Temple Pattas and the Politics of Sacred Property 

The decision to grant land titles to temples is being justified as a route to enable them to access government schemes. On the surface, this appears as a bureaucratic correction. But the social context matters. In Rajasthan, temple management and priesthood are overwhelmingly controlled by Brahmin and Bania networks. Regularising temple land thus strengthens institutions already embedded within caste hierarchies.

This is not merely about religion; it is about property, legitimacy, and state-backed sanctification. When the state confers pattas upon temples, it converts religious capital into legal capital. In effect, public land becomes anchored to institutions historically aligned with Brahmanical authority. The material beneficiaries are not abstract “devotees,” but specific caste-based managerial structures.

The larger concern is the asymmetry. If temples are to receive legal facilitation in the name of heritage and welfare access, where is the parallel policy for community institutions run by Dalits, Adivasis, or minority groups? Selective formalisation reproduces structural inequality while appearing neutral.

Meat Shops, NOCs and the Food Governance 

The mandate that meat shops cannot open without Panchayat NOC approval, especially near public places, carries heavy symbolic and economic implications. In Rajasthan, the meat trade is largely associated with Muslim, Dalit and Rajput communities. Introducing an additional layer of discretionary approval effectively subjects these livelihoods to local majoritarian pressures.

The language of “public sentiment” or “cultural sensitivity” often becomes a tool for social policing. Panchayats are not caste-neutral spaces; they reflect local hierarchies. Granting them veto power over meat shops risks institutionalising social prejudice under administrative cover.

Food regulation in India has increasingly mirrored ideological currents rather than public health concerns. When cow shelters receive hundreds of crores while meat sellers face regulatory tightening, the contrast is telling. One sector aligned with Brahmanical social ethos receives subsidy and legitimacy; another, tied to marginalised communities, faces scrutiny and conditionality.

Brahminism, State Patronage, and Sociopolitical Control 

These measures must be understood within the broader framework of Brahminism as a system of graded hierarchy sustained through cultural authority and economic leverage. Historically, Brahmanical power has not relied solely on theology but on proximity to the state and control over symbolic capital — education, ritual, law, and legitimacy. Historian Divya Cherian traces this food-policy in Rajasthan to the political rise of Brahmins, Banias, Mahajans and Jains as intermediaries between the local kings and the jagirdars. During the tenure of Maharaja Vijay Singh Rathore, a devoted Vaishnavite, policies promoting strict vegetarianism imposed legal sanctions on not just Muslims and Dalist but the Rajputs – causing unpopularity of the king among his own Rajput clansmen. His successor, Maharaja Man Singh Rathore, a Nath sampraday adherent, withdrew strict Vaishnavite vegetarianism but by then the state was heavily dependent bureaucratically on the ‘vegetarian’ mercantile- Brahmanical lobbies.

In the 21^st century, granting pattas to temples and privileging cow protection schemes extend this pattern into contemporary governance. They reinforce a moral economy in which Brahmanical religious institutions are treated as guardians of civilization, while occupations associated with lower castes are rendered morally negotiable.

Importantly, this is not confined to the BJP. While the BJP’s ideological articulation is explicit, earlier Congress governments in Rajasthan — especially those preceding Ashok Gehlot — often reproduced similar structural preferences. The rhetoric of socialism coexisted with conspicuous promotion of Brahmanical institutions and Bania-dominated capital networks. Socialist jargons were invoked vigorously only while fomenting caste conflicts between competitive agrarian castes like Rajputs and Jats, but economic policy frequently aligned with established mercantile and brahminical interests.

Thus, the current decisions are less an aberration and more a culmination — a clearer articulation of long-standing patterns.

Bania Capitalism and the Politics of Selective Regulation 

The political economy dimension cannot be ignored. Rajasthan’s commercial networks have historically been shaped by Bania capital, particularly in urban centres. Regulatory regimes tend to burden informal, small-scale, caste-bound occupations — such as local butchers or street vendors — while leaving entrenched commercial capital relatively unscathed.

When the state intensifies scrutiny over meat shops but not over large-scale corporate food supply chains, it signals whose economic activity is deemed culturally legitimate. This differential treatment reinforces caste-coded divisions of labour. The rhetoric of protecting “public order” or “tradition” often masks an uneven terrain of enforcement. Regulation becomes a means of disciplining marginal livelihoods while consolidating a symbolic alignment with Bania and Brahmanical interests.

Studies show that upwards of two-thirds of Scheduled Caste rural households are landless or near-landless, underscoring how economic exclusion persists; state focus on symbolic assets like cows and temples further diverts attention from redistributive needs. Communities such as the Badhik—who traditionally make a living from butchery—are low caste, landless and historically marginalised, raising concerns that new Panchayat NOC requirements for meat shops disproportionately affect socially excluded groups.

Trade data from Rajasthan cattle fairs shows a dramatic decline in cattle sales — from 31,299 in 2010-11 to under 3,000 by 2016-17 — following stricter protective regulations, revealing real economic impacts on livestock trade.” This affects both pastoral and agrarian communities as well.

Cow Shelters and Cultural Priorities 

The allocation of substantial funds to establish cow shelters across Panchayat Samitis fits within a broader politics of sacralisation. Cow protection has long functioned as a mobilising idiom of Hindu identity. But in budgetary terms, prioritizing such projects over pressing issues like rural employment diversification or agrarian distress reflects ideological choice.

Rajasthan collected over ₹2,259 crore in cow protection surcharges and spent more than ₹1,500 crore on gaushalas and related schemes over a 5-year period, according to state finance data, showing the weight of symbolic welfare in the budget compared to other competing social expenditures. This means a major chunk of a designated revenue stream — meant ostensibly to support cow welfare — has gone to cow shelter grants, even as other social sector needs compete for attention. As per a report in the Financial Express.

