ADVANCE PRAISE

The Dravidian Model makes a compelling case for a development strategy

powered by populist mobilization around regional cultural identity. Tamil Nadu,
the authors argue, has created more effective institutions and delivered better
outcomes on food, health, education and poverty reduction than other Indian
states. This strategy has emphasised status inequalities of caste and gender rather
than income inequalities with remarkable success. This book needs to be read
and discussed.
Partha Chatterjee, Columbia University

Adopting a neo-Gramscian approach, Kalaiyarasan and Vijayabaskar have

developed an original take on Tamil Nadu’s economy, society and politics. With
detailed attention to achievements in human development, structural economic
change and accumulation, they reveal the ideas, politics and institutions
distinguishing social populism from economic populism. Through both kinds
of Dravidian left populism, countervailing power has been built and aspirations
against entrenched inequalities have been simultaneously mobilised. The state is
central to their co-ordination, continuities, relative success and limitations. This
book is sure to generate the conversation the authors seek about the struggle for
social justice that is now so urgently needed.
Barbara Harriss-White, Oxford University

The Dravidian Model breaks new ground, not only in making sense of Tamil
Nadu’s political economy but also in advancing our understanding of
the possibilities for socially and economically inclusive development in the post-
colonial world. The book exhaustively documents and explains the historical and
cultural roots of Tamil Nadu’s opportunity-equalizing politics and carves out
new theoretical frontiers in the debate on left populism. This should be required
reading for all those interested in the democratic possibilities of transforming
deeply unequal societies.
Patrick Heller, Brown University

The Dravidian Model offers the most convincing explanation of the unmatchable
level of development that south India has reached, compared to the rest of the
sub-continent. It shows that political mobilization resulting in social change and
less inequalities, makes redistribution more natural. And this process prepares the
ground for real development—in terms of education and health, for instance—
because of a certain democratization of growth. By contrast, Kalaiyarasan A.
and M. Vijayabaskar expose those who claim that the economic trajectory of
western Indian states are success stories–they are models of growth without
development when the Dravidian model offers growth with development!
Christophe Jaffrelot, CERI-Sciences Po

The Dravidian movement has been studied extensively for its ideology and
political mobilization. But its impact on social development and economic
growth has rarely been subjected to such meticulous scrutiny. Of special
importance here is the analysis of how the Dravidian movement brought lower
castes into the entrepreneurial sphere, lifting Tamil Nadu not only socially but
also economically. A compelling and much needed analysis.
Ashutosh Varshney, Brown University
 THE DRAVIDIAN MODEL

The Dravidian Model adds to the growing literature on the dynamics of

subnational development in the Global South by mapping the politics and
processes contributing to the development trajectory of Tamil Nadu, south
India. The book foregrounds the role of populist mobilisation against caste-
based inequalities in shaping this development.
Subnational variations in economic and social outcomes across India, one of
the fastest growing economies, continue to pose conceptual and policy challenges.
States that do well on the growth front lag in human development, while human
development in a few other states has not been accompanied by sustained growth
in productive sectors. Tamil Nadu bucks this trend and has managed to combine
relatively high levels of growth and sustained productive capacities with human
development. Drawing upon fresh data, literature, policy documents and primary
fieldwork, this book seeks to explain the social and economic development of
Tamil Nadu in terms of populist mobilisation against caste-based inequalities.
Dominant policy narratives on inclusive growth assume a sequential logic whereby
returns to growth are used to invest in socially inclusive policies. By focusing more
on redistribution of access to opportunities in the modern economy, the state has
sustained a relatively more inclusive and dynamic growth process.
Democratisation of economic opportunities has made such broad-based
growth possible even as interventions in social sectors reinforce the former.
The book thus also speaks to the nascent literature on the relationship between
the logic of modernisation and status-based inequalities in the Global South.
Importantly, it contributes to the growing literature on how regional politics and
political regimes shape global development trajectories.

Kalaiyarasan A. is Fulbright–Nehru post-doctoral fellow at the Watson Institute

for International and Public Affairs in Brown University and Assistant Professor
at the Madras Institute of Development Studies, Chennai. His academic interest
lies in the intersection of caste and economic processes in India.

Vijayabaskar M. is Professor at the Madras Institute of Development Studies,

Chennai. His research centres on the political economy of development with a focus
on labour and land markets, industrial dynamics and rural–urban transformations.
THE DRAVIDIAN MODEL

GlobaltheValue
Interpreting PoliticalChains
Economy of
and Development
Tamil Nadu
Redefining the Contours of
21st Century Capitalism

KALAIYARASAN A.

VIJAYABASKAR M.

Gary Gereffi
University Printing House, Cambridge CB2 8BS, United Kingdom
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Kalaiyarasan, A., author. | Vijayabaskar, M., author.
Title: The Dravidian model : interpreting the political economy of Tamil Nadu /
Kalaiyarasan A. and Vijayabaskar M.
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Identifiers: LCCN 2021005359 (print) | LCCN 2021005360 (ebook) |
ISBN 9781108844130 (hardback) | ISBN 9781108933506 (ebook)
Subjects: LCSH: Dravidian movement—India—Tamil Nadu. | Tamil Nadu (India)—
Economic conditions—21st century. | Tamil Nadu (India)—Social conditions—
21st century. | Tamil Nadu (India)—Politics and government—21st century.
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To the ‘Manure’ of Anti-Caste Struggles
 CONTENTS

List of Tables xi
List of Figures xiii
List of Abbreviations xv
Acknowledgements xix

1 . T H E D R AV I D I A N M O D E L
An Introduction
1

2. CONCEPTUALISING POWER IN CASTE SOCIETY

26

3 . D E M O C R AT I S I N G E D U C AT I O N
52

4 . D E M O C R AT I S I N G C A R E
82

5 . B R O A D E N I N G G R O W T H A N D D E M O C R AT I S I N G C A P I TA L
112

6 . T R A N S F O R M I N G R U R A L R E L AT I O N S
144
 C ontents

7 . P O P U L A R I N T E RV E N T I O N S A N D U R B A N L A B O U R
173

8. FISSURES, LIMITS AND POSSIBLE FUTURES

210

Bibliography 231
Index 261

x
 TABLES

1.1 Per Capita Income (INR) at Base 2004–05 14

1.2 Trends in Incidence of Poverty across Selected States in India 19
3.1 Basic Educational Outcome 55
3.2 Educational Indicators by Caste Groups 56
3.3 Basic Infrastructure in Primary Schools 58
3.4 Number of Residential Hostels for Scheduled Castes, Scheduled
Tribes, Backward Classes, Most Backward Classes, Denotified
Communities and Minority School Children in Tamil Nadu, 2013 65
3.5 Inequalities in Access to Higher Education (Gross Attendance
Ratio for Age 18–23) 67
4.1 Key Health Indicators for Caste Groups in Tamil Nadu and
All-India 86
4.2 Health Infrastructure across States in India 90
4.3 Facilities at Primary Health Centres (PHCs) 91
4.4 Proportion of Social Expenditure to Total Expenditure 94
4.5 Average Per Capita Real Public Expenditure on Health
(at 1993–94 Price) 95
4.6 Average Medical and Non-medical Expenditure Per
Hospitalisation Case in Public and Private Facilities (INR) 103
5.1 Economic Growth (NSDP) 116
5.2 Growth by Sectors in Tamil Nadu 117
5.3 Distribution of Enterprises by Ownership Pattern (Economic
Census 2014) 120
5.4 Distribution of Enterprises by Caste Status of Ownership (Per Cent) 121
 tables

5.5 Road Infrastructure in Tamil Nadu 127

6.1 Distribution of Rural Households by Size Class (Landholdings)
for Tamil Nadu 146
6.2 Rural Non-farm Employment 152
6.3 Trends in Wage Disparities (in Per Cent) 155
6.4 Educational Status of Rural Workers (in Per Cent) 156
6A.1 Distribution of Rural Households by Size Class (Landholdings)—
All-India 167
6A.2 Rural Occupational Classification of Households 168
6A.3 Average Monthly Income (INR) from Different Sources and
Consumption Expenditure (INR) per Agricultural Household
for July 2012–June 2013 168
6A.4 PDS Subsidies 169
6A.5 Coverage of PDS (in Per Cent) 170
6A.6 Average Per Capita Quantity Consumed in 30 Days (Kg)—
Rural 170
6A.7 Average Per Capita Quantity Consumed in 30 Days (Kg)
for Caste Groups 171
7A.1 Structure of Workforce 197
7A.2 Size of Labour Force and Workforce by Sectors (in Million) 197
7A.3 Types of Workforce (excluding Agriculture) 198
7A.4 Organised Enterprises and Formal Workers in Industry and
Service Sectors 198
7A.5 Trends in Nominal Wages 199
7A.6 Trends in Real Wages and Ratio of Casual to Regular Wages 199
7A.7 Occupational Classification in Urban Areas 200
7A.8 Educational Status of Urban Workers 201
7A.9 Skill Status of Urban Workers 201
7A.10 Average Per Capita Quantity Consumed in 30 Days (Kg) in
Urban Tamil Nadu 202
7A.11 Distribution of Verified Membership of Unions in Tamil Nadu 202
7A.12 Welfare Boards for Unorganised Workers 203
7A.13 Other Welfare Boards under Different Ministries 204
7A.14 Welfare Schemes under Unorganised Welfare Boards 205

xii
 FIGURES

1.1 Wealth Inequality by Quintile 20

1.2 Gross Enrolment Ratio in Higher Education for All
Groups (18–23 Years) 21
1.3 Gross Enrolment Ratio in Higher Education for Scheduled
Castes (18–23 Years) 22
3.1 Percentage of Workers Who Are Graduates across States
in India 69
4.1 Trend in Total Fertility Rate 85
4.2 Trend in Infant Mortality Rate 85
4A.1 Subnational Variation in Under-five Mortality Rate 108
4A.2 Subnational Variation in Maternal Mortality Ratio 108
4A.3 Subnational Variation in Institutional Delivery 109
5.1 Trend in Per Capita Income (in INR at 2004–05) 116
6.1 Share of Agricultural Households in Total Rural Households 152
6.2 Inter-state Differences in Rural Agricultural Wages (2017) 154
6.3 Inter-state Differences in Rural Non-agricultural Wages (2017) 154
7.1 Trend in Wage Share in Gross Value Added in the Factory
Sector (Total Emoluments) 178
7.2 Trend in Wage Share in Gross Value Added in the Factory
Sector (Per Cent Wage and PF Alone) 178
 ABBREVIATIONS

AIADMK All India Anna Dravida Munnetra Kazhagam

AICTE All India Council for Technical Education
AISHE All India Survey on Higher Education
AITUC All India Trade Union Congress
ANC antenatal care
ANM auxiliary nurse midwife
APL above poverty line
ASER Annual Status of Education Report
ASI Annual Survey of Industries
BC s Backward Classes
BEL Bharat Electronics Limited
BHEL Bharat Heavy Electricals Limited
BJP Bharatiya Janata Party
BPL below poverty line
BPSC belated payment surcharge
CHC Community Health Centre
CHN Community Health Nurse
CITU Centre of Indian Trade Unions
CODISSIA Coimbatore District Small Scale Industries Association
CPI-M Communist Party of India-Marxist
CSS centrally sponsored scheme
CWSN child with special needs
DICCI Dalit Indian Chamber of Commerce and Industry
DK Dravidar Kazhagam
 A B B R E V I AT I O N S

DMCHO District Maternal and Child Health Officer

DMK Dravida Munnetra Kazhagam
DVTS Dravidar Vivasaya Thozhilalar Sangam/Dravidian
Agricultural Workers’ Union
EU European Union
EXIM policy export–import policy
FCI Food Corporation of India
FITE Forum for IT Employees
FLFPR female labour force participation rate
GER gross enrolment ratio
GO government order
GSDP gross state domestic product
GST goods and services tax
GVA gross value added
HAL Hindustan Aeronautics Limited
HCL Hindustan Computers Limited
HHI Herfindahl–Hirschman Index
HR human resource
ICDS Integrated Child Development Services
IDA Industrial Disputes Act
IMR infant mortality rate
INTUC Indian National Trade Union Congress
IoT Internet of Things
IT information technology
ITeS information-technology enabled services
ITI Indian Telephone Industries Limited
LFPR labour force participation rate
LPF Labour Progressive Front
MBC s Most Backward Classes
MDGs Millennium Development Goals
MHRD Ministry of Human Resource Development
MLA Member of the Legislative Assembly
MMR maternal mortality ratio
MNC multinational corporation

xvi
 A B B R E V I AT I O N S

MNREGA Mahatma Gandhi National Rural Employment

Guarantee Act
MP Member of Parliament
MRP mixed reference period
MSME Ministry of Micro, Small and Medium Enterprises
NABARD National Bank for Agriculture and Rural Development
NAFIS NABARD All-India Rural Financial Inclusion Survey
NCAER National Council of Applied Economic Research
NCEUS National Commission for Enterprises in the Unorganised
Sector
NEET National Eligibility Cum Entrance Test
NFHS National Family Health Survey
NIEs newly industrialising economies
NITI Aayog National Institution for Transforming India
NMP Noon Meal Programme
NRHM National Rural Health Mission
NSDP net state domestic product
NSS National Sample Survey
NSSO National Sample Survey Office
NUEPA National University of Educational Planning and
Administration
OBC Other Backward Classes
PAC Public Affairs Centre
PDS Public Distribution System
PETA People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals
PGI Performance Grading Index
PHC primary health centre
PPP public–private partnership
PSE public sector enterprise
SC Scheduled Caste
SDP state domestic product
SEQI school education quality index
SEWA Self Employed Women’s Association
SEZ special economic zone

xvii
 A B B R E V I AT I O N S

SHN sector health nurse

SIDCO Tamil Nadu Small Industries Development Corporation
SIPCOT State Industries Promotion Corporation of Tamil Nadu
SPIC Southern Petrochemicals Industries Corporation Limited
SRM Self-Respect Movement
TAMIN Tamil Nadu Minerals Limited
TANSI Tamil Nadu Small Industries Corporation Limited
TCMPF Tamil Nadu Co-operative Milk Producers’ Federation
TCS Tata Consultancy Services
TEDA Tamil Nadu Energy Development Agency
TFR total fertility rate
TIDCO Tamil Nadu Industrial Development Corporation
TMKTPS Tamil Maanila Kattida Thozhilalar Panchayat Sangam
TNCSC Tamil Nadu Civil Supplies Corporation
TNHB Tamil Nadu Housing Board
TNHDR Tamil Nadu Human Development Report
TNMSC Tamil Nadu Medical Services Corporation
TNPSC Tamil Nadu Public Service Commission
TNSCB Tamil Nadu Slum Clearance Board
TNSTC Tamil Nadu State Transport Corporation
TNUDF Tamil Nadu Urban Development Fund
TPDS Targeted Public Distribution System
U5MR under-five mortality rate
ULB urban local body
VHN village health nurse

xviii
 ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Like all scholarly ventures, we too owe a great deal to others. In the course of
writing this book, we received invaluable help from many friends and colleagues.
While we acknowledge our gratitude to all of them, a special mention must be
made of a few. First and foremost, we would like to thank late M. S. S. Pandian.
The core ideas for this book evolved from our countless conversations with him.
We are intellectually indebted to him in many ways.
There are others whose constructive engagement with our work proved
to be crucial. Over several exchanges, Utathya Chattopadhyaya contributed
substantially towards chiselling our conceptual framework. Conversations
with Patrick Heller sharpened ideas on sub-national development in India.
Interactions with S. V. Rajadurai and J. Jeyaranjan have been invaluable and
inspiring. S. Anandhi needs special mention for her critical inputs. Discussions
with Achin Chakraborty, Karthick Ram Manoharan and Vignesh Rajahmani
too were very helpful in revising a couple of chapters.
It was Rob Jenkins who encouraged us to go ahead with the book project
on Tamil Nadu though he was wary of locating it within a global canvas. Hope
the book does not disappoint him. Loraine Kennedy has been a wonderful
source of support all through. The work has also immensely benefitted from the
intellectual camaraderie and warmth of K. T. Rammohan, Raman Mahadevan,
Judith Heyer, V. M. Subagunarajan, Padmini Swaminathan, K. P. Kannan and
Andrew Wyatt over several years. Atul Sood and Mohanan Pillai have been a
source of strength for long. We thank them immensely for their generosity.
Colleagues at Madras Institute of Development Studies (MIDS), A. R.
Venkatachalapathy and Ajit Menon in particular, have always been supportive.
A number of friends including Aarti Kawlra, Serohi Nandan, Suvaid Yaseen,
 A cknowledgements

Shantanu Chakraborty, Ajay Chandra, K. Ezhilarasan, Babu Jayakumar and

Vikash Gautam contributed in no small measure towards strengthening key
sections of the book. Dennis Rajakumar, Sandeep Sharma and Manoj Jatav
were always open to clarify issues on data and methods. Gayathri Balagopal and
M. Suresh Babu too provided useful suggestions and inputs. We got to present
our early ideas on the theme of the book at conferences hosted by the Indira
Gandhi Institute of Development Research (IGIDR), Institute for Human
Development (IHD) and another jointly by Dr B. R. Ambedkar University
and Ashoka University. We thank the organisers, especially R. Nagaraj, Alakh N.
Sharma, Rajan Krishnan and Ravindran Sriramachandran for these opportunities.
Three anonymous referees provided useful suggestions for improvement. Several
activists, senior bureaucrats, journalists and entrepreneurs spared valuable time
to share their insights and personal experiences that were indispensable to this
work. We are deeply grateful to all of them.
Meera and Pulari endured our lengthy discussions over the last two years
with patience, enthusiasm and hope. Preeti Swarrup enlivened life in Chennai
and was a source of eternal optimism. Aparajithan Adhimoolam and Digant
Chavan spent countless hours in conceptualising the cover design while Ashok
Chandran helped us with preparing the bibliography. Megha Susan Philip and
Gopika Kumaran helped collate and analyse some of the data used in the book.
We thank them as well.
We owe a lot to Anwesha Rana at Cambridge University Press (CUP) for
seeing this work through. Not only did she ensure that we finished things on
time through her gentle persuasive skills, but also offered useful tips from start
to finish. At CUP, we would also like to place on record our appreciation of Jinia
Dasgupta and her team’s meticulous copy-editing support.
We thank the United States–India Educational Foundation for the support
provided to the first author through the Fulbright–Nehru post-doctoral
fellowship.
Finally, we gratefully acknowledge the administrative support provided
by Madras Institute of Development Studies and the Watson Institute for
International and Public Affairs, Brown University, that made our work a lot
easier.

xx
 1

THE DRAVIDIAN MODEL 1

An Introduction

Subnational trajectories of development and sources of divergences increasingly

constitute an important dimension of understanding the political economy of
global development (Crouch and Streeck 1997; Storper 1997). The literature on
subnational variations in the Global South, and institutional sources of their
dynamism is, however, recent but expanding (World Bank 2009; Moncada
and Snyder 2012; Giraudy, Moncada and Snyder 2019). Given that the fastest
growing economies are primarily in the Global South, particularly Asia, an
understanding of such processes in the Asian context becomes important at
the current conjuncture. In fact, the Asian experience with ‘catching up’ and
economic transformation has contributed substantially to the idea of the
‘developmental state’ (Evans and Heller 2018). While the Japanese experience
highlighted a strong role for state action, recent successes of the East Asian
newly industrialising economies (NIEs) reinforced the importance of the
‘developmental state’ as a conceptual category to understand what makes some
countries improve their citizens’ capabilities better than others.
Importantly, the relationship between capital accumulation, state and
civil society in the Global South is seen to be distinct from the experience
of Western capitalist economies. Chatterjee (2004) and Sanyal (2007)
for example, have dealt at length with how governamental imperatives in
postcolonial countries do not follow that of advanced capitalist economies
even as they significantly shape the global capital accumulation dynamic.
Chatterjee in his more recent work (2019) also points to the distinctiveness of
politics in these regions, arguing that mobilisation in postcolonial democracies
like India often draws upon reworked social identities forged through modern
print cultures and governmental imperatives. Further, as Harriss-White (2003)
 T H E D R AV I D I A N M O D E L

has established, capital accumulation tends to rely on social stratification and

actually reinforces social hierarchies based on caste and gender identities.
Piketty (2020), in fact, argues that status-based inequalities in such countries,
for instance based on caste, not only persist but constitute important sources of
inequality as they modernise. Mapping the links between accumulation, state
acts, political mobilisation around identities and development trajectories in
these regions therefore becomes important.
India and China have been two of the fastest growing economies in the
world since the early 2000s, contributing substantially to global wealth
creation, given the size of their economies (Bardhan 2008). Talking about
China’s achievements on the growth front, Evans and Heller (2018) reason that
it is impossible to understand the Chinese state as a unitary one despite having
a centralised apparatus. Rather, they convince us that it should be seen as a
multi-tiered system with subnational state institutions responsible for the ‘day
to day business of China’s development’ (p. 6). They therefore call for a ‘multi-
level embedded autonomy’2 approach to understand the nature of interactions
between policy formulation at the national level and implementation at the
subnational level. While nature of the bureaucracy and ‘embedded autonomy’
based explanations account for national-level trajectories in the context of
north eastern Asian economies, regional dynamism, variations and their
embeddedness are not adequately accounted for. This becomes particularly
important in a phase marked by growing divergence between regions in
China (Ho and Li 2008) and India (Ghosh 2012), and emergence of regional
economic miracles such as Shenzhen (World Bank 2009).
The development experience of India, the fastest growing economy
in recent years, is intriguing. Despite being home to a well-entrenched
democracy and a robust bureaucracy, it fails to deliver comparable development
outcomes (Evans and Heller 2015, 2018). Development parameters for parts
of India are closer to sub-Saharan Africa and lower than other South Asian
countries like Bangladesh and Sri Lanka. There are, however, regions in India,
the development outcomes of which are comparable to that of many Asian
economies. Tamil Nadu, the southern-most province in the country is one such
region (Drèze and Sen 2013). Comparable in economic output to Vietnam
and Laos PDR,3 the state’s human development parameters are better than
most states in the country (Tamil Nadu Human Development Report, hereafter

2
 T he D ravidian M odel

TNHDR [Government of Tamil Nadu 2017]). The Indian State is a ‘quasi-

federal’ one with subnational governments given primary responsibility for
crucial sectors like agriculture and human development including health and
education. Further, given that democratic institutions have a longer history,
political regimes at the regional level and the factors enabling them are likely to
shape outcomes more than in many other Asian regions. Since the early 1990s,
the union government has also sought to rescale governance by devolving
crucial resource mobilisation tasks to subnational governments (Kennedy
2014). This ‘responsibilisation’ of state governments has been accompanied by
growing regional disparities (Kar and Sakthivel 2007; Ghosh 2012) and club
convergence among the richer and poorer states.
India therefore offers an interesting site to understand the political economy
of such subnational development. Our attempt is to address this issue taking
the case of Tamil Nadu in southern India, a state that has been noted for its
ability to combine relatively high levels of economic growth with human
development, particularly in the domains of education and healthcare (Drèze
and Sen 2013; Harriss and Wyatt 2019). Arora (2009) classifies the Indian
states in line with the stages of development proposed by Rostow (1959), and
points out that states like Kerala, Tamil Nadu and Maharashtra have crossed
the take-off stage and have entered the maturity phase. He also cites Kochhar
et al. (2006) to argue that some of the states including Tamil Nadu resemble
developed countries in the way they have diversified the sources of their
growth. To quote Kochhar et al.,

With the caveat that Indian states are enormously large entities and are
internally very diverse, it would appear that the fast growing peninsular states
are starting to resemble more developed countries in their specialization,
while the slow growing hinterland states, with still rapidly growing, less
well-educated, populations … may not have the capability to emulate them.
(2006: p. 25)

In per capita incomes too they rank much higher than most states in the
country. Understanding the sources of the distinctiveness of development
trajectories, particularly in a context where states are embedded in a common
macro-economic regime, is therefore central to tracking subnational variations.

