even if a car has some technical faults, there is a greater chance that the journey will be safe if the driver is experienced and careful. In the context of law, Ambedkar is not merely satisfied with having a good constitution; rather, he is concerned about the misuse of a good constitution in the hands of bad people. But even if the constitution is not perfect, if those implementing it have good intentions, there is a greater possibility of bringing about justice in society.

Although Dr. Ambedkar, in his speech, disagreed with the Indian communists and socialists over their “condemnation” of the Constitution, Babasaheb’s sociological understanding of law comes very close to the Marxist critique of law. While liberal jurisprudence emphasizes rules and procedures and the idea of providing a level playing field to everyone seeking justice in a court of law, Marxist philosophers foreground the political dimension of law. Radicals argue that, in the absence of a genuine level playing field in society—where a few monopolise wealth and shape culture, religion, and other institutions to perpetuate their dominance—the judiciary and law cannot remain neutral zones of freedom and rational deliberation.

While the class character of society is central to Marxist thinking, it does not get displaced in Dr. Ambedkar’s analysis. While Ambedkar was a firm supporter of state socialism and of the state taking greater responsibility for people’s welfare, he strongly disagreed with the communists over their support for the “dictatorship of the proletariat.” Dr. Ambedkar, on the other hand, was a strong advocate of bringing about equality and reconstructing an egalitarian order through democratic and constitutional means.

Having acknowledged these differences, Ambedkarite scholars and Marxists converge on the point that, unlike liberal scholars, they do not ignore the social reality and deep-seated inequalities that exist beyond the formal and legal structures of the state. While class and property relations are central to classical Marxist analysis, Dr. Ambedkar’s primary focus is on the caste-based graded inequality of Indian society. While Dr. Ambedkar does not ignore class contradictions in society, he, unlike Marxist scholars, explains class inequality through a caste-based analysis.

Since caste-based inequality remains deeply entrenched in society and the post-Independence state did not go much beyond providing formal equality to the lower castes and other marginalised communities, Dr. Ambedkar was acutely aware of the continuing presence of upper-caste hegemony from society to politics and from culture to the economy. That is why he was concerned that a good law in itself is not a guarantee of justice unless marginalised castes and communities are in a position to interpret and implement it in their own interests. These sociological insights of Dr. Ambedkar are crucial not only for understanding our judicial system but also for analysing other institutions of the state.

[The author is the author of the recently published book Muslim Personal Law: Definitions, Sources and Contestations (Manohar, 2026).]

Related:

Caste Shadow on Ambedkar Jayanti: From campus censorship to temple exclusion

On his 135th birth anniversary, we ask, would Ambedkar be allowed free speech in India today?

A principled PM, a determined law minister: Nehru, Ambedkar & Opposition in Indian Politics

The post Understanding power through caste: Dr. Ambedkar’s contribution to the sociology of law appeared first on SabrangIndia.

Just two days ago, the High Court quashed a petition seeking permission to re-conduct the Neja Mela in Sambhal, held in memory of Ghazi Mian, directing the petitioner instead to approach a lower court.[1] Notably, the very need to seek such permission did not arise from any explicit judicial ban, but rather from a discretionary determination by state authorities deeming the event “impermissible.”

Uttar Pradesh has long been home to such heterodox sects who made their presence felt across the hinterland, away from the metropolis dominated by traditional religious authority. Similar to Sufis of Maghreb their proponents often came from both communities —Rajputs in Hindus, Afghans, Syeds and Arabs among Muslims— who were primarily military adventurers as described by Christopher Bayly in his magnum opus Rulers, Townsmen and Bazaars. Engaging in agricultural administration and military occupations simultaneously these members of the landed class found themselves dwelling on socio-spiritual questions while living among the common peasantry compared to established, orthodox religious life.

The Syncretic Cult of Ghazi Miyan 

Originally venerated by pastoral communities across the Indo-Gangetic plain, the cult of Ghazi Miyan is tied to the lore of a horse-riding warlord—comparable in some respects to the Rajput Panch-Pir traditions of Rajasthan—believed to have arrived from the west and to have long-standing associations with cattle-rearing groups, particularly Ahīrs. Local tradition holds that when he laid claim to the area around Suraj Kund in Bahraich as his base, he encountered resistance from a regional chieftain.

According to legend, in the ensuing conflict he initially refrained from attacking cattle, and was eventually ‘martyred’ by a local Rajput chief identified as Suhel Dev. As Shahid Amin argues in Conquest and Community: The Afterlife of Saint Ghazi Miyan, the story of Ghazi Miyan represents a layered narrative shaped through repeated retellings—rooted in the idiom of the warrior-saint tradition and embedded within a local sacred geography marked by symbols such as the Mahua tree and betel leaf, both predominantly associated with Hindu cultural practices. In this sense, the myth reflects a shared, non-sectarian history of conflict, accommodation, and social realities rather than a rigidly communal past.

Besides the objections of Ulema, earlier one such attempt is credited to Sikanadar Lodi (Uttar Taimur Kaleen Bharat, S.A.A. Rizvi) who banned the procession of spears, citing orthodoxy. However, opposed to attempts post-1870s, the strategy changed to ‘nationalist’ social engineering post 1920s, which saw the valorisation of Suheldev. Evidently, contrary to claims of extremism, the tradition of Neja Mela (where Muslims replace the flag atop the pole of shape of the Neja i.e. spear) in Sambhal is no different than Zohra Bibi-Ghazi Miyan ka Mela, celebrated in Bahraich in the memory of their aborted marriage before which he was ‘martyred’.

Shivnarayanis 

In contrast to the more visible syncretic cults—many of which have been subjected to reinterpretation within Hindutva frameworks due to their prominence in public discourse—there exist other syncretic traditions in Uttar Pradesh that have largely evaded such interventions. The Shivnarayani, which is one such tradition, is a sect from eastern Uttar Pradesh with a history spanning nearly three centuries. Founded by Shivnarayan Singh—born in 1686 into a Narauni (Pratihara) Rajput family in Ballia—the tradition articulated what he called Sant Mat (the “creed of the Saints”), with individual adherents known as Sants. As his 10th direct descendant and head of the Panth, Jagatguru Amarjeet Singh explains, Santpati signifies that anyone who truly lives the path of ultimate truth can be considered a Sant. Rejecting the corruptibility of fixed hierarchies and institutional authority, Shivnarayan emphasized a deliberately non-ritualistic framework—eschewing temples and idols in favour of temporary chauris, often structured in seven steps symbolizing both the seven chakras and the seven heavens.

The sect’s founding narrative is tied to the Mughal emperor Muhammad Shah Rangila, who is said to have summoned Bagh Rai, Shivnarayan’s father, to Delhi over unpaid dues during a famine. Shivnarayan accompanied him to the imperial court around 1732. According to tradition, while imprisoned, news of his spiritual powers reached the emperor, who tested him by killing a cow and challenging him to restore it to life. The episode, as narrated within the sect, culminates not merely in a miracle but in a moral transformation: Shivnarayan compels the emperor to confront the futility of senseless violence, leading to a change of heart and his initiation into the fold. The enduring legacy of this encounter is reflected in the continued presence of Muslims as chharidars (ceremonial guards) for the head of the panth and its monastic institutions—an institutionalized symbol of the sect’s syncretic ethos.

Drawing upon his own feudal background—where the Naraunis had historically controlled clusters of villages under the ṭappas of Sukhpura, Bansdih, and Kharauni—Shivnarayan was uniquely positioned to challenge Brahminical orthodoxy. He is credited with opening the doors of organized religious practice, albeit stripped of conventional ritualism, and embedding within it a strong message of social equality. This appeal resonated particularly among marginalized communities, including Dalits, across eastern Uttar Pradesh, and later spread to regions such as Bihar, Nepal, Uttarakhand, Malwa, and Punjab.

Although the number of adherents and initiated Sants has declined over time, the sect’s message continues to find expression in its distinctive funerary practices: when a Sant departs for Nij Dham, the body is interred rather than cremated, accompanied by Bhojpuri verses from Sant Vilas. Such practices underscore a worldview that resists rigid religious binaries. As thinkers like Gail Omvedt have noted, the imposition of doctrinal divisions since early modernity has largely emanated from centres of power, while among marginalized communities, traditions emphasizing harmony over conflict, cooperation over coercion, and faith as a means of transcendence have remained more deeply rooted. This ethos finds parallels in imagined sacred spaces such as Anandpur associated with Guru Nanak, Begampura envisioned by Kabir, and Sant Lok articulated within the Shivnarayani tradition.

Arya Samaj’s war on syncretic beliefs

Influenced by a Protestant-inflected model of spiritual morality—marked by defined theology, rigid religious boundaries, hierarchical authority, and codified norms—alongside the transformative effects of print capitalism, 19th-century revivalist movements began to cast a suspicious eye on syncretic traditions. Reformist currents, particularly those associated with the Arya Samaj, as well as strands of both Hindu and Muslim orthodoxy, increasingly dismissed such blended practices with derision, often labelling them disparagingly as khichri. Emerging from metropolitan centres and gaining traction among the educated urban middle classes, these reformist voices promoted a Sanskritic, text-centred epistemology—albeit not without contesting traditional authorities—and advanced a more congregational, collectivist religious identity. This marked a departure from the diffuse, practice-based, and often individualized nature of older Hindu traditions, especially those shaped by karmic doctrine.