When combined with land grants to temples and conditionality for meat sellers, a coherent pattern emerges: state resources flow toward institutions and symbols aligned with Brahmin-Bania identity, while regulatory burdens accumulate around occupations associated with Muslims, and Dalits.

Beyond Party Lines: Structural Continuities

It would be simplistic to attribute this entirely to one party or one chief minister. Rajasthan’s post-independence political culture has frequently oscillated between socialist rhetoric and social conservatism. Congress governments often invoked redistributive language in moments of caste tension among agrarian communities, yet maintained close proximity to Brahminical cultural authority and Bania commercial networks.

The BJP’s current moves under Bhajanlal Sharma represent a more overt consolidation of that legacy. The difference lies less in substance and more in explicit ideological framing.

Conclusion: Governance or Cultural Engineering?

At stake is not merely administrative reform but the moral architecture of the state. When temple institutions are regularised and empowered while meat sellers face new hurdles, governance crosses into cultural engineering. It privileges one vision of society over pluralistic livelihood realities.

For a state, that constitutionally promises equality and secular governance, the challenge is to ensure that policy does not become a vehicle for reinforcing inherited hierarchies. Rajasthan’s latest announcements raise difficult questions: Who receives the state’s protection? Whose work is dignified? And whose livelihood is made conditional upon local moral approval?

In answering these, one sees less a neutral reform agenda and more a calibrated reassertion of sociocultural power — rooted in long-standing Brahmanical and mercantile dominance, now articulated with renewed confidence.

(The author is a mechanical engineer and an independent commentator on history and politics, with a particular focus on Rajasthan. His work explores the syncretic exchanges of India’s borderlands as well as contemporary debates on memory, identity and historiography)

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

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

The post Temple Leases, Food Morality: Rajasthan’s new Panchayat order appeared first on SabrangIndia.

Official figures spark political firestorm

During Question Hour, former Chief Minister and Leader of the Opposition Bhupesh Baghel sought detailed information on custodial deaths over the preceding 13 months. He asked whether judicial inquiries — mandatory in custodial deaths and guided by National Human Rights Commission (NHRC) protocols — had been completed in all cases, as reported by The Hindu.

Responding on behalf of the government, Deputy Chief Minister Vijay Sharma, who also holds the Home portfolio, confirmed that 66 inmates, including convicted prisoners, had died in custody during the specified period. He stated that:

• 18 cases have completed magisterial inquiries, and
• 48 cases remain under investigation.

Sharma assured the House that investigations were being conducted as per procedure and that action would follow if negligence was established.

However, the confirmation of the figures did little to calm tensions.

Opposition alleges overcrowding and healthcare breakdown

Baghel launched a sharp critique of the state’s prison administration, arguing that the figures pointed to a systemic crisis rather than isolated incidents.

According to him, prisons in Chhattisgarh are functioning at approximately 150% of their sanctioned capacity, severely undermining access to medical care and essential services. He questioned how such a high mortality figure could be divorced from structural conditions inside jails.

“How has law and order deteriorated to this extent?” Baghel asked in the House. “How many deaths have occurred in the last year, and what are the reasons?”

He further alleged that serious crimes — including murder, robbery, and extortion — had risen by nearly 35%, contending that rising crime rates coupled with prison overcrowding signal a deeper governance breakdown.

Opposition members argued that overcrowding, stretched medical infrastructure, and inadequate monitoring mechanisms could be contributing to preventable custodial deaths. They demanded immediate structural reforms, urgent strengthening of prison healthcare systems, and independent oversight.

The death of tribal leader Jeevan Thakur

The debate intensified when Baghel raised the case of tribal leader Jeevan Thakur, who died on December 4, 2025, while in judicial custody — a case that has drawn protests across Bastar, as reported by The Hindu.

According to Deputy CM Sharma’s statement in the House:

• Thakur was initially lodged in a jail in Kanker district.
• He was later shifted to a prison in Raipur following a court order.
• After his health deteriorated, he was admitted first to the Raipur district hospital and subsequently to the state-run Dr. B.R. Ambedkar Memorial Hospital, where he died during treatment.

Sharma said the jail superintendent informed the District Judge as per procedure, following which a committee was constituted to conduct an inquiry.

However, Baghel alleged that Thakur — described as a tribal community leader — had been falsely implicated in a case. He further claimed that Thakur was diabetic and did not receive timely medication or proper medical care in custody. According to the Opposition, there were complaints that medical advice was ignored by prison authorities.

Baghel emphasised that tribal communities in Bastar had staged protests demanding accountability and insisted that a magisterial inquiry was insufficient. He demanded that the matter be investigated by a House committee of the Legislative Assembly.

Sharma declined to comment directly on the demand for a legislative panel but maintained that the ongoing judicial inquiry should be allowed to conclude before further action is considered.

Bedlam, slogans, and walkout

As the exchange grew sharper, Congress MLAs stood up, raised slogans against the government, and disrupted proceedings. The Speaker attempted to restore order, but the protest escalated into a walkout by Opposition members.

The confrontation underscored a broader and recurring national concern: the condition of prisons, compliance with NHRC guidelines in custodial deaths, and the adequacy of medical care for inmates — especially undertrial prisoners and members of vulnerable communities.

Larger questions raised

The controversy raises multiple structural questions:

• Are judicial and magisterial inquiries sufficient safeguards in custodial death cases? Do these institutional checks and balances against state abuse which are available statutorily actually happen?

Judicial and magisterial inquiries into custodial deaths are not optional safeguards — they are statutorily mandated. Under Section 176(1A) of the Code of Criminal Procedure, a Judicial Magistrate or Metropolitan Magistrate must conduct an inquiry in cases of death, disappearance, or rape in custody, in addition to the regular police investigation. The provision was introduced to address the inherent conflict of interest in police investigating themselves. Its equivalent now exists under Section 196 of the Bharatiya Nagarik Suraksha Sanhita, thereby continuing the mandatory judicial oversight framework. On paper, this creates a layered accountability mechanism: FIR registration, police investigation, post-mortem examination, and independent magisterial inquiry — a structure intended to function as a check against state abuse.

