Unclaimed Baggage

A sea of black, blue, and gray lay before me. Peppered throughout were pops of color — specks of orange, red, and green. I was not at a beach looking at the sea but rather staring wide-eyed at luggage. There were thousands of used bags of different sizes, brands, and features — carry-ons, two-wheeled and four-wheeled rollers, duffel bags, briefcases, shoulder bags, back packs, laid out in no less than two dozen, even rows. It was 1988, and I lived in Decatur, Alabama, population 49,000; a city whose claim to fame was being home to the nation’s only unclaimed baggage store. The name of the store was “Unclaimed Baggage”, an unoriginal name but effective as anyone could guess what was found there — the unclaimed luggage from airlines. I was there with my family because this was the place every Indian family in the greater northeast Alabama/southern Tennessee region visited before those long trips to India. Why? Because it was a bonanza of great deals on inexpensive luggage. In addition to bags, all the accoutrements and possessions of said unclaimed bags were also available for purchase at a great price. It was a veritable cornucopia of random “stuff” which ran the spectrum from high end couture; cutlery (I’m still not sure who packs CorningWare on flights); electric razors; all types of clothing including belts, shoes, and ties; books; kitschy carnival prize quality, plastic knickknacks; and all the other trappings people travel with. Thankfully, the manager had the good sense to dispose of all the used toothbrushes and undergarments.

If you were patient, diligent, and had a discerning eye, you could find something extraordinary, but it required you to sift through mounds of items lost and forgotten — things probably not worth the original owner’s effort or time to pursue. It was like the island of lost, forgotten, and misfit toys, but instead for baggage. As one can imagine, if the claim to fame of any town is an unclaimed baggage store, a major cosmopolitan center it was not. And this is where I found myself in middle school.

I was only one of two students of Asian Indian descent in my eighth-grade class. Mr. Edmunds, generally considered the “coolest” teacher in school because he wore dark sunglasses and drove a jeep (the contemporary equivalent to the bearded hipster drinking kombucha in the teachers’ lounge), was my home room and social studies teacher. For those unaware, social studies in American primary education is a collective term for the integrated study of multiple fields of the social sciences including history, political science, geography, etc. It is typically within this collective that world religion and culture are taught at a primary level. One day, Mr. Edmunds wrote a topic on the overhead projector which filled me with excitement tinged with a bit of dread. The topic — Hinduism.

I was excited being the only Hindu in class and being able to speak about something that influenced so much of my world and my sense of identity. But why the dread? As many immigrants or minorities in the great American melting pot may have experienced, when a topic specific to you but foreign to the majority is presented by someone not of that group, there may be statements, generalizations, and assumptions made which differ from your reality and lived experience. We discussed the ancient scriptures, the Vedas, along with basic philosophic concepts such as karma and reincarnation. I nodded along and, when asked by Mr. Edmunds for additional details, I provided commentary based on my understanding and practice. It felt nice being a subject matter expert and providing context and color for my classmates. Unfortunately, this feeling was short lived because Mr. Edmunds then brought up a topic as alien to me as it was to my classmates — the caste system. He stated that caste was a fundamental part of Hinduism and stratified society into different hierarchical classes. These classes created a framework which defined social interaction and restriction. He then looked towards me, and asked, “What caste are you?”. I stared at him blankly. He might as well have asked me to translate a phrase in Latin or explain quantum theory. I had no idea. In that moment an unreconcilable dichotomy occurred in my mind. I had grown up in a home with the daily Hindu practices of bhakti and prayer every morning, before meals, and every evening. My family would sit together daily and read scripture, discuss spirituality, and recite mantra. Every weekend, I would attend weekly Hindu bal sabhas (youth services) in which I would learn Hindu culture, philosophy, and art such as song, dance, language, and music. How was it possible that something as significant as my own caste had never been addressed at home or at the temple?