By the early 20th century, many of some reformist actors—especially those linked to the Arya Samaj—had entered the arena of electoral politics, positioning themselves as agents of reason and enlightenment within formations like the Indian National Congress, while simultaneously fuelling a parallel reformist zeal within right-leaning organisations. This ideological convergence across the political spectrum became particularly visible in events such as the 1950 fair commemorating Suheldev, organised by the Arya Samaj, and inaugurated by Congress leaders—despite the backdrop of communal unrest and the imposition of Section 144.

Khwaja of the Thakurs

Folk traditions of indebtedness often stem from simple ancestral memories. As noted by Sharique Ahmad Khan, the Bais Rajputs of Azamgarh trace one such episode to Khwaja Minhaj, a Mughal officer, who rescued a wounded man—Mainpar Dev—from a well after he had been left for dead. Dev later rose in Minhaj’s service, and upon the latter’s death, inherited his estate and built his tomb, giving rise to the name Minhajpur (Mehnajpur).

In a lasting mark of gratitude, Bais Rajputs adopted the Muslim style of tying the mirzai to the right, protected local Muslim communities, and continue to contribute to the annual urs at the shrine.

Conclusion 

While presenting itself as reformist, Hindutva remains tethered to a Brahminical cosmopolis. Even as it challenges ritual hierarchies and orthodox authority, it consistently targets syncretic traditions that unsettle its rigid binaries.

Across the Indo-Gangetic plain, however, long-standing, symbiotic belief systems—rooted in marginalised communities and distant from metropolitan influence—have persisted outside the frameworks of both organized religion and modern ideological constructs. Often overlooked or suppressed, these traditions continue to embody and transmit a lived ethos of interfaith and intercultural harmony. 

(The author is a post graduate scholar, a MA in History, specialising in medieval and pre-modern History from University of Delhi. His interests include heritage research, social and environmental histories)

[1] https://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/city/meerut/sambhal-cops-deny-permission-for-historic-neja-mela-commemorating-plunderer-ghaznavis-commander/articleshow/119125961.cms; Note the contradictory even provocative headline in Times of India, on the one hand calling the Neja Mela “historic” and on the other hand almost legitimising the terms used by hardline objectors, “..commemorating plunderer Ghaznavis”!!

Related:

Rajasthan: Gogamedi, a Rajput-Muslim shrine and the politics of communal capture

The post UP’s syncretic warrior cults facing Hindutva challenge appeared first on SabrangIndia.

“What is now happening to Marx’s theory has, in the course of history, happened repeatedly to the theories of revolutionary thinkers and leaders of oppressed classes fighting for emancipation. During the lifetime of great revolutionaries, the oppressing classes constantly hounded them, received their theories with the most savage malice, the most furious hatred and the most unscrupulous campaigns of lies and slander. After their death, attempts are made to convert them into harmless icons, to canonize them, so to say, and to hallow their names to a certain extent for the ‘consolation’ of the oppressed classes and with the object of duping the latter, while at the same time robbing the revolutionary theory of its substance, blunting its revolutionary edge and vulgarizing it.”

Lenin stated this fact in context of Marxism but this has a universal connotation. Such whittling down has been common to the ideas, contribution and sacrifices of Indian revolutionary Bhagat Singh. The latest contributor to this venture is a self-acclaimed liberal, Bhagwan Josh. He contributed an article, ‘Why Bhagat Singh was not a Marxist thinker’ (The Tribune, March 23, 2026).[1] He ended his derogatory piece with the words: “The fact remains that Bhagat Singh was hanged not for his revolutionary ideas but for committing a murder of a British officer.” It is notable that The Tribune chose to publish it on the 95^th anniversary of the martyrdom of Bhagat Singh and his comrades, Rajguru and Sukhdev. This act also reveals what has happened to even a publication, which had previously remained supportive of the revolutionaries when they were alive.

Bhagwan Josh, not confident of his current take on Bhagat Singh, goes hunting for names like Antonio Gramsci, Bipin Chandra and Harish Puri to add weight to his diatribe. Gramsci and Bipin Chandra are not alive to clarify but Professor Harish Puri needs to share with his fans like me whether he too believes that Bhagat Singh was not a revolutionary. Thanks to Harish Jain who responded by penning ‘Why Bhagat Singh defies easy labels’ (The Tribune, March 26, 2026) in which Bhagwan Josh in one of his earlier Punjabi works, (Bhagat Singh da Markasvad) located “Bhagat Singh within the distinct Leninist current that was emerging in Punjab between 1928 and 1931 an intellectual formation grounded in study, debate and ideological seriousness and set apart from what he saw as the more pragmatic and often anti-intellectual strands within Indian communism”.[2]

A serious problem with armchair Professors is that they live in ivory towers but believe that they and only they are authorised to explain ground realities. Bhagat Singh was not a thinker because he was unable to produce in his writings, “the perfunctory references to the sources or books from which these notes and quotes were taken have left a rather perplexing question mark with regard to the authentic source. That is, from which editions of which books, by which particular authors, were these taken?” They do not know that Bhagat Singh was not a doctoral candidate in some university but chose to work to liberate his motherland from the colonial subjugation. According to British official documents, he was in jail for 716 days, consulted/read approximately 302 books and was well versed in English, Urdu, Hindi, and Punjabi. When he was not in jail, he was both a researcher and a journalist. He followed the Gramscian dictum (without reading him) that “It is necessary to think and study even under the most difficult conditions…to keep the risk of intellectual degradation at bay”.

Bhagat Singh was not reading books for the purposes of writing a doctoral proposal for enrolling at Oxford or Cambridge but for understanding the world and India so that he could challenge the mightiest imperial power and replace it with a system in India where ‘men do not exploit men’. This is what a thinker does. I am sure if Bhagat Singh had met Professors like Bhagwan Josh there would have been no need commemorating his Martyrdom Day, he would have retired as a teacher-receiving pension from the British masters!

Bhagwan Josh makes another problematic claim: “But what sort of Marxism did Bhagat Singh imbibe from his readings? Did this Marxism help him in any way to get some insight into the contemporary politics of Indian nationalism, working class movements and the immediate historical social reality around him? A mastery of Marxism that is merely an exercise in the appropriation of textual discourse must remain a ‘Brahmanical Marxism’…”

This from a Professor who — we are told, has taught at Jawaharlal Nehru University (JNU)! Can such an armed academic be so ignorant of the written word, so oblivious of facts available in the public domain? This does not bode well for future of JNU. Bhagat Singh who died at the age of 23 years, authored the following major documents, Universal Love (Hindi 1924), Youth (Hindi 1925), Religious Riots and their Solution (Punjabi 1927), Religion and our Freedom Struggle (Punjabi 1928), The Issue of Untouchability (Punjabi 1928), Satyagrah and Strikes (Punjabi 1928), Students and Politics (Punjabi 1928), New leaders and their Duties (Punjabi 1928), Lala Lajpat Rai and the Youth (Punjabi 1928), What is Anarchism part 1, 2, 3 (Punjabi 1928), The Revolutionary Nihilist of Russia (Punjabi 1928), Ideal of Indian Revolution (English 1930), Why I am an Atheist (English 1930), The First Rise of Punjab in the Freedom Struggle (Urdu 1931), Introduction to Dreamland (English 1931), and Young Political Workers (English 1931).

The Manifesto of the Naujawan Bharat Sabha and the Manifesto of Hindustan Socialist Republican Army were written by Bhagwati Charan Vohra and finalised after consultation with Bhagat Singh.

Shame on those who call this ‘Brahmanical Marxism’. Bhagat Singh developed Marxism in the context of Indian realities. Marx said that future generations would come and prove us wrong; this is how Marxism as a science survives.

Bhagwan Josh also declares the Ghadar movement as a failed movement and declares that Bhagat singh “instead of learning a lesson from its tragic failure, he blindly followed the example of the Ghadarites”. This sweeping conclusion reveals on whose side Professor the worthy stands while evaluating two among the greatest milestones in the glorious anti-colonial history of Indian freedom struggle in the 20^th century. Failure does not mean that any resistance was faulty or not required. To hail the victor is, in fact, a typical Brahmanical characteristic. Bhagwan must be glad to know that he is not alone in holding such a debased idea. The most prominent ideologue of RSS, MS Golwalkar while denigrating the tradition of martyrdom had similarly, brazenly stated:

“There is no doubt that such man who embrace martyrdom are great heroes and their philosophy too is pre-eminently manly. They are far above the average men who meekly submit to fate and remain in fear and inaction. All the same, such persons are not held up as ideals in our society. We have not looked upon their martyrdom as the highest point of greatness to which men should aspire. For, after all, they failed in achieving their ideal, and failure implies some fatal flaw in them.” [‘Martyr, great but not ideal’, Bunch of Thoughts, the collection of writings of MS Golwalkar.]

Last but not the least, Bhagwan Josh indulges in peddling another falsehood when states that 1857 Mutiny (which in fact was a nation-wide liberation war which continued for more than 3 years), was defeated by British forces and Sikh troops. There are abundant contemporary documents which conclusively prove that Punjab and Sikhs played significant role in 1857 liberation war. These were not only Sikh ruling families in Punjab who supported the British but also well-known rich families amongst Hindus and Muslims who joined the British campaign against the 1857 rebellion. This reality was no different from the rest of India, where rulers of Gwalior, Hyderabad, Jaipur, Jodhpur, Kota, Bhopal, Dhar and many more native states joined hands with the British in crushing the great War of Independence.

If Bhagat Singh is simply a murderer, Professor Bhagwan Josh why do you bother with him? The fact is that he with his comrades continue to be synonymous with Indian revolution, and this troubles those intellectually subservient to imperialism who then come forth to denigrate them.

Marxism survives as so will Bhagat Singh’s heritage.