However, the real question is not whether safeguards exist, but whether they operate meaningfully. Magisterial inquiries are often delayed, limited in scope, and heavily reliant on official records; their reports are rarely made public, and prosecutions do not automatically follow. Without transparency, time-bound completion, and clear consequences for negligence or abuse, these inquiries risk becoming procedural formalities rather than substantive accountability tools. The statutory framework under Section 176 CrPC and Section 196 BNSS is therefore institutionally sound in theory, but its effectiveness depends entirely on implementation, independence, and follow-through — without which the promise of checks and balances remains fragile.

• Is overcrowding directly contributing to preventable fatalities?
• Does the state’s prison healthcare infrastructure meet constitutional standards under Article 21 jurisprudence?
• Should legislative oversight mechanisms supplement judicial inquiries in sensitive cases?

While the government has assured procedural compliance and ongoing reforms, the Opposition has framed the 66 deaths not as statistical coincidence but as evidence of systemic strain.

As reported by The Hindu, the matter remains politically charged, with demands for accountability continuing both inside and outside the Assembly.

The numbers — 66 deaths in 13 months — now stand not merely as a legislative disclosure, but as the focal point of a deeper debate about custodial responsibility, institutional capacity, and the state’s duty of care toward those in its custody.

Related:

Counting the Caged: What India’s prison data refuses to see

A System Under Strain: India’s police and prisons in crisis shows Indian Justice Report 2025

Under trial Prisoners: MHA directs States/UTs to implement section 479 of BNSS

‘End discriminatory regimes of colonial era,’ SC declares provisions of State Prison Manuals unconstitutional

The post 66 Deaths in 13 Months: Uproar in Chhattisgarh Assembly by opposition over prison conditions and custodial accountability appeared first on SabrangIndia.

As per a report in LiveLaw, the Division Bench comprising Justice Vijay Kumar Shukla and Justice Alok Awasthi, while disposing of a habeas corpus petition on February 23, 2026, held that her continued stay in a detention centre — as opposed to a regular jail — was justified in view of the pending trial and the “present international scenario.” However, the Court directed the State prosecution to conclude the long-pending trial within six months.

The Petition: Bail granted, yet detained

The petitioner, identified in the order as Lima @ Riya Sheikh, a Bangladeshi national, approached the High Court under Article 226 of the Constitution seeking multiple reliefs, including:

• Immediate release from what she termed “illegal and unconstitutional detention.”
• Expedited conclusion of the trial.
• Declaration that her continued detention despite bail violated Articles 14 and 21.
• Directions for coordination with the concerned Embassy and authorities for repatriation.
• Compensation and inquiry into alleged unlawful detention.

The case against her arises out of Crime No. 70 of 2020 registered in Indore. She faces charges under the Indian Penal Code — including Sections 346, 347, 323, 364-A, 506 and 34 — as well as under Sections 14(a), 14(b) and 14(c) of the Foreigners Act and provisions of the Passports Act, 1967. The allegations include kidnapping for ransom, wrongful confinement, assault, criminal intimidation, and illegal stay in India with forged or invalid travel documents.

Crucially, she had already been granted bail in the criminal case. Yet, she continued to remain confined in a detention centre established within the District Jail premises in Indore.

State’s Stand: Detention under foreigners’ law

The State, represented by the Additional Advocate General, argued that although bail had been granted, the petitioner could not be released into the general public domain because she is a foreign national whose trial remains pending.

The State relied on provisions of the Foreigners Act, 1946 and the Foreigners Order, 1948. It submitted that the competent authority — the District Magistrate, Indore — had passed an order permitting her temporary stay in the detention centre until the conclusion of the trial. A letter from the Assistant Police Commissioner, Heera Nagar Zone, Indore, was also produced before the Court.

The Court’s Reasoning: Presence required, safety considered

The Bench refused to grant relief directing her release. It observed:

“It is not in dispute that the trial is still pending and the presence of the petitioner may be required at any time during the trial and considering the present international scenario, it is for her safety to keep her in detention centre.” (Para 4)

The Court emphasised that she was in a detention centre and not in jail, implicitly drawing a distinction between penal incarceration and administrative detention under foreigner-regulation laws.

At the same time, the Bench acknowledged that the trial has remained pending for over six years. Taking note of the delay, the Court directed the State counsel to ensure that the prosecution expedites the trial within six months from receipt of the certified copy of the order, including by producing witnesses without further delay.

“However, so far for relief No.7(b) is concerned, considering the fact that the trial is pending for more than six years, we observe that the counsel for the State will direct the prosecution agency to expedite the trial within a period of six months from the date of receipt of certified copy of the order by producing the witnesses etc. However, if there is no progress in the trial within the aforesaid period, then liberty is granted to the petitioner to file a fresh petition in this regard for expediting the trial.” (Para 4)

If no substantial progress occurs within this period, liberty has been granted to the petitioner to approach the Court again.

A six-year trial and constitutional questions

The order brings into focus a recurring constitutional tension: whether a person — particularly a foreign national — can remain in custody through executive detention mechanisms despite being granted bail by a competent court.

The petitioner had argued that prolonged detention after bail amounts to arbitrariness and violates Articles 14 and 21 of the Constitution. While the Court did not expressly engage in an extended constitutional analysis, it effectively upheld the legality of detention under the Foreigners Act framework, prioritising trial presence and “safety” considerations linked to the international context.

The phrase “present international scenario,” though not elaborated upon in the order, appears to have played a persuasive role in the Court’s assessment of risk and prudence.

