Being Dalit on a dating app. Upper caste men only want to argue over reservation, EWS

My Instagram bio reads ‘Namasudra Dalit, West Bengal’. But around 10 men – whom I had added from dating apps – unfollowed and blocked me after learning about my identity.

Manisha Mondal

Ionce posted something about caste reservation on my Instagram page. Just a snarky comment against people who blame Dalits and tribals for usurping their seats in engineering and medical colleges. Of course, a lot of people reacted soon after, flooding my comments section and inbox with giggling, sad and fire emojis. Among them was Mr ‘upper caste’ man, whom I had met on a dating app and added as a follower later.

“Ban reservation”, he DM-ed me, and I promptly asked him to shut up. “Why? Are you in favour of it?” he quickly snapped back.

I am a Dalit, and I do not shy away from accepting it. My Instagram bio reads ‘Namasudra Dalit, West Bengal’.

But around 10 men have unfollowed and blocked me since I updated my Instagram bio two years ago. Perhaps they don’t like a fat, hyper-independent woman like me. Or they simply want zero association with a woman from the Dalit community.

Being a Dalit woman on dating apps

When I saw a woman write ‘Jat Pahadan’ in her bio, I was inspired to update mine too. I felt that highlighting my identity was necessary because of how important religious and caste identities are in India.

Many of the men I encountered on dating apps were upper caste or Brahmin, fascinated by the fact that a female photojournalist was talking to them. However, as soon as communication shifted to Instagram, they’d unswipe me from everywhere.

Sourav (name changed), a Sharma working at a Gurugram corporate office, would text me every five minutes – flirting and showering his attention on me. “Let’s talk on Instagram,” he texted. But I realised soon after that I couldn’t follow him back. Mr Sharma had already blocked and unfollowed me from everywhere.

Then, around six months ago, I matched with a man in his mid-30s. A great experience, until our conversation shifted to protests. He recalled protesting at Delhi’s Jantar Mantar, and I was impressed, considering how most of the ‘woke’ men on these apps are proudly apolitical.

“What protest was it?”

“An anti-reservation protest,” he told me.

And I couldn’t react better than a “haha lol”.

Of course, the conversation was no longer the same. When he realised he was telling a Dalit woman about his participation in an anti-reservation protest, his tone shifted. He started behaving like the Gurugram corporate boy.

“See, I understand reservation is necessary, but we need to have EWS…” The same, standard argument you’d expect from an upper-caste man.

How do Indians date?

My experiences on dating applications made me think, and think a lot. Do people in India even date outside their caste or class? If casteism is as dead as some people claim, then why are so many young men only looking for partners within their caste?

I have consistently matched with upper-caste men in my four years of online dating. The Sharmas, Kumars, Tiwaris and Chatterjees have dominated my recommendation list. It was only last month that I matched with a Dalit man for the first time.

Dating applications like Bumble and Hinge include caste preferences in addition to gender. Women like me, who are apparently ‘too much’ for upper caste men, will perhaps die single because of these filters.

Although I do not mind that possibility. I pay my own bills.

Views are personal.

(Edited by Zoya Bhatti)

Courtesy : The Print

Note: This news is originally published in theprint.com and was used solely for non-profit/non-commercial purposes exclusively for Human Rights.