By Tanvi Naik
Living in the world almost requires a huge amount of effort, energy, and most importantly, WILL. I say will because there are millions of people on this planet earth and yet we choose to interact with only a sum. Now, this sum may be deliberate or even unintentional (like having to deal with a boss, or a co-worker). Will passes up the effort and energy so as to understand the OTHER and very very superficially set afoot in their shoes. We are quick to judge them as time is fleeting.
We introduce ourselves (as it's said, “first impressions are the last impressions”), but do we really introduce ourselves? You summarise a person's introduction through very narrow archetypes like the place of their birth, their profession, their class, the weather (I don't really think why that is important but yes, that is a crucial question). But these questions just showcase a shadow of their shoes floating across the water. The real game begins when their last name is revealed.
Social interactions are so ingrained in our DNA that we cannot avoid having at least a zillion times to occur in our lifetimes. Small talks, we call them…but what are they really? A way to actively map them and assess them to our understanding of our world vs theirs. Metaphorically speaking, a way to assess both ours and their shoe sizes to analyze whether both can walk simultaneously towards a shared goal/path.
It’s amusing how natural it feels, and we often don’t notice the significance of the questions we ask. After initial greetings, it’s common to ask people for their name, address, occupation, and sometimes even where they live. While this seems like typical small talk, I once witnessed a conversation that didn’t follow this usual path and took on a different tone altogether.
A man and a woman were engaged in small talk. After a few minutes, the woman suddenly exclaimed, “Oh, I’ve been talking to you so long, but I don’t even know your last name!” To this, the man seemed noticeably uncomfortable, muttering a few surnames and asking the people around him almost as if he himself did not remember his last name. After some unusual and uncomfortable silence he finally said, “asking someone for their last name indicates you’re trying to know my caste.”
While it may appear to be an innocent inquiry, it often holds deeper cultural significance. For many, a last name reveals more than just family identity, almost like carrying the entire burden of centuries of torture and humiliation—it can hint at a person’s caste, region, profession, and social status. This incident left me wondering how often we dismiss such questions without thinking twice. When, if ever, is it appropriate to ask, and how do we gauge someone’s intentions?
Small talk often operates within our understanding of hierarchies related to status, class, caste, and power. What appears to be a casual part of daily life frequently reflects deeper power dynamics, hierarchies, and social structures in a setting.
Consider, for instance, the scenario of renting a house, which can reveal a great deal about these implicit biases. When a prospective tenant meets a landlord, small talk often follows the familiar pattern—questions about family, background, and occupation. These questions, however, might serve as a way to assess the tenant’s “suitability,” based on markers that may seem trivial but actually reinforce social biases.
I remember that caste has always been a subtle reminder to how we operated even in childhood. It always confused me in my early age whenever my grandmother stopped me from playing with the neighbours kids because their last name was below ours. The last name gamble was like walking on eggshells as there were restrictions towards many things in the name of caste and identity.
As I slowly anchored my own understanding about the concept, I began to realise the distinguishing factors playing out in each sphere of life. The kitchen - where segregation of utensils is a reality so often seen in many houses whether they believed themselves to be casteist or otherwise. In formal/informal situations - when the lower class is expected to sit on the ground in front of the upper caste. In marriages - where people can't even think of getting married in upper caste households, and those who do are often ridiculed and shown their place in the caste hierarchies. But why do we do so naturally? Is it the muscle memory of everything bestowed upon us from our previous generations? How do we end up repeating the same rituals generation after generation?
Imagine a young woman from a Dalit community looking to rent an apartment in a predominantly upper-caste area. The landlord may subtly inquire about her last name, her place of origin, or her job. Each of these questions, though presented as harmless, may be probing for information on her caste, socioeconomic status, and even lifestyle.If the landlord perceives her responses to fall outside his idea of “suitable” tenants, he may express concerns about how “she might not fit in” or suggest that “another place might be better suited.” This example sheds light on how small talk in the context of renting—usually an impersonal, transactional relationship—often masks implicit social biases.
In urban areas, where caste is often deemed irrelevant, many believe that these biases only persist in rural settings. But incidents like these show that caste-based perceptions are still very much alive in cities, though they may be subtly woven into the fabric of social interactions. Urbanites may deny their biases, often practising them unconsciously in daily life while viewing villages as “backward” or “communal.”
Caste has been prominent in India for over 3,000 years, profoundly influencing a person’s profession, social standing, social life, and marriage choices. While many consider these biases outdated, there are still strong, underlying ties between caste and identity, which emerge even in the most casual interactions. We see this through various historical examples where caste-based discrimination restricted people from reaching their full potential.
Take Karna from the Mahabharata, a legendary figure who serves as a classic example of caste-based injustice. Though a highly skilled warrior, Karna was denied the opportunity to compete in Draupadi’s swayamvar because of his status as a Suta Putra, and he was denied training by Dronacharya for not being a Kshatriya. Even the scriptures could not erase this muscle memory we gained through years of power dynamics and the hunger for power. Well, the Britishers did have it quite easy to divide and rule in india.
Karna’s struggles were not due to a lack of talent or skill but rather his caste, a barrier he could never fully overcome. His story has since come to symbolise the restrictive nature of caste-based hierarchies, setting a precedent for viewing such injustices as “tragic but inevitable.” This narrative, in turn, normalises modern incidents of tragedy among inter-caste couples and even, in extreme cases, the horror of honour killings.