I am sure you have, by now, come to know about it: I have been called “Lungiwala” on the floor of the Rajya Sabha. Yes, lungi is an ordinary piece of clothing worn by millions of Indians. In my home state Kerala, it is part of everyday life. Across South India and elsewhere, there is nothing derogatory about wearing a lungi.
But calling someone a “Lungiwala” is an insult.
That distinction is at the heart of the notice I have submitted to the Chairman of the Rajya Sabha regarding the events of August 10. During my intervention in the House, I was repeatedly interrupted and, as I have stated in my notice, repeatedly addressed as “Lungiwala”. The word was not used as a description of my attire. It was used as a cultural stereotype aimed at me because I am a Malayali and a South Indian.
Be warned, I have raised this not because I am unwilling to face political criticism. Parliament must be a place of robust disagreement. My arguments can be challenged and my politics opposed. My legislative positions can be attacked. That is democracy. But then political disagreement cannot become an excuse for cultural humiliation.
The history of the word matters. “Lungiwala” did not emerge yesterday as an innocent political expression. It has a history in the anti-South Indian mobilisation associated with Bombay in the 1960s and 1970s. In that period, South Indians were frequently reduced to caricatures such as “Madrasis” and “Lungiwalas”. A diverse population comprising Malayalis, Tamils, Kannadigas, Telugus and others was compressed into a single stereotype, with the lungi becoming a convenient visual symbol of the supposed outsider.
There is a disturbing contemporary parallel in Assam. There, too, the lungi has been used in political rhetoric and imagery to stereotype Muslims, particularly Bengali-speaking Muslims, as alleged outsiders or Bangladeshis. The lungi is presented alongside other visual markers—such as the skullcap or beard—to construct an image of the supposed “infiltrator”.
My point is this: the garment is innocent, but the politics attached to it is not.
In Bombay, the lungi became shorthand for the unwanted South Indian migrant. In Assam, it can become shorthand for the supposedly foreign Muslim. The target changes, but the method does not.
My argument is that once cultural identity becomes a legitimate object of ridicule, no community remains secure. Today it may be a Malayali being mocked for his lungi or dhoti. Tomorrow it may be a Tamil for his language, an Assamese for his accent, a Muslim for his attire, a Sikh for his turban or someone from another region for a custom that happens to be unfamiliar to those around him. In fact, the constitutional idea of India is precisely the opposite.
The Rajya Sabha is the Council of States and that description is not at all ornamental. Instead, it captures the federal and plural character of our Republic. Kerala comes to the House. Tamil Nadu comes to the House. Assam comes to the House. Bengal, Karnataka, Telangana, Andhra Pradesh and every other state comes to the House. Their languages, histories, cultures and traditions come with them. No member should have to leave those identities at the door.
The Constitution speaks of equality, dignity and fraternity. Article 29 recognises the right of citizens to conserve their distinct language, script and culture. Article 51A asks citizens to promote harmony and a spirit of common brotherhood transcending religious, linguistic, regional and sectional diversities, while also valuing India’s composite cultural heritage.
These are not abstract constitutional decorations. They represent the moral conditions on which our national life depends. That is why I have objected to the expression “Lungiwala”. I am not asking Parliament to protect me from criticism. I am asking Parliament to protect the principle that cultural identity cannot be turned into an instrument of humiliation.
I would make the same argument if the insult were directed at someone else. The tragedy is that India has repeatedly experienced the politics of cultural ridicule. In Bombay in the 1960s, attire became a convenient means of marking South Indians as outsiders. Decades later, in Assam, similar visual politics can be directed at Muslims. Therefore, we should recognise the pattern before it becomes normal.
There is nothing wrong with a lungi. There is nothing embarrassing about being Malayali. There is nothing inferior about being South Indian. If those identities are being invoked as insults, the problem lies not with the person wearing the lungi but with the politics that has decided the lungi should be an insult.
What I have made amply clear is that I will continue to defend the right of every Member to disagree with me, fiercely if necessary. But I will also defend the right of every Indian to stand in the national legislature without being reduced to a caricature of his state, religion, language, culture or clothes.
Because the issue is ultimately larger than one word directed at one member. It is about whether, in the Parliament of India, diversity will remain something we celebrate or something we weaponise. I believe it must always be the former. I am glad that the Chair made that clear in his observation.
John Brittas | Member of Parliament representing Kerala
(Views are personal)