March 27, 2026

Disclaimer: The views expressed here are the author’s personal views, and do not necessarily represent the views of Sabrangindia.

[1] https://www.tribuneindia.com/news/comment/why-bhagat-singh-was-not-a-marxist-thinker/

[2] https://www.tribuneindia.com/news/comment/why-bhagat-singh-defies-easy-labels/

Related:

Denigration of martyrs like Bhagat Singh, Rajguru, Sukhdev – a peep into RSS archives

78th Martyrdom Anniversary of Gandhi & Identity of his Assassins: Sardar Patel

November 26: How RSS mourned the passage of India’s Constitution by the Constituent Assembly

The post Bhagat Singh sent to gallows once again! appeared first on SabrangIndia.

In its statement, the DUJ said that the body is “outraged at the manhandling of UNI journalists by the Delhi Police on March 20, 2026. The Police entered the UNI newsrooms in large numbers and demanded that journalists peacefully working the night shift immediately leave the premises. They were told UNI was being evicted following a High Court Order. No Order was shown.

“When the surprised journalists asked for time to inform their management, many of them were manhandled. Women journalists too were physically pushed out as video footage reveals. No time was given for people to retrieve their personal papers and belongings. We severely condemn this arbitrary action.

UNI, the second oldest news agency in the country, has been severely mismanaged over the past decades.  It was the responsibility of the current management to inform employees of the High Court Order that came earlier in the day, anticipate the eviction and protect employees from harm. Regrettably, they did not do so.”

The DUJ statement issued on March 21 states that the prime land on which India’s oldest news agency stands has long been “eyed” by the powers that be and powerful corporate owned media organisations vying for both control and ownership. The statement has been issued by Sujata Madhok, President, SK Pande, Vice-President and AM Jigeesh, General Secretary.

“By cancelling the lease,” said the DUJ, the Union Government has dealt a death blow to the news agency by cancelling the lease.

In the past the Government tried to change the lease conditions and bring in other media players, promising them a share in a new building to be constructed on the plot. Earlier UNI managements challenged these orders in court. Meanwhile, the agency struggled financially, especially after the government withdrew subscriptions for Prasar Bharati and other government bodies. UNI employees suffered the consequences, with years of delayed salaries and other dues.

Years of struggle in and outside courts by employees, including retirees and those who had left UNI, the agency was declared bankrupt by the National Company Law Tribunal. It was then taken over by The Statesman who paid a small percentage of their dues to the employees.

The DUJ has called upon The Statesman management to fulfil its responsibilities, continue to run the agency and pay the journalists and other employees their full dues.

Meanwhile, the Editors Guild of India (EGI) strongly condemns the use of excessive force, as well as the undue haste shown in implementing a High Court order cancelling the allotment of land on which the premises of United News of India, one of India’s oldest independent news agencies, was situated, and allowing the Land and Development Office of the Union Housing and Urban Affairs Ministry to re-take possession of the land.

The Guild statement also states that, “While the Guild does not question the need to implement the High Court’s order, what is disturbing is the lack of due process, and the manifestly excessive display of force by the authorities in executing the Court’s directions. As per reports, the order was pronounced in Court at around 1.30 PM on Friday, March 20, 2026.”

“Within hours, and even before the order was made available on the Court’s website, a force of hundreds of police and paramilitary personnel had arrived at the UNI’s premises. Journalists, including female staff, were forcibly evicted in the midst of carrying out their duties. The journalists have asserted that no notice was shown to them, and that the authorities refused to allow time for the UNI management to arrive, or even allow journalists to collect their personal effects before the premises were sealed. They have also alleged that some staff, including some women journalists, were manhandled in the process, a charge which the Delhi Police have denied.

The alacrity with which the authorities reacted, as well as the overwhelming display of force, sends a chilling message to the media. The action has not only halted the dissemination of news to UNI’s subscribers, but has also cast a shadow over the future of the organisation, and the careers of hundreds of journalists.” The EGI further has urged the authorities to exercise greater restraint, and desist from actions which restrict the freedom of media to operate and carry out its functions in a democracy. The EGI statement has been issued by Sanjay Kapoor, President and Raghavan Srinivasan, the Treasurer.

Meanwhile on the same date, March 21, the Mumbai Press Club has strongly condemned the sealing of the office of United News of India (UNI) in Delhi, an action that has caused deep concern across the media fraternity.

The Mumbai Press Club statement released on ‘X’ states that, “Reports of staff being forcibly evicted without being allowed to collect their personal belongings, the alleged manhandling of female journalists, and misconduct by certain Delhi Police personnel—including claims of intoxication while on duty—are extremely disturbing. The reported abuse of individuals by police personnel and lawyers further reflects a serious breakdown of professional conduct and accountability. Such actions not only undermine the dignity and safety of journalists but also raise serious concerns about press freedom and the ability of media institutions to function without fear or intimidation.”

The Mumbai PC has “urged the authorities to ensure a prompt, impartial, and transparent inquiry into the incident, and to fix accountability for any excesses or misconduct. It is equally important to take immediate steps to restore confidence within the journalistic community and safeguard the rights and independence of the press,” says the Mumbai Press Club. Samar Khadas is currently President and Mayuresh Ganapatye the Secretary of the PC.

Related:

UP: 14-Year-Old Dalit Content Creator Ashwamit Gautam faces arrest, FIR over strong dissenting social media videos

J & K: Attempt to muzzle FoE, Media? Police summons to media, journalists

Pervasive fear, surveillance of media, spiral of anti-India sentiment in Kashmir: CCG

The post Delhi, Mumbai: Media organisations sharply criticise UNI eviction appeared first on SabrangIndia.

Here is a passage from the chapter, ‘Martyr, great but not ideal’ of Bunch of Thoughts, the collection of writings of MS Golwalkar decrying the whole tradition of martyrs. After declaring that his objects of worship have always been successful lives and that ‘Bhartiya culture’ [which surely –for him –means RSS culture] does not adore and idealize martyrdom and do not treat “such martyrs as their heroes”, he went on to philosophise that,

“There is no doubt that such man who embrace martyrdom are great heroes and their philosophy too is pre-eminently manly. They are far above the average men who meekly submit to fate and remain in fear and inaction. All the same, such persons are not held up as ideals in our society. We have not looked upon their martyrdom as the highest point of greatness to which men should aspire. For, after all, they failed in achieving their ideal, and failure implies some fatal flaw in them.” [Bunch of Thoughts, p. 283.]

Could there be a statement more insulting and denigrating to the martyrs than this?

This will or should be shocking for any Indian who admires the martyrs of the Freedom Movement to know what Hedgewar, founder of RSS felt about the revolutionaries fighting against the British. According to his biography published by the RSS,

“Patriotism is not only going to prison. It is not correct to be carried away by such superficial patriotism. He used to urge that while remaining prepared to die for the country when the time came, it is very necessary to have a desire to live while organizing for the freedom of the country.”

[CP Bhishikar, Sanghavariksh Ke Beej: Dr. Keshavrao Hedgewar, p. 21.]

It is indeed a pity that Bhagat Singh, Rajguru, Sukhdev, Ashfaqullah Khan and Chandrashekhar Azad did not come into contact with this contemporary great patriotic thinker. If they had the great opportunity to meet him, these martyrs could have been saved from giving their lives for ‘superficial patriotism’.

Even the word ‘shameful’ is not appropriate to describe the attitude of the RSS leadership towards those who had sacrificed everything in the struggle against the British. The last Mughal ruler of India, Bahadur Shah Zafar had emerged as the rallying point for patriotic Indians and symbol of the Great War of Independence of 1857.

Golwalkar wrote thus while mocking him:

“In 1857, the so-called last emperor of India had given the clarion call-Gazio mein bu rahegi jub talak eeman ki/takhte London tak chalegi tegh Hindustan ki (Till the warriors remain faithful to their commitment/Indian swords will reach throne of London.) But ultimately what happened? Everybody knows that. [Golwalkar, M.S., Shri Guruji Samagar Darshan (collected works of Golwalkar in Hindi)

Bhartiya Vichar Sadhna, Nagpur, nd., volume 1, p. 121.]

What Golwalkar thought of the people sacrificing their lot for the country is obvious from other observations and recollections. He had the temerity to question the great revolutionaries who wished to lay down their lives for the freedom of the motherland the following question as if he was representing the British:

“But one should think whether complete national interest is accomplished by that? Sacrifice does not lead to increase in the thinking of the society of giving all for the interest of the nation. It is borne by the experience up to now that this fire in the heart is unbearable to the common people.”

[Ibid. pp. 61-62.]

Is this also the reason that RSS produced no fighters or martyrs during the Freedom Movement?

Is it not the duty of every patriotic Indian who respects these great martyrs to share these anti-national and degenerate ideas of the RSS against both the anti-colonial freedom struggle in general and martyrs in particular?

Disclaimer: The views expressed here are the author’s personal views, and do not necessarily represent the views of Sabrangindia.

Related:

78th Martyrdom Anniversary of Gandhi & Identity of his Assassins: Sardar Patel

November 26: How RSS mourned the passage of India’s Constitution by the Constituent Assembly

How Hindutva forces colluded with both the British & Jinnah against the historic ‘Quit India’ movement: Archives

The post Denigration of martyrs like Bhagat Singh, Rajguru, Sukhdev – a peep into RSS archives appeared first on SabrangIndia.