3
 T H E D R AV I D I A N M O D E L

This book contributes to the growing literature on how regional institutions

and political regimes shape global development trajectories by mapping
the politics and processes influencing the emergence of Tamil Nadu’s
fairly unique development path. Not only has the state revealed significant
economic dynamism and structural transformation as mentioned above, the
state also has better parameters of human development compared to similar
economically dynamic states like Maharashtra and Gujarat (Kalaiyarasan
2014; Government of Tamil Nadu 2017). It has been a pioneer in forging a
social welfare model based on providing entitlements outside the domain
of employment that has since been adopted elsewhere (Vijayabaskar 2017;
Kalaiyarasan 2020). Importantly, the state is also known for a distinct mode
of political mobilisation that privileged caste-based inequalities over asset-
based ones. We therefore ask, how does mobilisation against status-based
inequalities transform developmental outcomes? We contend that while
a distinct set of processes rooted in regional political mobilisation against
caste hierarchies played an important role in the development outcomes in
the state, the processes underway at the regional level are also shot through
with national and global processes of development and capital accumulation.
We therefore adopt a multi-level approach to subnational analysis, and
demonstrate how national and supranational factors have also shaped this
process. Before moving on to empirically establish a case for a study of the
sources of Tamil Nadu’s development outcomes, we highlight the set of
policy processes that shaped subnational trajectories in India in the post-
reform period. To do that, we engage with the emerging literature on regional
institutions and regional development processes and how they contribute to
shaping global development.

S I G N I F I C A N C E O F T H E S U B N AT I O N A L S C A L E

There are three analytically distinct but interrelated processes that make
the subnational scale significant globally. One concerns shifts in economic
processes and accumulation dynamics, while the second is rooted in the
political imperative to govern the process of growth and the outcome of
state action at the national level. Third, as Chatterjee (2019) and Giraudy,

4
 T he D ravidian M odel

Moncada and Snyder (2019) point out, it is important to understand political

mobilisation at subnational scales as they not only shape larger developmental
outcomes but are also critical to recover alternate political imaginaries beyond
the level of the nation-state. Since the 1990s, the ‘region’ has re-emerged as
a focus of industrial dynamism through innovation processes in the Global
North (Krugman 1991; Storper 1997; Malmberg and Maskell 2002). Within
mainstream economics, the emergence of the regional has been understood
primarily through the new economic geography literature pioneered by
Krugman. Economies of agglomeration allow for learning and technological
dynamism that lead to concentration of economic activity rather than an
evening out of spatial inequalities. This reasoning also has its antecedence
within the broad domain of economic geography that has consistently
highlighted the persistence of differences across regions, even in a dynamic
sense. Starting with Marshall’s observations on the tendency of economic
activity to agglomerate in specific locales in late 19th-century England, going
on to structuralist explanations for persistence of global divisions of labour and
on to new economic geography that highlights the importance of learning and
its positive spillovers within local geographies, there is overwhelming evidence
that economic activity does not tend to develop in homogeneous space or lead
to equalisation of returns across space (Harvey 2005; World Bank 2009). As
a result, globalisation may undermine the efficacy of several national policy
instruments, and proceed through regional integration across borders, drawing
upon regional and local institutions to sustain accumulation (Hay 2000).
Given the variations in institutional capacity across regions, globalisation
is therefore likely to accentuate regional divergence within nation-states.
Regional institutions are, however, dynamic entities, and are as much shaped
by interactions with national and supranational institutions and economic
impulses as they shape the process of globalisation (Coe et al. 2004). The
observation that regional institutions are likely to be critical to the shaping of
the process of globalisation therefore opens up our attention to the agency of
subnational governments4 and subnational politics in not only responding to
globalisation but also in shaping its contours.
The next source of significance of the region or the subnational scale
is one of governance. Amidst a perceived shift in the accumulation regime
from Fordist to post-Fordist and the regulatory regime from Keynesian to

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neo-liberal, national governments have initiated a process of state rescaling,

allowing greater agency for subnational governments to design and implement
policies ( Jessop, Brenner and Jones 2008; Kennedy 2014), even as pro-market
reforms allow for a greater agency to the global capital accumulation dynamic
to shape policies. Keating (2013) for example maps the emerging salience
of the ‘meso’ region in the European Union (EU). Similarly, Lobao, Martin
and Rodriguez-Pose (2009) point out how implementation of pro-market
reforms and integration with global markets have been often accompanied
by national governments devolving more responsibilities to regional and
local governments. Regional governments, therefore, have strong incentives
to engage in institutional learning and innovation. They are forced to assume
the role of ‘institutional entrepreneurs’ with the aim of promoting regional
development, particularly in the context of transition economies (Spencer,
Murtha and Lenway 2005).
Further, as Snyder (2001) points out, the approach allows one to move
away from giving primary agency to national-level actors, to subnational
actors and regimes that have shaped national-level indicators. Importantly,
such subnational variations are becoming more visible during a period
when older dichotomies between the core and periphery postulated by
structuralist geographers are less rigid. Though income inequalities between
countries have come down marginally, subnational differences in income,
that is, differences across regions within countries have increased globally
(Garretsen et al. 2013), pointing to the importance of regional or subnational
political regimes and institutions in taking advantage of the new spaces of
accumulation. This therefore brings to the forefront, the importance of
understanding how subnational politics shapes policy-making at that scale.
Jeffery et al. (2014) show how, despite a unitary policy framework, there are
growing regional differences in policy outcomes within Germany because
of the agency of regional electorates. Fitjar (2010) maps the emergence of
regional identities across western Europe, often more pronounced in regions
where a different regional language is spoken or located further away from
the country’s capital.
We, however, know much less about the interactions between processes
of development and regional political regimes in the context of the Global

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South. There are, however, a few studies that emphasise subnational variations
in such countries (Moncada and Snyder 2012; Giraudy, Moncada and Snyder
2019). Eaton (2004) acknowledges the growing salience of subnational
actors across the Global South, from Russia and China to India and South
Africa, particularly since the 1990s, when several of these countries began
to economically integrate with global markets and adopted similar macro-
economic policies to facilitate such integration. Efforts to rescale by central
governments in these countries imply that subnational actors and political
regimes are crucial to outcomes of globalisation. Huang (2015) illustrates this
by showing how a combination of subnational policy choices, incentives for
political actors and interactions with the national-level policy framework
produce variations with regard to the extent of coverage under social health
insurance programmes in China. Though there are similar studies on
subnational divergence in economic trajectories,5 there is less literature on
political processes at the subnational level. Regional dynamism or otherwise
is also accompanied by questions of regional politics around redistribution
and welfare. In addition to growth, differences in the ability of regions
to provide for social welfare and the sources of such differences are critical
to our understanding of variations in subnational development. With
the growing recognition of the role of human capital in sustaining growth
dynamism, and the re-orientation of development as one aimed at expanding
human capabilities (D’Costa and Chakraborty 2019), visibility of politics and
policies around investments in human development and social welfare at the
subnational level has increased. Since the initiation of economic reforms in
the early 1990s, India too has witnessed divergence in terms of both economic
growth and human development across states.

POLICY REFORMS AND REGIONAL DIVERGENCE

IN INDIA

The Indian economy has experienced one of the fastest growth rates in the
world for nearly 15 years, a period during which the state has sought to, and
succeeded to an extent, in implementing a set of reforms that can be labelled

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‘pro-business’ (Kohli 2012).6 This is also a phase when several measures were
undertaken to integrate its product and factor markets with the global market,
and also devolve more responsibilities to subnational governments. Market-
oriented economic reforms were accompanied by the downscaling of resource
mobilisation responsibilities to state governments (Kennedy 2014). Until
then, the union government had played a key role in mobilising resources
for investment and in locating economic activity. Since the 1990s, the union
government shifted the onus of resource mobilisation considerably to state
governments which were encouraged to attract private investments through
various incentives. In fact, as Jain and Maini (2017) point out, subnational
governments in India have even begun to shape the nature of foreign relations
through their autonomous engagement with other countries for investments
and trade. Even as regional governments positioned themselves as active agents
shaping growth and private investments, their ability to chart autonomous
paths of development is likely to be varied ( Jenkins 2004).
This is a period that was also characterised by divergences in regional
growth performance (Kar and Sakthivel 2007; Ghosh 2012). The western
and southern regions have grown at a much faster rate compared to the rest
of the country. This divergence and the emergence of a set of fast-growing
states opened up a discursive narrative about the ideal subnational model
state to emulate. In post-reform India, it has become commonplace in
popular debates to pit one state vis-à-vis another as the appropriate model.
If it was Chandrababu Naidu’s undivided Andhra Pradesh in the late 1990s
(Mooij 2003), it was the Gujarat model in the 2000s, which has, however,
been contested (Nagaraj and Pandey 2013; Kalaiyarasan 2014). Such debates
also speak to larger debates on the direction of economic development by
scholars such as Drèze and Sen (2013) and Bhagwati and Panagariya (2013).
The Bhagwati–Sen debate epitomises the differences in developmental
priorities at the subnational level. While Bhagwati’s proposition makes a case
for a trickle-down approach where growth will translate into development
as it provides resources for human development, Drèze and Sen make a case
for a capability-centred developmental path where investments in human
capabilities should be prioritised, which can then translate into economic
development. According to them, this path is likely to be more inclusive. Both
positions draw empirical support from the experiences of subnational regions.

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 T he D ravidian M odel

While Bhagwati and Panagariya (2013) base their arguments on the Gujarat
model of rapid economic growth driven by a pro-capital growth policy, Drèze
and Sen (2013) draw upon the cases of Kerala and Tamil Nadu to point out
how public investments in health and education have led to a more inclusive
development trajectory.
Rather than seek models for emulation, scholars also argue that in the post-
reform era, regional political regimes critically shape policies of distribution
and welfare (Harriss 1999). Using a classificatory scheme drawn from an
earlier study, Harriss differentiates political regimes based on the source
of political power that ruling parties draw from, and the extent of their
stability. He contends that these two factors shape the distributivist policies
of subnational governments. Based on this scheme, he classifies Tamil Nadu,
Kerala and West Bengal as three states where political power has been drawn
from lower-caste and lower-class mobilisation over a long period. This
political base, he points out, may explain the emergence of more proactive
welfare regimes compared to other states where substantial political power
has been drawn more from upper castes and upper classes. However, as Singh
(2015) points out, mere sourcing of power from lower castes alone does not
adequately explain outcomes. West Bengal, for example, reveals poor human
development indicators despite having a regime drawn from the lower classes
(Kalaiyarasan 2017b). Moreover, as Witsoe (2013) argues based on his study
of Bihar, political regimes that draw their power from lower castes need not
necessarily generate human development. Further, it is still not clear whether
such differences in political regimes can shape the trajectory of economic
growth. It is also for this reason that Kohli (2012) is not able to clearly slot
the developmental path of Tamil Nadu within his typology of states. As we
argue in the next chapter, it is the distinctive way that power and social justice
were conceptualised by populist Dravidian7 mobilisation in the state that may
explain its developmental trajectory.
Subnational trajectories of development and divergences thus constitute an
important axis to understand the political economy of Indian development.
Importantly, given the size of India’s economy, and the fact that it is the fastest
growing economy globally, it is imperative to recognise the institutional
embedding of one of its most progressive subnational regions as it negotiates
national rules and institutions and global market impulses to forge a

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developmental path. The book therefore contributes to the growing literature

on the dynamics of subnational development by mapping the politics and
processes that enabled better development outcomes in Tamil Nadu. In
the next section, we critically review the existing accounts of the state’s
development experience.

C U R R E N T E X P L A N AT I O N S

Most literature on the state’s developmental experience deals with the

impulses and implications of its welfarist or populist politics. Though
their primary focus was on the mobilisational strategies of the Dravidian
movement, Narendra Subramanian (1999) and Arun Swamy (1998) attribute
the state’s welfare interventions to competitive populism in the domain of
polity. They identify two strands of populism. One, assertive or empowerment
populism, that involved mobilisation based on the Tamil-Dravidian identity,
appealed to the intermediate castes, and was characterised by initiation of
affirmative action policies that led to a degree of access to higher education
and modern jobs among the better off sections among these castes. They
also identify a paternalist or protection populist strand in policy-making,
aimed at actors or classes (lower castes) that failed to benefit from assertive
populist measures. This involved launch of several welfare programmes that
are now considered typical of the state’s developmental trajectory. Both
studies identify the limits of such moves in delivering inclusive development
by pointing to the inability of the state to engage substantively with land
reforms, and also suggest that the Dravidian movement was biased towards
the propertied intermediate castes. While we question this reading at
length in the next chapter, neither of them recognise the possibility that
interactions between the domain of social welfare policies and the domain
of economic incentive structures may shape the trajectory of economic
development. There is therefore little engagement with the process of human
capital formation or capital accumulation and labour outcomes. Further,
given the timing of their studies, they do not account for the state’s ability
to sustain a relatively more inclusive development path in the post-reform
period, characterised by not only registering above average growth rates but

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also above average reduction in poverty, particularly among the Scheduled

Castes (SCs), and below average increases in inequality (as discussed later in
this chapter).
More recent explanations by Drèze and Sen (2013), Vivek (2014) and
Lakshman (2011) ascribe the success of Tamil Nadu to a long history of
collective action, in turn attributed to political mobilisation among the lower
castes and classes by the Dravidian and the left movements. Such mobilisations
in the past have lent voice to the beneficiaries of public investments in health
and education which in turn has ensured that institutions of delivery are
rendered accountable. Lakshman (2011) while conceding the limits of this
mobilisation in terms of its class and caste character in line with previous
studies, admits that it did lead to the development of political patronage for
the poor. The studies do not offer a historical perspective or evidence of the
processes that made such collective action possible or of what shaped other
domains such as labour outcomes or capital accumulation. Vivek (2014), while
pointing to the presence of collective action in a set of villages in the state reads
the history of past political mobilisations into such action rather than actually
mapping the links between the emergence of a historic bloc of subaltern actors
making material claims on the state and better delivery. Narayan (2018), on
the other hand, sees a different role for political mobilisation in the more
efficient delivery of services. First, the entry of lower-caste members into the
bureaucracy, and second, the mediation of party cadres between citizens and
the bureaucracy ensured better delivery of public services. In all these accounts,
however, collective action is reduced to primarily ensuring efficiency of delivery
of public services and social welfare programmes. They do not therefore
account for the pattern of accumulation and economic transformation in the
state, interactions between accumulation processes, social mobilisation and
development outcomes.
Singh (2015), makes a case for identity-based mobilisation in delivering
subnational development. Countering standard arguments that identity-based
mobilisation hinders welfare, Singh argues, based on the experience of Kerala
and Tamil Nadu, that it was the formation of a Malayalee and Tamil identity,
respectively, in the two states that fostered ‘solidaristic’ ties across social groups
and a collective ethos that made social development possible. In the context of
Tamil Nadu, she contends that the initial imagination of a subnational Tamil

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identity among educated urban elites in the early 20th century was insufficient.
It was the diffusion of this subnationalist ethos among the non-elites in the
second half of the 20th century that led to better design and implementation
of social welfare policies. Apart from the near exclusive focus on interventions
in social sectors, Singh does not tell us why such identity formation led to a
distinct pattern of development in the state. Sinha (2005), Kennedy (2004)
and Harriss and Wyatt (2019) are a few interventions that seek to understand
the processes of accumulation and growth, and institutions governing these
processes. Sinha attributes the relative lack of industrial development vis-
à-vis Gujarat to a lack of emphasis among regional elites to spur industrial
growth as they pursued anti-central-government politics. In fact, she sees a
link between a greater emphasis on welfare policies and the relative neglect
of industrial development. Harriss and Wyatt (2019) posit a ‘growth for elites
and welfare for the poor’ strategy of accumulation in the state, in line with
earlier interpretations. According to them, though social welfare policies
launched by successive governments in the state do address the issue of
poverty, this does not undermine the power of the capitalist class. In other
words, they claim maintenance of status quo in the domain of the economy.
Such a reading does not allow for possible changes in the modes of capital
accumulation nor shifts in the basis of entrepreneurship. None of the studies,
in fact, empirically establish how the relations of power are reproduced nor
do they offer explanations for the sustained growth process that has made the
state’s development trajectory unique. It is worth reiterating at this point that
in post-reform India, the state has not only managed to reduce poverty levels
dramatically through a slew of welfarist interventions, but has also managed to
ensure high per capita incomes, and that too consistently higher than all-India
average rates (Government of Tamil Nadu 2017).
This phenomenon is particularly striking, given the diverse trajectories
of the three states that have drawn political power through mobilisation of
lower classes and castes (Harriss 1999). While Kerala’s high levels of human
development have not been backed by expansion of the productive sectors,8
West Bengal has not only failed to revive the strong industrial base it inherited
from the colonial period, but has also not been able to improve human
development indicators significantly despite implementation of land reforms

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(Kalaiyarasan 2017b). At the other end, states that have non-social-democratic

regimes like Gujarat and Maharashtra have managed to deliver on the growth
front, but have not done well in the domain of human development (Kohli
2012). Our study of Tamil Nadu is therefore meant to not only offer a better
explanation of outcomes and the development trajectory in the state, but is also
meant to open a dialogue on the developmental possibilities at the subnational
level. In the remaining chapters, we establish how welfare interventions are
linked to the emerging processes of accumulation and growth. We also identify
the limits of this process that are rooted not just in populist mobilisation, but
also in the mode of economic transformation and the constraints posed by its
status as a subnational entity. We use the term ‘model’, therefore, to open the
field of subnational studies and to generate questions on the links between
development and caste based mobilisation.
Further, there is no work on Tamil Nadu that compares with works on
other states such as on Kerala (Heller 1999), Gujarat (Sud 2012), Uttar Pradesh
(Pai 2007), Punjab (Singh 2008) and Bihar (Witsoe 2013). Given the growing
recognition of the state’s developmental experience, we propose to address this
gap by (a) mapping the trajectory of economic development in the state since
the 1960s; (b) linking the trajectory to processes in the domain of subnational
political mobilisations, public policy and macro-economic shifts at the national
level and (c) identifying the limits to such a model of subnational development
in the context of a changing macro political–economic environment.
Using a comparative framework, the rest of the chapter establishes the
empirical basis of the state’s distinct development trajectory. Using data over a
50-year period, the chapter maps the growth and developmental performance
of the state in comparison with other economically dynamic states like
Gujarat and Maharashtra,9 and establishes that the state has indeed registered
significant accomplishments in terms of growth, income, poverty reduction
and structural transformation.10 Indicators such as gross state domestic
product (GSDP), per capita income and employment status are used to
map the process. Sectoral shifts in terms of both income and employment
are mapped. Next, evolution of the state’s achievements in poverty reduction
and human development over this time period will be traced through use of
indicators in health, education and poverty.

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ECONOMIC GROWTH AND STRUCTURAL

T R A N S F O R M AT I O N I N TA M I L N A D U

We begin with a comparative mapping of economic growth in the state.

The state has consistently clocked higher growth than the all-India average
in the post-reform period. In the 1960s, Tamil Nadu had higher poverty levels
than the national average (Drèze and Sen 2013), though it had a relatively
higher per capita income. The decadal average per capita income for the state
in the 1960s was INR 10,314 (at 2004–05 price) while the corresponding figures
for Maharashtra, Gujarat and West Bengal were INR 11,236, INR 10,105 and
INR 9,151, respectively (Table 1.1).
Since then, the state’s income has risen in comparative terms. While it
had a per capita income twice (203 per cent) that of Bihar in the 1960s, it has
gone up to four times (420 per cent) in the 2010s. Its ability to increase per
capita income much more than that of West Bengal during this period too is
notable. Such increase in income is also borne out by a comparison with the
all-India average; while the state had an income only marginally (by 14 per
cent) higher than India’s per capita income in the 1960s, it has gone up to
155 per cent of the all-India average in the 2010s. In terms of position, while
the state stood fourth among 12 large states in the 1960s, it occupied the third
rank in 1990, and moved up to the second position in 2014 (as per method
adopted by Chakravarty and Dehejia 2016). As per our estimates, the state’s
per capita income has risen in relative terms but is lower than Maharashtra
and marginally less than Gujarat.

Table 1.1 Per Capita Income (INR) at Base 2004–05

Tamil
Year Nadu Maharashtra Gujarat West Bengal Bihar All India
1960s 10,314 11,236 10,105 9,151 5,091 9,005
1970s 11,474 13,192 11,272 9,229 5,400 9,951
1980s 12,855 16,142 14,565 10,588 6,391 11,754
1990s 20,623 25,704 22,031 14,852 6,571 16,172
2000s 34,050 40,228 34,810 23,784 8,386 25,355
2010s 57,831 63,764 58,193 33,487 13,775 37,333
Source: RBI, Handbook of Statistics on Indian States, https://rbi.org.in/Scripts/AnnualPublications.aspx
?head=Handbook+of+Statistics+on+Indian+States (accessed 12 March 2019).

