As Dhadak 2 gears up for its release on 22 November, anticipation is building. the film promises to explore the thorny issues of casteism, classism, and love in a way its Bollywood predecessor, Dhadak (2018), only skimmed. As it faces high expectations to address social realism and provide a more nuanced portrayal of caste dynamics, the question remains; beyond the silver screen, how do caste and class continue to shape the love stories of millions in India today?
Ravindra Parmar and Shilpaba Upendrasinh Vala’s love story could easily be the plot of a Bollywood film. Ravindra, a Dalit—considered the lowest in the caste hierarchy—fell in love with Shilpaba, a Rajput from a warrior caste. The odds were stacked against them from the start. In rural Gujarat, where they grew up, social mingling between castes is not just frowned upon—it’s forbidden.
The couple met on Facebook, a platform that allowed them to bypass the rigid social boundaries of their communities.
“We are not even allowed to walk past their area, and I dared to marry into their family,” Ravindra tells the BBC. Despite the deep connection they formed online, their real-life journey has been fraught with danger. Forced to flee their villages, they’ve moved between houses and cities a dozen times in three years to evade violent threats.
The caste system in India is a deeply entrenched social hierarchy with origins dating back thousands of years. Despite modernity and legal reforms, caste-based prejudices still permeate daily life. Inter-caste marriages, though slowly increasing, remain rare—only about 5% of Indian marriages cross caste lines, according to the India Human Development Survey. The rigidity of the caste system is maintained through practices like arranged marriages, which prioritize “preserving the purity” of one’s social group.
In some parts of India, inter-caste relationships are met not just with disapproval but with extreme violence. The National Crime Records Bureau reported at least 33 honour killings in 2021 alone, but activists believe the real numbers are much higher. In states like Karnataka, the history of honour-based violence stretches back centuries. For instance, in the 12th century, the punishment for an inter-caste marriage involved a brutal practice known as ‘Yele Hoote,’ where victims were tied to an elephant’s leg and paraded to their deaths.
This backdrop of historical violence sets the stage for the ongoing struggle of couples who defy these norms today.
Shilpaba reflects on the isolation they faced: “The stress became unbearable. We started blaming each other for our situation.” Despite everything, they chose to stay together and study law with the hope of becoming human rights advocates. “Maybe then our parents will see that we didn’t make this decision lightly,” she shares with the BBC.
The pressure to conform to caste expectations falls disproportionately on women, who are often seen as the bearers of family honour. In many cases, the woman’s family views her decision to marry outside the caste as a betrayal, leading to severe backlash. This societal pressure can result in strained relationships and, in extreme cases, violence or honour killings.
The pervasive influence of caste and class extends far beyond India’s borders, impacting the lives of South Asians even in diaspora communities.
For instance, a vigil held in July 2023 in Birmingham’s Centenary Square. The event, organised by Sikh Women’s Aid (SWA), was a sombre remembrance for women of Sikh heritage who lost their lives to domestic violence and so-called “honour crimes.” SWA announced that the Remembrance Day would become an annual event, reinforcing the ongoing need to raise awareness and provide support to victims of such violence.
This reality is reflected in the story of a couple represented by UK solicitor Amer Zaman, of Cranbrook Legal who fought for their right to seek asylum after fleeing caste violence in India.
On 23 May, 2022, Zaman’s legal firm took on the case of an Indian couple who had arrived in the UK on student visas, fearing for their lives if they were forced to return to their homeland. The pair had fallen in love in a small town in Gujarat, India—a love story complicated by the rigid caste divisions still prevalent in their community. Mr. P, a Dalit man from the lowest rung of the caste system, had dared to marry a woman from a higher caste.
In a society where Dalits are often regarded as “untouchables” and face extreme discrimination, the couple’s union was seen as a defiant act. Despite the harsh societal norms, they decided to marry in secret with the help of supportive friends. However, their happiness was short-lived. The woman’s family, leveraging their social and political connections, managed to locate them multiple times. Mr. P and his wife had to live on the run, moving from village to village and city to city to evade violent retaliation.
After years of living in fear and facing constant threats, the couple made the difficult decision to leave India. They managed to reach the UK with the assistance of the woman’s cousin, who was already studying there. Once in the UK, they applied for asylum, arguing that their return to India would likely result in fatal consequences due to their inter-caste marriage.
While this couple sought safety in the UK, the threat of “honour”-driven violence and abuse is far from uncommon even in Western nations.
In fact, the number of “honour-based” abuse offences recorded by English police forces has surged by more than 60% in just two years, highlighting a growing concern within South Asian communities abroad. Data from 26 out of 39 constabularies revealed 2,594 cases of honour-based abuse in 2022, a stark increase from 1,599 cases in 2020. This form of abuse, which encompasses forced marriage, rape, death threats, and physical assault, has seen an even more pronounced rise since 2016—a shocking 193% increase.
Experts suggest that while the surge may partly reflect improved reporting and identification of such crimes by law enforcement, deeper societal issues are also at play. Increased polarisation, as well as the persistence of traditional values that prioritize family “honour” over individual autonomy, may be driving the spike in these cases. This troubling trend highlights the lingering grip of caste and class prejudices, even among diaspora communities who are otherwise seen as more progressive.
The story of Ravindra and Shilpaba is one of the “lucky cases” where they got out of it alive and it is emblematic of a broader trend: young Indians willing to defy their families for the sake of love, even at great personal cost. Yet the question remains—how many are willing to face the consequences, and how many more will be deterred by the fear of violence and ostracism?