“What caste are we?” I asked my parents during dinner that evening as I picked at my food. I told them what happened in class and wondered out loud why I had not been taught something so important in Hinduism. My father tried to explain to me how in our philosophy of Hinduism, concepts of caste were irrelevant and that societal, historical (specifically colonial), and political influences outside of spirituality had significantly impacted and corrupted the intricate interpretation of varna, the term for class in Sanksrit. I was 12 years old and didn’t grasp most of what he said but came away with the general idea that I did not believe in the caste system. That was the “what” of my belief. It was only years later after decades of experience, that I developed a deeper understanding of the “why”.

I have come to understand that caste is predicated on the preservation of two things: power and resources. And those with a disproportionate share of either will usually do everything they can to maintain both. The construct of caste in colonial and medieval India was a nuanced issue evolved over hundreds of years involving the complex interaction of multiple factors, principals, and agendas and was less inherently religious but rather social, political, and economic. Furthermore, when casteism is critically viewed through the lens of racism, the parallels in terms of practice as well as purpose are striking. The minute rules of social acceptability, segregation, privilege, and opportunity are starkly overlaid. This resonates strongly today considering recent and ongoing widespread, social protest over racism and inequality especially in the summer of 2020 and recent legal cases involving Ahmaud Arbery and Kyle Rittenhouse. The echoes of slavery in America, the country that is my home and has shaped my worldview, can still be seen and, more viscerally, felt today. However, I do not know of the single human civilization, ancient or modern, that carries the mantle of originator of the practice of discrimination based on caste, class, race, creed, gender, or orientation. The word “caste” is of Portuguese derivation, and to ascribe its inception to the faith of Hinduism is simply incorrect and fails to capture the complexity and pervasive nature of the phenomenon. This is the academic and experiential “why” of my rejection of the caste system as a fundamental part of my Hindu faith. The other foundational piece of my rejection of Mr. Edmund’s assertion and question is based on my actual Hindu faith.

Bhagwan Swaminarayan was the founder of the Swaminarayan denomination of Hinduism in the early 1800s. In addition to being the spiritual leader of the faith, he was a reformer and social activist who tirelessly campaigned for the upliftment of all people, regardless of caste, class, or gender. In the Asiatic Journal (1823), a British official writes that “people of all castes and persuasions resort to Swaminarayan … Hindus of all four classes, Muslims, and even Dhers (historically referred to as untouchables) are admitted … The grand principle of the (Swaminarayan) system seems to be that the souls of all mankind are equal”. Bhagwan Swaminarayan’s acceptance of all castes is further well-described by the Anglican Bishop of Calcutta, Reginald Heber, who wrote in 1828 that “though of different castes, they were disciples of Swaminarayan, and taught to regard each other as brethren”. This approach to caste led to wide appeal and was undergirded by his primary spiritual teaching on the atma (soul) and the quest for atma-realization. Within neo-classic Hinduism he may even be viewed as a “classic liberal”, a leader who appreciated diversity and understood how to make it a strength by focusing on the inherent divinity latent in all people and rejecting notions of social hierarchy. During this period in Indian history, this progressive view on caste relations was a relative anomaly and widely denounced in the mainstream. Unfortunately, this denouncement was not simply an intellectual or theological debate. Rather, it resulted in real violence against, and even murder of Swaminarayan devotees and ascetics. This required a balance by Bhagwan Swaminarayan between the negative impact of the caste system and the real possibility of violence against his followers by those insistent on maintaining the social order. Nonetheless, he continued the glidepath of restorative justice throughout his life and later through the teachings and lives of his spiritual successors.

Over the last 200 hundred years, his disciples have continued the fundamental message that the “souls of all mankind are equal”. Pragji Bhakta was born a darji, a member of the tailor caste; a varna that is among the lower rungs of the four-level caste ladder and from which, traditionally, there were not spiritual aspirants revered as spiritual guides and gurus. Regardless of birth status, Pragji Bhakta committed his life to service, spiritual realization, and unflinching devotion, and through his endeavors earned the respect and love of countless members of his community at all levels of caste. He became known as Bhagatji Maharaj, and his image is now enshrined in Swaminarayan mandirs throughout the world as the second spiritual successor of Bhagwan Swaminarayan. His life is a resounding rejection of the ossified oppression of the caste system and the personification of Bhagwan Swaminarayan’s belief that birth-right and caste have no bearing on societal and spiritual ascension.