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 T he D ravidian M odel

What is also significant is the nature of economic growth. The increase in

per capita incomes has been accompanied by structural transformation of a
degree that is higher than any other major state in the country. Not only does
the state have the second lowest share of population dependent on agriculture,
agriculture contributes less than 8 per cent to the state’s income which is less
than half the all-India average (Government of Tamil Nadu 2017). Importantly,
it has the largest share of workers in manufacturing, and has built a vibrant
manufacturing base, particularly in labour-intensive sectors like textiles,
garments, leather goods and automobile manufacturing. As per the Annual
Survey of Industries (ASI) 2014 (Government of India 2014), Tamil Nadu has
the highest share (15.4 per cent) of registered factories in India. The state also
has the highest (15.1 per cent) share of persons engaged in Indian registered
manufacturing. In other words, it has managed to shift a higher share of
population from agriculture to the industrial sector. In terms of gross value
added (GVA), the state stands third after Maharashtra and Gujarat despite
having the largest share of its labour in manufacturing, indicating the relatively
higher labour intensity of its manufacturing base. According to Amirapu and
Subramanian (2015), Tamil Nadu’s manufacturing output has reached as high
as 18 per cent of the GSDP, second only to Gujarat’s 22 per cent. Though
Gujarat has a higher manufacturing base, it is not as broad based as Tamil
Nadu. As Nagaraj and Pandey (2013) show, export-oriented petroleum refining
alone accounts for about a quarter of the GVA in registered manufacturing in
Gujarat, which may not offer enough by way of employment. The dynamism of
Tamil Nadu’s manufacturing is also evident when we look at the unorganised
sector. Combining the output of both organised and unorganised sectors in
employment, as per the National Sample Survey Office (NSSO) 2011–12, the
state has the highest share of employment (19.9 per cent) as against 19 per cent
in Gujarat, 12.2 per cent in Maharashtra and 12.6 per cent at the all-India level.
After the economic reforms of the early 1990s, the state has sustained its
productive dynamism through mobilisation of foreign capital as well. It has
managed to attract a number of multinational firms to set up operations, and
has also drawn investments into urban infrastructure development through
promotion of public–private partnerships (PPPs). Particularly noteworthy is
the Sriperumbudur case—an industrial cluster close to Chennai, which has
been recognised as a successful instance of state policies enabling the attraction

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of foreign investments (World Bank 2009). Leading global firms specialising

in the production of hardware and electronic goods like Nokia, Samsung,
Motorola, Dell and Foxconn have set up productive capacities in the region
over the last 15 years, responding to a slew of government incentives. Though
it had a production base for automobile manufacturing even earlier, Chennai
has emerged as India’s leading automobile and auto components exporter, and
is often referred to as the ‘Detroit of India’. The region accounts for 35 per cent
of auto component production in India, and is home to the world’s leading
automobile producers like Hyundai, Ford, Daimler Benz, Yamaha, BMW and
Mitsubishi (Babu 2009). Hyundai has made Chennai the manufacturing and
export hub for its small cars, with Chennai being its largest base outside South
Korea. In fact, the World Development Report (World Bank 2009), with its
focus on the importance of new economic geography in understanding growth
dynamism, has identified overlaps in the growth processes underway in this
region with that of China’s Shenzhen province.
Apart from having a strong manufacturing base, the state is also home
to vibrant software, medical and educational services industries. In 2016, the
state along with Karnataka and Telangana accounted for 60 per cent of the
information technology (IT) and information-technology enabled services
(ITeS) exports from India (Dubbudu 2017). Given that India is the largest
exporter of software services globally, the significance of this phenomenon
cannot be understated, as this growth is premised on the build-up of human
capabilities. Apart from national players like Infosys, Tata Consultancy
Services (TCS) and WIPRO, it also houses software development centres of
multinational corporations (MNCs) like IBM, CTS and Oracle. In addition,
thanks to a relatively robust public healthcare system, private investments in
medical education and emergence of corporatised private healthcare providers,
the state has also come to be a leading centre for medical services. Private
investments in overall education, in particular, technical education, have led to
the state also becoming a major provider of educational services.
Another significant aspect is the spatial dimension of industrialisation in
the state. Enterprises are more evenly distributed across sub-regions within
the state. Though the western (Coimbatore and Tiruppur regions) and
northern (Chennai and Kancheepuram) parts are the most industrialised
regions, industrialisation is still spatially diverse if one makes a comparison

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with Gujarat and Maharashtra. Each sub region has specific industrial
clusters dominated by small-scale enterprises and localised entrepreneurship
(Damodaran 2016). Such decentralised industrialisation integrates the
countryside with urban areas, and is likely to create more diversification
options outside of agriculture. The state has one of the highest shares of
income from non-farm sector employment among rural households. A steady
decline in both the share and absolute number of cultivators since the 1990s
suggests a movement of the rural workforce to non-agricultural and urban
spaces. The percentage of cultivators in rural Tamil Nadu has come down from
29 per cent in 1981 to just 13 per cent in 2011, which is one of the lowest figures
across states in India (Government of Tamil Nadu 2017).
Besides Chennai, most of the regional clusters are known for their agro-
commercial-based entrepreneurship drawn from the middle castes. Many
of them are from peasant and provincial mercantile castes as opposed to
the dominance of elite pan-Indian trading communities in other regions
(Chari 2004; Damodaran 2008; Mahadevan and Vijayabaskar 2014). As we
demonstrate in Chapter 5, entrepreneurship in the state is also socially broad
based. The Dalit Indian Chamber of Commerce and Industry (DICCI) in fact
claims that the state is home to one of the highest concentrations of Dalit
enterprises in India (Naig 2015). While Tamil Nadu, along with Gujarat and
Maharashtra, is among the most industrialised states in the country, what
makes it distinct from the other two, is this labour-intensive, spatially and
socially inclusive nature of industrialisation, which has drawn a greater share
of population out of agriculture.

GOVERNANCE AND PHYSICAL INFRASTRUCTURE

The ability to structurally transform is likely to be tied to better economic

governance. The state ranks second after Kerala with regard to public
governance indices (Indo Asian News Service 2018). A more robust exercise of
constructing a governance index was done by Mundle et al. (2012) to map the
quality of governance across states using indicators such as infrastructure, social
service delivery, fiscal performance, law and order, judicial service delivery and
quality of legislature. According to this ranking, the state falls within the top

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five for all of these indicators. In the domain of physical infrastructure, it has
one of the best sets of combined indices for roads, electricity and telecom,
and was ranked third among the major states in India in 2010.11 Tamil Nadu
is particularly known for its transport infrastructure, and ranked the highest
in the country. On the energy front, the state is one of the top nine markets
globally for renewable power generation (Sushma 2018). Originating primarily
in wind energy with the setting up of wind farms, the state has in recent years
also diversified into solar power. At present, the state derives close to 15 per
cent of its energy requirements from such renewable sources. Having mapped
the state’s achievements in economic growth, structural transformation and
governance, we now highlight its achievements in the realm of distribution by
looking at poverty reduction and inequality.

DISTRIBUTION AND POVERTY REDUCTION

As stated earlier, Tamil Nadu was one of the poorer states in India in the 1960s.
As per the estimate of Suryanaryana (1986),12 the incidence of rural poverty in
Tamil Nadu was 51.7 per cent in 1960–61—one of the highest as compared
to the major states (Gujarat: 37.4 per cent, Maharashtra: 41.4 per cent, and
even slightly higher than Bihar: 49.7 per cent), and much higher than the all-
India average (38.2 per cent). The state has, however, seen a dramatic decline in
poverty in the last 50 years, and has done better than most states with regard to
poverty reduction (see Table 1.2).
According to Tendulkar committee metrics,13 the incidence of rural poverty
in Tamil Nadu has come down to 15.8 per cent in 2011–12, which is one of the
lowest in the country. The rate of decline in rural poverty between 1960–61 and
2011–12 has been faster than in most states.14 Urban poverty decline too has
been more rapid (Table 1.2). The incidence of poverty in urban Tamil Nadu
was as high as 51.8 per cent in 1973–74, comparable to Bihar’s 53.9 per cent, and
worse than the all-India average. After 50 years, the incidence of poverty has
come down to 6.5 per cent in 2011–12, the third lowest among the major states,
and also lower than that of Gujarat or Maharashtra.
What is also significant is that the state has done better in poverty reduction
across caste groups. The socially marginalised have seen a faster reduction of

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Table 1.2 Trends in Incidence of Poverty across Selected States in India

Tamil West
Year Nadu Maharashtra Gujarat Bengal Bihar All India
Rural Poverty
1960–61 All 51.7 41.4 37.4 61.6 49.7 38.5
All 51.2 59.4 43.3 42.6 62.5 50.2
1993–94
SC 66.4 74.1 56.6 48.3 76.8 62.4
All 37.5 47.9 39.1 38.2 55.7 41.8
2004–05
SC 51.2 66.1 49.3 37.1 77.6 53.5
All 15.8 24.2 21.5 22.5 34.4 25.7
2011–12
SC 23.3 23.8 22.3 22.6 51.7 31.5
Urban Poverty
1973–74 All 51.8 45.2 53.9 46.6 53.9 48.9
All 33.8 30.5 28.2 31.3 44.8 31.6
1993–94
SC 57.1 48.6 49.3 50.3 66.9 51.7
All 19.7 25.6 20.1 24.4 43.7 25.6
2004–05
SC 40.7 36.0 18.7 40.9 71.2 40.6
All 6.5 9.1 10.1 14.7 31.2 13.7
2011–12
SC 9.3 15.8 12.7 15.7 43.0 21.7
Source: Authors’ estimation from various rounds of NSSO–CES data except for the year 1960–61,
which was adapted from Suryanarayana (1986).

poverty compared to others. Since we do not have poverty estimates for caste
groups for 1961–62, we track this process from 1993–94 to 2011–12. The gains
SCs made in the rate of poverty reduction between 1993–94 and 2011–12 in
Tamil Nadu is 43.1 percentage points, which is higher than that in Gujarat
(34.3 percentage points) and Bihar (25.1 percentage points), but lower than
that in Maharashtra (50.3 percentage points). Urban poverty reduction too
is suggestive of this relatively more socially inclusive development process.
The incidence of poverty among SCs in urban Tamil Nadu was 66 per cent in
1993–94 which reduced to to 12.7 per cent in 2011–12 (Kalaiyarasan 2014)—one
of the highest poverty reductions among the states in the country. In sum,
Tamil Nadu has managed to address poverty better than most states. This is
particularly significant because the state had inherited no historical advantage

19
 T H E D R AV I D I A N M O D E L

60

52.9

50

40

30.9
30 29.9
27.2
24.7 25.4 26
22.3
22
20 20.2

12.9
10.2
10 9 8.5
4.6
3.3

0
Gujarat Maharashtra Tamil Nadu Bihar

Q1 Q3 Q4 Q5

Figure 1.1 Wealth Inequality by Quintile

Source: National Family Health Survey-4 (2015–16).

and had either similar or higher levels of poverty than that of several states in
the early 1960s.
Chatterjee (2019) contends that populist regimes tend to be more engaged
with issues of absolute poverty than relative poverty. The state has, however,
also reduced relative poverty to an extent. As assets are more durable,
wealth inequality is a better measure of inequality compared to income and
consumption based inequality measures. The recent National Family Health
Survey (NFHS-4, 2015–16) offers quintile distribution of households based on
their wealth.15 In Tamil Nadu, as Figure 1.1 shows, the proportion that lies in
Q3 and Q4 accounts for close to 60 per cent of the population.
This suggests a relatively better diffusion of economic growth as the
corresponding figures for Gujarat and Maharashtra are about 45 per cent and
47 per cent, respectively. On the other hand, the state has relatively less poor—5
per cent in the bottom quintile. A state like Bihar has about 75 per cent of its
population in the lowest two quintiles indicating more concentration in the
lower spectrum of distribution. We now turn to the gains made by the state in
the domains of education and public health.

20
 T he D ravidian M odel

E D U C AT I O N A N D H E A L T H

Not only does the state have relatively higher literacy levels, but the
improvements are again more inclusive across social groups (Chapter 3). The
literacy rate for those above the age of 6 years was 21 per cent in 1951 and has
improved to 80 per cent in 2011. The corresponding figures for India are 18
and 74 per cent, respectively. An outcome indicator that captures the spread
of literacy is the reduction in gender gap in literacy. Tamil Nadu had a gender
gap greater than that at the all-India level until 1981. Since 1981, the gender gap
in literacy in Tamil Nadu has recorded significant improvements. Importantly,
youth in the state have relatively better access to higher education. According
to the 2017–18 report of the All India Survey on Higher Education (AISHE)
(Government of India 2018a), 48.6 per cent of Tamil Nadu’s youth in the age
group of 18–23 years are engaged in some form of higher education or the
other which is the highest for major states in the country, and even better than
that of some countries in the Global North (Figure 1.2).
Access to tertiary education is also relatively inclusive with about 42 per
cent of youth among the SCs being enrolled in higher education as against

60.0

48.6
50.0

40.0 37.9
36.3 36.2 35.7
31.1 30.9 30.3
28.7 27.8 27.7
30.0 25.9 25.8
22.0 21.7 21.2
20.1 18.7
18.4 18.2 18.0
20.0
13.0

10.0

0.0
Tamil Nadu

Uttar Pradesh

West Bengal
J&K

India

Gujarat

Assam
Kerala

Punjab

Haryana

Karnataka

Odisha

Jharkhand
Uttarakhand

Andhra Pradesh

Rajasthan

Madhya Pradesh
Himachal Pradesh

Chhattisgarh

Bihar
Telangana

Maharashtra

Figure 1.2 Gross Enrolment Ratio in Higher Education for All Groups (18–23 Years)
Source: Government of India (2018a).

21
 T H E D R AV I D I A N M O D E L

45.0 42.1
40.0

35.0 31.5 30.6

30.0 27.7 26.9 26.8 26.6
25.0
25.0 21.8 21.7 21.4
19.8 19.7 19.4 18.8
18.6 18.1
20.0 17.2 17.1
13.8 13.8
15.0
9.2
10.0

5.0

0.0

Karnataka

Assam
Uttarakhand

India

Madhya Pradesh

Haryana

J&K

Jharkhand

Bihar
Tamil Nadu

Telangana

Himachal Pradesh

Chhattisgarh

Rajasthan

West Bengal
Kerala
Andhra Pradesh

Punjab
Gujarat

Odisha
Uttar Pradesh
Maharashtra

Figure 1.3 Gross Enrolment Ratio in Higher Education for Scheduled Castes
(18–23 Years)
Source: Government of India (2018a).

21.8 per cent at the all-India level (Figure 1.3). In fact, this access is also much
higher than what all castes could achieve in a state like Uttar Pradesh (only 26
per cent).
Tamil Nadu has performed better in the domain of health as well
(Chapter 4). The total fertility rate (TFR) has shown a sharp decline from
3.9 in 1971 to 1.7 in 2013. The corresponding figures for the all-India level are
5.2 and 2.3, respectively. The decline in fertility rate is the fastest in Tamil
Nadu, and comparable to many high income countries (less than replacement
rate). Similarly, the state has done well in reducing mortality rates too. The
infant mortality rate (IMR) has declined from 121 in 1972 to 19 in 2015,
while the decline for India was from 139 to 41. The under-five mortality rate
(U5MR) is 20 in the state as against 43 for India. The maternal mortality
ratio (MMR) too is much better than the all-India average—90 for Tamil
Nadu as against 178 at the all-India level. As with overall trends, as we
elaborate in Chapter 4, the achievements in health among marginal social
groups in the state are much better than most states, and comparable to the
health status of the general population in states like Uttar Pradesh. Tamil

22
 T he D ravidian M odel

Nadu is therefore unique among the major states in India for its ability to
combine processes of structural transformation with human development. It
is particularly important to note that this process has been sustained during
a period of pro-business and pro-market economic reforms initiated by the
union government, suggesting an ability to draw upon regional political and
economic institutions to negotiate with global economic impulses. That it has
managed to do so without undermining the process of human development
highlights the salience of the subnational political regime and the factors that
shape the regime’s actions.
The rest of the book is organised as follows. In the next chapter, drawing
upon historical material on the roots of populist mobilisation in the state, we
develop an analytical framework to explain the nature of popular demands
emerging in the region, and how these demands are institutionalised in
policy regimes. Subsequent chapters are devoted to mapping the processes
and policy interventions that led to developmental outcomes across different
domains. Chapters 3 and 4 address the processes underlying the outcomes
in education and health, respectively. We argue that a demand for inclusive
modernisation led to a series of interventions in the domains of education
and health that translated into better human development outcomes.
In particular, we emphasise the emergence of a ‘common sense’ around
affirmative action policies and the importance of technical education. In
the domain of health, we map the policy interventions in public health and
the role of a socially broad-based bureaucracy in delivering better health
outcomes. In Chapter 5, we move on to underscore the processes that enabled
capital accumulation and a more broad-based entrepreneurship in the state.
We highlight how social justice was imagined in terms of accelerating
industrial development, which in turn led to both creation of supportive
infrastructure, and direct policy measures. Chapters 6 and 7 engage with
labour market outcomes, and policy and political processes that shaped such
outcomes. In these chapters, we argue how mobilisation through aggregating
subaltern caste identities and subsequent interventions have led to relatively
better labour outcomes. While Chapter 6 deals with rural labour regimes,
Chapter 7 focusses on urban labour with specific emphasis on industrial
labour. The last chapter evaluates the development process in light of the
emerging limits.

23
 T H E D R AV I D I A N M O D E L

NOTES

1 By the term ‘model’, we mean ‘a theoretical description that can help you
understand how a system or process works ...’ See Collins Dictionary
for definition. Available at https://www.collinsdictionary.com/dictionary/
english/​model (accessed 10 December 2020). We, therefore, use it to explain
how different parts or variables within a system interact with one another to
generate systemic processes. As an interpretative model, it helps to explain
development outcomes in the state. But, recognition of some elements of
the model are likely to be useful in other contexts. Here, our contention
is that mobilisation against caste based inequality can deliver dignity and
development simultaneously.
2 ‘Multi-level’ refers to the interactions between processes taking place at
the subnational, national and supranational levels. ‘Embedded autonomy’
speaks to the nature of the links that the State has with local actors. While it
is important that the State is embedded enough to respond to the demands
of such actors, it should also be autonomous from sectional interests to craft
policies that are developmental in nature (Evans 1995).
3 See https://statisticstimes.com/economy/comparing-indian-states-and-
countries-by-gdp.php (accessed 20 April 2019).
4 Throughout the book, we use the terms ‘region’, ‘subnational’ and ‘state’
interchangeably. We use ‘State’ to refer to the state apparatus at the national
level.
5 De Silva and Sumarto (2015) highlight variations in poverty and health
outcomes across subnational units in Indonesia. Yelery (2014) in the context
of China, and Mykhnenko and Swain (2010) in the case of Ukraine, map
such subnational divergences.
6 While Jenkins (2004) suggests that the Indian state did attempt to initiate
pro-market reforms by stealth, Kohli argues that the reforms have been
more ‘pro-business’ than pro-market, with evidence of cronyism.
7 We elaborate on the nature of this mobilisation in the next chapter.
8 While Kerala has the best indices of human development parameters, we
would also like to point out that Kerala’s development experience is an
exception. Despite not having a dynamic productive base, the state has

24
 T he D ravidian M odel

relied on its human capital and geographic location to generate remittances

and drive growth. Consequently, we prefer to draw comparisons with states
like Maharashtra and Gujarat that have developed a dynamic industrial
base like Tamil Nadu.
9 While we use secondary data to compare Tamil Nadu’s development
outcomes with that of Gujarat and Maharashtra, we do not engage with a
comparative analysis of the political and policy processes in the two states.
10 Throughout the book, we compare the growth and development outcomes
of Tamil Nadu primarily with these two states, and the all-India average.
11 See http://www.idfc.com/images/news_release/infra-index-131210-pres-sent-
to-mint.pdf (accessed 15 June 2019).
12 Suryanarayana (1986) constructs poverty lines based on methods provided
by Bardhan (1973) and Ahluwalia (1978) at 1961–62 prices across states, and
updates these poverty lines from 1961–62 (17th round of NSSO) to 1977–78
(32nd round of NSSO).
13 The Tendulkar methodology requires a mixed reference period (MRP)
series of expenditure to calculate the incidence of poverty. The method used
to construct the MRP series is the following—MRP = 30 days reference
period data for all other items + 365 days reference period for low frequency
items (cloth, footwear, durable goods, education and medical) – 30 days
reference period for low frequency items.
14 The computations of Suryanarayana and Tendulkar are not strictly
comparable as the bases of poverty lines differ, but they still give us an idea
of the distance that different states have travelled since the 1960s in poverty
reduction.
15 The quintiles are compiled by assigning a household score in an index of
assets ranging from TV and car to housing characteristics to each household
member, ranking each person in the household population by their score,
and then dividing the distribution into five equal categories.