The final direction

Disposing of the habeas corpus petition, the High Court:

• Refused immediate release from the detention centre.
• Directed the prosecution to conclude the trial within six months.
• Granted liberty to the petitioner to re-approach the Court if the trial does not progress.
• Ordered that a copy of the decision be placed before the concerned trial court.

The matter thus stands at a constitutional crossroads: a foreign national on bail, confined not as a convict but under administrative authority, awaiting a trial that has already spanned six years — with judicial patience now formally limited to six more months.

The complete order may be read here.

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Policing Identity: Maharashtra’s birth certificate crackdown and the politics of belonging

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From D-Voter Tagging to Citizenship Declaration: Anowara Khatun’s case before the foreigners’ tribunal

12 Bengali migrant workers murdered in 6 states, Maharashtra tops the crime list

The post Bail Granted, Freedom Denied: Madhya Pradesh High Court upholds detention of Bangladeshi woman citing “international scenario” appeared first on SabrangIndia.

As per a report in LiveLaw, a Division Bench comprising Chief Justice Ashutosh Kumar and Justice Arun Dev Choudhury directed issuance of notice to the Union of India, the State of Assam, the Director General of Police, and the Chief Minister. The Bench also issued notice on the prayer for interim relief but declined to pass an immediate restraining order at this stage. The matters are now listed in April, after the Bihu holidays.

Allegation of inaction and “climate of impunity”

The PIL, filed by noted Assamese scholar Hiren Gohain and two others, alleges that despite the existence of publicly available videos of the Chief Minister’s alleged speeches, the Assam Police has not registered a suo-moto FIR.

According to the petitioners, this inaction fosters a “climate of impunity” and produces a chilling effect on minorities. They argue that when statements are made by a constitutional functionary occupying the highest executive office in the State, the threshold of accountability must necessarily be higher.

Earlier in February, the Supreme Court of India had asked petitioners who had directly approached it seeking action against Sarma to move the High Court instead, following which the present proceedings were instituted.

Arguments made before the bench

1. Violation of oath, secularism, and constitutional morality

Senior Advocate Abhishek Manu Singhvi, appearing for one of the petitioners, argued that the Chief Minister’s speeches reflect a “consistent, continuous, and habitual” pattern of conduct incompatible with his constitutional oath.

Singhvi contended that the alleged remarks violated the principles of equality under Articles 14 and 15 of the Constitution, as well as the Preamble’s commitments to secularism and fraternity. He further invoked provisions of the Bharatiya Nyaya Sanhita (BNS), alleging that the speeches attracted penal consequences.

Referring to earlier statements allegedly made in 2023 in Chhattisgarh concerning “love jihad” and unlawful religious conversions, Singhvi argued that the Chief Minister’s rhetoric had “pan-India implications.” He criticised what he described as an invocation of Mahatma Gandhi’s philosophy of civil disobedience while targeting a specific community, asserting that such reinterpretation was constitutionally impermissible.

Singhvi concluded by urging the Court to direct registration of an FIR and to restrain further speeches of a similar nature.

2. Alleged remarks targeting ‘Miya Muslims’

Senior Advocate Chander Uday Singh, appearing for Dr. Hiren Gohain, submitted that the petitioners had approached the Court with “great anguish,” emphasising that the Chief Minister represents every citizen of the State.

Singh referred to remarks allegedly made since 2023 concerning “Miya Muslims” — a term historically associated with Bengali-origin Muslims in Assam. He cited a February 8, 2024 speech in the Assam Legislative Assembly during discussions on the “Mission Basundhara” scheme, where the Chief Minister allegedly stated that those forcibly converted to Islam during the Mughal period could regain indigenous status by returning to their “original identity.”

He further submitted that references to the “Bangladesh issue” functioned as a “dog whistle,” converting ethnic and linguistic anxieties into religious polarisation.

Among other allegations cited before the Court were statements describing alleged “flood jihad” in relation to flooding in Guwahati and comments referring to certain university architecture as “Mecca-like.” Singh argued that such remarks stigmatise a community and erode constitutional fraternity.

The petitioners also alleged statements concerning deletion of “four to five lakh Miya voters” during special revision of electoral rolls in Assam and remarks allegedly encouraging social and economic harassment of the community. These submissions were presented to demonstrate what counsel described as a pattern of denigration.

3. Reliance on Supreme Court precedents

Counsel relied upon the Supreme Court’s judgment in Amish Devgan v. Union of India, which underscored that when hate speech is made by influential persons, police authorities have a duty to act suo motu and not await formal complaints.

Reference was also made to the so-called “Ghooskhor Pandit” film matter, in which Justice Ujjal Bhuyan observed that public figures holding high constitutional offices must refrain from targeting communities on the basis of religion, caste, language, or region, as such conduct would violate constitutional values. Detailed report may be read here.

Connected Petition: Law and order concerns

Senior Advocate Meenakshi Arora, appearing in a connected matter, argued that a sitting Chief Minister cannot make statements that create a law-and-order situation. She referred to an alleged response by Sarma to remarks made by former U.S. President Barack Obama in 2023 about minority rights in India, submitting that the Chief Minister’s response was dismissive and polarising.

Arora further alleged that statements blaming “Miya” Muslims for rising vegetable prices and demographic projections lacked evidentiary backing and contributed to community stigmatisation. She also cited an incident where the Chief Minister allegedly targeted a journalist’s religious identity during a press interaction.

According to Arora, such statements, when made by the head of the State government, could incite hostility and must be restrained in keeping with constitutional morality.

Reliefs sought in the PIL

The petition seeks:

• Registration of an FIR under Sections 196 (promoting enmity), 197 (imputations prejudicial to national integration), and 353 (statements conducing to public mischief) of the Bharatiya Nyaya Sanhita;
• Constitution of an independent Special Investigation Team (SIT);
• Appointment of a commission chaired by a former High Court judge to monitor the SIT probe;
• A declaration that the Chief Minister has violated his constitutional oath of office.