Next day, today, Friday 27, fourteen of hundreds of protesting students from the Jawaharlal Nehru University (JNU) were sent to Tihar Jail after the late night brutal lathi charge by the Delhi police, attacking a student protest and long march aimed to march towards the Ministry of Education yesterday. Protesters have been demanding the resignation of Vice Chancellor (VC) JNU Ms Pandit who had made derogative remarks against Dalits and Blacks recently and also the restoration of the UGC Guidelines of 2026.

On Thursday (February 26), Jawaharlal Nehru University Students’ Union (JNUSU), along with other student organisations, organised a “long march” from the university to the Ministry of Education in Delhi. Students alleged that soon after their march began, Delhi Police lathi-charged them near the main gate of the campus. They said several students were detained and taken to the Kapashera and Sagarpur police stations. Videos and photographs that surfaced on social media showed that many students, including women, were injured in the police action.

The students’ march began around 3 pm from Sabarmati Dhaba inside the campus. Students joined the rally in large numbers, including members of JNUSU, All India Students’ Association (AISA), Students’ Federation of India (SFI), Democratic Students’ Federation (DSF), National Students’ Union of India (NSUI), All India Students’ Federation (AISF) and other student bodies.

You can cut all the flowers but you cannot keep spring from coming

14 JNU students sent to TIHAR JAIL
the state’s cowardice is on full display. They think iron bars break spirit, they are WRONG
​fight against BJP & Shantishri’s casteist regime will only INTENSIFY#JNU #jnusu pic.twitter.com/qJTC3DamOD

— Anjali (@anjali__27) February 27, 2026

जेएनयू में हज़ारों छात्र जब यूजीसी रेगुलेशन के पक्ष में और जातिवादी वाईस चांसलर की बर्खास्तगी की माँग के साथ शिक्षा मंत्रालय की तरफ़ बढ़े।
तब पूरी सरकार में कंपकंपी मच गई। दिल्ली पुलिस ने छात्रों के हाथ से बाबा साहब भीम राव अंबेडकर की तस्वीर छीन ली, हाथों में अपने… pic.twitter.com/2JyjjTrb8m

— Dhananjay (@SathiDhananjay) February 26, 2026

This protest began amid heavy deployment of security forces, including Delhi Police, across the campus. The main gate was completely barricaded to prevent the students from moving forward.

Before the march started, JNUSU president Aditi Mishra had told The Wire: “Our call today was directed at the Ministry of Education. We are demanding that the UGC Equity Regulations be implemented on the lines of the Rohith Act. We are also demanding the resignation of our Vice-Chancellor, Shantisree Dhulipudi Pandit, over her remark that ‘Blacks and Dalits are permanently drugged with victimhood’. We believe such a statement is unacceptable. We are also asking for the restoration of funds [to JNU and other universities], because continuous financial cuts are weakening public universities and affecting students directly.”

She had then added, “What we are seeing instead is a heavy police security presence. The university has been turned into what feels like a cantonment, with barricades placed every few metres, the Rapid Action Force deployed and water cannons and tear gas kept ready. FIRs are being filed against students simply for protesting.”

Despite the heavy police and security force presence and the main gate of the JNU being sealed off, the students remained firm on continuing their march. Around 4 pm, students moved the barricades placed outside the main gate and attempted to proceed with their march. Soon after this, police began detaining students participating in the march. During the process, scuffles broke out between them and the police.

The allegations of brutality included male persons, accused of masquerading as men in uniform assaulting women with pins and other weapons in gendered violence. Hundreds of police, paramilitary and other personnel were brought in to simply “handle a student’s protest.”

It was the obstruction of free movement by the Delhi Police who blocked and locked the JNU gates that began the altercation and thereafter police repression.

Danish, joint secretary, JNUSU, said, “We called for a peaceful march from JNUSU to the Ministry of Education. However, Delhi Police blocked JNU gates, putting locks on them. Around 500 to 700 policemen were deployed with heavy barricading, lathis, tear gas and water cannons. When students broke the locks and marched, the police launched a brutal lathi charge.

“Many students were hurt. Women students were dragged and their clothes torn. They [police] detained at least fifty of us and took us to Kapashera Police Station. Even now, many students, including me, are injured but have not received any first aid. There were also people in civil dress beating students brutally alongside the police. Students are still protesting at the main gate, and the police continue to beat them.”

Dhananjay, former JNUSU President speaks of this police brutality here

On Sunday, 22 February, a “Samta Rally” was organised on the JNU campus to protest against alleged anti-Dalit remarks made by Vice-Chancellor Shantishree Pandit. At the march, students demanded implementation of the new University Grants Commision (UGC) equity guidelines, and asked for the Vice-Chancellor to resign and issue a public apology for her statements.

However, after that march, tensions escalated and clashes broke out between two student groups. Left student organisations and JNUSU members accused members of the Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh (RSS) offshoot, student body Akhil Bharatiya Vidyarthi Parishad (ABVP), of pelting stones during the confrontation.

On Monday (February 23), the university administration registered a case against JNUSU office bearers over the “Samata Rally” and the alleged violence during the previous night’s protest Thereafter, JNUSU announced another march, and that was the one to be held on 26 February.

The Jawaharlal Nehru University Teachers’ Association (JNUTA) also condemned the police action, describing it as brutal use of force against students at the JNU gate.

In a statement issued on today February 26, JNUTA said several students, including women, were injured and many detained, including two JNUSU office bearers. It raised concerns over reports that women detainees were taken to undisclosed locations and alleged that they faced further mistreatment in custody.

JNUTA said the police action appeared to be aimed at preventing students from exercising their democratic right to march to the Ministry of Education, and demanded the immediate release of all detained students, action against the officials involved and the withdrawal of police personnel from the campus gates.

The text of the JNUTA statement issued by Surajit Mazumdar (President) and Meenakshi Sundriyal (Secretary) reads:

“The JNUTA strongly condemns the brutal use of force by the Delhi Police against JNU students and the detention of several of them, including two JNUSU Office bearers. Reports indicate that several students, including women, have been severely injured in the police action at the JNU gate in which even the laws prohibiting male policemen from acting against women were brazenly flouted. The JNUTA is also extremely concerned at the wellbeing of those detained. There are several women among them and they have been taken to unconfirmed locations that are far away from the campus. Reports are also coming of them being subjected to further police beatings while in custody.

The police action today, and they also came armed with weapons, had the sole objective of preventing come what may the students from exercising their democratic right to march to the Ministry of Education. Prohibition of such marches, and then prosecuting those who march, and use of excessive force against them, have become part of the standard routine for the Delhi Police. In the process, it has become an instrument of not law enforcement but of authoritarianism and the curbing of constitutionally guaranteed democratic rights.

The JNUTA knows that the bankrupt JNU Administration led by the VC cannot be expected to discharge its duty as guardian of the students’ interests. After all, it is its own actions that have led to the current situation. The continuing refusal to act against her and even today’s police action, however, raises serious questions about whether her infamous casteist remarks and other actions in fact have the endorsement of the Ministry of Education. Is it that the Ministry did not want to answer the uncomfortable questions it would have had to face from JNU students?

The JNUTA demands immediate release of all the detained students and strict action against the police officials reponsible for transgressing the laws they are themselves bound by while enforcing them. The Police which is still at the campus gates must also leave immediately. We appeal to JNU teachers to remain vigilant and speak up against this violence and onslaught on democracy.”

Just a few days ago former JNUSU President, Dhananjay filed a complaint against the VC with the NCST. This may be read here.

Related:

JNU: Former JNUSU President complains against Vice Chancellor’s casteist & racist remarks

The Double Stage on Campus: Caste, crisis & UGC equity regulations (2026) controversy

UGC Guidelines 2026: AISA Protest at Delhi University followed by sexual abuse allegations amid police presence

The post JNU Students Lathi-charged, Injured, first detained during protest over V-C remarks, UGC Equity guidelines, now Jailed appeared first on SabrangIndia.

Introduction: The Campus as Double Stage

The University Grants Commission, on January 13, 2026, notified the Promotion of Equity in Higher Education Institutions Regulations, a broad set of rules intended to counter caste discrimination in Indian universities. Within two weeks, the Supreme Court stayed the regulations, observing that they showed “complete vagueness” and might have “dangerous impacts” to “divide society.” In the meantime, and in the weeks that followed, Indian universities, particularly Delhi University, witnessed protests and counter-protests, violence, allegations of assault, cross-FIRs and, subsequently, a month-long ban on all demonstrations. SabrangIndia’s detailed story on the nationwide protests may be read here and here.

This debate goes beyond a simple policy debate. It is a point at which the underlying contradictions of caste in contemporary India have come face-to-face with the national arena. In my previous work, I introduced the concept of “schizophrenic modernity”, a condition in which a public official theatre of constitutional equality coexists with a dynamic social obscenity, wherein the hierarchy of caste is reinscribed through intimate sociability, bodily practices and moments of violence. The UGC controversy makes this schizophrenia explicit.

To gain a full understanding of the stakes, it is imperative to consult two scholars whose work helps to illuminate the underlying structure of this dispute. Anand Teltumbde’s work on the “camouflaged” presence of caste provides a framework for understanding how caste functions within modern institutions as a hidden system of social capital and exclusion, rather than as a visible ritualized hierarchy. Gopal Guru’s work on the scene/obscene dialectic of knowledge production, along with his imperative to theorize from the location of the obscene, supplies the methodological key to centering the Dalit experience in this argument. Together, they enrich and expand my Foucauldian-Gramscian framework, locating it within the particular intellectual traditions of Dalit Studies.