25
 2

CONCEPTUALISING POWER IN
CASTE SOCIETY

If subnational political regimes can shape development trajectories, the

constituents of such a regime, and the factors enabling this, require explanation.
Towards this, in this chapter, we develop a framework to understand the
factors and processes contributing to the state’s developmental achievements.
We emphasise the primary role played by Dravidian mobilisation against
upper-caste hegemony and its vision of social justice in shaping this regime
(Pandian 2007; Rajadurai and Geetha 2009; Krishnan and Sriramachandran
2018a and 2018b). We highlight the political labour involved in the formation
of a historic bloc or a ‘people’ comprising of a range of subaltern groups under
a transitive ‘Dravidian’–‘Tamil’–‘non-Brahmin’ identity against this hegemony.
We argue that this mobilisation articulated a demand for ‘self-respect’ and
‘social justice’ which has shaped the development trajectory of the state as
political regimes sought to respond to this demand. Social justice was to be
secured through a process of inclusive modernisation that will undermine the
caste-based division of labour. The mobilisation thus demanded, and sought
to ensure, equality of opportunity in the expanding modern domain. We draw
upon Laclau’s (2005) interpretation of populist mobilisation to understand
how such demands coalesced to become a ‘Dravidian common-sense’ (Forgacs
2000)1 in the state, and shaped its subsequent development.
Following Pandian (1994, 2007), Rajadurai and Geetha (1996) and Geetha
and Rajadurai (2008), we show how leaders of the Justice party, the political
precursor to the Dravidian movement, and subsequently Periyar, founder
of the Dravidian movement and the Self-Respect Movement (SRM)
distinguished the ‘productive’ ‘non-Brahmin’ castes from those who survived
off rentierism and/or through labour that did not contribute to the well-being
 C onceptualising P ower in C aste S ociety

of the region.2 Their mobilisation made visible the contours of caste-based

social injustice, constituting in turn what we refer to as ‘Dravidian common-
sense’ that comprised of securing justice through caste-based reservation, faith
in a productivist ethos, need for greater state autonomy and forging an inclusive
modernity. Importantly, as Pandian and more recently Sriramachandran (2018)
point out, mobilisation was not founded on essentialised identities, but through
forging of Dravidian ‘people’ based on an aggregation of disparate subaltern
‘social’ demands. We propose that the Dravidian movement approximates
to what Mouffe (2018) calls left populism that effectively created a chain of
equivalence between caste oppression and Dravidian-Tamil identity. We rely
on Laclau’s understanding of populism to refer to the political ability to forge
and appeal to a ‘people’ consisting of heterogeneous groups with different
‘social demands’, and mobilising them on the basis of a ‘popular’ Dravidian-
Tamil demand.
Before turning to mobilisation by the Dravidian movement and its
vision of social justice and implications for developmental imagination,
we outline the context and the set of historical contingencies that led to a
specific conceptualisation of power in the Madras Presidency3 under colonial
rule. We then track the evolution of the conception of social justice within
the Dravidian movement, and mark its distinctiveness. Drawing upon the
works of Periyar, the founding ideologue of the movement, we show how
the movement conceptualised caste-based power to be more systemic than
that of economic class in the Indian context. This in turn translated into an
imagination of social justice that saw abolishing caste-based hierarchies and
injustice as fundamental to building an egalitarian socioeconomic system.
Broad basing access to opportunities in the modern economy, administration
and public sphere was in turn a small step towards this process, and more
critical to the project than redistribution of rural assets like land. We also
make a case for how a critique of Brahminical Hindusim4 and the nationalist
movement was crucial to the imagination of an alternate and inclusive
‘Dravidian-Tamil’ identity. If political mobilisation based on a Dravidian-
Tamil identity enabled the coalescence of diverse demands into a set of rights
for all Dravidians-Tamils, what were the factors that led to the emergence
of a specific form of popular demand that managed to assume a hegemonic
role in the state? The reason of populism as put forward by Laclau (2005), and

27
 T H E D R AV I D I A N M O D E L

elaborated more recently by Mouffe (2018) and Chatterjee (2019) helps us

to not only understand what made this identity-based mobilisation advance
substantive democracy but also to understand fissures and possibilities within
such a populist project.

P O P U L I S M , TA M I L S T Y L E

Contrary to dominant readings of the emergence of populism as an aberrant

outcome of liberal democracy, the Laclauian argument is that it can be a
distinct political reason operating in the ‘field of democracy’ (Chatterjee 2019:
p. 82). Making ‘people’ sovereign implies that construction of a ‘people’ becomes
important. He also sees this political constitution of a ‘people’ as offering a way
of advancing the project of radical democracy in a context where capitalist
development has not led to the anticipated emergence of a homogenous
working class capable of acting for itself and consequently against the capitalist
system. The multiplicity of sources of power and marginalisation is even more
so in the context of postcolonial societies. That power in such societies is inter-
sectional, involving multiple configurations of ethnicity, language, religion,
caste, gender and class, is well acknowledged (Radcliffe 2015; Banerjee and
Ghosh 2019). Under such conditions, especially with the strong embedding
of capitalist accumulation in these identities (Harriss-White 2003), political
mobilisation of subaltern groups subject to multiple axes of exploitation,
subordination and discrimination under a politico-cultural identity opens
new democratic possibilities. It, however, also runs the risk of a dominant
elite exercising hegemonic control over such marginalised groups through
claims of representing the ‘people’. It is therefore important that mobilisation
of subaltern groups should also be accompanied by establishing ideological
hegemony such that it actually advances the interests of subaltern groups.
Laclau (2005: p. 77) identifies the following to be essential to populist
mobilisation:

1. Unification of a plurality of demands.

2. Constitution of the ‘people’ and ‘enemy’ by building an internal
frontier.

28
 C onceptualising P ower in C aste S ociety

3. Construction of a popular identity around which the chain of

equivalence across particularistic (social) demands can be consolidated.

Typically, populism is built by investing signifiers without precise meanings

such as ‘people’, ‘justice’ or ‘order’ with an array of accumulated particularistic
grievances or demands. When a particular or ‘social’ demand is not addressed
as such, there is potential for political imagination to link up this demand
with other particularistic demands coming from other groups, and show how
they are being denied by a common actor such as the state or a socioeconomic
oligarchy. Relationships among these diverse grievances can then be built by
establishing equivalence across these particularistic demands. This requires
creation of a political enemy against which this chain of equivalence gets
established. In doing so, the struggle for each demand implies not just a
struggle for that demand but also stands in for the universal equivalent.
Political labour makes this possible through consolidation of these multiple
demands around a popular identity such as the ‘Dravidian’ or ‘Tamil people’.
Such an identity can not only help aggregate demands of a heterogeneous
population but also appeals to them on a register of affect. The popular
demand is denied by the powerful elite or the state—who constitute the
enemy of the people. An internal border is built between ‘the people’—
community of the oppressed—and the elite or the state—the oppressor.
The ability of a term like ‘justice’ to represent a chain of equivalence across
several social demands and animate political action in a particular direction
depends on the historical context as well as the nature of political labour
(Howarth 2015).
Dravidian mobilisation, we demonstrate in this chapter, managed to
essentially build such a ‘people’, articulating a popular demand, and against
an elite oligarchy. We suggest that a ‘Dravidian-Tamil’ identity was used by
the movement to build a Gramscian ‘national–popular’ project (Forgacs
2000: pp. 364–70) in the region. This mobilisation led to the emergence of
a common sense that in turn translated into a policy regime that comprises
elements of the economic–popular and social–popular that we elaborate later.
This common-sense informed claim-making and policy-making in the state
not only after the coming to power of the Dravidian parties, but even during
previous political regimes. To begin with, we would like to highlight the

29
 T H E D R AV I D I A N M O D E L

complex configurations of social and economic power in the region that led to
the construction of a specific frontier of demands.

BUILDING A SUBALTERN HISTORIC BLOC5

Though our concern in this book is primarily the domain of the material, it is
critical to understand how scriptural sanction of caste hierarchy constituted
an important axis for establishing the Dravidian identity and mobilisation
that also spoke to the material domain. Suntharalingam (1980) points to the
hegemonic position occupied by members of Brahmin communities in south
and western India, unlike in other parts of the country. The colonial state
not only opened up new spaces of mobility for local elites in the Madras
Presidency but also generated a field for certain kinds of engagement with
the state and constitution of a thin civil society confined to those with
exposure to modern education. Colonialism also brought along with it ideas
of modernity that allowed for contestations of the terms on which colonial
power was being exercised. We follow Pandian (2007) in identifying four
broad strands that constituted the political logic of the SRM: the Christian
missionaries and the Orientalists’ interpretation of the ‘Indian’ past, the
emergence of rationalist associations and dissemination of their critiques of
religion, the Dalit and Saivaite narratives of alternate social imaginaries and
finally, the formation of a political outfit to represent non-Brahmin interests,
namely, the Justice Party.
Pandian highlights the critical role played by Christian missionaries in the
constitution of native identities in colonial south India as well as in setting
the terms of engagement with caste and the ‘Hindu’ religion by caste elites,
Brahmins in particular. To begin with, while the natives did not see themselves
as ‘Hindus’ and observed a plurality of rituals and practices, the missionary
and colonial discourse sought to enfold all these practices within ‘Hinduism’.
But they also recognised the heterogeneity of ‘Hindu’ practices, with
missionary-scholar G. U. Pope holding that the Saiva Sidhantha tradition,
unique to south India, was the most sophisticated and also noting that the
caste system is intrinsic to the Vedic Hindu tradition. The missionaries,
based on a hyper-literal reading of myths, pointed out the dubious claims of

30
 C onceptualising P ower in C aste S ociety

native religion, and the ideas propagated through these myths. However, as
Suntharalingam and Pandian observe, their efforts were not always successful
in enlisting converts.
The next strand of critique of social power came through the rationalist
route. Native elites increasingly began to use the anti-clerical and rationalist
literature that found its way into the Madras Presidency from the West to
counter such manoeuvres by the missionaries. The elites also drew support
from Theosophists like Annie Besant who saw Eastern spiritual traditions
to be more sophisticated, and went on to promote and actually privilege
native religious traditions that upheld caste hierarchies and the caste-
based division of labour over other strands. Rationalist readings, however,
opened up avenues for criticising the validity of such practices that justified
inequality or unscientific beliefs. Arasu (2012) sheds light on the emergence
of such rationalist movements in the second half of the 19th century. A Hindu
Freethought Union, later renamed the Madras Secular Society, brought out
journals in English and Tamil (The Thinker and Thathuva Vivesini, respectively)
during 1882–88 that carried news and discussions on the latest scientific
discoveries and implications for religious beliefs and practices. Among the
six volumes published, many articles engaged with what was seen as the
irrational basis of both Christianity and the ‘Hindu’ religion. Frontal attacks
on what was seen as immoral in the ‘Hindu’ religion were published. Many
articles questioned restrictions on women, the validity of child marriage, ban
on widow remarriage, caste hierarchies and exploitative relations between
the upper and lower castes. They called for a new ethics based on principles
of liberty, equality and modern rational thought rather than reliance on
scriptures that upheld unethical practices. One of the leading intellectuals
of the Madras Secular Society, Attippakkam Venkatacala Nayakar wrote the
Hindumata Achara Abhasa Darshini in 1882, a critique of Vedic Hinduism and
its social practices (Arasu 2013; Kaali 2019). Kaali notes how Nayakar’s work
anticipates subsequent 2oth century critiques in this domain.
In a context where claims of religion were beginning to be evaluated
through rationalist parameters, the terrain could no longer be secured
through faith alone. It had become a turf of multiple contestations. Such
contestations posed dilemmas for the caste elites whose claim to their
position within the traditional caste hierarchy was accompanied by their entry

31
 T H E D R AV I D I A N M O D E L

into positions of power in the colonial bureaucracy where they had to give up
on certain orthodox practices. They had to therefore secure their traditional
source of power even as they became ‘modern’. In response, Pandian points
out how they began to validate their practices through scientific logic.
Untouchability, for example, was justified on the basis of hygiene. The caste
system was validated in terms of a natural division of labour that aided the
social organisation of production and promoted skill development through
specialisation. There were also constructions of the innate supremacy of caste
elites through the use of eugenics (Pandian 2007: pp. 158–59). Simultaneously,
Pandian charts the efforts to establish equivalence between the culture of the
caste elites and ‘Indian’ nationalist culture. Given the dominance of upper
caste among the professional and administrative elites, efforts to imagine a
tradition and culture that is ‘Indian’ were by default traditions that upheld
their caste privileges.
As Rajadurai and Geetha (2009) demonstrate, such constructions critically
drew upon material produced by Orientalists like Max Muller, apart from
Theosophists like Annie Besant. The Orientalists saw in the Vedas and other
Sanskrit texts, the essence of Indian civilisation, and this was crucial to the
caste elites’ imagination of what was authentically Indian and ‘national’.
According to Muller, threats to this culture came from a set of inferior people
inhabiting the subcontinent who corresponded to the non-Aryans. It was
this combination of Orientalist and Theosophist constructions of authentic
Indian culture that reinforced the Brahmins’ claim for superiority in the caste
hierarchy. This was also crucial in elevating the scriptural sanction of their
privileges as well as their social practices to be the core constitutive elements
of an Indian national tradition. The elevation of Sanskrit and Vedic traditions
was seen to simultaneously emaciate other cultural traditions and languages—
Tamil in the particular context of the Madras Presidency.
This power in the cultural-ideological domain was combined with securing
of power in the material domain as well. At the turn of the 20th century, as
several scholars document (Irschick 1969; Arooran 1980; Suntharalingam
1980), upper castes held a disproportionately large share of seats in higher
education and jobs in the colonial bureaucracy, with their share increasing as
one moved up the job hierarchy. Access to English education also helped caste
elites to enter other modern professions like law. Since recourse to modern

32
 C onceptualising P ower in C aste S ociety

law was emerging as a major means of arbitration of claims over property,

lawyers amassed considerable wealth and power. This monopoly also helped
them reinforce the idea of the natural superiority of their intelligence over
that of other castes, and of their caste status. Since they could also exercise
disproportionate control over the domain of formal politics by virtue of their
ability to engage on terms set by colonialism, they could effectively combine
hegemony over the cultural and the material domains. They thus inscribed
their authority by forging links between a ‘Hindu’ past and ‘national’ culture
and combining it with power in the material domain through control over the
bureaucracy and judiciary. They used the courts and the legislature to preserve
‘Hindu’ practices, and hence perpetuate their dominance across domains. It is
this context that set the terms of mobilisation by the Dravidian movement in
Tamil country.
The chain of equivalence across the Hindu-India-Sanskrit spheres that
sustained the caste elites’ dominance in the material and social domains was
precisely what the Dravidian movement sought to undermine. In response, a
new chain of equivalence began to be established: Dravidian-Tamil. As stated
earlier, the movement was not the first to do so. Christian missionaries and
native scholars (Kaali 2018) had already highlighted the oppressive dimensions
of the caste system, and recovered a rich source of ancient Tamil literature that
was suggestive of a history very different from that claimed by the caste elites
and the Theosophists. The discovery of the Dravidian languages and their
origins independent of Sanskrit by another school of Orientalists (Trautmann
2006) provided further means to build such a counternarrative. Before it
assumed a political form, the hegemony of this narrative was also questioned
by intellectuals like Pundit Iyothee Thoss, a Dalit Buddhist scholar, and
Maraimalai Adigal, a Saivaite scholar.
In the material domain, the colonial sphere opened up opportunities,
albeit unequal, for non-Brahmin elites as well (Suntharalingam 1980). The
Brahmin dominance in this sphere was beginning to be questioned and
countered by these elites by the turn of the 20th century. Their claims were
primarily around a greater share of opportunities opened up by colonialism.
A Madras Dravidian Association was formed in 1912 by C. Natesa
Mudaliar, who also built a hostel called the Dravidian Home, for non-
Brahmin students to avail modern education.6 This was followed by the

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formation of a joint stock company, the South Indian People’s Association,

to start a newspaper, and also the South Indian Liberal Federation in 1916,
a political association that was transformed into the Justice Party in 1917.
The Association issued a non-Brahmin manifesto that demanded justice
and equality of opportunity as enshrined in British law (Naidu 2010).
The Manifesto, while questioning the oligarchic control over education
and employment in public administration by the Brahmins, demanded
a rightful share of employment and education for all communities. They
also formed the government when limited franchise elections were held in
the Presidency following the Montagu–Chelmsford reforms from 1921 to
1926, and then after a break, again until 1930. They passed some landmark
pieces of legislation such as on communal representation in employment,
supply of noon meals to children in government schools in Madras city and
government control of temple funds. As we shall see later, such legislation
emphasising primary education, health and communal representation
resonated strongly with subsequent developmental interventions.
Ideologues of the Justice Party and subsequently, the SRM under Periyar’s
leadership, also worked the productive versus unproductive castes dichotomy
to reveal the exploitative basis of caste relations and hierarchies. They pointed
out that despite wealth being generated by non-Brahmin ‘productive’ castes,
it was appropriated by the Brahmins via temples or when they had to rely on
them for legal counsel and support. The fact that Brahmins also controlled vast
tracts of fertile lands through temples furthered this sense of domination. They
also called for an education that will help improve industrial development
rather than an education that produces clerks who are seen to add little of
value to society.7 Pandian uses this to highlight the difference between the
productivist imagination of the nationalists and the Justice Party; while the
former used it to form a historic bloc to unite against colonial rule, the Justice
Party used it to expose the fault lines within this ‘national’ community and
imagine a historic bloc of a community of producers being exploited by an
elite living off this community. Hence, domination was seen as being exerted
more through the construction of a hegemonic ideology with foundations in
religion rather than control over the means of production. While the Justice
Party continued to represent elite non-Brahmin interests, a few members

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began to engage in mass campaigns that paved the way for intersections
between the elite and subaltern domains.

THE SELF-RESPECT MOVEMENT

Though the SRM was appreciative of the efforts of the Justice Party, Periyar
pointed out that the domination of the Brahmin becomes visible to the
ideologues of the Party only when they occupy positions of power in the
colonial administration. They do not recognise Brahminical power that
pervades the cultural and the social domains, and are often willing to concede
their privileged role in religious rituals and practices. In other words, they
wanted to replace Brahmin elites with another set of elites or broad base the
social composition of elites. Criticising their primary focus on getting a share
of government jobs, he asks what does such an agenda mean for the common
people who continue to labour through their lives and supplicate for material
and spiritual favours because of their religious beliefs (Rajadurai and Geetha
2009: pp. 64–65). Referring to the upper-class status of many of the Justice
Party leaders, he also pointed out that non-Brahmins actually comprise more
than 90 per cent of the population and cannot be confined only to the 5 per
cent who are kings and zamindars (p. 66). Importantly, as Pandian (2007)
notes, the Justice Party did not see caste in relational terms but as a separate
non-Brahmin group that is trying to compete with the Brahmins. Such an
approach fails to recognise that the claim to Brahminhood simultaneously
produces shudrahood and panchamahood. Claims to superiority simultaneously
inferiorise others, and this claim was being made through religion.
Periyar held that the most important dimension of being human, and which
distinguishes them from other animals, is the sense of dignity (maanam) that
can come only through self-respect (suyamariyadhai) (Anaimuthu 1974: Vol. 1,
pp. 3–8). Taking issue with Tilak’s ‘Swaraj is my birthright’ slogan, he argues
that this addressed only the political and the material domain, but does not
speak about the dignity of individuals and their social being. By asserting
that ‘self-respect’ should be our birthright, and not self-rule, Periyar revises
the meaning of freedom and independence vis-à-vis the nationalists. He also

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emphasises experiential equality as fundamental to the idea of equality. Only

when people share a similar experience can they develop a sense of fraternity
and belonging. By interlocking the domain of the material and the cultural–
ideological, upper-caste hegemony denies the possibility of both experiential
and material equality, and hence any degree of self-respect. In the absence
of such equality within a community, self-rule can only be an empty slogan
that conceals the necessity of securing self-respect. He therefore articulated
a demand for ‘equal rights’ that can be claimed by all. This was the basis on
which democracy ought to be imagined. It is the upper castes’ valorisation
of Sanskrit and construction of practices and traditions that privileged their
status, which has managed to sustain a hierarchical society and deny self-
respect to the subaltern castes.
Unlike the Justice Party, the SRM was clear that the demand for communal
representation is not merely about redistribution of jobs and power in the
modern economy. This demand is meant to help erode the power of caste elites,
and therefore to make way for democratisation of social values and realisation of
self-respect. Access to jobs will be helpful, but they are not an end in itself. For
him, access to the English language for example, was important because it was a
language of modernity rather than one of colonial governance. To quote Periyar,

… it is no exaggeration to say that it is the knowledge of English which

kindled the spirit of freedom in our people … which gave us the knowledge
to say ‘no’ to monarchy and ‘yes’ to a republic; to say ‘yes’ to socialism and ‘no’
to Sanathanam. It gave us the knowledge that men and women are equals ...
(Anaimuthu 1974: Vol. 2, pp. 970–71, cited in Pandian 1996)

Agitations against Hindi were thus as much a demand for inclusive modernity
as a demand for restoring to Tamil its status.
Another important shift is the terrain on which politics began to be
carried out by the SRM. As Geetha and Rajadurai (2008) point out, the SRM
transformed into a mass movement that began to draw in various subaltern
communities and caste groups over a period of time. The radical critique of
hegemonic power and the ability to draw in a range of social groups marked
a decisive shift from previous critiques or modes of claim making. The
Dravidian movement could link the diverse critiques of the caste system and

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traditions upholding caste hierarchies and division of labour including Saivite

(Venkatachalapathy 1995), Dalit (Aloysius 1999), socialist and rationalist
critiques into a common frontier, and imagine a politics that could aggregate
these demands. Based on an elaboration of the movement’s understanding
of domination and power, in the next section, we outline the elements of a
programme of emancipation envisioned by the SRM.

T H E D R AV I D I A N D E M A N D

Ideologues of the Dravidian movement held that the caste-based division of

labour not only generated social inequalities but importantly denied economic
opportunities to the lower castes as it tied them to traditional occupations that
were deemed inferior. They drew upon the Enlightenment premise of social
transformation, and held ideas of modernity and modernisation of education
and economy to be critical to undermine social and economic hierarchies. We
already hinted at this in the previous section through Periyar’s support for the
English language. This premise, it must be remembered, was forged in a context
of socioeconomic opportunities being generated by an emerging modern
colonial economy and bureaucracy and being appropriated disproportionately
by the caste elites. The ideologues saw the source of upper-caste power in both
the religious domain and in its ability to monopolise modern education and
hence premium jobs in the modern economy. Periyar held that the caste-based
division of labour perpetuated systemic discrimination against lower castes,
incarcerating them in the world of physical labour. He was also aware of the
control wielded by the north Indian merchant capital within the Congress
and its collusion with the caste elite in driving the nationalist movement. He
was particularly critical of Gandhi’s efforts to cast the village accompanied by
its artisanal craft traditions as the authentic site of Indian regeneration and
made a strong case for liberation of lower castes through escape from such
spaces and occupations. As Aloysius points out, Periyar critiqued village
reconstruction programmes promoted by Gandhi, arguing that it is a political
strategy to arrest the masses within traditional, caste-bound geographical
spaces (Aloysius 2013). He invokes the caste metaphor to talk of rural–urban
hierarchies. To him, the village is a geographical lower caste destined to serve

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the ‘upper caste towns’ and its revival may only reinforce the monopoly over
intellectual capital and mental labour by the upper castes. A move away from
demeaning physical labour marked by inferiorised caste identities, and entry
into modern occupations that were less marked by caste, was therefore seen as
important. Social justice was therefore tied to spatial mobility as well. He also
pointed to the inefficiencies inherent in traditional artisanal production and
called for incorporation of modern production technologies that can render
menial, ritually marked labour, redundant.
Taking up the question of exploitation of labour, he makes a distinction
between the ‘caste-labourer’ and the ‘wage-labourer’ even as he seeks to bring
them together under the Dravidian fold (Vidiyal 2017: pp. 743–44). In India,
people are born as labourers but into different castes that are all invested with
ritually low and impure status. Such caste workers are divided by caste and
made to believe that they are antagonistic to one another, when in fact they
are all denied access to the returns of their labour because of the caste system.
He therefore calls for unity among caste workers and wage workers and insists
that the cadres of the movement communicate the importance of this unity.
This emphasis on the dual identity of the worker, in terms of both class and
caste, also finds resonance in Annadurai’s appeal to the cadres of the political
party Dravida Munnetra Kazhagam (DMK hereafter, formed in 1949 by
C. N. Annadurai to extend the Dravidian political agenda into the electoral
domain) in his book Panathottam.8 In the wake of a strike by textile-mill workers,
he calls upon the cadres to communicate to other poor people, the reasons why
the mill workers are striking and struggling. They are Dravidians too like the rest
of Tamils, he says, and hence it is important that people realise how their fellow
men are being oppressed. He further points out that for the worker,

all that he knows is the struggle that he is going through in his life. To him,
all talk about the Aryan–Dravidian divide may seem like a lot of noise. But
we [meaning cadres of the Dravidian movement] know both. It is therefore
understandable that they may forget us. But it is an unpardonable crime if
we forget them. (Annadurai 2017 [1949]: p. 61)

His simultaneous appeal on two registers, as a fellow Dravidian and a fellow

labourer, thus establishes an equivalence between their class and caste identities.