The petitioners argue that the High Court’s intervention is necessary to dispel the perception that hate speech in Assam operates with “complete impunity.”

Court’s Observations: Notice issued, interim relief deferred

During the hearing, Chief Justice Ashutosh Kumar orally remarked that the statements read out before the Court appeared to reflect a “fissiparous tendency”, as reported by LiveLaw. However, when the petitioners pressed for an ad-interim order restraining the Chief Minister from making further statements, the Bench responded:

“At this stage, let notices be issued first. It will be a normal restraint while this petition is pending consideration. Notice for both the main prayers and ad-interim prayers. We will keep it after the Bihu holidays.”

The Court also clarified that issuing notice to the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) was not necessary at this stage.

Next hearing

With notice now issued to the Union, State, DGP, and the Chief Minister, the matter will be taken up in April. The Court has not passed any interim restraining order but indicated that the issue of interim relief will be considered after responses are filed.

Related:

Supreme Court asked to intervene as petitions flag “normalisation of hate” in Assam CM’s public speeches

When Protest becomes a “Threat”: Inside the Supreme Court hearing on Sonam Wangchuk’s NSA detention

Hate Speech Before the Supreme Court: From judicial activism to institutional closure

CJM who ordered FIR against police for 2024 Sambhal violence case transferred by Allahabad HC, new trend?

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UPI is not just a payments interface. It is the financial nervous system of India, processing billions of transactions every month. Behind every QR scan lies a trail of sensitive information: payer and payee details, transaction metadata, IP addresses, device identifiers, behavioral spending patterns. In 2018, the Reserve Bank of India laid down a clear and unambiguous mandate on data localisation. All payment data generated by systems operating in India must be stored only in India. Foreign processing was permitted strictly for the foreign leg of a transaction, and even then, the data had to be brought back to Indian servers within 24 hours. The intent was obvious: financial data of Indian citizens is a matter of national sovereignty.

But the legal environment has since shifted. The Digital Personal Data Protection Act, 2023 fundamentally altered India’s cross-border data framework. The earlier logic of allowing data transfers only to approved jurisdictions has been reversed. India now follows a blacklist model: data can flow to any country unless explicitly prohibited by the government. The problem is that the blacklist rules have not even been finalized yet. In the absence of notified restrictions, cross-border data flows become broadly permissible by default. Israel is not on any prohibited list. That raises a structural question: if the regulatory filter itself is incomplete, on what legal and policy basis are sensitive financial metadata flows being supervised?

The DPDP draft rules go further. Rule 22 grants the Central Government broad authority to demand user data from fiduciaries without judicial oversight. At the same time, NPCI, as the data fiduciary for UPI transactions, holds the financial metadata of more than 35 crore users. Every merchant payment, every peer-to-peer transfer, every device fingerprint forms part of a massive behavioral financial dataset. This is not just about clearing payments. It is about profiling economic life at population scale.

The timing intensifies concern. In February 2026, reports indicated that data localization protections were removed from the US trade deal framework. In the same month, UPI was expanded to Israel. Both moves carry implications for cross-border data governance. Neither was preceded by a detailed parliamentary debate focused specifically on data-handling safeguards. There has been no comprehensive public disclosure clarifying whether RBI’s 24-hour data return clause has been embedded contractually and how compliance will be audited. In matters involving sovereign digital infrastructure, opacity does not build confidence.

Israel is not merely a participant in global technology networks; it is a hardened deep state with one of the most sophisticated intelligence and cyber-surveillance infrastructures in the world. Its track record includes documented espionage operations, aggressive cyber capabilities, and deep integration with Western security architectures. At the same time, it involves in genocide, ethnic cleansing and systemic human rights violations to fulfil its plan for establishing a new world order. When a state with such a security posture and conflict past and present becomes intertwined with another nation’s financial data ecosystem, this is not routine diplomacy. It is a matter that demands vigilance, transparency, and uncompromising scrutiny.

That reality does not automatically imply misuse. But responsible governance requires risk analysis, not blind optimism. Financial metadata reveals far more than transaction amounts. It exposes consumption habits, donation patterns, medical expenditures, religious contributions, location-linked behavior and economic vulnerabilities. In the 21st century, data is strategic capital. It shapes influence, leverage and intelligence capability.

This is not about opposing diplomacy. Expanding digital payment connectivity can benefit travelers, businesses and fintech partnerships. But when sovereign financial infrastructure intersects with evolving data protection norms, the public deserves clarity. Under which exact legal framework is foreign infrastructure permitted to process Indian financial metadata? Has the RBI’s mandatory 24-hour repatriation requirement been contractually enforced with audit provisions? Until the DPDP cross-border rules are fully notified, what interim safeguards govern such arrangements?

A mature democracy does not treat these questions as hostility. Digital sovereignty is not a partisan slogan; it is a structural pillar of economic independence. Citizens are not wrong to celebrate innovation and international collaboration. But celebration without scrutiny is not patriotism. In a data-driven world, vigilance is civic responsibility.

The post UPI Goes Global — But At What Cost to Data Sovereignty? 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.

According to Mid-Day, the Maharashtra government, through Revenue Minister Chandrashekhar Bawankule, announced stricter norms for issuing birth and death certificates, particularly targeting “foreign nationals residing illegally.” The move followed allegations — amplified by BJP leader Kirit Somaiya — that thousands of birth certificates had been “fraudulently issued to Bangladeshi nationals.” A Special Investigation Team (SIT) was constituted, and a three-tier verification process introduced for delayed applications. Criminal prosecution was promised for those submitting allegedly “fake” documents.

