Winter mist of January would bring the fever of patriotism. My school, like every other school, would celebrate the Republic day each year to commemorate the enactment and adoption of the Indian constitution. Part of this celebration would include recitation of the Preamble to the constitution by a student dressed as Ambedkar. I would eagerly wait to be the one to impersonate Ambedkar. However, my teachers had other plans. They were aware of me being born on the second of October and would reserve playing Gandhi for me. Their eyes would sparkle when they would talk of me playing Gandhi, but my heart ached at this suggestion. My little heart longed to be Ambedkar. Given the vocabulary of the preamble, the teachers were keen on a senior of mine to impersonate Ambedkar. One who could learn and recite the preamble to the constitution without fumbling on stage. An eleven year old’s tongue was deemed incapable of doing so. When I told my teachers that I wanted to play Ambedkar, however, they did not reject my plea. Rather they asked me to learn the Preamble by heart and recite it to them the next day. And I did the same. I delivered the Preamble so flawlessly my teachers knew there was no one better, other than me, to play Ambedkar. My wish to be Ambedkar on stage was fulfilled.

Now that I look back on those joyful days spent within the boundaries of school, I try to understand the reason behind my eagerness to be Ambedkar. In all honesty, it was nothing more than a child’s fascination for a blazer, tie and round spectacles. But this fascination was to acquire a deeper meaning when I grew up and started to engage with social and political issues. I would look back and find that there was more to my keen intent on impersonating Ambedkar than mere fascination. I had known Gandhi. He was in my textbook, on the walls of my school and also on the rupee notes. I found it a bit of an overkill, to share one’s birth date with Gandhi and then to imitate him on that day. Also, I had a round face, totally opposite to one that Gandhi possessed. My belly pooch, with my weak arms and legs, would have added to the humiliation. I was scared to imitate Gandhi. I had asked my teacher why we do not imitate the young Gandhi, the one who wore blazers and pants and ties. My teachers found the question silly and laughed. But I couldn’t care less as I was playing Ambedkar now, donning a blazer, pants and round pair of spectacles, with a book in one hand resembling his iconic look.The round spectacles on my round face added to the charm. The shortly-cut slicked hair added to the resemblance. The blazer that I borrowed from a senior was tailored to my size with n-number of safety pins, put up along my arms, back and shoulders. I was to look Ambedkar, tiny in size, but Ambedkar. And when I appeared on stage, contrary to my expectation, I was able to deliver my recitation without fumbling even once and as an outcome, I was to impersonate Ambedkar each year the same way. Soon, I started to wish these ceremonious celebrations ceased to exist, partly because of the boredom that I experienced in doing this year after year, (that's how the schools kill a student’s fascination and curiosity by subjecting the student to boredom), and partly because there were changes in my perspective toward these ceremonious celebrations. Whatsoever, playing Ambedkar on stage had left an impression on my mind that was to stay for a very long time.

I had skipped the easier words in the dictionary to find the meanings of hefty words such as Secular, Socialist, Sovereign, Democratic, Equality, Liberty and Justice. These words were not only added to my vocabulary, but also got engraved in my psyche, as it resulted in forming a habit of reading. Apart from children’s magazines, like Champak, I started to go through Hindi newspaper, which used to be the first ones to visit my home every day landing in my home straight across the verandah. I would try to ace my studies and did well to a large extent. 

I would dress well all the time. Perhaps, the child within me had a taste of dignity, respect and pride as I had walked down the corridors impersonating Ambedkar. Perhaps, the fascination for blazer, tie and suit continued throughout my life. However, there were always people questioning my choice to be well-dressed. I study in a university whose identity is marked with students in slippers, tote bags, kurtas and sarees. It is the same university where students would be seen in the most casual of clothes, sitting in reading-rooms, sipping tea at the Dhabas with friends and sloganeering against those in power. One day, I wore a shirt and pants and paired it with a leather bag, carrying my laptop, notebooks and stationery. On my way to the classroom, at the doorsteps of the school building, a friend of mine took particular interest in my clothing. He asked me whether there was some special occasion I was celebrating. I answered ‘No’. Then, he asked if I was out of university last night, perhaps on a date or at some friend’s place. I answered again in negative. “There must be some reason. Why are you well dressed?”, he said, finally. It sounded absurd to me that there must be a reason, an occasion or a circumstance to dress well. I looked at my friend from top to toe. He is the type who would wake up half an hour ago and would rush through everything and then attend the classes, as I came to know in the course of our conversation. We both exchanged looks of judgment with each other, as if mocking each other, without making it obvious. But yes, the question whirled around in my head. It was not the first time somebody had commented on my being dressed up. Even my family members found it unusual of me to stay dressed up in my home while studying, idling or doing daily chores.

Later, that evening, in a talk given by eminent professor Uma Chakravarty, I got to know how depiction of one’s social class is directly associated with one’s way of clothing. She had argued that in a caste ridden society where class and caste exist entwined in each other, clothing does become a symbol of status. She gave the example of Zamindars of Bengal, who would have long Dhotis, flaunting their power of wealth to afford luxury. Further, she gave the example of Gandhi, who resorted to spinning cotton clothes by himself and wore a Dhoti that was much shorter, to stand in solidarity with the poor and exploited in colonial India. She equally emphasized on Ambedkar’s choice of clothing, a radical choice on part of a Dalit whose community has suffered oppression for centuries. Ambedkar’s choice of clothing shows that what he claimed, what he searched for, what he vehemently defended, lay outside the cultural boundaries of India. Ambedkar stood against a conservative, dogmatic, casteist mindset; clad in his blazer, trouser and tie, claiming dignity. My mind reflected on the times when I was to choose between Gandhi and Ambedkar to impersonate on stage, and after hearing the lecture, I could say whatever I would have chosen, the struggle against graded inequality, against what Ambedkar, Gandhi and in my capacity, I, too, stand; continues.