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Democratising access to modern education and employment in the modern

economy therefore becomes key to undermine caste relations of hierarchy, as
it opens up possibilities to move away from caste-inscribed labour. Movement
from rural to urban too, was seen as a movement from ‘pre-modern’ time–
spaces ridden with caste and gender hierarchies, where work and labour only
serve to reproduce identities, to spaces that potentially allow for new mobilities,
economic and social. While the movement did recognise the importance of
economic-asset-based inequality and economic exploitation of labouring
classes by capitalists and the landowning classes (Rajadurai and Geetha 2009;
Rajadurai 2012), emphasis was placed more on relations of power emanating
from the caste-based division of labour.
To Periyar, redistribution of propery without abolition of caste-based
privileges is unlikely to lead to an egalitarian system because of the entrenched
power of caste elites (Rajadurai 2012; Manoharan 2017). Distribution of
economic assets at one point in time without abolishing caste privilege and
ensuring a sense of self-respect, will only lead to assets going back to the
hands of the upper castes. He used the example of lawyers appropriating
lands from traditional landowners to drive home this point. This vision of
social justice is thus tied to inclusive modernisation, and to the developmental
logic of structural transformation. Justice is therefore linked to the ability to
transform the economy from a predominantly agrarian economy marked by
poor returns, low productivity and caste rigidities to a structurally diversified
and a modernised one. It is also important to elaborate the approach the
movement had towards capital accumulation. Since structural transformation
and modernisation cannot take place without capital accumulation, the
Dravidian ideologues were not antagonistic to it though there was a call
for a strong public sector as well as for strengthening cooperatives. They
envisioned a democratisation of the accumulation process and privileged the
role of regional capital in opposition to the mercantile big business groups
from the north that wielded control in the Presidency and also wrested most
concessions from the government. Annadurai lays out this idea clearly in
his Panathottam. Asserting that manufacturing is the lifeline of any country,
he contends that the reason for the state’s backwardness was essentially the
absence of state support for modern industrialisation.9 He goes on to accuse
the Congress government (then in power in Tamil Nadu) of not being able

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to tap into the region’s geo-economic potential by failing to establish any

economic links with South East Asia (1949: p. 25). He further laments the
siphoning of savings from the state through the banking system to fund the
accumulation of elite north indian business communities. This position against
north Indian big business was accompanied by a demand for public ownership
of industries, and encouragement of local capital.
Another significant aspect of the Dravidian vision is therefore the regional
dimension, and freedom from domination exercised through networks of
pan-Indian power (Manoharan 2020a). Since caste elites sought legitimacy
through the nationalist movement by inscribing their culture into the national,
the Dravidian movement sought to build on the critique of this tradition
through a call for an alternate society characterised by mutual respect and
brotherhood. Given the interlocking of the socio-material domination of
the upper castes with the domination of capital accumulation by mercantile
elite at the pan-Indian level, this alternate society could be realised only at
the subnational level. Importantly, as Pandian evocatively maps (1993),
this imagined community was not based on an appeal to ethnicity but to a
community of the oppressed, be it in terms of caste, gender, language, race,
ethnicity or religion. While Periyar did not believe in territorial nationalism,
the Dravidian movement did hold that its vision of social justice can only be
secured through regional autonomy which became a major agenda ever since
the Dravidian parties have been in power.
The Dravidian movement, through its appeal to the Dravidian-Tamil
identity thus managed to build a Dravidian common-sense that spoke to these
groups simultaneously even though some groups may have adversarial relations
with others. The components of that common-sense may be identified as
the necessity for caste-based reservation, recognition of the importance of a
productivist ethos, broad basing of mobility into the modern economy, regional
autonomy and an anti-Hindi stance because of its links with the scriptural
sanction of caste and gender hierarchies and hence its association with a denial
of substantive democracy. Before we highlight the issues that underlie such
a transformative agenda, we take a brief detour to provide an illustration of
how this common-sense worked and works in the state using the example of
affirmative action, and the recent protests against ban of jallikattu, a traditional
bull-taming sport in the state.

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D R AV I D I A N C O M M O N - S E N S E : T W O I L L U S T R AT I O N S

Affirmative action policies not only enable equality of opportunity but are
also redistributive measures given the scarcity of public goods such as higher
education or secure, well-paid employment. Commenting on affirmative
action policies in India, Piketty (2020) argues that such redistributive measures
have contributed to reducing inequalities between lower castes and the rest of
population. To him, status–based inequality is as durable as that originating
from property. Unlike traditional left mobilisation that saw land reform as the
axis of redistributive politics, Dravidian mobilisation privileged undermining of
status-based power by broad-basing access to education and non-farm jobs as
important pathways to mobility without discounting the role of landed power.
At the all-India level, however, there is considerable evidence on how
provisions on reservation have been consistently subverted (Balagopal 2009).
Courts too, have interpreted laws pertaining to caste-based reservation in
ways that have weakened the effectiveness of such policies (Galanter 1984).
As Galanter points out, ‘the Indian courts … have done little directly to
offer remedies for the deficiencies of implementation of existing schemes …
In part, this is due to the posture of the Constitution, which provides no
explicit authorization for affirmative judicial action’ (1984: p. 544). Caste
elites also often misused the court’s ambiguous interpretation to curtail
their effectiveness. In other words, elites who govern public institutions have
subverted the provisions on reservation using the tacit support rendered by
the arbitrariness of the judiciary. The burden of ensuring the effectiveness of
affirmative action has therefore fallen on the potential beneficiaries from lower
castes, who are forced to appeal to the judiciary at their own risk to enforce the
implementation of reservation.
Tamil Nadu, however, offers a different history. State institutions have not
only provided resources for such cases but have even fought in the courts.10
Civil society too was not hostile to the idea of social justice unlike in several
other states. When the reservation policy (both Mandal I in the 1990s, and
Mandal II in the 2000s) was introduced at the national level, several pro-
reservation rallies were carried out, unlike in north India, which witnessed
huge protests on the streets against it that forced the union government to
a compromise in 2006.11 This support in the state indexes the horizontal

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solidarities that populist mobilisation managed to sustain. The recent spate

of protests against the introduction of a national-level entrance exam for
admission to medical colleges too, was against the elite bias of this move.12
A resonance was built across demands for affirmative action, the language
question and regional autonomy to mobilise against the union government.
This trajectory of mobilisation also is unlike what happened to lower-caste
mobilisation in Bihar (Witsoe 2013). Witsoe reads the emergence of lower-
caste politics in Bihar as populist mobilisation against the upper castes, but the
Tamil case differs on at least two accounts. First, unlike populism in Bihar, it
delivered better economic and social outcomes. Second, populist mobilisation
could sustain the horizontal coalition of disparate caste groups despite
differences across them, whereas backward-caste and Scheduled-Caste (SC)
mobilisations in Bihar and Uttar Pradesh (UP) were dominated by specific
castes within each of these categories. The Dravidian-Tamil identity worked
to build solidarities by muting internal caste divisions among the intermediate
and lower castes. On the contrary, lower-caste mobilisation in the north was
carried out more through valorising individual castes based on mythological
stories of origin within the dominant Hindu fold rather than forging a
cohesive alternative identity like the Dravidian one ( Jaffrelot 2000).
In early 2017, the state witnessed mass protests against the ban on jallikattu,
a bull-taming sport with an ancient lineage in the region, by the Supreme
Court (Himakiran and Nirmala 2020). The ban order was in response to a
case filed by PETA (People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals), and this
was met with the biggest mass protests in the state ever since the anti-Hindi
agitation of the mid-1960s. It was led by youth, cutting across political and
social divides. Once again a discursive link was made between the upper-caste
dominated PETA and the union government’s support for the ban. While
PETA was seen to ignore other kinds of animal cruelty indulged in by the elite
such as horse racing and use of exotic pets, the union government’s support for
the ban was seen as an infringement of the rights of Tamils. In the globalising
Tamil region, this ban was also read as a move by global corporates to take
over the livestock economy and decimate local economies and livelihoods
dependent on indigenous livestock. Jallikattu came to stand for ‘Tamilness’
just as it also stood for destruction of agrarian livelihoods and domination of
the union government in policy-setting. Importantly, this Tamilness appealed

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to several linguistic and ethnic groups in the state, who participated in the
protests (A. Kannan 2017). A particularly suggestive instance is that of a Sikh
actively participating in the protests in Coimbatore because he identified with
this tradition! Sriramachandran (2018), similarly points out how the non-
Brahmin–Dravidian equivalence enabled the non-Brahmin Telugu-speaking
community to identify with the movement just as Tamil-speaking Muslims
have also been closely associated with it (Anwar 2018). It is this encompassing
non-essentialising mode of constructing the Dravidian-Tamil identity that
allowed for the building of such horizontal solidarities.
To sum up, the movement succeeded in aggregating a range of social groups
marked by class, caste, linguistic, religious and ethnic diversity, by establishing
a chain of equivalence across these groups, and communicating a political
logic of difference vis-à-vis elite nationalism and caste elites. Laclau (2005)
argues that it is the very impreciseness or vagueness of populism that many
see as problematic that makes populist mobilisation possible. According to
him, the imprecise nature of the political appeal made by ‘populist’ leaders or
movements allows them to aggregate a range of interest groups or classes that
may otherwise be antagonistic to each other. However, the building of such
horizontal solidarities around a signifier like the Dravidian-Tamil identity also
has implications for particularistic demands as well as for political possibilities
after populism gets institutionalised within a state apparatus.

L I M I T S : E Q U I VA L E N C E S T O D I F F E R E N C E S

As we stated earlier, populist mobilisation in Tamil Nadu subsumed

particularistic demands by sub-groups around other identities like Adi
Dravidar, Shudra, Christian or Muslim, agricultural or industrial worker,
small farmer or woman, under a universalist Tamil/Dravidian political frontier
against caste elites and those who upheld caste hierarchies, and those who
wielded pan Indian political and economic power. While discrete demands can
only be addressed through demand-specific interventions, it is through political
labour that one can build an array of equivalences among several demands. This
is done through what Chatterjee describes as ‘rhetorical and performative and
other modes of representation of grievances’ (2019: p. 83). Political parties and

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popular leaders rhetorically tie together the various unfulfilled demands of

these heterogeneous populations into chains of equivalence.
Building of equivalence implies a partial surrender of a particularistic
demand. The process happens, as Laclau writes, ‘through a partial surrender of
particularity, stressing what all particularities have, equivalentially, in common’
(2005: p. 78). For Laclau, entry of any particular demand in an equivalential
chain is therefore a mixed blessing (p. 88). While its incorporation within a
larger political frontier makes this particularistic demand legible by becoming
part of an ‘institutional ensemble’, it does not, however, guarantee that this
equivalential chain—the constructed people and its populist demand—
necessarily addresses all individual or particular group demands. It may
therefore generate possibilities of new political frontiers and enemies. Further,
such a populist project can also take a resilient form by making the divide
permanent. As Pierre Rosanvallon points out, it often ‘becomes a compulsive
and permanent stigmatization of the ruling authorities, to the point where
these authorities are seen as radically alien enemy powers’ (p. 268).13 This
freezing and essentialising of identities, and of the political enemy, is a distinct
possibility as many right populist mobilisations suggest.
Another problem with such a construction of a popular community is that
some would gain more than others. The relationship among many of these groups
is also still hierarchical. As Chatterjee (2019) argues, ‘the people’ can become
a floating signifier—changing over time—that can exclude some and include
others. Once power gets institutionalised within administrative structures, the
logic of difference takes over that of equivalence. It is in this context that one has
to visit Dalit critiques of the Dravidian-Tamil identity, which are premised on
the contention that intermediate castes have used the Dravidian identity only
to marginalise their demands. Successful populism is one which can change its
strategies to accommodate emerging demands and contradictions in response
to particularistic demands and yet maintain the relation of equivalence. Such
populist politics need not also be transformative always. It might ensure a degree
of inclusion and participation in the power structures but may not necessarily
address the demands of specific groups, say that of specific sub-castes or women.
Recent attempts by Hindutva groups to delink ‘Tamil’ from ‘non-Brahmin’ are
suggestive of this possibility (Pandian 2012).

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The degree of radicalisation of demands decides the level of transformation

of institutions and the degree of responsiveness of those institutions. However,
over time, when some of these claims get institutionalised, they generate limits
to further radicalisation of demands. The trajectory of contemporary Tamil
polity and its contradictions needs to be therefore understood as emerging
from the exhaustion of institutionalisation of claims as well as an outcome
of shifts taking place in the larger macro-environment. Importantly, there are
also limits posed by the process of modernisation itself, which in turn feeds
into the trajectory that populist regimes can assume.

INSTITUTIONALISING POPULISM

Gramsci articulated the importance of building a ‘national popular’ will

by a political force so as to forge a common vision of social change by
incorporating subaltern sections into the political process (Forgacs 2000:
pp. 364–70). The emergence of this popular will was crucial to him for
substantive social transformation. The emergence of a Dravidian common-
sense that we elaborated above approximates such a ‘national popular’ will.
How does that translate into specific interventions when populist forces are
institutionalised within structures of state power? We analytically divide
the history of populist policy-making in the state into two broad domains,
the ‘social popular’ and the ‘economic popular’. While both share certain
common characteristics, this distinction helps us to analytically organise
different policy processes and interventions in the state. Let us begin with
the social popular. We define the social popular as a distinct set of policy
interventions that are rights-based interventions such as ensuring inclusive
access to modern sectors and public goods such as health and education,
the bureaucracy and organised-sector employment. The process ensures
the rights of the excluded such as lower castes and women, and tends to
undermine the underlying social basis for generating unequal outcomes
through claim-making in the long run. Such interventions have a long-
term programmatic commitment, and seek to address the basis of social
backwardness such as caste and gender hierarchies.

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While policies in the social popular are rooted in the desire for democratisation
of power and access, ‘economic popular’ policies are rooted in patronage and
emanate from governmental imperatives. Introducing welfare provisions or
economic benefits for specific groups of the population falls under this domain.
Here, policy interventions are meant to address specific grievances of specific
groups, and therefore work on the logic of difference and not equivalence. The
social and the economic popular are therefore differentiated based on both their
intent and content. While the social popular seeks to enable the social basis for
change, the latter tends to be status quoist. They also differ in terms of temporality.
Social popular interventions imagine and adopt a longer timescale as they engage
with factors that reproduce social domination. The economic popular follows
the temporality of the election cycle, and tends to generate interventions that
depoliticise poverty. The outcomes are likely to overlap between the two domains
with the economic popular helping groups to be mobilised on a social popular
agenda. We suggest that when populism was institutionalised through capture
of state power, three broad domains were transformed. One, it laid certain basic
foundations for structural transformation through investments in economic
and social infrastructure. Second, it democratised state institutions including
the bureaucracy and access to the modern economy. Third, it managed to build
a confident people with a broad-based ‘capacity to aspire’ (Appadurai 2004).
However, over time, the potential for such social popular interventions reaches
a limit, and hence loses the capacity to build electoral support. Privatisation of
higher education and decline in the role of the public sector, for example, implies
a reduced role for affirmative action. Universalisation of primary education
loses electoral appeal once it is achieved. When the social popular exhausts its
potential for further intervention, the economic popular assumes importance.
Wyatt’s contention (2013a) that the state has managed to combine universal
programmatic policies with clientelist ones indicates the working of the
combined logic of the social and the economic popular.
We illustrate this distinction with concrete examples. After the DMK
came to power in 1967, it constituted the first Backward Classes Commission
to ensure adequate representation for the excluded and marginalised in the
bureaucracy and equal opportunities for them in modern sectors. Following
this, the state implemented a constantly reworked affirmative action policy to
address caste-based inequalities. It also tried to bring in a policy of reservation

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to address rural–urban and class-based disparities—by offering preferences to

rural students and first-generation graduates, respectively, in higher education
(Pandian 2012). It validated self-respect marriages14 and then passed the Equal
Inheritance Act in 1989 for daughters. It also legislated to weaken the power
of landlords and enabled tenants to claim titles, and further, undermined rural
power structures by abolishing hereditary posts in villages and appointing
village administrative officers recruited through the state public service
commission. These interventions helped transform social hierarchies based on
caste and gender, and broad based aspirations among the lower castes.
We now turn to the economic popular. While policies formulated under the
DMK laid the foundation for economic transformations that became visible in
the 1990s, such policies of transformation were not always helpful electorally.
As a result, both Dravidian parties moved into the economic popular—welfare
interventions such as provision of loan waivers and household assets like
television sets, laptops, bicycles, mixies and grinders. While social popular
interventions can translate into redistribution of assets like human capital,
economic popular interventions can be socially empowering such as provision
free noon meals for school children or of bicycles for high-school attending
girl children. While both parties adopted economic popular strategies, the All
India Anna Dravida Munnetra Kazhagam (AIADMK) has been proactive
in this regard. We offer an illustration of how similar interventions can be
distinguished by their popular logic.
The DMK brought an amendment15 to the Hindu Succession Act, 1956
to ensure equal shares for women in ancestral property. Along with this,
the party also brought in many schemes including the Anjugam Ammaiyar
inter-caste marriage assistance scheme and the Dr Dharmambal Ammaiyar
Memorial Widow Remarriage Scheme, which were meant to be incentives
to undermine caste and gender hierarchies, in line with the interpretation of
the women’s question by the SRM (Anandhi 1991). While these schemes are
rooted in normative ideals of social justice and located in the domain of the
social popular, they did not translate into electoral dividends. As a result, many
of the schemes introduced in the post-1990 period fall under the category of
the economic popular. For example, one of the existing schemes was reworked
by the AIADMK as Thalikku Thangam Thittam(Gold for Marriage) which
was hugely popular among women. Named after the social activist Moovalur

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 T H E D R AV I D I A N M O D E L

Ramamirtham, the scheme offers four grams of gold and cash of up to INR
50,000 to poor women for marriage if they have completed a degree or a
diploma. Though it was meant to incentivise girl students to pursue higher
education before marriage, it is designed more as a clientelist scheme.
While both types of schemes share welfare content, the former is still located
within a narrative of gender and caste justice whereas the latter assumes the form
of patronage. The legislation on equal property share for women for instance, was
an outcome of a long-term narrative around ensuring women equal access to
property. The ‘gold for marriage’ scheme, on the other hand, was not rooted within
such a mobilisational logic. The economic popular is contingent and driven by
immediate electoral compulsions, while the social popular is programmatic and
guided by certain normative ideals. In Laclau’s (2005) words, while the social
popular works on a populist logic of equivalence, the economic popular largely
operates on the differential logic of governmentality. This is, however, not to
suggest that there has to be necessarily a sequential logic to this process. Economic
popular policies may be implemented in conjunction with social popular policies
though the latter’s exhaustion drives the former more intensely. The electoral
appeal of economic popular interventions becomes particularly important in a
context where modernisation, however inclusive, fails to deliver on its promises.
The logic of economic popular interventions is therefore also implicated
in another imperative. A major variable that is seldom taken into account to
explain the limits of populist regimes is the limits inherent to the logic of
modernisation and structural transformation. A standard assumption that
informed political support for modernisation is that an expansion of the
modern non-agricultural domain, capitalist or otherwise, ensures the transition
of a substantial share of households from agriculture into this domain. In
other words, once this sector expands, it should be able to absorb the labour
force being released from agriculture. Recent studies, however, point out
that such a transition is increasingly becoming impossible in the Global
South due to a variety of factors (Sanyal 2007; Ferguson 2015). Populations are
rendered irrelevant to the process of capital accumulation. A populist regime
that has sought to generate inclusive modernisation has to therefore confront
and respond to the emerging limits of this process. We argue that this factor,
which has not been recognised adequately, actually plays an important role in
shaping policies of populist regimes in the state.

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 C onceptualising P ower in C aste S ociety

I M P L I C AT I O N S

The outline of our framework thus helps to identify our analytical departures
from previous interpretations of the state’s trajectory and also some earlier
readings of the nature of mobilisation. In Subramanian’s understanding of the
Dravidian, for example there was no space for the Brahmin or for the Dalit
(1999: p. 105). The latter assertion that the movement was essentially meant to
represent the interests of elite segments of the backward castes has a longer
history and continues to be assumed by many subsequent scholars of Tamil
Nadu (Lakshman 2011; Gorringe 2017; Harriss and Wyatt 2019). Subramanian
also claims that it was because of electoral politics that the Dravidian parties
had to accommodate the interests of the Dalits by offering them a series of
welfare measures.16 In class terms, the Dravidian movement represented the
propertied, the small producers and educated unemployed youth (Barnett
1976) and did not represent the working classes. Failing to address the interests
of the working classes and the lower castes, they were outdone in this regard
by the AIADMK, which split from the DMK in the mid-1970s.
This interpretation of the Dravidian mobilisation as we delineate earlier is,
however, incorrect. Subramanian’s account of the history of the SRM as one
working with essentialised racial categories or marginalising Dalits has been
countered by scholars like Pandian (2000), Rajadurai and Geetha (2009), Punitha
Pandian (2017a and 2017b), Subagunarajan (2018), Thirumavelan (2018) and most
recently, by Manoharan (2020b), among others. His reading of the factors driving
the two sets of policies also therefore does not resonate with the political logic of
Dravidian mobilisation or with the structural factors that circumscribe its politics.
Our study of Tamil Nadu is therefore meant to not only offer a better explanation
of outcomes and the development trajectory in the state, but also meant to open
up a conversation on mobilisation against status based inequalities and the limits
of its institutionalisation within a framework of inclusive modernisation.