On its face, preventing document fraud is a legitimate administrative objective. However, the framing of the issue — repeatedly tethered to “illegal Bangladeshis” — suggests that what is unfolding is not merely procedural tightening, but a securitised response to migration anxieties. More than anything else, privileging ruling party (read BJP) presence or dominance in the exercise makes it already suspect given the shrill (and brazenly anti-minority tones) in the party’s sloganeering on the question.

From administrative reform to political theatre

Reporting by CNBC-TV18 details that the BJP-led Brihanmumbai Municipal Corporation cancelled 237 allegedly fake birth certificates and registered eight FIRs. Mayor Ritu Tawde publicly warned –on the very day of her election as Mayor of Mumbai–of a crackdown on “illegal Bangladeshis,” linking document irregularities to encroachment drives and street vendor verification.

The rhetorical shift is telling. What began as an investigation into possible irregularities in ward-level issuance of certificates has evolved into a broader political narrative about infiltration, encroachment, and demographic anxiety. Opposition leaders, including Uddhav Thackeray, questioned whether immigration enforcement falls within the municipal corporation’s mandate — a point also noted in CNBC-TV18’s coverage. Under India’s constitutional scheme, immigration control is squarely within the Union’s domain. The municipal body’s sweeping pronouncements risk conflating administrative lapses with nationality-based suspicion.

The Times of India reported that suspended civic officials had issued birth certificates for children older than one year without court orders — clearly beyond their statutory authority. That administrative overreach requires accountability. But the same report also highlighted systemic issues: hospitals failing to submit birth details within 21 days, procedural ambiguity at the ward level, and the absence of a standard operating procedure. These institutional gaps complicate –and even lay bare–the over-simplistic narrative of organised “infiltration mafias.”

Legal obligations under the registration regime

As The Indian Express clarified, under the Registration of Births and Deaths Act, all births in civic, government, or private hospitals must be registered irrespective of nationality. This is not a discretionary welfare benefit — it is a statutory obligation tied to identity, dignity, and access to rights. The same report noted that adult applicants require background verification, but infants born in hospitals must be registered without regard to citizenship.

This distinction is critical. Birth registration is a matter of civil documentation, not immigration adjudication. Blurring the two risks undermining India’s obligations under domestic law and international human rights standards, including the child’s right to identity.

The state government’s resolution — reported by Hindustan Times — now prohibits issuance of birth certificates based solely on documents such as school-leaving certificates, Aadhaar cards, or PAN cards, and mandates police verification, talathi reports, and multi-level scrutiny for delayed applications. While greater scrutiny for delayed registrations may be justified in cases of demonstrable fraud, the cumulative effect of police involvement, publication requirements, and criminal prosecution threatens to convert a civil registration process into a quasi-criminal proceeding.

The risk of overreach and chilling effects

Sweeping reviews of all birth records since 2016, as reported by The Indian Express, represent an extraordinary administrative exercise. Such retrospective scrutiny risks casting suspicion over entire communities, particularly those already subject to profiling. The political language accompanying the drive — references to “mafia raj,” “infiltrators,” and demographic threat — compounds that risk.

In constitutional democracies, administrative reform must be proportionate and evidence-based. If specific officers exceeded their authority or accepted forged hospital documentation, targeted disciplinary and criminal action is appropriate. But when enforcement rhetoric singles out a nationality or ethnic category, it veers toward collective suspicion.

There is also a structural danger here: by insisting on police verification and multiple layers of approval for delayed registrations, the state may inadvertently make birth registration inaccessible to vulnerable populations — including internal migrants, the urban poor, and those born outside formal medical settings. The more onerous the process, the greater the incentive to remain undocumented — a perverse outcome for a system ostensibly designed to ensure accurate records.

Most critically, such subjective and selective pressures over what must be a routine and compulsory exercise, runs the risk of pushing Mumbai and Maharashtra back on registration compliance. India has not yet reached a 100 per cent mark in birth registration. Besides as UNICEF tells us “Birth registration is an essential prerequisite for legal identity and the fulfilment of children’s rights. By registering children at birth and providing a birth certificate – a passport to lifelong protection – their exposure to rights violations are minimized and their access to essential services are enabled.” Moreover, a “Functioning civil registration systems are the main vehicles through which a legal identity for all can be achieved. Such systems produce vital statistics, including those on birth registration, which are foundational for achieving sustained human and economic development. While most countries have mechanisms in place for registering births, systematic recording remains a serious challenge, highlighting the urgent need to improve and strengthen civil registration and vital statistics.”

Governance failure reframed as security crisis

Several media reports note technical glitches in the central registration portal and backlog accumulation during certain periods. Administrative dysfunction, however, is being reframed as evidence of organised foreign infiltration. This shift deflects attention from institutional reform toward securitised spectacle.

If undocumented migration is indeed a pressing concern, the responsibility for border management lies with the Union government. Municipal cancellation of certificates does not resolve border control failures. It cannot be ignored that the political spotlight on alleged “illegal Bangladeshis” coincides with the BJP’s control of the civic body — raising questions about whether document fraud is being instrumentalised as a governance narrative.

The constitutional stakes

Birth certificates are foundational identity documents. They enable access to education, healthcare, property rights, and citizenship documentation. When the state transforms their issuance into a policing exercise infused with demographic suspicion, it risks eroding procedural fairness and equal protection.

Fraud must be investigated. Officials who acted beyond their statutory authority must face consequences. But the line between lawful scrutiny and discriminatory overreach is thin — and easily crossed when political messaging foregrounds nationality rather than administrative integrity.

The current measures in Maharashtra, as reflected across reporting by press and media mentioned above, reveal more than a crackdown on paperwork irregularities. They illustrate how bureaucratic processes can become sites of political contestation — and how civil documentation regimes, if weaponised, can deepen rather than resolve anxieties around migration and belonging.

In the long term, the integrity of the registration system will depend not on securitised rhetoric, but on transparent procedures, clear statutory limits, accountability mechanisms, and a firm commitment to non-discrimination. Without these safeguards, the tightening of norms risks tightening something far more fragile: the constitutional promise of equal protection under law.

