The caste thread travels overseas

When Sanjana Choudhary, 23, landed at Oxford to pursue a master’s degree in South Asian History on a prestigious scholarship, it felt like a fresh start. She believed she could finally just be a student, unburdened by the heavy markers of caste, class, and geography.

Growing up on the periphery of Bhopal in Madhya Pradesh, Sanjana recognised early on that for most Dalit students, schools are vulnerable spaces where opportunities are disproportionately divided along caste lines. Her family had struggled for generations to secure formal names and a surname; her grandmother, who recently died, was known simply as Chotibai.

Echoing the words of Rohith Vemula, her “most immediate identity” as a Dalit came into sharp focus when she moved to Delhi University for higher education. There, she found her community reduced to a footnote in the curriculum — a reality she describes as “systemic invisibilisation”. Peers routinely dismissed her presence as the product of reservation quotas rather than ability. In response, Sanjana found strength in the anti-caste writings of Dr. B.R. Ambedkar, reclaiming reservation as a right. After graduating, she secured a highly competitive, open-merit scholarship that paved her way to Oxford.

Sanjana Choudhary, 23, who landed at Oxford to pursue a master’s degree in South Asian History on a prestigious scholarship | Photo Credit: Special Arrangement

But her hopes for a blank slate were short-lived. Struggling to find belonging within the broader Indian student group at Oxford, she quickly realised many of her Indian dominant-caste peers were second- or third-generation attendees. Once she openly shared her caste identity, the social dynamics noticeably shifted. Alienated by the mainstream diaspora, she gravitated towards a smaller, deeply supportive circle of Dalit scholars.

Together, they co-convened the Oxford South Asia Ambedkar Forum, an anti-caste society dedicated to amplifying Dr. Ambedkar’s ideas, championing marginalised voices, and advocating for caste to be recognised as a protected category under U.K. anti-discrimination laws. Yet, during their discussions and film screenings, Sanjana noticed a glaring absence — students from the uppered castes almost never attended or engaged.

The realisation was both profound and painful — Dalits remain othered even in the hallowed halls of elite foreign universities. “The uppered castes have been moving to the West for generations,” Sanjana explains. “This has helped them accumulate immense socioeconomic, intellectual, and caste capital, both abroad and back home in India.” It is a capital, she observes, that allows them to project, celebrate, and impose a dominant, homogeneous idea of Indian culture, ensuring that the shadow of caste travels with them.

Photo: Special Arrangement

This complex reality does not disappear at national borders, a fact starkly underscored by ongoing conversations back home. The tragedy of Sahil Wakode, a second-year B.Tech student found dead in his IIT Bombay hostel room on September 18, has once again opened a conversation about the social environment in India’s premier institutions. Following allegations from his parents regarding caste-based harassment, the incident brought competing national narratives sharply into focus.

In the broader public discourse, there is an ongoing argument that caste is a diminishing factor in modern society, with some suggesting that routine academic and institutional pressures are mistakenly attributed to discrimination. Yet, conversations with Dalit scholars reveal a vastly different lived experience. For many of these students, caste is not a closed chapter but a persistent shadow that trails them from childhood into the corridors of college — and ultimately, across the globe, into elite universities and then jobs.

Entry points

This imported discrimination often manifests in subtle, modern forms of untouchability within shared living spaces. Vedika (name changed), 23, another Dalit student in the U.K., recalls a deeply distressing incident at her accommodation when she attempted to store some meat in a refrigerator shared with an Indian diaspora family. She was rebuked and told that her food could not occupy the same space as the provisions of so-called pure vegetarians.

“I broke down,” she shares. “But then I realised this is the harsh reality I have to face all my life, wherever I go.” She adds that she has constantly felt the burden of having to justify her merit and her very existence, simply to prove she deserved a place in those social and academic spaces.

Rema (name changed), 27, who completed her Master’s in development studies in 2020 at SOAS University of London and her PhD at another U.K. university in 2025, remains deeply unsettled when recounting her own experiences. The segregation, she explains, often begins before students even arrive on campus.

“The immediate priority in university WhatsApp groups is figuring out who you are — specifically, your caste — so they can avoid sharing accommodation with a Dalit,” Rema says.

For Dalit students, the policing of their identity is relentless, invasive, and deeply insidious. They share that the dominant-caste diaspora employs a covert toolkit to deduce a person’s background. The scrutiny often begins with mundane markers: analysing a mobile phone ringtone, physical appearance, the tone and diction of one’s language, or casual questions about vegetarianism.