“From the very beginning, the Hindu religion has not supported discrimination. Hinduism has seen the world as a family. The discrimination we see was a later pollutant.” These were the words of Pramukh Swami, the fifth spiritual successor of Bhagwan Swaminarayan, in 1990 at the BAPS mandir in Bochasan, Gujarat, India, which was hosting the “Dalit Mahasammelan”, a revolutionary convention for the Harijan caste. Historically this group was known as the untouchable caste, a subcaste buried under the heels of the orthodox, societal four castes. He went on — “The soul has no family or caste. Every soul has within it the presence of Paramatma (God). The distinctions of this world are to be forgotten. This is necessary for the uplift of society and our country.” These were not just talking points for Pramukh Swami, but rather an ethos he manifested in every interaction he had with every person he met. Throughout his life, he traveled tirelessly visiting the villages of tribal people and meeting with them directly in their homes and huts. He built genuine loving connections by speaking with them, rather than at, about, or above them. Many youths from these communities were even initiated by him into the sacred monastic fold as Swamis of equal standing as Swamis from all backgrounds.

The ideas of human equity, equality, and dignity are not only the claim of woke contemporaries, or before them Bolsheviks, or before them revolutionaries yearning to be free, but also that of a Hindu spiritual leader born in 1781. Pragmatism and accommodation required Bhagwan Swaminarayan to be thoughtful with how he leaned forward with societal shift, and this journey of restorative justice continues today with my current Guru Mahant Swami. Though not rapid in the eyes of a single impatient generation, when viewed collectively, the journey has been intentional and unrelenting and the change it engenders real. Mahant Swami has codified ancient Hindu sentiment for contemporary sensibility with his writing of the modern scripture Satsang Diksha. He writes: “All men and women, of all castes, are forever entitled to satsang (spiritual communion), brahmavidya (knowledge of God), and moksha (spiritual liberation). Do not attribute notions of superiority and inferiority based on varna (caste). All persons should shun their ego based on their caste and serve one another. No one is superior and no one is inferior by birth.” Mahant Swami teaches me not to subordinate fact, reason, and love to tribal, narcissistic emotion, and to embrace all groups by first focusing on the individual in front of me.

Collectively, my education, experiences, and spiritual teachings and guidance explain why Mr. Edmund’s question all those years ago hit such a nerve and is still imprinted in my memory. It was a flashbulb event which frames much of my approach to those who knowingly or unknowingly “other” me. His initial question, though unlikely of ill intent, is emblematic of a greater societal illness. We have a reflexive tendency in many parts of society, including in academics and politics, to flatten entire groups and cultures into a few stereotypical, misunderstood, and mislabeled characteristics. Movies, songs, and novels easily fall into genres. Individuals do not. This heuristic shortcut bleaches away nuance and complexity distilling me from a layered and multicolored amalgam of genetics and experiences into a reductive, unidimensional trope. I refuse to be labeled as a Hindu caricature deeply steeped in superstition and a believer of the caste system. Of course, this does not mean that amongst Hindus there are not those who support and perpetuate the caste system. There were Hindus in the days of Bhagwan Swaminarayan who threatened and committed physical harm on his followers because of his progressive views. Unfortunately, that ignorant sentiment continues today in certain pockets. With humility and honesty, I accept this truth and work to prevent continued perpetuation of these destructive and dividing practices. Through my journey, I see the caste system as what it truly is — unclaimed baggage; hubris which was appropriately lost and forgotten; a dark linkage to something that should not be the true shape of my world. This belief is grounded and nurtured by a moral commitment to the right of all people to be treated equally and a spiritual resolve that all people are worthy of love and respect rooted in the philosophy and teachings of Bhagwan Swaminarayan and the living example of my Guru.

Dr. Kashyap Patel, Cardiologist
Atlanta, Georgia