Caste enumeration in the decennial census has generated significant debate in recent years, especially regarding its potential implications for Indian politics. Anand Teltumbde’s recent book, The Caste Con Census, is a timely and important contribution to the discourse surrounding contemporary caste politics, the historical role of decennial censuses, and the practice of caste enumeration in modern India. Teltumbde’s work departs from extant scholarship to argue that the census has historically functioned as more than a head-counting exercise – and since its earliest iteration in the late 19th century, has been responsible for transforming fluid identities into rigid categories that serve to perpetuate entrenched social structures.Over the past two to three decades, academic scholarship has repeatedly demonstrated that census data, employed for administrative purposes since the colonial era, has not only served as a repository of numerical information but has also significantly influenced cultural and societal perceptions in modern India. Discussions within academia underscore that the census, as an administrative tool, has consistently reconfigured the social and political landscape rather than merely documenting it. Since 1881, census operations have sought to provide deeper insights into India’s demographics, offering numerical data while simultaneously reinforcing specific ideologies and invented myths about Indian society.Anand TeltumbdeThe Caste Con CensusNavayana, 2025In her commentary on caste and historical studies, historian Prathama Bannerjee has incisively noted that overarching narratives of national history can obscure complexities like caste, as such narratives often prioritise a unified story of a ‘nation’ over the intricacies of social differentiation. In recent decades, South Asian historians have made diligent efforts to examine the caste system and its complex relationships with political power during the colonial era. The scholarship has refined our understanding of caste as a multifaceted social and political structure, moving beyond the simplistic view of textual hierarchies. The contributions of scholars such as Bernard Cohn, Nicholas Dirks, Susan Bayly, Gyanendra Pandey and Partha Chatterjee have shed light on the intricate relationships among caste, community and religion during this transformative period. If these works are read in conjunction with Teltumbde’s arguments, it becomes amply clear that state intervention in India (since the colonial period) has often flattened caste identities by abstracting lived, place-specific power relations into uniform categories. Furthermore, it often obscures how caste operates through labour, land and state power, rather than just through the ritual/textual realm.Spanning over 250 pages and comprising 15 chapters, The Caste Con Census, published by Navayana, is a meticulously researched work. It revisits numerous previous scholarly debates on caste and problematises the politics surrounding caste and identity in modern India. It begins with the assertion that caste enumeration may appear to be progressive, but faces the risk of reducing intricate issues of caste inequality to mere bureaucratic recognition. Teltumbde presents a compelling case, urging readers to adopt a broader perspective that considers not only the polemics of social justice but also the allocation of resources, which has historically favoured upper castes at the expense of marginalised groups.The book critically examines the significance of census operations initiated by British colonial authorities and their enduring impact on contemporary Indian society. Teltumbde argues that the colonial census was instrumental in transforming caste from being a sociological object into an administrative category, a transformation that has significantly shaped modern India’s social fabric. He underscores that the British practice of categorising populations served as a strategic tool for exerting control, a perspective echoed by numerous historians in recent decades. Colonial interventions in the social institution of caste yielded profound implications, solidifying caste identities into rigid institutional frameworks while framing Hinduism as a singular, text-based religion. This simplification negated the complexities of the caste system, often attributing its characteristics solely to Brahmanical texts and overlooking its internal diversity as well as its socio-political dimensions. Teltumbde asserts that “What you cannot measure, you cannot control,” encapsulating the colonial strategy of manipulation through quantification. He contends that this classification project was comprehensive, political and epistemological, effectively transforming India into a measurable and governable entity.The book begins with a discussion of the longue durée history of caste, focusing on hierarchy, inequality and the historical experiences of Dalits and Bahujans. It then turns its primary attention to caste in modern India during and after colonialism. He posits that the lower-caste movements emerging during colonial times were responsive both to oppressive hierarchies and to the codification and rigidification of caste identities. While the colonial emphasis on classification fragmented lower-caste identities (such as dividing the Chamar caste into Mochi, Jatav and Raidasia), it simultaneously provoked mobilisations against Brahminical dominance. This evolution prompts an intriguing reflection on Dr B.R. Ambedkar’s stance on Hinduism and caste, with the author problematising his position and provoking deeper considerations regarding the complexities of caste discourse in modern India. Overall, Teltumbde’s analysis challenges us to reconsider not only the historical trajectory of caste but also the broader implications of colonialism on India’s socio-political landscape.Anand Teltumbde. Credit: YouTubeAlthough the book begins with a discussion on the historical origins of caste in ancient and medieval times, its primary focus is on the evolution of caste discourse and practices that follow the arrival of colonialism, and more particularly the period following 1880. The absence of a pre-colonial foregrounding to the problem tends to limit the book’s ability to fully engage with the premise of caste as a historical category and its transformation under colonial rule. Yet, this is also where the strengths of the book lie – in reading and unpacking the specific nuances of caste, enumeration and politics in the colonial period.The book addresses the impact of colonialism on the constitutional deliberations over caste by highlighting three unique takeaways. Firstly, it lays out a framework of how caste politics unfolded in an unprecedented manner in post-independence India. It discusses the constitution-making process and how ideas of social justice and affirmative action were foregrounded within it. The book argues that with the extension of affirmative action to Other Backward Castes (OBCs), caste and reservation politics were increasingly