India's Social Class System

There are many things about America that we've come to appreciate while here in India. One thing that I've come to appreciate is America's social dynamics. This has become particularly apparent in the way we approach interviewing patients. There is nothing weird about asking someone what their profession, monthly income, and religion. In the United States, such questions would be patently offensive. After almost eight weeks here, I feel like I've come to realize to a small degree the reason behind this cultural phenomenon.

Part of this is just a sense of cultural openness. In a country of over a billion people, many of whom are clustered into some of the most densely populated urban areas on earth (19 of the world's 50 most densely populated cities are in India). Being in such constant close contact with people is bound to lessen the sense of "personal space," both in the concrete and the abstract. However, I think that this idea of openness runs much deeper than any recent demographic changes in India.

India has long been known for its caste system. While the caste system still persists to some degree (on several occasions people have identified themselves as coming from a particular caste to me), it is by and large absent from the cities. Originally, there were four castes (priests, warriors, traders, and servants) with a fifth un-caste, the untouchables. The Indian Constitution makes the caste system illegal, but the ideas that were driven into Indian society by the caste system are still alive and well today.

The fact is that in India, people really do seem to be identified by their career. In other words, their job defines who they are as a person and what they have done with their life. For example, the role of the driver is to be a driver in life. He may work from 9-5 (or whenever he's needed), but from 5-9, he's still "a driver." He will never occupy the same social circles as the people he drives. It has taken a significant amount of getting used to, because when we first met Vishnu, our driver, we saw him as less of a driver and more of a potential friend (seeing as how he was literally the first person we met in India). However, the driver and the driven aren't ever friends. They serve their respective roles, but never cross paths otherwise. Likewise, the dhobi and the rickshaw driver are identified by being a dhobi and a rickshaw driver, not as being ordinary human beings.

This system means that far more than in the United States, your job defines your past, your present, and your future. Drivers and dhobis are treated like dirt (at least compared to how such corollary workers in the United States might be treated). This isn't perceived as a bad thing, by either the workers or by the people they serve. It is simply the way things are. The system results from a serious lack of social mobility. Someone in America might be the son of a coal miner or the daughter of a cleaning lady and grow up to be a NASA engineer or a Supreme Court justice. In India, something like that is still possible, but it seems that your parents’ relative position in society largely determines what your position in society will be, often irrespective of talent and motivation.

This situation is actually really sad. After all, Vishnu is just as much a human being as you or I, despite the fact that we have more money or education than he does. Yet this lack of social mobility is probably partly a result of the fact that there are only so many economic niches someone can fill. When there are so many people living in so small an area with so few opportunities, there is far less opportunity to rise in the ranks of social classes. Not everyone can be doctors and engineers, and this is reflected in the fact that admission to medical colleges and engineering schools makes admission to Harvard look easy.

The American system has its own disadvantages and advantages. In the United States, where anyone can become anyone, there is a heightened sense of undeserved entitlement. This has led to all sorts of problems (including, for example, health care), but it has also allowed for social mobility. In addition, it also means that whatever someone may do during the week is largely forgotten outside of the workplace. In the evening after work, you’re no longer a salesman or a IT professional, but an ordinary citizen relaxing with friends and family. I think we call this idea of social mobility the “American dream.” India faces an enormous problem in trying to create the level of social mobility achieved in the United States. It will take an immense effort on the part of the Indian government to make high-quality education much more widely available. It will take decades, if not generations, to remove the implicit idea that the worth of a person is encapsulated in their job and salary.

Social stigmas are a big part of any culture, and India is no exception. India has a burgeoning middle class, but in order to keep it growing and increase the status of all Indians, it’s going to have to address the heart of the problems here. To a large degree, that will mean people from higher classes are going to have to reach down to offer a hand to those who they never would have considered looking at a decade ago. I hope to see the 21st century India a country of prosperous growth and social mobility. For those of us in the United States, we ought to be thankful for the social mobility we enjoy as Americans, not feel entitled to something more than we’ve earned.