NOTES

1 Defined as ‘empirically prevailing states of consciousness of ordinary people’

(Chatterjee 2011: 146)

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 T H E D R AV I D I A N M O D E L

2 Different phases of the emergence and evolution of the Dravidian

movement can be distinguished (Anandhi 1991). For the purpose of this
book, we use the term ‘Dravidian movement’ or ‘mobilisation’ to refer to all
the following movements and parties: the Self-Respect Movement and the
Dravidar Kazhagam (DK) initiated by Periyar, and the Dravida Munnetra
Kazhagam (DMK) started by C.N Annadurai. Though the Justice Party
articulated issues of caste-based discrimination and inclusive modernisation,
it is the SRM and then the DK and the DMK that radicalised and broad
based mobilisation against caste. The DMK went on to capture power in
1967 after which its splinter, the AIADMK and the DMK have alternated
in power in the state. We use the term ‘Dravidian parties’ to refer to the
DMK and the AIADMK.
3 Today’s Tamil Nadu was named as such in 1968 and constitutes much of
erstwhile Madras presidency. The presidency was divided mostly among
three states- Andhra Pradesh in 1953, Kerala and Karnataka in 1956.
4 We use Brahminical Hinduism as a religious practice that sanctions caste
hierarchy—pan-Indian and rooted in Sanskrit. While this term is close
to M.N. Srinivas’ conception of Sanskritic Hinduism, we treat its sanctity
of caste hierarchy as its core. For Srinivas’ conception, see Fuller and
Narashimhan (2014).
5 By subaltern historic bloc, we refer to the emergence of a new articulated
relationship between subaltern classes and intellectual practices as part of a
political mobilisation, whereby members of the subaltern classes themselves
constitute the leadership (drawn from Sotiris 2018). Though Gramsci refers
to this formation in the context of imagining and mobilising alternatives to
capitalism, here we use it to refer to the emergence of a bloc that envisions a
politics against caste hierarchies.
6 As Pandian (2007) observes, it shows how the ideas put forward by the
Madras School of Orientalists, who proposed a distinct set of Dravidian
languages, began to be assimilated. While the Brahmins were comfortable
in their Aryan identity, this allowed for a coalescence of the rest.
7 We address this in more detail in Chapter 5 in this volume.
8 Published originally in 1949, it can be translated as ‘Garden of Money’.
9 ‘Manufacturing is the lifeline (uyirnaadi) of any country’ (Annadurai 2017
[1949]: p. 44).

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 C onceptualising P ower in C aste S ociety

10 For instance, besides filing a petition in the Supreme Court seeking

exception from the court ceiling that reservation shall not exceed 50 per
cent in India, the state was the first to move a constitutional amendment
to protect its reservation of 69 per cent. In the state assembly, it also
unanimously passed an act, The Tamil Nadu Backward Classes, Scheduled
Castes and Scheduled Tribes (Reservation of Seats in Educational
Institutions and of Appointments or Posts in the Services under the State)
Act, 1993, and appealed to the union government to place it under the ninth
schedule of the Indian Constitution to protect it from judicial review.
11 The union government introduced a constitutional amendment—the
Central Educational Institutions (Reservation and Admission) Act, 2006—
providing for 27 per cent reservation for Other Backward Classes (OBCs) in
institutions of higher education; the elites opposed this across north India
forcing the union government to expand the educational infrastructure in
these institutions and increase the number of seats by 54 per cent so that the
number of open quota seats for elites will remain the same.
12 This is discussed in greater detail in Chapter 3 in this volume.
13 Elite stigmatisation, alien and not Tamil enough.
14 The Amendment Act (Number 21 of 1967) made self-respect marriages an
option for couples who did not want to go through with the rituals and
sanctions of traditional Hindu marriages.
15 Tamil Nadu Act 1 of 1990, section 2 with effect from March 25, 1989.
16 This understanding of the material basis of political mobilisation in the state
draws partly from earlier characterisations of the movement by Cambridge
school historians (Baker 1976; Washbrook 1977 cited by Pandian 1995). To
them, the non-Brahmin mobilisation in the state was essentially in terms
of a political faction vying for space with other factions in colonial India.
In this narrative, non-Brahmin elites essentially mobilised to demand a
greater share of the spoils of the colonial economy, which was otherwise
monopolised by the Brahmins. They were seen as a faction supported by a
dominant elite whose interests it sought to protect rather than a movement
based on horizontal solidarities questioning the dominant order.

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 3

DEMOCRATISING EDUCATION

In September 2018, a Dalit family in Kuzhumur, a village in the backward

district of Ariyalur, built a library housing 2,500 books and computers with
online access (TNM 2018). Making a case for the initiative, members of the
family said that this will help rural children access educational materials that are
normally available only to children from urban elite households. Supported by
various political parties, the library was to commemorate the memory of their
daughter Anitha, who had committed suicide a year earlier when she failed to
get admission into a medical college despite scoring 1,176 marks out of 1,200
in her school final exams. These marks were the sole basis for admission into
medical colleges in the state before introduction of the National Eligibility
Cum Entrance Test (NEET), a national-level eligibility-cum-entrance exam
for admissions, overturned the basis for eligibility, and rendered such high
marks irrelevant. Anitha’s death fuelled large-scale protests all over the state
and constituted an important moral axis for subsequent agitations around this
issue. Since then, a couple of more teens committed suicide following their
failure to clear NEET (Ranjan 2019). This raises important questions about
aspirations and access to education in the state: What made such aspirations
the norm for many lower-caste youth? When NEET failed to evoke similar
resistance in other parts of the country, why did it become a major concern in
Tamil Nadu?
Such aspiration, we argue, is rooted in a Dravidian common-sense that
made access to modern education a key pathway to mobility and social justice.
This chapter explains the forging of this common-sense and such aspirations
among lower-caste groups, and the policy response in this domain. We draw
upon Arjun Appadurai’s (2004) conceptualisation of the ‘capacity to aspire’
 D emocratising E ducation

to map the constitution of aspirations among subaltern groups in the state.

Appadurai defines the ‘capacity to aspire’ as the cultural capacity of the poor
to find the resources required to contest and alter or improve the course of
their destiny. For him, such a capacity comprises of two domains of freedom.
First it requires removal of material deprivation rooted in backwardness in
education and poverty. The second involves securing dignity and respect that
are denied by low status aspirations vis a vis the elites. While we address the
issue of poverty and employment in Chapters 6 and 7, here we argue that the
Dravidian demand for self-respect through access to modern education was
critical in generating such capacities to aspire. This milieu in turn incentivised
a series of policy measures aimed at creating educational infrastructure as well
as broad-basing access. This has led to not only high levels of literacy in the
state across social groups but has also enabled the entry of nearly 50 per cent of
youth finishing school into tertiary education. We point out that while ‘social
popular’ policies towards universalising primary education, and affirmative
action policies in higher education played an important role in this regard,
they were supplemented by ‘economic popular’ policies like the free noon-
meals scheme for school children and group-specific economic incentives and
subsidies that reduced the cost of education.
We begin with mapping school educational outcomes and demonstrate
how the state has done better not just in terms of educational levels but also
in the rate of change in outcomes. We then relate the outcomes to certain
deliberate institutional interventions. The chapter traces the policy processes
that generated intermediate outcomes such as creating school infrastructures
and initiatives to retain students in schools. We highlight the political roots of
such policies, and establish continuity in processes and interventions in broad-
basing access to education since the formation of the Justice Party. We then
focus on the state’s achievements in higher education. As education is a subject
in the concurrent list, we point out how the state-level higher education policy
evolved and interacted with that of the union government. We demonstrate
how the state used caste-based reservation to democratise education. We also
draw attention to how this led to broad-based human capital formation, even
as it fed into collective aspirations for democratising access to education that
in turn shaped subsequent policy response. Importantly, the emergence of such
a common-sense ensured that lower-caste groups saw reservation policies as

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their rightful entitlement and forced institutions to respond to their demands

unlike in most parts of the country.

E D U C AT I O N A L O U T C O M E S

In terms of literacy, Tamil Nadu ranked fourth among the major states
in 2017–18, a marginal improvement from its fifth position in 1993–94
(Table 3.1). Tamil Nadu fares slightly better compared to Gujarat and
Maharashtra. In fact, the literacy rate in Tamil Nadu was slightly lower
(67 per cent) than that of Maharashtra (68 per cent) in 1993–94. The state
has therefore, over time, improved its relative position. Another important
measure in educational outcomes is current attendance, which indicates the
current participation of the population in various educational institutions.
The state again performs better in comparison to most states and the all-
India average. By 1993–94, about 83 per cent of children in the age group
of 6–14 years were in school in Tamil Nadu compared to just 71 per cent at
the all-India level. The corresponding figures for Gujarat and Maharashtra
were 78 per cent and 85 per cent, respectively. It improved to 99 per cent in
2017–18 compared to 97 per cent for both Gujarat and Maharashtra, and the
all-India average of 95 per cent. Importantly, such outcomes are caste and
class-inclusive.
Caste-based division of labour hierarchised intellectual over manual
work, and resulted in exclusion of lower castes from formal education
(Omvedt 2011). The extent to which lower-caste groups have been able to
access education therefore becomes an important yardstick in understanding
the role and nature of state intervention in democratising education. Caste
groups which have historically been denied or had restricted access to
education have performed better in educational outcomes in Tamil Nadu
(Table 3.2). The literacy rate for Scheduled Castes (SCs) and Scheduled
Tribes (STs) was 77 per cent in 2017–18 for the age of 6 and above in Tamil
Nadu against 75 per cent in Gujarat and Maharashtra, and 70 per cent at
the all-India level. As the table indicates, the state has done better than the
other two states despite having similar or lower rates in the early 1990s. As

54
 D emocratising E ducation

Table 3.1 Basic Educational Outcome

Current Enrolment
Literacy for Age 6 and Above for Age 6–14
States 1993–94 Rank 2017–18 Rank 1993–94 2017–18
Andhra Pradesh 47.6 14 65.8 16 66.5 96.7
Assam 70.9 2 87.0 2 80.8 98.3
Bihar 43.2 16 72.7 13 56.5 93.0
Gujarat 64.5 6 82.6 5 78.2 96.9
Haryana 61.3 9 79.0 9 81.1 97.2
Himachal Pradesh 68.6 3 86.0 3 91.0 98.6
Karnataka 57.5 10 75.7 11 75.4 98.0
Kerala 91.7 1 94.2 1 95.2 99.7
Madhya Pradesh 49.6 12 74.0 12 64.8 94.9
Maharashtra 68.3 4 81.7 7 84.8 97.4
Orissa 51.2 11 76.1 10 66.7 99.0
Punjab 63.3 8 82.0 6 82.2 97.6
Rajasthan 44.5 15 70.5 15 60.5 94.3
Tamil Nadu 67.2 5 82.8 4 82.5 99.3
Uttar Pradesh 48.7 13 71.7 14 63.7 91.4
West Bengal 63.5 7 79.7 8 71.3 96.0
All-India 57.2 76.8 71.2 95.3
Source: Estimated from NSSO– Employment-Unemployment Survey (EUS) 50th round and Periodic
Labour Force Survey, Ministry of Statistics and Programme Implementation (PLFS) 2017–18.

the Other Backward Classes (OBCs) were not enumerated as a separate

category in surveys conducted in the 1990s, we do not have data to compare
shifts over time. But the latest data (2017–18) shows that the literacy rate
among OBCs in the state is 84 per cent, compared to 81 per cent, 82 per cent
and 77 per cent for Maharashtra, Gujarat and the all-India level, respectively.
The state once again ranks fourth with regard to literacy levels of OBCs,
among the major states.
The state performs better in terms of current attendance among lower-caste
groups as well. In 2017–18, it retained 99 per cent of children between the ages
of 6 and 14 years among SCs/STs as against 97 per cent in Maharashtra and
94 per cent in Gujarat and at the all-India level. Twenty years earlier, such
attendance for children of the same age among SCs/STs was 77 per cent in

55
 Table 3 .2 Educational Indicators by Caste Groups

Literacy for Age 6 and Above Current Enrolment for Age 6–14
1993–94 2017–18 1993–94 2017–18
States SC/STs Non-SCs SC/STs Non-SCs OBCs SC/STs Non-SCs SC/STs Non-SCs OBCs
Andhra Pradesh 32.2 52.1 64.2 66.4 61.7 53.9 70.5 93.9 97.8 97.7
Assam 69.8 71.1 88.2 86.6 86.6 83.8 80.0 99.0 98.1 96.9
Bihar 27.0 49.4 60.8 76.2 73.9 41.8 61.9 89.9 94.0 93.2
Gujarat 52.6 68.9 74.8 85.5 81.9 73.6 80.0 93.7 98.2 98.4
Haryana 48.0 65.7 72.3 81.5 79.9 71.6 85.0 96.4 97.5 97.5
Himachal Pradesh 62.2 70.7 82.3 87.8 89.1 88.7 91.8 99.3 98.3 99.4
Karnataka 40.1 62.8 66.3 78.6 76.0 65.0 78.8 96.1 98.7 98.7
Kerala 82.3 92.7 84.7 95.2 94.7 93.6 95.4 99.1 99.7 99.8
Madhya Pradesh 34.8 59.6 64.5 80.3 77.3 52.2 73.3 92.2 96.8 96.1
Maharashtra 52.3 71.5 74.5 83.9 80.7 72.9 87.5 96.9 97.6 98.0
Orissa 33.1 63.3 68.6 81.6 78.1 52.0 77.0 98.9 99.0 98.7
Punjab 46.8 71.5 74.1 86.3 81.4 69.0 89.8 96.9 98.1 97.2
Rajasthan 29.3 51.0 64.5 73.9 70.4 43.2 67.9 91.4 96.2 95.6
Tamil Nadu 52.0 71.6 76.9 84.7 84.2 77.2 84.1 99.3 99.1 99.0
Uttar Pradesh 33.1 53.1 66.1 73.6 71.0 52.2 66.9 90.2 91.9 91.4
West Bengal 51.3 69.9 72.7 83.3 81.4 63.6 75.8 95.5 96.3 96.4
All-India 41.4 62.9 69.8 79.7 76.5 59.6 75.5 93.9 96.0 95.4
Source: Estimated from NSSO–EUS 50th round and PLFS 2017–18.
 D emocratising E ducation

Tamil Nadu as against 73 per cent in Maharashtra and 74 per cent in Gujarat,
while at the all-India level, it was 60 per cent. The state has thus achieved
universal coverage in retaining children in schools across caste groups.
However, indicators such as dropout rates and the extent to which different
caste groups enter into higher education are equally important in this regard.
Caste gap in educational attainment in Tamil Nadu is almost zero in school
education among the current generation unlike among previous generations,
showing that inter-caste differences in attainment of school education are
eroding over time. Both micro and macro studies affirm this trend in the
state.1
Tamil Nadu does well in most other educational indicators as well.
It ranks first in terms of gross enrolment ratio in middle school, and third
in terms of the composite index of elementary education. As per the last
educational development index (averages of access, infrastructure, teachers
and outcomes) computed by the National University of Educational Planning
and Administration (NUEPA), Tamil Nadu tops among the major states.2
The latest report on the performance grading index (PGI), released by the
Ministry of Human Resource Development (MHRD) (2017–18), also
places the state at the top in terms of access and equity, and in fifth place in
infrastructure.3 The learning outcome has, however, been a source of concern.
Though Tamil Nadu is one of the two states where learning outcomes in public
schools are better than in private schools (Balagopal and Vijayabaskar 2018),
overall learning outcomes are relatively poor with the report placing the state
in the seventeenth position. We now move on to map how improvements in
infrastructure made educational attainments possible.

SCHOOL INFRASTRUCTURE

Though there has been an increase in enrolment of children in private schools in

recent years (Government of Tamil Nadu 2017), government schools continue
to dominate provisioning of education in the state. As per the Annual Status
of Education Report (ASER) 2018, about 68 per cent of school children (age
6–14) are still enroled in goverment and government-aided schools in Tamil
Nadu.4 Currently, the government runs 66 per cent of elementary schools and

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 T H E D R AV I D I A N M O D E L

52 per cent of secondary schools in the state. As per the TNHDR (Government
of Tamil Nadu 2017), the state not only has one of the best indices of
infrastructure for primary schools such as availability of drinking water, separate
toilets for girls and electricity, it has also ensured better human resources (also
see Table 3.3).
The average pupil–teacher ratio and pupil–classroom ratio is lower in Tamil
Nadu as compared to the all-India average. The NITI (National Institution
for Transforming India) Aayog’s school education quality index (SEQI)
for the year 2016–17 classifies Tamil Nadu and Kerala as the best in school
education in India. The ranking is based on 30 indicators including single-
teacher schools, percentage of schools meeting teacher norms, transition rates
of students from one level to another, schools with libraries or reading rooms,
and so on. This emphasis on primary education goes against the argument that
Weiner (1990) makes that India’s education policy has been historically biased
towards elites.
Myron Weiner points out in his landmark study, The Child and the State
in India (1990), that though the Indian Constitution guaranteed free and
compulsory education under its directive principles, it was hardly translated
into practice. Attention was instead given to higher education for elites.5
Inequality in access to education got translated into inequality in other
economic domains including wage differentials. Indian elites in fact sustained

Table 3.3 Basic Infrastructure in Primar y Schools (2015)

Percentage of schools with:

Separate Schools
Kitchen shed Drinking Urinal toilet for having
States for cooking water for boys girls electricity
Andhra Pradesh 55.6 93.9 99.6 99.6 91.7
Karnataka 94.8 100 98.9 99.5 96.8
Kerala 92.9 99.5 96.9 98.5 95.6
Gujarat 96.1 100 99.9 99.9 99.2
Maharashtra 90.2 99.6 98.8 99.1 90.6
Tamil Nadu 96.6 100 99.6 99.8 98.6
India 79.8 95.8 96.5 97.0 52.4
Source: National University of Educational Planning and Administration (2017):
U-DISE 2015–16, School Education in India: Flash Statistics.

58
 D emocratising E ducation

their position at the top by denying education to a substantial proportion of

the population. Based on his fieldwork, Weiner notes:

Many orthodox high-caste Hindus regard it as sacrilegious that members of

the lower castes should read sacred texts, or that girls should learn to master
writing. The notion that it is unnecessary (and even undesirable) for lower
castes to acquire education is not easily shaken by schools [sic] teachers,
many of whom regard lower-caste children as unfit for studies. (1990: 139)

If the orthodox elites used a religious basis to deny education to the majority,
the modern elite thought ‘… bookish learning in the schools might lead the
lower castes and classes to give up menial work and seek white-collar positions
…’ (p. 139). Such caste elitism, according to Weiner, gets reflected in schools
operating in India. Further, for Weiner, this elitism also translated into low
regard for and ascription of low value to school teaching. Moreover, according
to him, the divide between mental and manual labour gets re-enacted through
the modern education system.

The Indian position rests on deeply held beliefs that there is a division
between people who work with their minds and rule and people who work
with their hands and are ruled, and that education should reinforce rather
than break down this division. (Weiner 1990: p. 5)

The low level of public expenditure, particularly in primary education, can

therefore be explained by such elitism. Though recent efforts at the national
level have sought to counter this elitism (Harriss 2017), Tamil Nadu has a
longer history of addressing this bias.

P U B L I C E X P E N D I T U R E O N E D U C AT I O N

Though the state ranks only eighth in terms of per capita expenditure on
education, the quality and composition of expenditure has made a difference.
Over time, the state has steadily shifted its priority from primary to higher
levels of education to match the growing demand. In 2015–16, the state’s social

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 T H E D R AV I D I A N M O D E L

expenditure was around 39 per cent of its total expenditure, out of which
expenditure on education has been around 46 per cent, and accounted for 2.3
per cent of the gross state domestic product (GSDP) (Shanmugam 2018). Of
the total expenditure on education, school education alone accounts for about
84 per cent, with a shift in emphasis from primary to secondary education
over time. About 70 per cent of its educational expenditure (revenue) was on
primary education in 1955–56, which came down to 52 per cent in 1980–81.
During this period, the share of secondary education has gone up from 20 per
cent to 29 per cent, and the share of higher education has gone up from 11 per
cent to 19 per cent (Madras Institute of Development Studies 1988). The state
has thus gradually diversified its resources to secondary and higher education
once primary education infrastructure was deemed sufficient. It was also one
of the first states to have a separate directorate for primary education (Madras
Institute of Development Studies 1988).
Efficient public expenditure also implies lesser expenses for households.
As per the National Sample Survey (NSS) 71st round (2014), the average
expenditure of a higher secondary student in a government school in Tamil
Nadu is INR 2,862, which is less than half the all-India average of INR 6,916
(2016: pp. 103–04). The corresponding expenditure in Maharashtra is as high
as INR 8,788, while it is INR 9,179 in Gujarat, amounting to three times
what a student in Tamil Nadu has to spend. Even the expenditure that an
upper-primary or a secondary student incurs in a government school in Tamil
Nadu, of INR 1,518 and INR 2,171, respectively, is again lower than that of the
two states or the all-India average. The lower expenditure is a consequence
of several financial incentives that have improved over time to ensure that
children from less privileged backgrounds enter schools. While we dicuss
some of the schemes in a later section, we locate these interventions as an
imperative of a century-long mobilisation, in the next section.

M O B I L I S I N G T O D E M O C R AT I S E

As we establish in Chapter 2, political mobilisation in the state was primarily

against caste-based discrimination in access to various domains, and towards
abolition of caste. The pre-history of the Dravidian movement (Arasu 2012;

60
 D emocratising E ducation

Kaali 2018) combined with the monopoly of upper castes in the domain of
modern education and employment laid the foundations for a strong political
premise that broad basing of education is critical to securing social justice.
We must also mention here the role played by Christian missionaries in
introducing education in the Presidency. The Presidency in fact accounted
for the largest number of schools in the country (Narayan 2018). The idea of
modern education as a key resource also permeated in Tamil society, with
a number of caste associations and prominent leaders from non-Brahmin
castes building schools in different parts of the region. This awareness about
the importance of modern education and consequent demand for education
also translated into the government expanding the scope of public schooling
in the Presidency. As early as in the 1930s, compulsory primary education
became a component of the fourteen-point programme that Periyar made
for the Justice Party (Arooran 1980: p. 181). While the Justice Party saw that
access to education was access to power, Periyar’s interpretation laid an even
more persuasive basis for democratisation of power through educational
mobility.
Even before the Justice Party came to power in 1920, mobilisation by
lower-caste groups and representations to the colonial government through
their associations led to the passing of a government order (GO) in 1919
(Home: Education No. 329; cited in Rasathurai 2009: pp. 79–82). The order
pointed out that separate schools for panchama students cannot be a long-
term solution to bringing more and more students from untouchable
communities into schools. Based on reports submitted by officials from
various parts of the Presidency, it goes on to highlight how discriminatory
practices among upper-caste students and their families prevent low-caste
students from enrolling in common schools. Importantly the GO points
to the micro geographies of caste power that constituted and enabled such
discrimination and exclusion. Articulating the importance of subverting the
basis of such spatial control wielded by the upper castes, the GO suggests
the following, among others, to end such discrimination. To begin with,
it says that wherever schools are located in upper-caste neighbourhoods,
efforts should be made by school authorities to move the school to locations
which are less infused with caste power. Further, wherever schools are run on
rented premises owned by landowners who do not want panchama children

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in their schools, local education authorities should make efforts to move the
schools out of such premises. The GO also insists that any new school that
will be set up ought to get a certificate stating that it is located in a place that
can be accessed by people from all castes before it can claim public money for
setting up or running. Finally, it insists that the Director of Education and
the heads of zilla parishads and urban local bodies submit annual reports on
activities undertaken on these aspects to the government (Rasathurai 2009:
pp. 79–82).