The article uses the framework to provide a thorough argument about the controversy. Part I will evaluate the rules as a scene of extending the constitutional scene into the obscene. Part II will locates the upper-caste reaction as a manifestation of “camouflaged” caste, as well as Gopal Guru’s reading of hegemonic denial. Part III will discuss the role of the Supreme Court as a moment of definitional politics. Part IV will analyse campus violence as a manifestation of obscene eruption, according to Teltumbde’s framework. Part V will evaluate the schizophrenic stance of the state. Part VI will explore Dalit counter-mobilizations as a moment of forcing the obscene back into the scene, according to Guru’s imperative to theorise from the location of the obscene. The conclusion will consider what this controversy tells us about the underlying architecture of caste power.

I. The Regulations: Extending the Scene into the Obscene

The UGC Equity Regulations 2026 have their roots in a specific set of events: a petition to the Supreme Court jointly filed by the mothers of Rohith Vemula and Payal Tadvi, both of whom took their own lives in the aftermath of alleged caste-based harassment on their respective college campuses. Vemula, a Dalit PhD scholar at the University of Hyderabad, died in 2016; Tadvi, a tribal medical student in Mumbai, died in 2019. Their deaths have been seen as symptomatic of the failure of institutional mechanisms to protect marginalised students.

Statistics shown by the UGC to a parliamentary committee show a 118.4% increase in reported cases of caste-based harassment over five years, from 173 in 2019-20 to 378 in 2023-24. Journalist Anil Chamadia said that this increase “is not merely about numbers; it is directly linked to growing awareness among marginalised students and the protection given to dominant caste ideologies.” When first-generation Dalit students enter universities in greater numbers, the dominant castes may resent their presence, leading to increased harassment.

The regulations created a complex administrative machinery for equity. They mandated that every higher education institution set up an Equal Opportunity Centre (EOC) to monitor policies for the disadvantaged. Equity Committees, mandated to include representatives from Scheduled Castes (SC), Scheduled Tribes (ST), Other Backward Classes (OBC), women and persons with disabilities, were tasked with complaints. Institutions were mandated to set up “equity squads” for constant surveillance, establish 24/7 hotlines and ensure time-bound redressal of grievances, committees were to meet within 24 hours of a complaint and submit a report within 15 days. Failure to comply would invite severe punishment, including withdrawal of UGC funding, exclusion from schemes, or suspension of degree programs.

Notably, the regulations introduced protection for the first time for OBCs, besides SC/ST students, faculty and staff. The concept of “caste-based discrimination” in Clause 3(c) was articulated as discrimination “only on the basis of caste or tribe against the members of the Scheduled Castes (SC), Scheduled Tribes (ST) and Other Backwards Classes (OBC).”

Based on the current framework, the regulations can be understood as an effort to operationalize the constitutional ban on caste discrimination as a pervasive social order. While the Constitution bans caste discrimination at the level of abstract jurisprudence, the regulations aimed to create capillary structures—committees, squads, helplines—that would penetrate the intimate spaces of caste discrimination: the classroom, the hostel, the mentor-mentee relationship and social networks. They aimed to make visible the everyday humiliations, exclusions and violence against Dalit students, which the “obscene” had hitherto made invisible.

As a UGC functionary explained, “The regulations aimed to institutionalize anti-discrimination policies rather than have a piecemeal approach and thus provide ‘marginalised students with an official platform to raise their concerns, which was often lacking before.’” This is the role of the scene: to make grievances speakable, visible, and actionable. The obscene, on the other hand, is that which is unspeakable, the casteist remark that is reduced to “just a joke,” the exclusion that is reduced to “personal preference,” the hostility that is reduced to “academic rigor.”

II. The Upper-Caste Backlash: Camouflaged Caste and the Hegemony of Denial

The regulations didn’t just face criticism; they walked into a firestorm. Upper-caste students, faculty and a chorus of social media voices came out swinging almost immediately. Protests erupted at Delhi University, Lucknow University and right outside the UGC office. But if you listen closely to what the protesters are actually saying, something interesting emerges. Their words reveal how privilege dresses itself up as fairness when its back is against the wall. To really understand what’s happening here, we need two thinkers: Anand Teltumbde and his idea of “camouflaged” caste, and Gopal Guru with his insights about who gets to theorise and whose experience counts as real.

Teltumbde: When Caste Puts on a New Suit

In The Persistence of Caste (2010), Teltumbde makes a deceptively simple argument that cuts through a lot of confusion. Caste hasn’t disappeared in modern India; it’s just changed its clothes. It no longer marches around in religious robes, declaring Brahmins superior and Dalits polluted. Instead, it’s dressed itself in the respectable attire of modernity. It speaks the language of merit, efficiency and professionalism, all while quietly reproducing hierarchy through who knows whom, who gets recommended for jobs, who feels comfortable in academic spaces.

This is exactly what we’re seeing in the UGC controversy. The upper-caste protesters aren’t defending traditional caste ideology. You won’t hear them argue that Brahmins are naturally smarter or that untouchability was ordained by the gods. That would be too obvious, too easy to counter. Instead, they’ve wrapped themselves in the language of universalism, due process, and merit. They’re not defending privilege, they’re defending fairness. Or so they claim. This is caste in camouflage, operating through the very discourses that supposedly left it behind.

Teltumbde argues this camouflage isn’t accidental. It’s caste’s survival strategy, its “genius,” he calls it, though he means it darkly. Caste is plastic. It can take any form religious, secular, modern, global while never losing its core purpose: maintaining graded inequality. If you go looking for caste in its traditional avatar, you’ll declare it dead. You’ll miss its vibrant new incarnations entirely.

The protesters who warn of “complete chaos” and insist that “victim can be anyone on campus” aren’t defending old caste. They’re defending its new form as common sense, as the natural order of things, as what any reasonable person would think. They are, in Teltumbde’s framework, caste’s latest incarnation.

Guru: Why the Obscene Matters

Gopal Guru gives us the other lens we need. In The Cracked Mirror (2012), written with Sundar Sarukkai, Guru makes a provocative argument about how knowledge itself is structured by caste. Upper-caste “theorists,” he argues, have historically occupied what he calls the “scene”, the privileged space of abstraction, theory and universal claims. Dalit-Bahujan thinkers, meanwhile, have been confined to the “obscene”, the messy, particular, experiential realm that supposedly isn’t fit for theory. Guru calls for “epistemic humility”, a willingness to theorize from the site of the obscene, to take seriously the knowledge that comes from lived experience of caste.

The UGC controversy plays out this dynamic in real time. The upper-caste protesters occupy the scene. They speak the language of due process, safeguards against false accusations, and the danger of dividing society. Their discourse presents itself as neutral, rational, concerned with everyone’s good. And the Dalit experience that made these regulations necessary in the first place, the 115 suicides, the daily humiliations, the systematic exclusion gets pushed into the obscene. It becomes merely anecdotal, particular and insufficiently theoretical.

When protesters claim that “victim can be anyone,” they’re not just describing reality. They’re prescribing how reality should be seen. They’re demanding that the scene remain blind to the actual direction of caste violence. The universal category of “anyone” erases the particular vulnerability of Dalit students. The scene refuses to see what the obscene knows.

The Hegemony of Denial in Action

Listen to Alokit Tripathi, a DU PhD student who told PTI the rules would create “complete chaos.” His concern? The burden of proof would shift to the accused, with “no safeguards for those wrongly accused.” And then this: “The definition of victim is already predetermined. Victim can be anyone on campus.”

This is Teltumbde’s camouflaged caste, speaking in perfect accent. The historically privileged group positions itself as potential victim. The structural violence documented in the 2007 Thorat Committee report on AIIMS, where Dalit students faced “avoidance, non-cooperation and discouragement” from faculty and peers simply vanishes. The actual power relations on campus, where faculty and administration remain overwhelmingly upper-caste, where informal networks quietly reproduce privilege all of it erased from the frame.

And its Guru’s hegemonic denial too. The universal “anyone” neutralizes the particular. The scene refuses to see.

The Myth That Won’t Die

Then there’s the false complaint narrative. It came up everywhere. Petitioners told the Supreme Court that without a provision penalizing malicious complaints, grievance mechanisms would become weapons. One counsel painted a vivid hypothetical: imagine a fresher who resists ragging from a Scheduled Caste senior. The senior files a false caste discrimination complaint. The fresher, without anticipatory bail under the SC/ST Act, could be imprisoned, his career ending on his “first day, first month and first year.”

As a Feminism in India analysis pointed out, this script is borrowed straight from Men’s Rights Activists. When women get legal protection, men declare the laws will be misused for petty revenge. When Dalits get protection, savarnas shout exactly the same thing. These narratives do something specific: they drag remedial measures from the societal and historical to the personal. They diminish systemic violence by obsessing over hypothetical misuse.

Now, to be clear: no legal mechanism is immune to misuse. But the exclusive focus on this possibility, without a whisper of concern for the actual violence Dalit students face daily, reveals what the narrative is really doing. It positions the upper-caste subject as the true victim, the one most at risk from a system supposedly designed to protect the vulnerable. This is Gramsci’s “common sense” at work. The dominant group’s experience gets naturalized as universal. The subordinate group’s experience becomes questionable, particular and obscene.

The Battle over Naming

The fiercest fight was over words. Clause 3(c) defined caste-based discrimination specifically as discrimination against SC/ST/OBC communities. Petitioners called this “completely exclusive.” It created, they argued, a “hierarchy of protection.” They pointed to Clause 3(e), a broader provision prohibiting discrimination on grounds of “religion, race, caste, gender, place of birth, disability, or any of them.” Why have both? Why was 3(c) necessary if 3(e) already existed?

