India Doesn't Need Reservations Anymore — Or Does It?

I still remember the day I was accused of being casteist—not by my words, but by my surname. I was in college, having a conversation about meritocracy, opportunity, and dreams, when someone looked at me and said, “Of course you'd say that. You’re a Brahmin.” Just like that, a hundred years of pain, struggle, and injustice were pinned onto me, not because of something I did, but because of where I came from.

That moment didn’t make me angry. It made me pause.

It made me ask: Can we ever talk about reservation in India without falling into the well of blame, shame, and identity politics? Can we, even for a moment, discuss it as human beings first—before we are cast as upper, lower, forward, backward?

It’s a hard question. But let’s try.

A Legacy of Pain — And Policy

India’s reservation system wasn’t born in a vacuum. It was a moral and political response to centuries of oppression—of people forced into lives of servitude, shunned from temples, barred from schools, and denied the very dignity of being human. Reservations weren’t just about jobs or seats in universities. It was about saying: We see you. You matter. You deserve a chance.

It worked, to an extent. It lifted millions from generational poverty. It opened doors that had been bolted shut for too long. For a country crawling out of colonialism and caste-based cruelty, it was a necessary push.

But now, in 2025, the conversation is shifting. And it should.

When Identity Becomes a Box

We are a nation of contradictions. On one side, we build billion-dollar startups and launch rockets to the moon. On the other, we still ask, “What’s your caste?” before offering someone a marriage proposal or even a friendship.

Reservation was meant to be a ladder. But somewhere along the way, it became a label—one that both empowers and imprisons. Students from marginalised communities often carry not just the weight of their coursework, but also the whisper: “You’re here because of quota.” That’s not empowerment. That’s stigma.

At the same time, many so-called upper castes live in crushing poverty, working as daily wage labourers or struggling to educate their children. They watch opportunities pass them by, believing they are punished for privileges they never actually had.

So who’s right?

Everyone. And no one.

Poverty Isn’t Caste-Bound

Let’s be clear: Poverty in India does not discriminate. It’s not polite enough to ask your caste before it strips you of dignity. Whether you’re a Brahmin in Bihar or a Dalit in Maharashtra, if you’re hungry, unemployed, and hopeless—your caste certificate won’t keep you warm at night.

And yet, we still frame the reservation debate as a fight between castes, instead of a conversation about need, opportunity, and justice.

Shouldn't the child of a daily-wage Brahmin have the same access to upliftment as the child of a government-employed Dalit officer? Shouldn't our policies evolve to reflect current realities, not just historical ones?

We have to ask uncomfortable questions—not to divide, but to understand.

The Problem Isn’t the Reservation. It’s Stagnation.

There’s a myth that needs busting: that people who question the reservation want to erase the past. That’s not true.

What many want—including people from all castes—is a system that is fair, responsive, and reflective of today's India. We can honour the pain of history without being shackled by it. We can design policies based on socio-economic need instead of just social identity.

What if our reservation system accounted for factors like rural background, access to education, family income, and first-generation status? What if a holistic system helped the most disadvantaged, regardless of their caste, to rise?

The goal isn’t to end the reservation. The goal is to make it work—better.

Talking Without Tearing Each Other Down

It’s hard to have these conversations without being accused of insensitivity—or privilege. But we have to try. We have to move beyond headlines and hashtags, beyond social media outrage and drawing-room defensiveness.

We have to start listening.

To the student who aced an exam but didn’t get in.
To the mother who fought the odds to put her Dalit son through college.
To the village boy whose dreams are crushed not by caste, but by poverty.

Every story matters.

So… Does India Still Need Reservations?

Yes. But not in the same way we did seventy years ago.

We need it as a tool for justice, not as a political weapon. We need it as a hand up, not a handout. And most importantly, we need to redefine what “backward” truly means in 2025.

Because a society that builds policies only on the past forgets to build for the future.

A Final Word

If you’re reading this and feeling defensive, I get it. If you’re reading this and feeling dismissed, I get that, too.

All I ask is this: Let’s stop assuming the worst about each other. Let’s stop reducing each other to surnames, castes, and quotas. Let's begin by acknowledging that pain and privilege exist across all spectrums, sometimes in the same household, sometimes in the same person.

I don’t have all the answers. But I do have a hope—that someday, when we talk about opportunity in India, we won’t have to talk about caste at all.

Not because we forgot. But because we healed.

Let’s keep the conversation going—with empathy, nuance, and courage. Share your story, listen to someone else’s. That’s how change begins.