L I N K I N G M E A L P R O V I S I O N I N G T O E D U C AT I O N

Apart from an increase in the number of schools, one of the earliest moves
to broad base access was made by the Justice Party when it formed the
government in 1920. It was found that in several schools in the Chennai
Corporation, located in depressed-class areas, the students were neither in
a position to afford their noon meal nor in a position to go home and eat.
They also observed lower rates of enrolment in these schools as a result. In
response to representations by the Justice Party leader P. Theagaraya Chetty,
the government allotted one anna per student to provide a noon meal in select
schools in the Chennai Corporation through a GO in 1922 (Rasathurai 2009:
pp 168–69, 203–04). This proved to be the beginning of a long history of linking
food provisioning with access to education that the state has come to be known
for. Schemes like scholarships and financial aid for students from lower castes
were also introduced, apart from hostels for lower-caste students (Rasathurai
2009). While such efforts improved access to education, P. T. R. Dr Palanivel
Thiagarajan,6 currently a DMK member of the legislative assembly (MLA),
also remarks that this in turn led to an enhanced basis for political mobilisation
around caste discrimination. He points out that children often lived in caste-
based settlements where discrimination may not be particularly evident.
When they come and sit together in a classroom, their encounter with caste
discrimination becomes acute. Normally two pots for drinking water will be
kept in a classroom, one for the Brahmins and another for non-Brahmins.
Since the latter outnumber the former, the pot meant for them is likely to be

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emptied much faster, but they will never be allowed to drink from the pot
allotted for Brahmin students. Such awareness in turn fed into the anti-caste
movement.
While the Justice Party pioneered the free mid-day meal scheme to
improve the enrolment of lower-caste students in schools, the scheme
was re-introduced by the Congress government in 1956 under the chief
ministership of Kamaraj, who also hailed from a lower-caste background.
Kamaraj’s role in promoting primary education also illustrates the embedding
of the importance of modern education and its ties to social power in the
political narrative of the state, which no political party could afford to ignore.
Earlier in 1953, the Congress government under the Chief Ministership of
Rajagopalachari had tried to introduce modifications to primary schooling
with a vocational component (Anandhi 2018). This initiative meant that
while students from all caste backgrounds can attend common schools in
the mornings, the students were supposed to go back to their households
in the afternoon and spend time with family members learning their
family vocation. Given that the family vocation was strongly tied to caste-
determined occupations, this was seen as a way to reinforce caste hierarchies
by not only leaders of the Dravidian movement but importantly, even among
non-Brahmin leaders within the Congress party. Rajagopalachari also
oversaw the closure of over 6,000 schools citing lack of finances. Following
massive protests all over the state, Rajagopalachari had to resign and the
scheme was withdrawn. After coming to power in 1954, Kamaraj not only
reopened the closed schools, but also started new schools in rural and remote
areas, increasing the percentage of school-going children in the age group
of 6–11 years from 45 to 75 in a span of seven years (Kumaradoss 2004). He
also introduced a mid-day meal programme in elementary schools with
contributions from the government and the community.
As cooking of food was found to increase the work burden on schoolteachers,
the DMK government introduced a centralised kitchen with dedicated staff,
soon after coming to power in 1967 (Rajivan 2006). The biggest improvement
in this regard was clearly the Puratchi Thalaivar (PT) MGR Nutritious Meal
Programme introduced in 1982, which initially covered children in the age
group 2–5 years in pre-school noon meal centres, and primary school children

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in rural areas. Over time, it was expanded to include both urban areas and children
in higher grades of schools. The pre-school noon meal programme (NMP)
centres were later merged with the integrated child development services (ICDS)
(Government of Tamil Nadu 2017). Narayan (2018) maps a series of institutional
interventions that could not have been possible without political commitment
that ensured the successful implementation of the programme. Subsequent
governments have sought to improve upon this not only by enhancing the quality
of nutrition (supply of eggs, for example) but also by attempting to make the food
tastier and varied by roping in leading chefs to design the menu for the meals.
Since 2013, the state government has introduced a variety of meals within the
programme on a pilot basis in one block in each district, with a different menu on
each day, keeping in mind nutritional requirements as well as taste.
Another intervention with links to the Justice Party was the provisioning of
infrastructure like hostel facilities for students from socially backward sections,
besides incentives like subsidised transport.

IMPROVING INFRASTRUCTURE

Like the mid-day meals, the idea of hostels for lower castes also goes back
to the Justice Party days. As we pointed out in Chapter 2, it was Natesa
Mudaliar—a founder member of the Justice Party—who was the first to
run Dravidian Home, a hostel for students from non-Brahmin communities
pursuing education in Chennai. This was a much-needed facility as students
from many communities did not have access to hostel and mess facilities,
owing to caste discrimination (Arooran 1980). While such efforts were
supported by Justice Party ministries in the 1920s, school infrastructures
were also expanded by civil society initiatives among different non-Brahmin
castes along with sections of Christian missionaries and the British colonial
bureaucracy (Arooran 1980). This process was considerably expanded when
the DMK government opened a number of hostels across the state, which
enhanced the enrolment of students (Spratt 1970). When the DMK assumed
power in 1967, one of the poll promises they fulfilled was to waive tuition fees
for poor students of all castes in the pre-university and pre-technical courses.
They also opened up hostels for SCs and OBCs (see Table 3.4).

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Table 3.4 Number of Residential Hostels for Scheduled Castes,

Scheduled Tribes, Backward Classes, Most Backward Classes, Denotified
Communities and Minority School Children in Tamil Nadu, 2013
Number Number of
S. no. Classification of Hostels of Hostels Students
1 Adi Dravidar Welfare Hostels 1,143 82,130
2 Tribal Hostels 42 2,782
3 Government Tribal Residential Schools 301 31,594
4 Hostels for Backward Classes 611 34,325
5 Hostels for Most Backward Classes 360 19,485
6 Hostels for Denotified Communities 136 10,534
7 Hostels for Minorities 11 900

Total 2604 181,750

Source: Government of Tamil Nadu, Department of AdiDravidar and Tribal Welfare, Performance
budget 2014–15; Government of Tamil Nadu, Department of Backward Classes, Most Backward
Classes, Denotified Communities and Minority Welfare, Performance budget 2014–15.

In addition to such empowering policies that made sustained broad-

basing of entry into modern education possible, governments have also used
‘economic popular’ policies to reduce the cost of accessing education. The
state provides several educational resources like slates, notebooks, stationery
and textbooks (1st–12th standard) to students from lower castes. In 2011–12,
it introduced distribution of free bicycles for students from SCs, backward
classes (BCs), most backward classes (MBCs) and minority communities
pursuing the 11th standard in government or government-aided or partly-
aided schools, and a free laptop scheme for children in higher secondary and
tertiary education. The government has further introduced a Special Cash
Incentive Scheme from 2011–12 to reduce dropouts at the secondary level. An
amount of INR 1,500 for students studying in the 10th and 11th standards
and INR 2,000 for students studying in the 12th standard in government or
government-aided schools is deposited in the Tamil Nadu Power Finance
Corporation, and is handed over to them on the completion of their higher
secondary education. In the case of students studying in government or
government-aided schools (classes 1–12), whose income earning parent passes
away or becomes permanently incapacitated in an accident, the government
provides financial assistance of INR 50,000 deposited in the name of the

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student in a public sector undertaking so that children do not drop out of

school. As the Sarva Shiksha Abhiyan promotes inclusive education, the
state government has allocated INR 2.37 crores for 149,214 CWSN (children
with special needs) in 2013–14 (Government of Tamil Nadu 2014). In order
to enhance enrolment of SC and/or ST girls and to reduce dropouts, the
government has been providing a cash transfer since 1994–95 (Government
of Tamil Nadu 2014).7
In addition, the government has one of the most subsidised transport
systems for students using public transport. This allows poor students to
commute from rural areas to schools in urban areas as well as children from
urban slums and low-income neighborhoods to more distant schools or
colleges. In 2016, more than 70 per cent of upper-primary, secondary and
higher-secondary students had availed of such subsidised transport facilities
(Balagopal and Vijayabaskar 2018). Once again, such financial incentives to
increase enrolment of lower-caste children go back to efforts by the Justice
Party. In response to their demands, a GO passed in 1919 (No. 1189) offered
scholarships for panchama students in upper-primary education so as to
prevent them from dropping out (Rasathurai 2009: pp. 87–88). This was also
linked to the need to create teachers from the lower castes so that the issue of
lack of adequate teaching resources in schools for panchama students can be
tackled. Rasathurai also documents the role of political voices, both within the
legislature and outside, in rendering visible some gaps in information critical to
policy-making, and also in pushing policy formulation towards democratising
access. We now turn our attention to the domain of higher education.

S O C I A L I N C L U S I O N I N H I G H E R E D U C AT I O N

While modern school education was meant to ensure greater awareness of

their social position and that of the larger world, an awareness denied to lower
castes for centuries, higher education was seen as a means to redistribute power
emanating from participation in the modern economy. As per the All India
Survey on Higher Education (AISHE) 2017–18 (Government of India 2018a),8
the gross enrolment ratio (GER) for Tamil Nadu is the highest among the
major states. Nearly 50 per cent of the youth in the age-group 18–23 years

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are in some form of higher education compared to the all-India average of

26 per cent. The levels are much higher even compared to the second best
performing state. Importantly, it is more evenly distributed across gender,
caste, class and space. The enrolment ratios for women are 48 per cent in Tamil
Nadu as against 25 per cent at the all-India level. Though lower than that of
the overall population, the GER is relatively higher for SC youth suggesting
a more broad-based increase in investments in education and access across
castes (Government of Tamil Nadu 2017).The state’s attainments in higher
education is more inclusive in class terms as well.
The 71st round of the NSS (2013–14) allows us to look at the variations in
accessing higher education across economic classes (Table 3.5). In 2013–14,
the gross attendance ratio as proxy for enrolment (for age 18–23) in higher
education in Tamil Nadu was 31 per cent compared to the all-India figure of 20
per cent. Even the poorest economic class in the state—the bottom quintile—
had about 15 per cent gross attendance ratio in higher education, which is close
to what Gujarat exhibited as a whole. The gross attendance ratio among the
bottom quintile was 6 per cent in Gujarat, 10 per cent in Maharashtra and
7 per cent at the all-India level. Not just in absolute terms, inequality between
the richest and the poorest strata in higher education attainment in the state
is also one of the lowest in the country. The top quintile had 3.6 times (Q5/
Q1) higher education attendance than the bottom quintile in Tamil Nadu

Table 3.5 Inequalities in Access to Higher Education

(Gross Attendance Ratio for Age 18–23)
Quintiles Tamil Nadu Gujarat Maharashtra All-India
Q1 14.8 5.9 10.4 6.7
Q2 21.7 5.9 15.2 12.6
Q3 23.4 10.4 16.1 18.3
Q4 35.6 22.9 30.4 27.8
Q5 53.5 43.3 46.3 48.3
All 31.4 15.9 21.9 20.3
Q5/Q1 3.6 7.3 4.4 7.2
Rural 28 10.6 16.3 16.3
Urban 34.6 24.5 29 29.2
Urban/Rural 1.2 2.3 1.8 1.8
Source: Estimated from NSS 71st round (2014).

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 T H E D R AV I D I A N M O D E L

compared to 7.3 times in Gujarat, 4.4 times in Maharashtra and 7.2 times at the
all-India level.
The state has also made higher education accessible to its rural youth. The
gross attendance ratio for rural youth in Tamil Nadu is as high as 28 per cent
compared to 11 per cent in Gujarat and 16 per cent in Maharashtra and at
the all-India level. Thus, the inequality between rural and urban areas is the
lowest in the state. The urban to rural ratio in accessing higher education is
1.2 and lower than Gujarat (2.3), Maharashtra and the all-India average (1.8).
While the state has ensured more broad-based access to higher education,
this penetration of higher education is particularly high for technical or
professional education. As per the National Sample Survey Office (NSSO
2014–15), 32 per cent graduates who are enrolled in higher education are in
technical or professional courses in Tamil Nadu compared to 15 per cent at
the all-India level, 21 per cent for Maharashtra and 20 per cent for Gujarat.
Apart from enrolment, there is also a convergence in terms of student
performance across caste groups over time. Afirmative action over a long
period has reduced the gap in performance in school final examinations across
caste groups. Noted educationist M. Anandakrishnan, a long-term observer
of higher education in the state, remarks that over time, the cut off marks
for admission into engineering and medical colleges have tended to converge
across caste groups.9 For instance, the cut-off marks for medical admission
(undergraduate) in 2012 for SCs (198.75) was just one point less than that of
the general category (199.75) and 0.75 points less than that of the BCs (199.5).
Another study indicates that OBC students in Tamil Nadu also tend to
perform better compared to backward caste students in other states (Goyal
and Singh 2014).
An equally significant dimension of attainments in education is its
contribution to the productive economy, an aspect that has gained importance
particularly after the rise to prominence of human capital in development
theory. If we compare the levels and the extent of education among its
workforce, a cumulative outcome, Tamil Nadu does better than most states in
the country (Figure 3.1).
Tamil Nadu has the most educated workforce in the country, second only to
Kerala. Workers who are graduates and above in the total workforce are about
20 per cent in Tamil Nadu as against 18 per cent in Maharashtra and 14 per

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30.0
23.9
25.0
20.2
20.0 18.4 17.9
16.0 15.5 15.4
14.1 13.6 13.3 13.2
15.0
11.5 11.1
10.1 9.5 9.4 9.0
10.0 8.5
6.8
5.0

0.0

Chhattisgarh
Himachal Pradesh
Uttar Pradesh

Jharkhand

West Bengal
Tamil Nadu

Karnataka
Haryana

Bihar

Madhya Pradesh
Maharashtra

Telangana

Andhra Pradesh
All India
Punjab

Odisha
Rajasthan
Kerala

Gujarat

Figure 3.1 Percentage of Workers Who Are Graduates across States in India
Source: PLFS 2017–18.

cent in Gujarat, with the all-India average, too, being only about 14 per cent.
This achievement in ensuring access to higher education becomes possible
owing to its innovative reservation policies and various policy interventions
encouraging students from marginalised sections. This broad-basing cannot
be merely due to the availability of infrastructure but is also an outcome of a
social and political milieu that allows the lower castes to not only aspire but
also equips them with the means to meet their aspirations. We first relate the
attainments to investments in infrastructure.

I N F R A S T R U C T U R E F O R H I G H E R E D U C AT I O N

Higher educational institutions in the public and of late, increasingly in the

private sector, have had a critical role in improving access. The state ranks first
among all states with regard to the total of number of universities (it has 59
universities), ranks second in the number of state public universities and has
9.5 per cent of all the universities in the country (Government of Tamil Nadu
2017). The state also ranks first in the number of technical universities. Though
technical education is skewed with a higher share of students in undergraduate

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engineering education, the state also has the highest share of polytechnic
students in the country. This growth was made possible largely by opening
up avenues for entry of private investments in higher education in the mid-
1980s, a move that was inspired by similar initiatives in states like Karnataka.
Resource constraints at the state level and a perceived market opportunity
for private actors drove this process of expansion of private provisioning of
higher education. To reduce the burden of the central government, the centre
shifted the provisioning of higher education to the state governments while
continuing to maintain regulatory control (Agarwal 2006). Left with limited
resources to fund such expansion, privatisation of higher education was seen
as a way out. This opened up spaces for subnational elites to invest in higher
education for profits. At present, the private sector has a dominant presence in
engineering education in the state, accounting for more than 95 per cent of the
total engineering colleges.
Despite the enhanced role of the private sector, the state has continued to
set up higher education institutions in the public domain (Government of
Tamil Nadu 2017). The enrolment ratios in colleges are also better. For instance,
the average enrolment per college is 919 in Tamil Nadu as against 678 in
Maharashtra and 519 in Gujarat, while the all-India average stands at 698. At 15,
the state also has a better pupil–teacher ratio in higher education compared to
25 at the all-India level and those in states like Maharashtra and Gujarat (22 and
26, respectively) (Government of India 2018). Apart from such infrastructure,
the state has also provided incentives to enhance student enrolment ratios.

I N C E N T I V I S I N G E N T R Y I N T O H I G H E R E D U C AT I O N

Several categories of students from less privileged socioeconomic backgrounds

are exempted from various expenses incurred for higher education. As a
result, on an average, students in the state tend to spend relatively less as
in the case of school education. As per the NSS 71st round, the average
expenditure incurred by a student pursuing a technical or professional course
in government institutions in Tamil Nadu was INR 35,084 as against INR
46,316 in Gujarat, and was a little over half that in Maharashtra (INR 60,047).
The all-India average was INR 42,069 (p. 130). Such low expenditures

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became possible because payment of tuition fees and/or examination fees is

waived or subsidised for students from lower-caste groups, Tamil-medium
students for different levels of higher education and for girl students in
postgraduate degree courses. The same survey (p. 398) notes that out of
the total students who received scholarships, SCs alone constituted about
44 per cent in Tamil Nadu as against 16 per cent in Gujarat and 30 per cent
in Maharashtra, while the all-India average was about 25 per cent. Beside
financial incentives for SCs, the state also introduced a series of schemes
for encouraging women. Despite increasing privatisation, such initiatives,
among others, have countered the elite bias in higher education visible at the
national level.

ADDRESSING ELITE BIAS

Higher education in India has been elitist for a long period. It began as a
small enclave under colonialism and continued to be under elite control even
in post-independence India. As Balakrishnan (2008) argues, higher and
technical education throughout the Nehruvian era up to the 1980s developed
at the cost of basic education. This bias meant that higher education continued
to be the preserve of upper classes and castes, perpetuating the divide in
access to higher education. In fact, a substantial proportion of the increase
in economic inequality in India is linked with the increase in returns to
education and low level of inter-generational mobility. Higher education in
India is thus trapped in a vicious circle; barriers to access higher education
widen economic inequality, which in turn widens inequality in access to higher
education (Bardhan 2013). This has been further aggravated by privatisation
of higher education. Though studies indicate that the quality of training
is inadequate in private institutions (Kapur and Mehta 2011), returns on
investments in higher education are still high. Further, those who graduate in
elite institutions continue to migrate to the West. An estimate shows that the
rate of emigration of those with tertiary education is 42 times of those with
primary and 14 times of those with secondary education (Kapur 2011). As a
result, inequality in higher education continues to be higher than in physical
capital in India. Inequality in adult schooling years among people in India is

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in fact much higher than that in Sri Lanka, China, Vietnam or Indonesia, and
even most Latin American countries including Brazil and Mexico (Bardhan
2008).
Tamil Nadu, while following several other states in adopting the
privatisation route, has managed to democratise access to higher education. It
has ensured participation of different socioeconomic groups of the population.
Inequities in access across gender, caste and between rural and urban areas
have fallen thanks to the wide spread of colleges in rural areas. About 78
per cent of colleges are located in rural Tamil Nadu as against 57 per cent in
Maharashtra and 52 per cent in Gujarat. While location decisions may be
guided by availability of cheap land, it does impact access to higher education.
Even in income terms, the poor have better access to higher education in the
state compared to other states in India, as pointed out earlier. A long history of
affirmative action policies in the state has contributed substantially to counter
this elite control over higher education.

D E M O C R AT I S I N G H U M A N C A P I TA L

The passing and implementation of the first communal GO by the Justice Party
marks the beginning of the history of democratisation of higher education in
the state. While the GO was for communal representation in administrative
power in the colonial government, it nonetheless paved the way for the entry
of lower castes into the educational sphere (lrschick 1969: p. 218).10 Another
GO proposed in 1922 was also specifically meant for reservation in government
posts for non-Brahmins. As a Justice Party member articulated, ‘given the
social and educational backwardness that the non-Brahman community
was steeped in, it was impossible to adapt itself to the changing conditions
of the country’ without adequate modern education (Irschick 1969: p. 227).
Seeking reservation in education was therefore seen as an indirect demand for
redistribution of power derived from access to modern education and jobs as
well as a requirement to exercise citizenship.
Importantly, the party also sought to privilege a certain kind of modern
education that can nurture scientific temper and enable one to participate in
the modern economy. Education was therefore seen as a pathway to participate

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in the process of modern economic development and industrialisation (Geetha

and Rajadurai 2008). Making a case for modern education and against the
traditional emphasis on scriptural learning, Theagaraya Chetty, a founding
member of the Justice Party, wrote,

We all know that Bombay is the premier city of India! What was the
cause of this greatness? It is not the Sanskrit literature, it is not the world-
admired Shankara’s philosophy, and it is not the political greatness that we
are hankering after, which has made Bombay so great. It is enterprise—the
enterprise of a small community of settlers, the Parsees (cited in Pandian
2007: p. 163).

Chetty argued that the colonial education system was only fitted to make
‘automatic quill-drivers, indifferent school-masters and petty-fogging lawyers
... there is no such thing as education suitable to the development of industries’
(Pandian 2007: pp. 163–64). This emphasis probably explains the fact that
the expenditure on technical education alone constitutes about 35 per cent
(Government of Tamil Nadu 2017: p. 111) of the total higher education budget
in the state at present. Another important intervention made by the Justice
Party was addressing barriers to enter medical education. In the early 20th
century, knowledge of Sanskrit was compulsory for admission into medical
education. The government overturned the rule, paving the way for non-
Brahmins to enter into medical education (Thirunavukkarasu 2013: p. 235).11
Importantly, the emphasis on education as the route to self-respect
translated into a broad-based aspiration for access. This ‘pressure from below’
translated into a slew of measures over time that ensured broad basing. While
we have highlighted some of the measures earlier, in the section below, we
map the role of affirmative action policies, a domain that the state has virtually
made its own in the country.