Related:

Concerns rise along Assam’s escalating pushbacks, 33 additional alleged Bangladeshis “pushed back”

Harassment by Delhi Police, blatant extortion & human rights’ violation in process of identification of “illegal Bangladeshi immigrants”: Brinda Karat to HM Amit Shah

Former MP Kirit Somaiya labels Mumbai’s Muslim community as ‘Bangladeshi’

Bordering on illegality? 18 alleged Bangladeshis “pushed back” without due process, Legal challenge filed in High Court

Deported in Silence: India’s mass expulsions of alleged Bangladeshis without due process

The post Policing Identity: Maharashtra’s birth certificate crackdown and the politics of belonging appeared first on SabrangIndia.

I was inspired by a professor whom,

I was, on record, not taught by;

He was a model to emulate

But it was not easy to try;

His commitment to the profession

Was hard to compare

The competence in his subject

Was the best by far;

His oratory and articulation

Were music to the ears

His repartee, wit and humour

Cooled any intellectual thunder;

He was a wizard of concepts

Loved to use them afresh,

Invented ideas and expressions

In existing literature not easy to trace;

He always put the principle before the person

In academic or public life

He argued for societal cohesion and harmony

Explained and advocated the exclusion of strife;

Mapping the context of an issue

Was his tool so effective

He found no phenomenon universal

It was all specific and relative;

To him, monolithism, homogenisation, majoritairianism

Were anathemas to any society,

A confirmed pluralist in his approach

Spice of life is the variety;

He carried his intellectual conviction

And an audacity of expression,

Crafted, spoke with equal sincerity

No matter the occasion.

Self-hood, integrity and credibility

Were parts of his personality,

He was meticulous and a word-keeper

Never compromising liberty or honesty;

A commitment of his presence in an event

Would not change by any high and mighty,

He treated all his hosts equal

Recognised no ranks but parity;

He was unique in

Combining pragmatism and principle

He was not to trade off either

nor ever sacrificed a scruple

His scholarship was nationally unchallenged

Internationally fairly prized

As his studied-views were unheeded by powers that be

Despair he did hardly disguise

A good human being with compassion and concern

Be them his students, colleagues or people in general

He would stretch out and reach them

With sympathy and support moral and material

I salute you professor

An author, thinker, orator, critic and commentator

Your observations and advice to us

Are invaluable problem-solvers

You were a gift of God

To the academic community, evolving polity and wider society

We will remember you ever

An ideal professor, as good as an intellectual deity.

Courtesy: The AIDEM

The post An Ode to a Professor- Remembering T.K Oommen 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

The post The Double Stage on Campus: Caste, crisis & UGC equity regulations (2026) controversy appeared first on SabrangIndia.

At first glance, the dispute appeared narrow. The petitioner objected to the proposed film title “Ghooskhor Pandat”, arguing that it equated a caste identity with corruption and thereby stereotyped and denigrated an identifiable community. The relief sought included restraint on the release and exhibition of the film and a direction to the certification authority to re-examine it.

However, before the matter could proceed into a contested adjudication, the producer unequivocally withdrew the impugned title and undertook before the Court that any future title would neither resemble nor evoke the earlier one. On that basis, the writ petition was formally disposed of.

Yet the constitutional significance of the case did not end there.

Justice Ujjal Bhuyan, concurring in the disposal, authored a separate opinion — not because a judicial determination on facts was required, but because the constitutional issues implicated were too important to leave unarticulated. In doing so, the Court seized the opportunity to restate foundational principles governing the limits of community vilification and the scope of free expression in a constitutional democracy that is now more than seventy-five years old.

The opinion is remarkable not for dramatic judicial intervention, but for its clarity of constitutional vision. It situates the controversy within the Preamble’s promise of fraternity, the fundamental duties under Article 51A, and the long line of precedents safeguarding freedom of expression. It addresses a contemporary reality where speech — whether delivered from political platforms, circulated as memes, expressed through satire, or embodied in cinema — can both challenge and wound.

Importantly, the Court did not allow the language of fraternity to become a tool for censorship. Nor did it allow the language of free speech to become a shield for collective denigration. Instead, it reaffirmed that constitutional democracy demands maturity: the maturity to tolerate critique, and the discipline to refrain from vilification.

What emerges from the judgment is not merely guidance on film titles. It is a reaffirmation of constitutional character — that India’s constitutional order protects dignity without suffocating dissent, and safeguards expression without permitting hate.

The restatement of principles in this case therefore assumes a resonance that extends well beyond cinema. It speaks to public discourse more broadly — to political rhetoric, social media expression, and artistic experimentation — reminding all actors, State and non-State alike, that constitutional freedoms and constitutional responsibilities are inseparable.

Detailed analysis of the judgment is below.

Fraternity: The republic’s moral spine

The judgment begins where the Constitution itself begins — with the Preamble.

Fraternity, assuring the dignity of the individual and the unity and integrity of the nation, is not decorative prose. It is, as the Court emphasized, part of the Constitution’s guiding philosophy. Article 51A(e) further imposes a fundamental duty on every citizen to promote harmony and the spirit of common brotherhood transcending religious, linguistic, regional, and sectional diversities.

“One of the solemn objectives of our Constitution which finds mention in the Preamble is to promote amongst all the citizens of India fraternity, assuring the dignity of the individual and the unity and integrity of the nation. This is the guiding philosophy of our Constitution. Article 51A reminds every citizen of India that it shall be their duty to abide by the Constitution and respect its ideals and institutions. More specifically, Article 51A(e) says that it shall be the duty of every citizen of India to promote harmony and the spirit of common brotherhood amongst all the people of India transcending religious, linguistic and regional or sectional diversities.” (Para 11)

Justice Bhuyan invoked Dr. B.R. Ambedkar’s constitutional vision, reminding that liberty, equality, and fraternity were conceived as an inseparable trinity. Fraternity, he noted, is essentially an attitude of respect and reverence toward fellow human beings.

