Enduring Discrimination: My Lived Experiences

The author shares her painful experiences of caste and gender discrimination as a Dalit woman. From school to social events, she faced exclusion, humiliation, and systemic bias. Incidents like being denied entry to a friend’s wedding and rejected for housing highlight deep-rooted prejudices. Despite these struggles, she emphasizes the need to speak out against discrimination, hoping for a future where no one suffers such injustice.

What I Experienced!

Can you imagine how terrifying it would be to truly know yourself?

I am writing about my experience after a long time. For years, the stories and pains of discrimination have been simmering inside me. Even now, I cannot fully account for them. The realization of who I am is deeply unsettling. A person is supposed to be free and live in society without fear, violence, or discrimination. It is said that everyone has the right to live free from such injustices. This is written in law, but my society has been stripping away my right to live without discrimination.

The first time I realized I was a Dalit was through something one of my Non-Dalit male friends said. I became aware of this when he called me ‘Damini.’ This was in 2061 B.S. I was a ninth-grade student. A cultural program was being organized at school, and the teachers had selected us to perform a dance. However, I suddenly heard my friend say, “I will not dance with Damini.” That single statement confirmed that I belonged to the Dalit community. I believe that was the day caste-based discrimination against me began. After that, I started feeling discriminated against in many other places.

These are the unpleasant experiences I have endured simply because I was born into a Dalit community. Moreover, I am a woman. As a result, I have experienced multiple layers of discrimination—because I am a woman, because I am a Dalit, and because I am a Dalit woman.

When I went to fetch water from the tap, I was scolded for touching my neighbor’s aunt’s bucket. She even threw away my water bucket. Over time, I also faced discrimination from schoolmates, teachers, and even the families of my friends. Perhaps because of such experiences, I began questioning my very identity—who am I?

Discrimination Starts at School

Discrimination often begins at school. My home is in Khurkot, Sindhuli district. I studied at Shree Janajyoti Higher Secondary School. Every year, our school celebrated Saraswati Puja. On that day, a forest feast was organized, along with extracurricular activities and cleanliness programs. I still remember that during one Saraswati Puja, my non-Dalit friend’s mother threw the prasad meant for me from a distance, causing it to fall to the ground. When I attended the school’s forest feast, I was not allowed to cook food. Later, the food was even kept separately for me.

I took my SLC in 2062 B.S. and passed with first-class marks. A non-Dalit friend of mine passed with second-class marks. When his mother learned that I had outperformed her son, she did not speak to me for a year. Discrimination manifests in various ways, often unpredictable and immeasurable. When you hear or read about it, it may seem trivial, but those who experience it understand how toxic it truly is.

After that incident, I became hesitant to form friendships with non-Dalits. Even now, I have very few non-Dalit friends.

A Painful Wedding Experience

I recall another painful experience from 2064 B.S. when I was studying for my Plus Two. A close friend of mine, who was from the non-Dalit community, was getting married. Since he had invited me, I decided to attend. On one hand, I felt obligated to go; on the other, I feared he might be upset if I didn’t. Torn between these thoughts, I attended his wedding.

It was the month of Mangsir. The wedding was held at night. Perhaps due to the cold, the ceremony took place indoors. However, because I am a Dalit, I was not allowed to enter the house. I called my friend outside, gave him a gift, and told him I would leave. When I said this, he insisted, “Don’t go, or I will be upset.” So, I stayed. But I had to remain outside the house alone, while my friend’s wedding was taking place inside.

I watched from the doorway. It started raining. Half of my body was soaked. Even then, no one invited me inside. I didn’t dare return home alone at night. At that moment, I was furious at myself. The thought struck me: Why was I born into the Dalit community? If I had been born into a non-Dalit family, I would have been able to sit inside my friend’s house and celebrate with them.

The rain eventually stopped, but the cold intensified. Some wedding guests near where I stood lit a fire, which helped me endure the night. That wedding night changed my perspective forever. Since then, I have been afraid to form friendships with non-Dalits. Even today, I have very few non-Dalit friends.

As long as the caste system exists, the Dalit community will continue to suffer humiliations similar to mine—or even worse. Therefore, we must continue to speak and write against caste discrimination.

Everyday Discrimination

A few months ago, I attended a discussion program. It began with introductions. When I introduced myself as Sunita Pariyar, the person sitting next to me—a non-Dalit—exclaimed, “Are you a Pariyar? You don’t look like a Dalit!” His words stirred many questions in my mind. Does being Dalit mean looking a certain way? Are Dalits from a different planet? I asked myself, “Am I not human?” His remark revealed his mindset and the deeply ingrained prejudices that persist in society.

I have endured many bitter experiences related to caste discrimination. Years ago, while searching for a rental room in the city, I approached a non-Dalit landlord. He was a professor, and his wife was a doctor. The room was vacant, and we agreed to take it. I told them that my friend and I would move in after three or four days.

However, on the day of the move, the professor sent me a message stating, “My wife’s relatives are coming, so we cannot give you the room.” Initially, we accepted this as a coincidence. But later, we discovered that the room remained empty for three months. Eventually, a non-Dalit tenant moved in. This incident made it clear that caste-based discrimination persists even among educated professionals like professors and doctors.

The Burden of Discrimination

These experiences have made me acutely aware of the discrimination I face as a Dalit and as a woman. If educated youth like me continue to suffer caste and gender discrimination in the 21st century, how much worse must it be for those who cannot voice their struggles? How much discrimination have Dalit women endured simply because they lack the platform to speak? The reality is heartbreaking.

All forms of discrimination should be eradicated. I hope the younger generation will not have to endure the discrimination, abuse, humiliation, and exclusion that I have experienced.

But who will take responsibility for the wounds inflicted on my young mind by the abuse, humiliation, and exclusion I suffered from so-called “upper” castes? Physical wounds may heal, but the psychological scars of discrimination remain. The damage to one’s dignity is permanent. I am often tormented by a sense of inferiority. At times, I feel like a second-class citizen. Will this ever change in my lifetime? If not, why?

Such questions constantly haunt me. As long as the caste system exists, Dalits will continue to suffer indignities like those I have faced. Therefore, we must not stop speaking and writing about caste discrimination. How long will it take for society to accept that we are human, just like everyone else? The discrimination I have experienced is both inhuman and misogynistic. It is unbearable. It must end here.

Any form of discrimination must be eradicated. I hope future generations will not have to suffer as I did.