Between Belonging and Distancing: Dilemmas of Performing Brahminhood
Bhawesh Pant
Senior Research Fellow, Tata Institute of Social Sciences, Mumbai
It was a sunny yet cold afternoon in Purakh village [1] of Pithoragarh district of Uttarakhand when, during an extended conversation, a retired principal remarked, “It is not sufficient to be a Brahmin merely by caste; the title comes with responsibility, and one must live up to it.” The comment, though casually offered, was also directed towards me. As my fieldwork unfolded, similar expectations and reminders surfaced repeatedly, placing me under a continuous and often critical gaze. This article emerges from those encounters, an attempt to reflect on my experiences as a Brahmin researcher studying his own community. It documents the privileged accessibility my caste identity afforded, alongside the persistent burden of performing Brahminhood in ways deemed appropriate by my interlocutors.
As the discussion primarily draws from Brahmin male interlocutors, shaped by my positionality as a Brahmin male researcher, it keeps their articulations at the centre. Gendered dimensions, around menstruation, food, and ritual labour, are acknowledged but remain beyond the scope of this article.
Through these reflections, the article explores how caste location shapes access, relationships, and interpretation in ethnographic research, and how reflexivity becomes central in negotiating belonging and distance during fieldwork.
Being a Kumaoni [2] Brahmin, with knowledge of the local language and family ties in the villages I visited, I was naturally accepted into people’s private spaces. By private spaces, I mean areas usually closed off to outsiders, such as Brahmin households (ghar), temples of their isht devta (local deities), life-cycle rituals (karmkaand), and informal gatherings. It would be almost impossible for a researcher from a different social background to access these spaces in a similar manner.
In Purakh village, a shopkeeper once told me, “Son, everyone writes and thinks about other communities—Harijans, for instance—from the government to the newspapers. No one writes anything about us. It is good that you will write.” The shopkeeper used the term Harijan to refer to the Scheduled Castes, expressing a feeling that Brahmins were being overlooked in public discourse. Although Harijan is a polemic term, it continues to be commonly used in Kumaoni parlance, as reflected in this conversation. Similar expressions of neglect and expectation recurred across interactions. People I engaged with often addressed me using fictitious kinship terms such as chyal (son), dajyu (elder brother), or chacha (uncle). In places where I felt hesitant to approach people, my cousins or the family members I stayed with would often take the initiative to introduce me. In a short period, my presence became familiar in the villages I visited, and these layered interactions shaped how I was positioned and perceived within the community.
As my accessibility and familiarity within the community increased, a set of expectations also began to surface: that I should embody the traits of an ideal (aadarsh) Brahmin. During my stay there, one of the elderly women in Birun village remarked in a firm tone, “What is the use of all this education if your qualities are not like those of a true Brahmin?” My everyday actions began to come under scrutiny. Whether it was my dietary choices or my political views, they gradually became known to others, and I could sense myself being under their watchful, often judgmental gaze.
The structure of villages in Kumaon reflects the same caste-based segregation seen across rural India. Harijans (locally referred to as Dooms) reside on the margins of villages inhabited by Brahmins. During my fieldwork, I often visited these hamlets; however, as such visits became frequent, some older Brahmin men began discouraging me from doing so. On several occasions, my host would sprinkle gaunt (a mixture of cow urine and water) in the courtyard upon my entry, assuming I might have visited a Harijan household. The community is generally referred to by upper-caste villagers as Harijan or Doom, while individuals from the community, though seldom required to self-identify in the close-knit village context, occasionally use both terms when asked directly or during extended conversations.
Over time, my non-vegetarian dietary habits also became known. Despite my efforts to conceal it, I was occasionally seen eating meat in the bazaar (town market), and at times, my cousins would reveal this to others. My host and some participants even advised me to “change or improve my ways” (tarike badlo aur sudhro).
