Cry, They Beloved Country

Browsing Twitter over  the past two days, two short clips from India stayed with me. The proprietor of a major newspaper had posted a clip of herself with her domestic staff standing outside her bungalow, clapping and banging on utensils to cheer for health workers as part of the Indian Prime Minister's grand spectacle. The staff--five of them--are flanking her at a respectful distance and they are all barefoot, as someone on Twitter pointed out. The proprietor was in slippers. Domestic help in Indian households never slippers around the house, unlike the people they work for. In fact, slippers are often their footwear when they step out of the house.
I wonder what went through the proprietor's mind when she posted that picture, which screams of privilege, wealth inequality and caste discrimination. Maybe she thought she was being inclusive and magnanimous by deigning to include her domestic staff in a clip to be posted on Twitter.
The second clip showed a teenage boy crying because he had been wandering around for three days searching for a bus to take him home before the lockdown in India. He was a daily-wage labourer, slightly built, with a swarthy complexion. One of the millions of power, presumably lower-caste Indians for whom survival is a struggle as it is. The coronavirus lockdown is likely to visit unimaginable trials and tribulations on these people.
I know this piece is dripping with judgement, and I don't care. Nowhere else in the world is your fate determined to such an extent by the family you are born in. Nowhere else in the world is the subordination and the subjugation of lower castes and classes so methodological and complete. The caste system is hardwired to such an extent in Indian life that it is almost invisible.