The answer cuts to the heart of the matter. Clause 3(e) gives you formal equality, discrimination is wrong, period, and whosoever does it to whomever. Clause 3(c) recognizes substantive equality, the understanding that caste violence in India has direction. It flows historically and structurally from dominant castes to oppressed castes. As the Supreme Court observed in the Sukanya Shantha case, the Constitution itself is “the greatest testament against historical injustices done against the marginalised castes.” Substantive equality requires that “the law must endeavour to correct historical injustices.”

To refuse this naming, to insist on a “neutral” definition that ignores historical directionality is to push the actual structure of caste violence into the obscene. It is to demand that the scene remain blind to what it doesn’t want to see. The petitioners’ call for an “inclusionary” definition is, from this perspective, a demand for comfort. A demand that the scene not be forced to confront the asymmetrical reality it obscures.

III. The Supreme Court: Definitional Politics on the Scene

The Supreme Court’s interim stay of the regulations on January 29, 2026, did more than halt a policy. It laid bare what’s really at stake in this battle over the scene and the obscene. The Court’s questions, its concerns, even its well-intentioned interventions, all of them reveal how difficult it is for institutions to see what they’ve trained themselves not to see.

What Troubled the Court

The bench, led by Chief Justice Surya Kant, was genuinely worried. They weren’t wrong to be, regulations with “very sweeping consequences” deserve scrutiny. After 75 years of trying to build a caste-less society, the Chief Justice observed, policy that appeared “regressive” and might “divide society” gave him pause. You can hear the sincere concern in his words: after all this time, after everything we’ve tried, are we moving backwards?

Justice Bagchi focused on Clause 3 (c). Wasn’t it redundant alongside Clause 3(e)? Shouldn’t we measure these definitions against the constitutional vision of Article 15, the promise that the state shall not discriminate against any citizen? There was also worry about ragging, which one counsel described as the most common form of discrimination on campus. Why didn’t the regulations address that?

Then came the question that revealed everything. The Chief Justice asked whether the regulations covered caste-based discrimination “by reserved categories that are better situated than other reserved groups.” When counsel confirmed there was no such protection, the Chief pressed further: “Has anybody examined this aspect?”

Why the Scene Can’t See

From where we’re sitting, with Teltumbde and Guru as our guides, this question is illuminating. Not because it’s wrong to ask, in the abstract, it’s perfectly reasonable. But because of what it reveals about how the scene sees the world?

The question assumes symmetry. It imagines a level playing field where power flows in multiple directions, where a student from a “better situated” reserved category might discriminate against someone from a “lesser situated” one. And yes, theoretically, this could happen. Caste is complicated. Graded inequality means there are hierarchies among oppressed castes too, some OBCs are better positioned than some SCs, some SCs than some STs.

But here’s the thing about forests and trees. To focus on this internal hierarchy while ignoring the fundamental asymmetry between oppressed castes as a whole and the dominant castes that have historically controlled every institution—that’s not nuance. That’s blindness. The question “what about discrimination by reserved categories” sounds sophisticated. It sounds like careful, balanced thinking. But its function is to distract, to make the scene appear complex while actually preserving its refusal to see the main structure of violence.

The Court’s concern about “dividing society” works similarly. It assumes a unity that the regulations would disrupt. But as the Feminism in India analysis put it, “Their remark that the regulations might ‘divide society’ are a stark reminder of how those in privilege view the world around them. The fractures already exist, they have been put in place to sustain those at the top of the food chain.” The regulations didn’t create division. They simply named it. And naming division, for those who benefit from not seeing it, always feels like violence.

Jaising’s Attempt

Senior Advocate Indira Jaising tried to bridge this gap. Appearing for the petitioners in the original Vemula-Tadvi case, the case that had made these regulations necessary in the first place, she argued that the Court couldn’t consider this matter in isolation. There were directions in the Abeda Salim Tadvi proceedings that had to be honoured. The regulations, she insisted, existed “to create an inclusive society.” She tried to show how Clause 3(c) and Clause 3(e) worked together, not against each other. But opposing counsel kept interrupting. The connections she tried to draw kept getting lost.

Jaising reminded the Bench that the 2012 Regulations had been repealed. If the Court stayed the new ones, there would be nothing. A vacuum. The Court heard her and used its powers under Article 142 to direct that the 2012 Regulations continue in force until further orders. A practical solution, perhaps. But also a telling one: better the old framework, however inadequate, than the new one that actually named names.

The Warning

The Chief Justice ended with a warning to the petitioners: don’t turn this “into a political issue.” The instruction itself is revealing. It positions the Court as a neutral arbiter standing above politics, while the petitioners’ mobilization, their insistence that caste violence is real and must be addressed is framed as potentially illegitimate, as dragging law into the muck of politics.

But here’s what this framing misses: the Court’s own observations were deeply political. The question about reverse discrimination. The concern for the general category. The worry about dividing society. These aren’t neutral positions. They’re the scene’s attempt to manage the boundary between what can be seen and what must remain invisible, what can be spoken and what must stay unspeakable. They’re the scene’s way of preserving existing power relations while sincerely believing it’s just being reasonable.

The scene doesn’t see itself as political. That’s its power. It experiences its own perspective as simply how any reasonable person would see things. The obscene, by contrast, is always marked, always particular, always suspect. The Court’s warning not to make it political is, from this perspective, the most political gesture of all. It’s the scene telling the obscene: stay in your place. Let us decide what counts as real.

IV. The Campus: Violence and Its Representation

The confrontation at Delhi University on February 13, 2026 and its aftermath, brought something into sharp focus that the legal arguments had kept at a distance. The campus became a stage where the obscene, the violence that usually stays in the shadows, whispered about in hostels, experienced in everyday humiliations erupted into plain sight. And then, just as quickly, the scene moved to push it back into invisibility.

What Happened at Arts Faculty

The day started as a demonstration in support of the UGC regulations, organized by the All India Forum for Equity and backed by AISA, the left-wing students’ association. But by the time it ended, the Arts Faculty had become a battleground. Members of the ABVP, the RSS-affiliated student organization, were there too. The two sides faced off, and things turned ugly.

A YouTuber who identifies as a Brahmin journalist came forward with a harrowing account. She claimed she was assaulted and subjected to rape threats by what she described as “a mob of nearly 500 people.” According to her, the crowd turned on her after asking about her caste. She recounted: “The girls around me whispered rape threats in my ears just because I am a Brahmin; ‘aaj tu chal, tera nanga parade niklega,’ is what they said.”

But that’s not the only version of events. AISA activists and another journalist on the scene offered a different picture. They said the woman had made casteist remarks, had shoved another woman to the ground, had provoked the crowd. The Delhi Police, as they often do in such situations, registered cross-FIRs at the Maurice Nagar police station. Both sides got to file complaints. Both sides got to be victims. Sections related to molestation, assault and criminal intimidation were invoked. The official record would show that something happened, but not what, or why, or who bore responsibility.

When the Obscene Surfaces

This is exactly the kind of moment Teltumbde writes about in The Persistence of Caste. In his analysis of the Khairlanji massacre, he argues that violence against Dalits in contemporary India isn’t some leftover from a premodern past. It’s a modern phenomenon, the obscene erupting into visibility when the established order faces a genuine challenge.

Think about what happened at the Arts Faculty. The rape threats, whether whispered or shouted. The casteist remarks, whoever initiated them. The physical confrontation. None of this looks like the old spectacles of sovereign power, where kings or landlords publicly punished those who transgressed. This is different. This is clandestine, community-sanctioned violence, emerging in the chaos of a protest, later revealed through competing media narratives and activist accounts. It’s an attempt to violently reassert a crumbling local hegemony to remind certain people of their place.

Teltumbde puts it plainly: “The violence against Dalits is not a relic of the past but a contemporary phenomenon, rooted in the challenge that Dalit assertion poses to the social order. When Dalits refuse to accept their subordinate position—when they own land, seek education, assert their rights—the dominant castes respond with violence to restore the ‘common sense’ of hierarchy.”

This is what the UGC regulations represented: a challenge to the campus’s caste order. And the violence at Arts Faculty regardless of which account you believe, regardless of who struck first was the obscene striking back. It was an attempt to restore common sense, to remind everyone that some things don’t change.

The Ban

Four days later, on February 17, Delhi University imposed a month-long ban on all public meetings, processions and demonstrations. The official reason cited “information received indicating that unrestricted public gatherings… may lead to obstruction of traffic, threats to human life, and disturbance of public peace.” The order prohibited assemblies of five or more people, the shouting of slogans and the carrying of hazardous materials.

The vice-chancellor made a public appeal. He urged teachers and students to “maintain trust in the judicial process.” He emphasised that “social harmony is the greatest thing.”

On the surface, this is reasonable. After violence, a cooling-off period. After confrontation, a return to order. The university administration performs its proper role: neutral arbiter, guardian of peace, defender of harmony.

But as Mithuraj Dhusiya, an associate professor at Hansraj College, pointed out, the ban may be using “traffic concerns as a pretext to curb mobilisations over issues such as appointments… and the recent suspensions of teachers.” In other words, the official scene of administrative order becomes a mechanism for silencing the obscene eruption into visibility. Don’t protest. Don’t gather. Don’t shout. Trust the process. Have faith in the institutions.

The Double Stage

What the campus revealed in these weeks was its nature as a double stage. On the visible scene, everything is proper. The university issues statements. The police file cross-complaints. The vice-chancellor appeals for harmony. The ban is justified by traffic concerns and public safety. The official discourse is one of neutrality, balance, procedural correctness.