These de-casted actions of mine often became a source of humour among the younger boys. In the Purakh village, a cricket match is played every evening on the high school ground. The teams are usually divided along caste lines: all the Brahmins on one side and all the Harijans on the other. I was, by default, placed in the Brahmin team, but jokes were often made, such as, “Bhawesh Da’s lifestyle is such that he could easily be part of any other team as well.” These comments were met with laughter from both teams. Such humour deserves close attention, as Joshi (2024) observes, ‘embedded in this humour is obfuscation of the hierarchy and indignity of caste relations’ (p. 447). In a similar instance, my cousin from the Uper village once joked, though with a clear undertone of warning, “Ija (mother), do not let Bhawesh da eat in the kitchen, he had gone to the market with Kailu.” Kailash, known as Kailu, is a taxi driver from a Scheduled Caste. He operates the route between the Uper village and Gangolihat (bazaar). While everyone receives frequent service from him when they ride in his car, my close association with him caused discomfort to some of my participants.
My actions began to be observed more closely and critically over time. My participants were displeased at times, but I cannot say I received any strong disapproval. One of my key informants from Chuptal village, a well-known priest in the area, once said, “Pant ji, you have come from Mumbai for a few days, so no one says anything to you.” His statement made me realise that I was just enough of an insider for caste-based expectations to be placed on me, and just enough of an outsider for my missteps to be overlooked.
Fieldwork Diplomacy
I had a shifting and flexible identity during the fieldwork. I drew on my caste and regional background to build trust and access when needed, while at other times presenting myself as casteless in interactions with different caste or class groups (Deshpande, 2013). Such flexibility is often possible for upper-caste researchers, who can more easily transition between identities. For those from other social positions, hiding ascribed identities can be far more difficult. Throughout my fieldwork, I practised what I call fieldwork diplomacy—a term I use to describe the small adjustments and concealments that helped maintain access and rapport, especially when studying socially privileged groups.
As my fieldwork progressed, many participants connected with me on Facebook and Instagram. Through these platforms, they came across my political views and opinions on various issues—things I had never shared directly with them. Some reacted strongly, commenting on my posts or expressing their displeasure in person. To avoid further tension, I made my profiles private and archived several posts.
Earlier, my open and unrestricted sociability in the village may have caused minor discomfort, but once people learned about my political leanings, the situation changed noticeably. The tone of our interactions shifted—conversations that were once casual and warm became formal and guarded. People seemed more hesitant around me. Those who earlier spoke proudly about their Brahmin identity began avoiding such discussions in my presence, often giving vague or carefully worded responses.
Fortunately, this shift occurred during the later phase of my fieldwork, so it did not significantly impact the overall progress of the study.
In conclusion, this article demonstrates that in qualitative research, a researcher’s position is inherently fluid. It is constantly negotiated—sometimes by deliberate choice, at other times shaped by social circumstances—as one moves between insider (emic) and outsider (etic) standpoints.
In my own fieldwork, such negotiations were not merely reflective exercises but practical necessities. While studying socially privileged groups, maintaining rapport required a careful balance of openness and restraint. Without these adjustments, access could easily be jeopardised, making it difficult to document their social world in meaningful ways. In this sense, studying up requires subtle negotiations that allow for continued engagement and trust.
These experiences underscore the importance of researchers continually asking where they stand within their inquiry and how their presence—their identity, actions, and strategic choices— shapes both the process and outcomes of research.
Bio: Bhawesh Pant is a Senior Research Fellow at the Tata Institute of Social Sciences, Mumbai. His doctoral research explores the processes of identification among Kumaoni Brahmins, based on a two-year multi-sited ethnography conducted across Uttarakhand and Uttar Pradesh. Prior to this, he completed his M.Phil. at the same institute, during which he conducted an ethnographic study of the Raji community—a Particularly Vulnerable Tribal Group (PVTG) in Uttarakhand. Recently, he completed a Visiting Fellowship at the University of Klagenfurt, Austria.
References
Deshpande, Satish (2013): “Caste and Castelessness: Towards a Biography of the ‘General Category’,” Economic and Political Weekly, Vol 48, No 15, pp 32–39.
Joshi, Bhoomika (2024): “Calling Names: Humoring Caste and Caste-ing Humor,” American Anthropologist, Vol 126, No 3, pp 446–457.
Endnotes
1 I have anonymised the village names, but retained the district and town names in their original form.
2 Kumaon is one of the administrative regions in the state of Uttarakhand. The term Kumaoni refers to the people, culture, and language associated with this region.