weaponised. It dispassionately critiques both the discussions and the decisions taken during the constitution-making process. Teltumbde is particularly critical of the termination of the radical discourse on the annihilation of caste within these deliberations.Furthermore, he argues that in attempting to address caste inequalities, the Constituent Assembly ironically revived caste as a legitimate instrument of social policy. In doing so, he offers a critique of the very idea of “social justice” as it became embedded in state policy. Recent scholarly works (for example, Rohit De and Ornit Shani’s) on the history of constitution-making have suggested that the failure to achieve caste annihilation was not merely the result of reticence within the Assembly despite the presence of representatives from marginalised castes, including Ambedkar. Rather, it stemmed from a distinctive history of caste politics shaped and nurtured by nationalist movements during the colonial era. It was the constant internal and external pressures from Dalit groups, including the Ambedkarite groups, rather than hesitation, that compelled the adoption of anti-untouchability legislation (particularly Article 17), thereby demonstrating how far removed the idea of caste annihilation actually was.Against this backdrop, Teltumbde’s remarks may invite debates both within and beyond academic circles. Yet they may open new avenues for critically understanding the proliferation of caste politics in post-independence India that has its ironic roots in the Constituent Assembly deliberations. This intervention is particularly significant when he highlights how caste was institutionalised under the rubric of social justice without any clear metric of success or mechanism for dismantling caste identities.The second key takeaway concerns the fundamental ineffectiveness of caste enumeration exercises in the post-independence era. While the book advances a wide range of arguments against such exercises, its distinctiveness lies in demonstrating how caste data have historically been used and misused by ruling elites. Teltumbde argues that caste enumeration in the forthcoming census will be counterproductive, as it is more likely to reinforce caste divisions and intensify competition among groups than to address historical injustices. Rather than enabling redistribution, caste data becomes a tool which ruling elites use to manipulate narratives of entitlement, thereby reproducing social hierarchies and deepening caste-based conflicts. He draws our attention to how the state produces caste data that flattens caste identities into mere aggregates, obscuring significant internal disparities within groups. For example, his discussion of Brahmins in Bihar illustrates how different caste constituents face varying levels of inequality.The book, as mentioned earlier, argues that historically, the colonial ruling class used caste enumeration for political advantages. In the post-colonial era, state-produced data on caste have often been employed to highlight differences between groups, particularly among marginalised populations such as the OBCs, Scheduled Castes (SCs), and Scheduled Tribes (STs). This practice has led to increased intra-group conflicts and heated debates regarding subcategorisation within beneficiary groups. This manipulation, deliberately nurtured by the State, is used to incite intra-group conflicts while preserving a façade of unity among upper-caste groups, whose internal disparities remain unexamined.On the other hand, Teltumbde has also highlighted the noticeable lack of disaggregated data for the ‘general’ category, which is concerning. This omission obscures the privileges held by upper castes and hides the inequalities that exist within them.To sum up, Teltumbde argues that without genuine efforts towards redistribution and social reform, caste data has only served to entrench existing power dynamics and deepen societal divisions. Including caste enumeration in the census, he warns, would foster competitive victimhood, fragment oppressed groups into subcategories, and ultimately undermine the voices and mobilisations of marginalised communities striving to eliminate caste.Teltumbde insists that counting caste is no substitute for building the material foundations of equality, which include universal access to healthcare, education, livelihood and security. Without this, targeted justice cannot function. Against this backdrop, the third takeaway of the book offers an alternative perspective on the existing reservation system and its flaws. He contends that affirmative action in India has primarily employed a technocratic and arithmetic approach shaped by two core fallacies: the rise of a “creamy layer” within beneficiary groups and the privileging of individual advantage over collective uplift. He warns about the dangers of sub-categorisation, which can fragment claims and reduce broad group solidarities into narrower caste identities, thereby increasing competition rather than addressing structural inequality. Instead, he reimagines social justice beyond the arithmetic of quotas, proposing corrective measures such as routing benefits to families based on prior usage and shifting the emphasis from mere representation to substantive recognition and empowerment.One of Teltumbde’s key observations concerns the future of reservations in the context of the expanding Economically Weaker Sections (EWS) category. He argues that the continued extension of such benefits risks rendering caste-based reservations increasingly redundant while enabling the gradual expansion of EWS. In this context, caste enumeration not only reveals inequality but also legitimises it by reasserting identity-based divisions. More critically, disaggregated data that exclude general category groups can be used to undermine and delegitimise caste-based reservations altogether. This, Teltumbde warns, constitutes the gravest threat to caste-based affirmative action and aligns closely with the BJP’s ideological project of dismantling such action.In conclusion, the book presents insightful and provocative arguments on contemporary caste issues, particularly regarding the future of caste enumeration and census operations. Teltumbde’s many arguments presented in the book may invite debate, but the book has a distinct originality that merits attention. At times, the book advocates that caste enumeration operations be conducted under the supervision of an independent body of social scientists, data analysts and public policy experts, which may be difficult to realise given current political realities. Nonetheless, the book demonstrates a keen awareness of contemporary events and meticulously details their implications. While scholars may take issue with aspects of Teltumbde’s critique, they cannot overlook this book if they wish to grasp the evolution of social-justice-centric politics in modern India.Prabodhan Pol is an Associate Professor at Manipal Institute of Social Sciences Humanities and Arts, MAHE, Manipal.