I have maintained, ever since I knew enough to form opinions, that I can't be truly called a Brahmin. Nor, for that matter, anyone today who has been born to people who call themselves Brahmins. Incidentally, that's the best that can be said about us today - people who call themselves Brahmins.
No, I am not a supporter of one Mr.E.V.R. who took it upon himself to harrass this community as much as he could. No sir! Contrary to that man's view, I hold that the Varna system of categorising people has enough merit to justify its existence even in these days. Where I find concurrence with his views is that it has become, in its present form, a vicious form of oppression, a self-perpetuating one at that, since its practitioners don't want to bow down to reason, or even the authority of the very scriptures that they swear by.
'Cho' Ramaswamy's brilliant and fictional account of a contemporary "Brahmin" family argues the case suggested by the title of this post in such a cogent manner that I cannot even hope to match it sometime in the future. Titled "Enge Brahmanan" and sold by Alliance Publishers, it brings out the subtle shades of human nature that is mostly seen by everyone but not acknowledged by many, since that would mean that we look deep within ourselves; something that calls for the greatest kind of courage there can ever be - the courage to self-examine.
Grab a copy if you care about this topic. Or even if you don't.
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