In 78 years of independence, India has transformed from a fledgling democracy into a global economic powerhouse. Yet, deep structural inequalities continue to divide its population along lines that remain largely invisible in official data — caste, class, and economic status. With the recent calls for a nationwide caste census growing louder, India now stands at a crossroads where it must choose between clinging to an outdated framework of social justice or reimagining it through the lens of present-day realities.
The idea of caste-based reservation in India’s Constitution was born out of an honest and pragmatic recognition: for centuries, the rigid Hindu varna system had pushed certain communities to the margins, economically and socially. The founding fathers saw affirmative action — in education, employment, and political representation — not as a permanent privilege, but as a moral corrective. Importantly, this historical redress happened without social unrest or violent upheaval — a feat rare in postcolonial nations with deep inequalities.
But what happens when the social order evolves — and the original beneficiaries of reservation policies are no longer homogeneous in their deprivation?
Today, the Scheduled Castes (SCs), Scheduled Tribes (STs), and Other Backward Classes (OBCs) comprise a significant portion of India’s population, and many within these groups have used reservations to achieve upward mobility. However, reservation benefits have not been evenly distributed. Certain sub-castes within SCs and OBCs have cornered disproportionate gains, while others remain as marginalized as ever. This internal disparity is rarely acknowledged, let alone corrected.
At the same time, economically and socially backward individuals among the so-called “forward” castes — Brahmins, Rajputs, Kayasthas, and others — are excluded from any form of structural support. Their plight is rendered invisible by a system that still assumes social capital based solely on caste identity, ignoring the changing dynamics of economic deprivation, urban migration, joblessness, and rural collapse.
Herein lies the case for a nationwide caste census.
A caste census — not just limited to counting identities but also mapping economic and educational indicators — would offer India a rare opportunity: to objectively evaluate how different social groups have progressed (or failed to) in post-independence India. Rather than dismantling the existing reservation system, such a data-driven approach could help restructure it in a manner that is more inclusive, equitable, and future-ready.
Critics of the caste census often raise concerns about national unity. They argue that publicly disclosing the caste composition and economic standing of various groups may inflame identity politics, deepen divisions, or lead to competitive victimhood. These concerns, while not unfounded, are misplaced.
India’s democratic fabric is strong enough to withstand hard truths. In fact, it is precisely by confronting them that the country can move beyond symbolic equality towards genuine parity. Ignoring caste disparities, or pretending that they no longer exist, does not make them disappear — it simply keeps them hidden, festering under the surface.
Moreover, the logic of reservation has, over time, been decoupled from its original rationale. What was meant as a time-bound remedy for historical injustice has gradually become a political entitlement. Parties across the ideological spectrum have used reservation as a vote-bank strategy, creating a situation where removing or reforming quotas is politically suicidal — even if the underlying conditions that necessitated them have changed dramatically.
As a result, even 78 years after independence, we continue to rely on caste as a static category. This has created ironies. For instance, while Brahmins and Rajputs are often seen as the historical oppressors, large segments within these communities now live in poverty, with no state support. And yet, public discourse — and even policymaking — tends to paint all of them with the same brush.
Conversely, several sub-castes within SCs and OBCs have grown immensely powerful — socially, politically, and economically. Without sub-categorization or internal quotas, these dominant sub-groups continue to monopolize the benefits of reservation, leaving behind those who were supposed to be helped in the first place.
It is also worth noting that other modern systems of reservation — such as in train tickets, or airline bookings — are based on capacity, affordability, and need. In these systems, the primary consideration is not one’s identity, but one’s circumstances. Perhaps it is time India’s social justice framework took a cue.
None of this is to suggest that caste is irrelevant, or that historical oppression no longer exists. But the form and intensity of that oppression has changed. Today, an urban Dalit with access to English education and political patronage may be more empowered than a poor Brahmin in a rural district with no access to schooling or jobs. The state cannot continue to ignore these realities simply because they do not fit into neat historical narratives.
The answer lies not in scrapping reservations, but in rethinking them. A caste census, combined with robust economic data, would allow the government to create dynamic, evidence-based reservation policies. These could include internal quotas within SC and OBC groups, special measures for the economically weaker sections of upper castes, and even targeted programs based on regional backwardness.
Yes, such an overhaul would require immense political will — and even greater courage. But the alternative is worse: a system that perpetuates inequality in the name of correcting it, and fosters resentment between communities who should be working together toward a shared future.
For far too long, discussions on caste and reservation in India have been driven by guilt, emotion, and political expediency. It’s time they were led by facts.
India has changed — and so must its policies.
By Shashi Singh