But beneath this scene, operating in the shadows, is the obscene of caste violence and its contestation. The whispered rape threats. The casteist remarks shouted in the heat of confrontation. The student organizations mobilizing along caste lines. The informal networks through which ABVP coordinates its response. The everyday humiliations that never make it into police reports. All of this operates off-stage, invisible to the official record, yet determining everything that happens on it.

The university, like the state more broadly, manages the boundary between scene and obscene. It decides what becomes visible and what remains hidden. It frames some things as political and therefore suspect, other things as administrative and therefore neutral. It preserves existing power relations while sincerely believing it’s just keeping the peace.

The obscene erupted at Arts Faculty on February 13. For a moment, it was visible. Then the scene moved quickly to push it back into invisibility. The ban. The appeal for harmony. The trust in the judicial process. All the familiar mechanisms for managing the boundary, for ensuring that what must not be seen stays unseen.

V. The State: Schizophrenia Institutionalized

The ruling BJP’s response to the controversy reveals something deeper than political calculation, though calculation is certainly part of it. What we see is the Indian state caught in a contradiction it cannot resolve, speaking out of both sides of its mouth because it is itself split down the middle. Anand Teltumbde has spent years analysing this condition, and his framework helps us understand what’s really going on.

The State’s Caste Character

In Republic of Caste: Thinking Equality in the Time of Neoliberal Hindutva (2018), Teltumbde makes an argument that should be obvious but somehow still needs saying. The Indian state is not some neutral arbiter floating above society, untouched by caste. It is itself constituted by caste relations. Its institutions, its personnel, its everyday practices all are shaped by the caste order. This is why the state can simultaneously enact progressive laws and fail to implement them. This is why it can speak the language of equality while quietly reproducing hierarchy.

The UGC controversy is a perfect illustration. Through the University Grants Commission, the state produced genuinely progressive regulations aimed at protecting Dalit, Tribal, and OBC students from the violence they face on campus. This was the state acting in its constitutional identity, the identity that promises substantive equality, that acknowledges historical injustice, that tries to make things right.

But then the Supreme Court stayed those regulations and the political leadership welcomed the stay. The same state that created the protections now celebrated their suspension. Two voices, coming from the same body. This is not hypocrisy in the simple sense. This is a deeper split—between what the state formally commits to and what it actually is.

The Forward-Backward Dilemma

The Indian Express captured this dilemma well in its reporting. The BJP, over the last decade, has worked hard to expand its base beyond the upper castes that traditionally supported it. Since the 1990s, upper-caste communities in northern, western and central India have preferred the BJP, while OBCs, SCs, and STs tended toward Congress or regional parties. But under Narendra Modi, the party has made serious inroads into these communities, through higher representation in candidate lists and ministerial positions, through appointing Dalits and Tribals to top constitutional posts like President and Vice-President, through linking Hindutva issues to caste optics.

As Seshadri Chari, former editor of the RSS-linked magazine The Organiser, put it: “The BJP’s Ram Temple, Article 370 and other issues were basically an expression of cultural nationalism… However, the Opposition continued to come out with strategies to counter it. The Congress has recently decided to counter the BJP’s Hindutva cultural nationalism by playing on the caste fault line. The BJP has answered this by putting its core agendas within a caste framework.”

This is the context in which the UGC regulations landed. They put the government in a genuine quandary. An ABVP insider noted that even some pro-Hindutva influencers—like author Anand Ranganathan—have been critical of the BJP on this count. “The Congress’s criticism does not matter that much,” the insider said, “but such voices are taken seriously by common middle-class supporters of the BJP and the Sangh.”

The dilemma is real. If the government supports the regulations, it risks alienating the upper-caste base that still forms the core of its support. If it opposes them, it undermines its carefully cultivated image as a party that cares about OBC and Dalit interests. There is no clean solution, only management of the contradiction.

Two Voices, One State

Watch how the state speaks in this controversy. Union Education Minister Dharmendra Pradhan offered what was described as a “blanket assurance”, the regulations would not be misused, and no one would face harassment. This is the constitutional voice, affirming protection, promising fairness, addressing the scene.

But simultaneously, the government welcomed the Supreme Court stay that suspended the regulations. The ABVP national organizing secretary, Ashish Chauhan, explained that the organization had welcomed the stay because “some words were unclear,” adding that “the groups to be protected need protection” while “other groups should not fear any misuse.”

This is the political voice, addressing the obscene. It acknowledges the anxieties simmering among the upper-caste base. It reassures them that their fears are heard. It frames the stay not as a defeat for equality but as a clarification, a fine-tuning, a protection against misuse.

Two voices, speaking from the same state, to different audiences, about the same regulations. They cannot be reconciled because the state itself cannot be reconciled, split between its constitutional identity and its actual embeddedness in caste society. This is what Teltumbde means when he says the state is not above caste but constituted by it. It cannot simply decide to be neutral. It speaks out of both sides of its mouth because it has two mouths.

The Ambedkar Parallel

Outlook India drew a parallel that’s worth sitting with. When B.R. Ambedkar proposed the Hindu Code Bill in parliament, he faced “aggressive resistance” that reflected, in the magazine’s words, “an attempt to preserve a conservative social order rather than uphold constitutional values.” When Jawaharlal Nehru eventually withdrew the bill, the mouthpiece of the Arya Mahila Hitkarini Mahaparishad celebrated it as the “victory of divine forces over demonic forces.”

Then as now, reforms aimed at addressing structural inequality were framed as attacks on tradition. Then as now, they were called divisive, threatening to social harmony. Then as now, the state retreated in the face of upper-caste mobilization.

The parallel is instructive because it shows how little has changed. The specific issues are different—the Hindu Code Bill addressed women’s rights within family law, the UGC regulations address caste discrimination in higher education. But the underlying dynamic is the same. The constitutional promise of equality collides with the social reality of hierarchy. And when that collision happens, the state, constituted as it is by that hierarchy finds ways to manage the collision without resolving it.

Nehru withdrew the bill. The Supreme Court stayed the regulations. Different times, different institutions, same outcome. The state speaks its two voices, and the obscene continues its work, mostly unseen.

VI. Dalit Counter-Mobilisation: Forcing the Obscene into Visibility

Against all of this, the Court’s blindness, the state’s split voice, the violence on campus, the ban on protest, Dalit students, activists and their allies keep organising. They keep forcing the obscene into visibility. This is not just activism. It is, in Guru’s terms, theorizing from below. In Teltumbde’s, it is counter-hegemonic assertion.

Guru: Knowledge from the Obscene

In The Cracked Mirror, Guru makes a claim that cuts deep. Dalit experience is not raw material waiting to be processed by upper-caste theorists into proper knowledge. It is itself a site of knowledge production. The people who have been pushed into the obscene see things that the people on the scene cannot. Not because they’re smarter, but because of where they stand.

“The experience of humiliation is not just an object of analysis but a source of critical insight,” Guru writes. “Those who have been pushed into the obscene have a perspective on the scene that those who occupy it cannot access. Theorizing from the obscene is not a supplement to mainstream theory but a challenge to its very foundations.”

Think about what this means. The mothers’ petition. The Dalit student protests. The work of scholars like Anil Chamadia. These are not just people demanding things. They are producing knowledge. They are refusing to let Dalit experience be dismissed as anecdotal, as merely personal, as insufficiently theoretical. They are insisting that the scene confront what it has worked so hard to exclude.

The Mothers who wouldn’t disappear

The UGC regulations exist because of this struggle. They exist because Radhika Vemula and Abeda Tadvi, mothers of Rohith Vemula and Payal Tadvi, filed a joint petition in the Supreme Court. They didn’t have to do that. They could have grieved privately, quietly, the way the scene prefers. Instead, they dragged the reality of campus discrimination into the national eyes cape.

Their lawyers submitted a number: 115 students took their own lives between 2004 and 2024. Many of them Dalit. The UGC itself filed an affidavit in October 2023 admitting that caste discrimination against Dalit students was not some “unfounded presumption” but an actual, documented reality.

The mothers’ petition made visible what the obscene had rendered invisible. The suicides. The daily humiliations. The institutional failures that everyone knew about but no one named. The regulations were the state’s response, inadequate, contested, and now stayed, but a response nonetheless. Forced visibility produces results, even if those results are then rolled back.

Refusing to Disappear Again

The Supreme Court stayed the regulations. DU banned protests. The scene did what it always does: tried to push the obscene back into invisibility. But organizations like AISA keep mobilizing. Students keep protesting. They refuse to let the obscene return to comfortable darkness.

Feminism in India put it plainly: “The decision to halt the regulations is just another attempt at denying basic dignity to Dalits and keeping the caste system in place.” The counter-protests are an answer to this. They say: we saw what you tried to hide. We’re not going to un-see it just because you’re uncomfortable.

Teltumbde: Why Mobilisation Matters

Teltumbde, writing about the protests after the Khairlanji massacre, captures what’s at stake in this kind of mobilization. He says the protests weren’t really about getting justice for one family, though that mattered too. They were about something bigger: forcing the state and society to confront the reality of caste violence that the official scene works so hard to deny. They were an attempt to shatter the hegemony of denial, to make the obscene visible.

The same is true here. The mobilizations around the UGC regulations are not just about supporting a particular policy. They’re about the fundamental question of whether caste will be permitted to continue its hidden work, or whether it will be forced into visibility and thereby into contestation.

What the Numbers Mean

Anil Chamadia pointed to something striking: reported discrimination cases went up by 118.4%. The scene might look at this and see a problem, too many complaints, too much disruption. But Chamadia sees it differently. The increase, he says, is “directly linked to growing awareness among marginalised students.”

