Bottu, a Telugu term referring to a decorative dot put on Hindu women’s foreheads, between the eyebrows, or in the parting line of the hair, carries ritual and cultural significance in Indian Hindu society. It is also known as bindi in Hindi language and is often seen as a compulsory adoration for a Hindu single or married woman. Bottu on a woman, represents her humble feminine cultural values, and not having it is seen as cultureless and Westernised. Sometimes, Bottu also acts as a caste marker, signifying the caste or sect of the individual through different shapes and styles. Antony (2010), referring to the big red Bottu of late Bharatiya Janata Party senior leader Sushma Swaraj, writes that Bottu not only acts as a religious and cultural marker but also functions as a medium of “political subjectivity” through its role in affirming the ideals of the “good” Hindu woman among female BJP politicians.
In contrast, the Christian churches and the wider Christian community see Bottu as a sin and a violation of Christian ethics. Wearing it is perceived as practising idolatry and seen as indulging in worldly acts of fashion, moving away from the Christian faith. Hence, especially in the Dalit Christian community I was raised in, I often saw people with simple and humble lifestyles, without a Bottu intentionally and without ornaments, partly intentional and also due to socio-economic situations. Once, I happened to be at my Brahmin friend’s home when her relatives showed up suddenly. Hurriedly trying to clean the house, my friend’s mother asked me to apply some powder to my face and keep a Bottu. I still wonder if she felt uncomfortable introducing me with what she always calls out, my ‘Mondi moham‘—a bare forehead without a Bottu—an outright “untouchable feature”. Usually, a bare forehead implies a widowed woman in the traditional Hindu Telugu society, as well as a Christian, in this context, of course, a Christian but an “untouchable one”. My mother says, “Anywhere we go, they see us, see our bare foreheads, they know who we are”.
Disgusted and furious, she narrated her experience of discrimination to me. Once craving punugulu (A snack popular in Telugu states), she, with her dominant caste colleague, while waiting for the bus, went to the punugulu bandi (street side food wagon). She was excited about eating them after a long time and asked for a plate and he was almost putting some punugulu and saw her and put them aside only to say he didn’t have pachadi (spicy dip). She, feeling weird at the way he looked, asked him to put karam podi (spicy powder) instead to eat. He said he did not have any and continued to put hot hot punugulu. My mother, with an irritated tone, looked at him and said, “Seems like you don’t have an intention to sell at all!”. Her colleague, wearing a scarf, then saw her for a moment, and they walked away angrily while her colleague said, “I should have removed the scarf!”.
My mother was in disbelief about the seller’s casteist sentiment and said within herself that he should not get a “boni” (the first buy of the day). Boni is an auspicious thing for people with small to big businesses, and often, due to the inauspiciousness associated with the Bottu less “untouchable’s presence”, boni beram, or the first buyer from the shop, can’t be a Dalit. When I was young, I always accompanied my mother to the market to buy things from the shops; no matter whether we came first or last, we were made to wait until the dominant caste women and men bought their things. Two Dalit Christian women standing on the side, waiting there patiently until all those women and men bought is how I was socialised to Dalit Christian identity at very early stages of life.
Dalit Christian women are easily recognised due to the Hindu gendered marker, the Bottu. While many “urban-modern” Hindu women these days don’t wear Bottu daily, on rituals, festivals, and special occasions, their identity flashes through their traditional “Hindu woman” attire with a vermillion dot. Of course, Dalit Hindu women also wear Bottu, but it still doesn’t hold any significance for them with their Dalit identity and other Dalit markers in a casteist society. As they are excluded from the mainstream dominant Hindu temple and rituals, their purity and the legitimacy of the Bottu will be questioned due to their identity. Like dominant caste Hindu women, Hindu men also wear Bottu, but it isn’t mandatory for a man in a casteist patriarchal society, and they are exempted from wearing it. Due to this privilege, Dalit Christian men in this context more easily navigate the majoritarian Hindu society than Dalit Christian women.
M.M Vinodhini writes that often, Dalit Christian women are erased from the national imagination of an “Indian woman” due to their bindi-less identity (Rani, 2021). The missing Bottu on a Dalit Christian woman shouts to the world of her hyphenated or dual identity. To confirm her identity, the oppressor castes often double-check with subsequent enquires about several other markers of “Dalitness”, like attire, complexion, name, parent’s name, occupation, socio-economic status, residence, etc. The missing Bottu instantly exposes her hyphenated identity to the world where she could initially be perceived as a Christian as she doesn’t have a Bottu, implying Dalit identity subsequently. Or maybe she could also be perceived as a Dalit first because she is a Christian as she doesn’t have a Bottu, given the association of Dalit communities with Christianity in Telugu states. Whatever the case, in society’s perception, a Dalit Christian woman’s identity as a Dalit and a Christian are interrelated and complexly intersecting.
Gidla expresses this lived religious reality of Dalit Christians and says, “Christians, untouchables—it came to the same thing. All Christians in India were untouchable, as far as I knew” (Gidla, 2017, p.9). This often leads the Hindu-dominated society to perceive Dalit Christian women’s Dalit and Christian identities as synonymous with each other through the missing Bottu, exposing her to greater exclusion and alienation than her male counterparts. While Christianity is seen as synonymous with Dalit identity in Telugu states, the majority of Savarna women converts to Christianity don’t undergo the same intensity of oppression as Dalit Christian women. Their identity without a Bottu and with subsequent caste markers are perceived as a standalone Christian, kin who converted, unlike the reality of many Dalit Christian women who stand in between the hyphen, speaking their marginal life powerfully from the margin.
Dalit Christian women, unlike any other Dalit women, undergo discrimination based on caste, gender, and class, but it is also important to discuss the lived experiences of a Dalit Christian woman through the lens of religious identity as well. Christianity is perceived as a Dalit religion, and Dalits are often viewed as practising Christianity, especially in the context of Telugu states, which makes them both intricately connected. Hence these two identities cannot be separated and viewed as standalones. Between these identities, Dalit Christian lives are further marginalised, and hence, it is important to amplify their voices and recognise their social location as unique. While Dalit Christian women like Sujatha Gidla, MM Vinodhini, Bama, Aruna Gogulamanda and Manasa Yendluri powerfully represent the voices from the margins, this article calls for further knowledge production from a Dalit Christian lens and particularly from a Dalit Christian feminist standpoint.
References:
- Gidla, S. (2017). Ants Among Elephants : An Untouchable Family and the Making of Modern India (First edition.). Farrar, Straus and Giroux.
- Rani, K. S. (Ed.). (2022). Critical Discourse in Telugu. Routledge.
- Antony, M. G. (2010). On the Spot: Seeking Acceptance and Expressing Resistance through the Bindi. Journal of International and Intercultural Communication, 3(4), 346–368.
***
Jidugu Kavya Harshitha is a doctoral student in the Faculty of Education at Queen’s University, Canada.