“Dr. Ambedkar highlighted the concept of fraternity and bracketed it with liberty and equality. According to him, these three fundamental concepts together form the bedrock of democracy. It is essentially an attitude of respect and reverence towards fellow human beings. Thus, cultivating a sense of brotherhood and respecting fellow citizens irrespective of caste, religion or language is a constitutional dharma each one of us must follow.” (Para 12)

“Dr. Ambedkar’s introduction of the term ‘fraternity’ into the constitutional Preamble reflects his persistent efforts towards eradicating caste discrimination, his advocacy for unity and brotherhood which mirrors his commitment to inclusivity. Unlike the West, in India, fraternity is distinctly perceived as a vital instrument for realising equality and harmonizing the diverse segments of society. It serves as a conduit for transcending societal disparities and working towards collective well-being. Therefore, in the Indian constitutional context, fraternity assumes a dynamic and inclusive role, aligning with the broader goals of social justice, equality and upliftment.” (Para 13)

The Court drew doctrinal support from the Constitution Bench decision in in Re: Section 6A of the Citizenship Act, 1955, where fraternity was described as a collective bond meant to cultivate brotherhood across all segments of society — not confined to any one group.

From this foundation, the Court articulated a categorical constitutional position:

“It is therefore constitutionally impermissible for anybody, be it the State or non-state actors, through any medium, such as, speeches, memes, cartoons, visual arts etc. to vilify and denigrate any community. It will be violative of the Constitution to target any particular community on the basis of religion, language, caste or region by whosoever he or she may be. This is particularly true for public figures occupying high constitutional o4ce who have taken the solemn oath to uphold the Constitution.” (Para 14)

This was not framed as a matter of statutory interpretation, but as a constitutional command.

The Court underscored that targeting any community on the basis of religion, caste, language, or region violates the Constitution’s ethos. The warning was especially sharp for those holding high constitutional office. Public figures who have taken an oath to uphold the Constitution bear heightened responsibility; when they engage in divisive or denigrating speech, the breach is not merely rhetorical — it is constitutional.

Free Speech: The republic’s lifeblood

Yet the judgment does not tilt toward suppression. On the contrary, Justice Bhuyan turns with equal force to the constitutional guarantee under Article 19 (1) (a).

Freedom of speech and expression, the Court reiterated, is a foundational democratic right. It enables dissent, critique, satire, artistic creation, and social reform. It cannot be stifled merely because some groups find expression uncomfortable or offensive.

The Court methodically reaffirmed established precedent:

• In S. Rangarajan v. P. Jagjivan Ram, it was declared that freedom of expression cannot be suppressed due to threats of demonstration or violence. Yielding to such pressure would amount to surrendering the rule of law.
• In Shreya Singhal v. Union of India, liberty of thought and expression was described as a cardinal constitutional value.
• In Imran Pratapgadhi v. State of Gujarat, the Court cautioned that a mature Republic cannot be seen as so fragile that it feels threatened by artistic or poetic expression. (A detailed report on the judgment may be read here.)
• In Bobby Art International v. Om Pal Singh Hoon, the Court emphasised that depiction of social evil in art cannot be prohibited merely because it portrays disturbing realities.
• In Viacom 18 Media Pvt. Ltd. v. Union of India, it was reaffirmed that once a film is certified by the statutory authority, States cannot prohibit exhibition on speculative law-and-order grounds.

The doctrinal thread is clear: Expression must be judged from the standpoint of a reasonable, strong-minded, and prudent viewer, not hypersensitive individuals predisposed to perceive insult.

The Cinematograph Act entrusts certification to an expert body. Once certification is granted, courts must be slow to interfere. Restrictions must fall squarely within Article 19(2), justified by necessity — not public discomfort.

Justice Bhuyan cautioned that if creative freedom is stifled beyond permissible limits, the casualty is not merely artistic autonomy, but democratic vitality itself.

The constitutional equilibrium

What makes this judgment remarkable is not that it chooses one value over the other — but that it refuses to. It does not permit the language of fraternity to become a pretext for censorship. It does not allow the language of free speech to become a shield for communal vilification. Instead, it restores balance.

Fraternity demands that communities are not collectively degraded. Freedom demands that art, satire, and dissent are not smothered by intolerance. The Constitution, the Court reminds us, protects both.

Justice Bhuyan concluded by noting that though no adjudication was strictly required, it was necessary to restate these first principles “lest there remain any lingering misconception.” The message is unmistakable: constitutional democracy requires both mutual respect and intellectual courage.

A republic neither fragile nor permissive of hate

Seventy-five years into constitutional governance, India cannot be so brittle that it fears artistic expression. Nor can it be indifferent to attacks on community dignity.

This decision stands as a doctrinal reaffirmation that:

• Vilification of communities is constitutionally impermissible.
• Creative expression enjoys robust constitutional protection.
• Courts must guard against both communal denigration and populist censorship.
• Fraternity and freedom are not adversaries — they are co-equal pillars of the constitutional order.

In closing the controversy over a film title, the Supreme Court has opened a larger constitutional conversation — reminding that the Republic’s strength lies in its ability to protect dignity without suffocating dissent.

It is, in essence, a judgment about the character of constitutional democracy itself.

The complete judgment may be read here.

Related:

Free Speech in India 2025: What the Free Speech Collective report reveals about a year of silencing

Free speech, even in bad taste, is protected if no incitement to violence: HP HC

Between Free Speech and Public Order: Dissecting the complaint against Anjana Om Kashyap

Recalibrating Free Speech: The Supreme Court’s constitutional turn in the digital age

Mixed Messaging: Free speech jurisprudence from the Supreme Court

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