When Dalit students enter universities in larger numbers. When they refuse to accept humiliation silently. When they organise and protest and demand accountability. The obscene gets forced into visibility. The numbers go up. And then the backlash comes, the violence, the protests bans, and the Supreme Court stays. This is the dynamic Teltumbde describes. Dalit assertion provokes upper-caste violence, which provokes further Dalit mobilization. The boundary between scene and obscene becomes a site of continuous struggle.

The Intellectual Work

None of this happens in a vacuum. The “growing awareness” Chamadia talks about is produced, in part, by the intellectual work of scholars like Guru and Teltumbde themselves. They have given language to experiences that were previously suffered in silence. They have provided theoretical frameworks, like the scene/obscene dialectic that help people understand their situation and act upon it.

This is what Guru means by theorising from the obscene. Not just describing oppression. Producing the conceptual tools for overcoming it. Dalit students now have a vocabulary for naming what they experience. They have legal categories, “caste discrimination,” “hostile environment,” “institutional failure” that were forged through decades of struggle. They have frameworks that help them see that their individual humiliation is not just personal bad luck but structural violence.

The UGC controversy is, in part, a testament to the success of this intellectual project. The backlash is real, the violence is real, the stay is real. But so is the visibility. So is the mobilisation. So is the refusal to disappear.

The obscene keeps erupting. The scene keeps trying to push it back. That struggle—unequal, ongoing, with no guaranteed outcome—is where we are.

VII. Theoretical Synthesis: The Controversy as Exemplar of Caste’s Schizophrenic Modernity

The UGC controversy illustrates every dimension of our theoretical framework, now enriched by the insights of Teltumbde and Guru:

The controversy reveals that caste’s modernity is not defined by its disappearance but by its strategic disaggregation. Power flows by maintaining the split between a disavowing public scene and a vibrant private obscene. The UGC regulations attempted to extend the scene’s reach into the obscene, to make the state’s power felt in the intimate spaces where caste actually lives. The backlash was the obscene defending itself, refusing to be illuminated.

The Supreme Court’s intervention, staying the regulations, questioning their definitional logic suspended the outcome. But the dialectic continues. Every protest, every counter-protest, every legal argument, every editorial, is a skirmish on the boundary between scene and obscene. And as our framework teaches us, that boundary is where power does its most important work.

Conclusion: The Dialectic’s Latest Act

The UGC controversy is not an isolated policy dispute. It never was. It is the latest act in the long drama of caste’s schizophrenic modernity—the permanent, unresolved tension between a constitutional scene that promises equality and a social obscene that quietly, persistently reproduces hierarchy.

The regulations did not emerge from nowhere. They came from a specific genealogy of struggle. The mothers of Rohith Vemula and Payal Tadvi, who could have grieved in private and instead filed a joint petition in the Supreme Court. The 115 student suicides between 2004 and 2024, many of them Dalit, each one a story the scene preferred not to see. The 118 percent increase in reported discrimination, which the scene reads as disruption but which really measures growing awareness, growing refusal to suffer in silence. The regulations were an attempt to create mechanisms that would penetrate the obscene, that would make visible what the scene had rendered invisible. They were an attempt—flawed, contested, but genuine—to fulfil the constitutional promise of substantive equality.

The backlash revealed the power of the obscene. It was not organized in any formal sense, not announced in advance, not easy to document. That is precisely its strength. Upper-caste students mobilized through informal networks, through what Teltumbde calls “social capital”, the connections that operate off-stage, invisible to the official record. They framed themselves as victims, as the truly vulnerable ones. And they succeeded. They convinced the Supreme Court that regulations designed to protect Dalit students actually threatened “social harmony.” The narrative of false complaints, of reverse discrimination, of the general category as the real victim—this is the hegemony of denial operating at full capacity. This is what Teltumbde means by “camouflaged” caste, what Guru analyses as the scene’s epistemic violence. It does not need to defend hierarchy openly. It only needs to make hierarchy invisible, to make the structures that produce vulnerability disappear, to make the vulnerable look like the powerful.

The state, caught between its constitutional obligations and its political base, did what it always does in such moments. It spoke with two voices. One voice assured the constitutional audience that protections would remain, that no one would be harassed. The other voice, quieter but more decisive, welcomed the judicial stay that rescued the government from its dilemma. Two voices, same state. The schizophrenia is not a bug; it is the feature.

The campus revealed itself as a double stage. On the visible scene, the university administration performed neutrality, issuing statements, filing cross-FIRs, appealing for harmony, banning protests in the name of traffic. Beneath this scene, the obscene did its work: the confrontation at Arts Faculty, the whispered rape threats, the casteist remarks, the informal mobilization along caste lines. And when the obscene erupted into visibility on February 13, the scene moved quickly to push it back. The protest ban was not about traffic. It was about management. It was about re-establishing the boundary.

And throughout, Dalit students, activists, and intellectuals continued the work of forcing the obscene into visibility. They organized, protested, theorised and refused to let the moment pass. This is what Guru calls “theorizing from the obscene”, not supplementing mainstream theory but challenging its foundations. This is what Teltumbde analyses as counter-hegemonic assertion and not just demanding inclusion but shattering the terms of exclusion. It is the work of breaking the double stage.

The Supreme Court will hear the matter again in March 2026. Whatever it decides, the controversy has already revealed something fundamental about the architecture of caste power in contemporary India. It has shown that the boundary between “scene” and “obscene” is not natural. It is political. It is constantly contested, constantly renegotiated. It has shown that the struggle for caste equality is, at its heart, a struggle over visibility. Over what can be seen, what can be spoken, what can be named. Over who gets to define reality.

As long as the schism persists, as long as the official scene disavows what the social obscene reproduces, caste will endure in its schizophrenic modern form. It will adapt, mutate, camouflage itself. It will learn new languages, wear new clothes, inhabit new institutions. But its very adaptability is also its vulnerability. Each time it is forced into visibility, each time the obscene is dragged into the scene, the possibility of transformation opens. Each eruption is also an opportunity.

The project of annihilation, as Ambedkar envisioned it, requires nothing less than the demolition of the double stage. Not just reforming the scene. Not just documenting the obscene. But destroying the architecture that keeps them separate. The UGC controversy is one battle in that long war. Not the first, not the last. But a battle nonetheless.

Teltumbde writes that “caste’s genius lies in its plasticity.” He is right. But plasticity cuts both ways. What can adapt can also be broken. What can mutate can also be killed. Each moment of forced visibility is a wound. The question is whether enough wounds can be inflicted, enough times, in enough places, to bring the whole structure down?

Guru teaches us that this struggle must be waged not only on the streets and in the courts but in the realm of theory itself. Theorising from the obscene, centering Dalit experience, refusing the scene’s abstractions, insisting on the specificity of caste violence is not a supplement to political work. It is political work. It is the work of producing the conceptual tools that make visible what the scene works so hard to hide. This article has attempted to contribute to that project, using the tools of Foucault and Gramsci while remaining grounded in the intellectual traditions of Dalit Studies. The scene/obscene dialectic, enriched by Teltumbde’s analysis of camouflage and Guru’s insistence on theorizing from below, offers a framework for understanding not only this controversy but the broader condition of caste in contemporary India.

The double stage still stands. Its foundations hold, for now. But they are cracking. Every protest, every petition, every act of theorising from below is another crack. The question is not whether the structure will fall—all structures fall, eventually. The question is whether we will be the ones to bring it down, and what we will build in its place.

(The author teaches history at Shivaji College, University of Delhi. He can be reached at skandpriya@shivaji.du.ac.in)

References

Chamadia, Anil. Interview with University World News, 2026.

Feminism in India. “What The 2026 UGC Regulations Revealed About Caste, Merit and Savarna Victimhood.” February 9, 2026.

Guru, Gopal, and Sundar Sarukkai. The Cracked Mirror: An Indian Debate on Experience and Theory. Oxford University Press, 2012.

The Hindu. “As SC stays UGC equity rules, protection to marginalised castes came from a Constitutional promise to end ‘historical oppression’.” January 30, 2026.

Hindustan Times. “Protests, counter-FIRs, now a ban at DU: Campus on the boil over UGC rules against caste discrimination | Explained.” February 16, 2026.

India Today. “Travesty of UGC Campus Rules 2026: They turn a protective shield into a deadly sword.” January 29, 2026.

The Indian Express. “As UGC row simmers, why BJP dilemma over ‘forward vs backward’ has deepened.” February 18, 2026.

Outlook India. “The Socio-Cultural Debate Over the UGC’s Equity Regulations.” February 16, 2026.

Supreme Court Observer. “Supreme Court stays 2026 UGC equity regulations.” January 29, 2026.

Teltumbde, Anand. The Persistence of Caste: The Khairlanji Murders and India’s Hidden Apartheid. Zed Books, 2010.

Teltumbde, Anand. Dalits: Past, Present and Future. Routledge, 2016.

Teltumbde, Anand. Republic of Caste: Thinking Equality in the Time of Neoliberal Hindutva. Navayana, 2018.

Thorat Committee Report on AIIMS Discrimination, 2007.

University World News. “New rules aim to tackle campus-based caste discrimination.” January 20, 2026.

University Grants Commission (Promotion of Equity in Higher Education Institutions) Regulations, 2026. The Gazette of India.

Zee News. “Delhi University enforces 30-day curbs on protests after UGC unrest.” February 17, 2026.

Related:

The Double Stage: Caste’s Schizophrenic Modernity between Spectacle and Shadow

The Elephant in the Mud: Crisis of Identity Politics and BSP

UGC Guidelines 2026: AISA Protest at Delhi University followed by sexual abuse allegations amid police presence

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