I N N O VAT I O N S I N A F F I R M AT I V E A C T I O N

The state has constantly reworked the categories of reservation to meet

the changing demands of social justice by identifying beneficiaries and

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non-beneficiaries of the system. If the communal GOs during the Justice

Party rule facilitated the initial entry of backward castes into the education
system, protests from the state and pressure from the state government led to
the first constitutional amendment in post-independent India to reintroduce
reservation in education on a new pattern with 25 per cent reserved for
OBCs and 15 per cent for SCs. This was made possible through large-scale
agitations in the then Madras state during the 1950s led by the DK of Periyar
E.V. Ramasamy and the DMK of C.N. Annadurai. This resulted in the first
amendment to the Indian Constitution which legally validated caste-based
reservations. The amendment led to the insertion of article 15 (4) to include
the words ‘socially and educationally backward’ which became the basis for
the introduction of reservation policies in most states in India. The coming
into power of the Dravidian parties since 1967 led to a further expansion and
deepening of the terrain of affirmative action. The DMK government set up
a backward classes commission, which recommended increasing the existing
reservation to 33 per cent for backward classes, identification of the most
backward castes (MBC) and making of special provisions for them. Though
not complying with the recommendations entirely, the government increased
the reservation for OBCs from 25 per cent to 31 per cent in 1971, but also added
two percentage points to the quota for SCs and STs increasing it from 16 per
cent to 18 per cent. The AIADMK government led by M.G. Ramachandran
increased the OBC reservation further to 50 per cent in 1984, pushing the
quantum of reservation in the state to 69 per cent including a 1 per cent
separate quota for STs, the highest in any state in India.
This broadening of the domain of affirmative action was accompanied by
a deepening of such affirmative action within lower-caste groups. There was a
consistent effort, particularly on the part of the DMK, to address differences
within castes under each category. A new category, MBC, was created in
1989 within the BC category to ensure that backward castes and denotified
communities that were not getting adequate representation within the
backward class quota could be adequately represented. They were allotted 20
per cent from within the overall BC reservation of 50 per cent. As a result,
these groups have increased their admission to professional courses five- to
six-fold (Pandian 2011). Further in 2009, the DMK legislated a separate quota
of 3 per cent for Arunthathiyar12 within the 18 per cent quota for SCs as the

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latter’s socioeconomic condition was worse off than that of other SCs. The
DMK was thus responding to emerging differences within the backward
classes and the Dalits in their ability to access higher education.
The DMK also tried to address non-caste based sources of inequality. For
instance, in 1990, the DMK government introduced the scheme of awarding
five extra marks to those applying for professional courses and hailing from
families where none had had access to tertiary education before. Again,
when the DMK returned to power in 1996, it introduced quotas for students
from rural areas (Pandian 2011). Neither of the schemes had any reference
to caste, but both were struck down by the Madras High Court. The DMK
also introduced quotas for backward sections of Muslims who are socially
underprivileged but are excluded from reservation because of their religious
identity. Tamil Nadu, in fact, tops in educational attainment among Muslims
in India. The percentage of Muslims who have completed graduation is 36 in
Tamil Nadu as against 13 per cent in Gujarat and 16 per cent in Maharashtra,
while the all-India average is 14 per cent ( Jaffrelot and Kalaiyarasan 2019).
The relatively better position of Muslims in the state is not only an outcome
of inclusive social policies but also of targeted policies of affirmative action.
While Muslims were included in the OBC category historically, they were
given 3.5 per cent reservation in higher education and government jobs in
2007. All these innovative forms of reservation worked to ensure the relatively
better representation of marginal social groups in the higher education
system.
Another important initiative undertaken by the Dravidian parties pertains
to the recognition of elite bias in clearing entrance examinations to enter
professional education. Until 1984, the criteria for admission into professional
courses was a combination of school-leaving marks and marks scored in
an interview, with the later accounting for only a small share. Sensing the
potential for corruption in allotting marks during an interview, an entrance
test was introduced which, however, accounted for only 1/5th of the total
marks in the admission process. Perceiving that even this creates a bias
towards residents in larger cities with access to tuition centres and also towards
households who are in a position to invest additional time for their children to
prepare and take the entrance test, the AIADMK government abolished the
entrance test completely in 2005 (Menon 2006). This narrative and argument

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against entrance tests clearly had a role in the state’s subsequent opposition to
the introduction of NEET.
The recent data on admission in engineering and technology courses
reveals the democratisation of technical education in the state. Of the total
1,82,255 seats in engineering and technology courses in Tamil Nadu in
2013–14, the share of BCs was 45 per cent, followed by 22 per cent MBCs,
22 per cent SCs and 4 per cent Muslims (Government of Tamil Nadu 2017).
Even the Arunthathiyars, a marginalised group within the SCs, had a share
of 2 per cent in higher education in the state adding up to 89 per cent. This
share is 20 percentage points more than what they are legally entitled to, but
almost commensurate with their population. Such redistribution of access
to higher education is unique in the history of Indian states. Contrary to
popular perceptions, even in private colleges, marginal caste groups do find
a degree of representation. Out of a total 1,70,013 seats, BCs have a share of
46 per cent, MBCs 22 per cent, SCs 16 per cent, Muslims about 4 per cent
and Arunthathiyars, 2 per cent. It therefore appears that privatisation has not
entirely excluded the entry of caste groups in higher education. Notably, 50
per cent of the seats in private colleges too are subject to selection based on
affirmative action. In engineering colleges affiliated to Anna University, about
65 per cent of the total seats in non-minority institutions and 50 per cent
seats in minority institutions are allotted through a single window system of
counselling—a method which is governed by fee regulation and reservation
policies. As a result, the state has been able to maintain social diversity in
private colleges too. Together, such measures have ensured the generation of
a relatively more inclusive pool of educated labour able to gain a foothold
in the modern economy. More importantly, the narrative of social justice
through affirmative action became a part of Dravidian common-sense that
ensures much better functioning of institutions governing implementation of
affirmative action policies unlike in other states.
While the Left movement which saw land reform as key to redistributive
justice, Dravidian common-sense privileged access to education and jobs
as important pathways to social justice in India. Cumulative inequalities
cannot be addressed by land reform alone. When modern economic
growth is driven by service and industry, education acquires significance
in availing opportunities. When the central government led by V. P. Singh

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(National Front government) implemented the Mandal Commission’s

recommendations in the 1990s, Tamil Nadu not only approved it but also
passed a resolution on August 21, 1990 in the state assembly welcoming the
announcement. Political parties had a series of hall meeting and rallies in the
state (Pandian 2007). Looking back at the implementation of the Mandal
Commission recommendations, Karunanidhi observes that ‘The National
Front government in 1989 (of which the DMK was a part) remains my best
contribution to national politics. Though the government was short-lived, it
implemented the Mandal Commission report [recommendations]’ (cited in
Panneerselvam 2017).
If Karunanidhi took pride in supporting Mandal I in the 1990s, it was
because of a long legacy built by Dravidian mobilisation in the state. Periyar
set the precedent when he resigned from the Indian National Congress in
November 1925 after his resolution demanding caste-based reservation in
government institutions was disallowed in the Kancheepuram conference
of the Tamil Nadu Congress (Pandian 2007). He took this defeat to the
streets across Tamil Nadu. Since then, social justice through affirmative
action acquired significance in all political conferences of the SRM in the
state (Pandian 1994). The significance of reservation in the political life of
the state became evident in the large-scale agitations following the striking
down of the provisions for reservation by the Supreme Court in 1951 forcing
the constitutional amendment referred to earlier. Even political parties that
oppose reservation at the national level support it in the state. Elites in
Tamil Nadu who historically opposed it had to embrace it if they were to be
politically relevant (Pandian 2007: p. 6). Reservation thus, not only became
common-sense, but also an accepted means to socioeconomic mobility in
Tamil Nadu.
The other event that we would like to use to illustrate this path dependence
is what followed after the Indira Sawhney and Others v. Union of India and
Others13 judgement, when the Supreme Court put a ceiling of 50 per cent
on the quantum of reservation that can be provided. Tamil Nadu was the
first state to move a constitutional amendment to protect its 69 per cent
reservation. The AIADMK government led by J. Jayalalithaa unanimously
passed The Tamil Nadu Backward Classes, Scheduled Castes and Scheduled
Tribes (Reservation of Seats in Educational Institutions and of Appointments

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or Posts in the Services under the State) Act, 1993 and appealed to the central
government to place it under the ninth schedule of the Indian Constitution to
protect it from judicial review.

EMERGING LIMITS

Viewing access to modern education as a pathway to substantive democracy

in a caste society was not confined to the Dravidian movement alone. Anti-
caste leaders like Mahatma Jyotirao Phule and Babasaheb B. R. Ambedkar,
too, held similar positions. In the absence of adequate resources to avail
opportunities, mere grant of formal freedom to lower castes cannot ensure
social justice. Freedom therefore involves the power to act and the capacity
to do things.14 This simultaneity of freedom and endowing the deprived with
material resources to act has substantially informed the Dravidian imagination
of development in the state. By way of concluding this chapter, we would
like to draw from the personal memoirs of Sattanathan, an accomplished
bureaucrat, who went on to become the Chairman of the first Tamil Nadu
Backward Classes Commission. Hailing from one of the lowest ‘touchable’
Tamil castes, he narrates his life’s trajectory from one of utter poverty to
becoming a successful, high-level bureaucrat. The memoir offers a first-hand
account of how caste worked in every sphere during the early 20th century.
Talking about his mother who happened to be an illegitimate child, he says
that when she was asked by her biological father who was fairly wealthy if she
wanted anything from him, she didn’t know what to ask. He narrates:

She had neither the imagination nor the courage to ask for anything
substantial … He might have given more if he was asked. In poverty one
does not even know how and what to ask. (Sattanathan 2007: p. 19)

This telling observation directly speaks to the importance given by Charles

Taylor to the terms of recognition (1992). Taylor points out that members of
marginalised groups often live in a life-world where they see themselves as
inferior beings, which is reinforced when members of that community hold
similar opinions. As a result, even when real barriers to improve their lives

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are broken down, they still may not be in a position to take advantage of this
opportunity. Sattanathan’s mother’s inability to ask is precisely an outcome of
such ‘mis-recognition’. Changing the terms of recognition that can enable the
capacity to aspire is a political process. As the tragic story of Anitha illustrates,
political processes and mobilisation in the state made possible a change in
the terms of recognition. Entering into the portals of modern education and
subsequently modern higher education not only made children from lower-
caste backgrounds equip themselves with the skills required to enter the
modern economy but also be aware of the cultural norms that render them
inferior. It therefore allowed them to simultaneously question dominant norms
and also aspire for social and economic mobilities that were not possible earlier.
Anitha’s aspirations clearly reflect this accumulation of capabilities to aspire, a
far cry from the predilection that Sattanathan’s mother faced when confronted
with choices. The fact that there were no protests among lower-caste youth in
other parts of the country against the introduction of NEET indexes the role
played by the Dravidian movement in fostering such aspirations.
However, there are limits emerging to this process. Apart from the
relatively poor learning outcomes, there has also been a growing shift from
public schooling at the primary level to reliance on private schools in recent
years (Balagopal and Vijayabaskar 2018). Importantly, this shift corresponds
to a spatial-caste–gender divide with lower castes and girl children from rural
areas more likely to rely on government schools. With increasing privatisation
of higher education, this divide at the primary level is likely to feed into
differences that emanate due to differential access and quality of tertiary
education. Private institutions are of uneven quality with a large number of
them incapable of imparting skills useful in the labour market (Mukherjee
2011). A few institutions are, however, able to place students in better paying
jobs and command a higher premium for entry. This difference between elites
who are able to enter such institutions and the rest is likely to translate into
labour market inequalities that we highlight in Chapter 7. While we take up
the implications of this phenomenon in greater detail in Chapter 8, we would
like to highlight one important dimension of this emerging dualistic structure
of education. While social popular policies enabled reduction in relative
differences between caste elites and lower castes with regard to entry, of late,
interventions have been more in the economic popular domain, like support

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through subsidised inputs for education and scholarships. The latter, while
they definitely contribute to continued broad-based entry, do not address the
entry barriers to access such high-cost education and therefore do not engage
with the issue of relative differences.

NOTES

1 The recent study by Asher, Novosad and Rafkin (2020) shows that upward
educational mobility is highest in Tamil Nadu and Kerala.
2 See http://schoolreportcards.in/Media/m188.html (accessed 4 January 2019).
3 See https://mhrd.gov.in/sites/upload_files/mhrd/files/PGI_2017-18.pdf
(accessed 4 January 2019).
4 District Information System for Education DISE data for 2015–16 puts the
figure for primary education at 60 per cent in Tamil Nadu while it is 64 per
cent at the all-India level.
5 India’s experience suggests that the spread of mass education need not
correlate with the levels in per capita income. It is state commitment that
ensures universal basic education. For instance, several East Asian countries
have shown that low incomes need not deter democratising access to
education. Countries such as China and South Korea have not only attained
higher rates of literacy than India, but have done so starting from a lower
base; they have also been able to provide better access to tertiary education.
6 Personal interview on January 2, 2018.
7 The TNHDR (Government of Tamil Nadu 2017), highlights the multiple
dimensions along which the state has sought to intervene to ensure access,
and also importantly, to reduce drop outs among lower-caste and girl students.
8 The survey defines higher education as education which is obtained after
completing 12 years of schooling or an equivalent. This may be of the nature of
general, vocational, professional or technical education.
9 Interview dated 3 January 2019.
10 The first communal GO which came into effect on 16 September 1921
included a government instruction extending reservation from the revenue
to all departments; a circular was also issued to all heads of departments,
collectors and district judges to classify each new recruit to the public services

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into one of six categories: Brahmin, non-Brahmin Hindu, Indian Christian,

Muslim, European and Anglo Indian (Irschick 1969: p. 236).
11 The story of democratising education in the state would, however, be
incomplete without mention of the role of Christian missionaries in
education (Hardgrave 1969; Ingleby 1998). Many institutions of higher
education as well as schools for the masses were opened by Christian
missionaries.
12 Arunthathiyars are located at the bottom of the caste pyramid and are
socially and economically much worse off compared to other Dalit
communities in the state. They undertake bulk of degrading work like
manual scavenging.
13 AIR 1993 SC 477, https://indiankanoon.org/doc/1363234/ (accessed
16 November 2019).
14 On this, John Dewey (1993) says,

Liberty is not just an idea, an abstract principle. It is power, effective

power to do specific things. There is no such thing as liberty in general,
liberty, so to speak, at large; if one wants to know what the condition of
liberty is at a given time, one has to examine what persons can do and
what they cannot do. The moment one examines the question from the
standpoint of effective action, it becomes evident that the demand for
liberty is a demand for power, either for possession of powers of action
not already possessed or for retention and expansion of powers already
possessed. (p. 158)

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 4

DEMOCRATISING CARE

India compares poorly with other developing countries on health parameters

despite being among the fastest growing economies in the world (Balarajan,
Selvaraj, and Subramanian 2011). In fact, compared to other developing
countries, India has one of the lowest expenditures on health as a proportion of
its gross domestic product (GDP) (A. Chakraborty 2019). As a result, citizens
incur one of the highest out-of-pocket expenditures on health among countries
with similar levels of income. Importantly, the increase in economic growth has
not been matched by corresponding increases in human development in India.
This is a paradox in a country where democratic practices have been better
institutionalised as Evans and Heller (2018) point out. Countries with such
democratic institutions are expected to invest additional resources towards
welfare interventions in education and health compared to more authoritarian
regimes that may emphasise growth at the expense of investments in human
development.
As in the case of education, scholars use the elite bias hypothesis to
explain this paradox (Das Gupta 2005). The Indian health system is biased
in favour of elites as it focussed on curative health more than public
health. Elites relied on curative medicines to insulate themselves from
communicable diseases while neglecting public health, that is, to prevent
exposure to such diseases for the rich and poor alike. Tamil Nadu is one
of the few states that has, however, managed to work against this bias
and build a robust public health infrastructure. The state for example, has
already achieved the Millennium Development Goals (MDGs) of reduction
in infant mortality rate (IMR) and maternal mortality ratio (MMR)
(Vaidyanathan 2014). Given the macro-bias against healthcare, the state’s
 D emocratising C are

achievements that we map in the next section clearly stand out. What made
such outcomes possible?
This chapter traces a set of interventions in this regard, starting with the
creation of a separate department for public health in the early-20th century.
It goes on to identify factors contributing to the dramatic decline in fertility
rate in the state including interventions focusing on maternity and early child
care. The state, as mentioned in the previous chapter, is known for launching
the nutritious noon meal scheme, a forerunner to similar schemes launched at
the all-India level. The chapter also therefore discusses the history of processes
instituted and the health implications of the nutritious noon meal scheme.
Given the growing out-of-pocket expenses incurred by the public on healthcare
(Balarajan, Selvaraj and Subramanian 2011) due to reliance on private providers
and the rising cost of medicines, we also highlight the emergence of a robust
primary healthcare system coupled with the creation and expansion of a
corporation to centralise drug procurement and distribute them at subsidised
rates. Importantly, the chapter argues that rather than higher expenditure on
health, it is the efficient utilisation of available resources that has been critical
to the state’s achievements in health outcomes. We also demonstrate how
the state’s strategic allocation of resources towards primary healthcare made
such efficiency gains possible. Finally, we point out how the formation of a
bureaucracy inclusive of marginalised social groups is critical to the process.
We therefore emphasise the iterative nature of processes across
sectors such as education and affirmative action, and democratisation of
governance. If forming the first state planning commission in India with a
taskforce constituted specifically for healthcare, investments in public health
infrastructure, democratisation of the social profile of health personnel and
innovative drug procurement fall under social popular policies, ensuring
socially inclusive access to health through subsidised health insurance schemes,
noon meal schemes, expansion of its content and coverage and maternity
benefits would fall under economic popular interventions. If social popular
policies helped build public health infrastructure and democratised health
governance, economic popular policies enhanced its coverage and added new
schemes to its content.
To begin with, we establish that in terms of health outcomes, the state has
done better not just in terms of levels but also in the rate of change in outcomes

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compared to most states in the country. We then relate the outcomes of certain
deliberate institutional interventions. The chapter traces the motivation and
processes that translated into intermediary outcomes such as public health
infrastructure. Such outcomes are a result of attention to primary healthcare,
bucking national trends (Vaidyanathan 2014). Next, we emphasise the state’s
attention to effective preventive care rather than curative hospital care,
especially by sustaining a vibrant public health department. We then highlight
how affirmative action and the generation of a pool of healthcare professionals
drawn from socially diverse backgrounds ensured an incentive to cater better
to socially marginalised groups. Next, we draw attention to the Tamil Nadu
Medical Services Corporation (TNMSC), an institutional innovation
through which the state has provided essential drugs and diagnostics at public
healthcare facilities. In the domain of nutrition enhancement, we discuss the
pioneering noon meal scheme in schools. Moving to the domain of claim-
making, we argue that changes in the social composition of the bureaucracy
also contributed to the broad-basing of ‘weak ties’ that enabled better
information dissemination and helped generate demand-side pressure. Finally,
we hint at how the state has negotiated with macro policy reforms to address
the issue of tertiary care. But first, the outcomes.

THE OUTCOMES

On most standard health indicators, Tamil Nadu does better than most states.
The state’s fertility rate has been below replacement rates, comparable to those
of developed countries, and is the lowest in the country among the major states
(UNFPA 2018). The total fertility rate (TFR) has shown a sharp decline from
3.7 in 1973 to 1.7 in 2013 (see Figure 4.1). The corresponding figures for India
are 4.9 and 2.3, respectively. The state attained the replacement rate by the late
1990s while most other states are yet to do so (Government of Tamil Nadu
2017). The state has also addressed the issue of mortality better. The IMR has
shown a sharp decline from 121 in 1972 to 19 in 2015 while the decline at the
all-India level is from 139 to 41 (see Figure 4.2 and Table 4.1). The under-five
mortality rate (U5MR) is 20 in the state as against 39 in Gujarat and 24 in
Maharashtra, while it is 43 at the all-India level.

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Total Fertility Rate Tamil Nadu All India

6.0
Fertility Rate

4.0

2.0

-
1973
1975
1977
1979
1981
1983
1985
1987
1989
1991
1993
1995
1997
1999
2001
2003
2005
2007
2009
2011
2013
Year

Figure 4.1 Trend in Total Fertility Rate

Source: Sample Registration System (SRS), ‘Compendium of India’s Fertility and Mortality
Indicators, 1971–2013’ (SRS n.d.).

Infant Mortality Rate

160

140 Tamil Nadu All India

120

100
IMR

80

60

40

20

-
1972
1974
1976
1978
1980
1982
1984
1986
1988
1990
1992
1994
1996
1998
2000
2002
2004
2006
2008
2010
2012

Figure 4.2 Trend in Infant Mortality Rate

Source: Sample Registration System ((SRS), ‘Compendium of India’s Fertility and Mortality
Indicators, 1971–2013’ (SRS n.d.).

The MMR, too, is much better than in comparable states and the all-India
average—60 for Tamil Nadu as against 75 in Gujarat and 113 for India;
Maharashtra fares slightly better at 46 (see Figure 4A.2). The percentage of

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Ta bl e 4. 1 Key Health Indicators for Caste Groups in Tamil Nadu and

All-India
1992–93 2015–16
States SCs Non-SCs All SCs Non-SCs All
IMR
Tamil Nadu 90 65 71 23.6 18.4 20.3
Maharashtra 85 52 56 31.7 19.1 23.9
Gujarat 70 70 74 43.9 28.3 34.2
All-India 107 82 86 31.1 22.6 28.5
U5MR
Tamil Nadu 127 85 95 31 24.8 26.9
Maharashtra 124 69 76 35.3 24.4 29.1
Gujarat 119 98 104 51.3 36.6 43.5
All-India 149 112 119 38.9 27.8 34.4
Under-nutrition of Children across Caste Groups (in per cent)
Tamil Nadu 53 45 49 32.1 22.5 27.1
Maharashtra 57 51 54 40.3 29.2 34.4
Gujarat 59 41 50 37.6 29.3 38.5
All-India 58 52 53 42.8 31.2 38.4
Child Immunisation among Caste Groups (in per cent)
Tamil Nadu 59 67 65 70.8 71.1 69.7
Maharashtra 61 65 64 50.6 56.2 56.3
Gujarat N/A 52 50 50.8 49.3 50.4
All-India 27 38 35 63.2 64.5 62
Mothers’ Antenatal Care (in per cent)
Tamil Nadu 92 95 94 91.2 94.3 91.7
Maharashtra 90 89 82 93.7 90.6 91
Gujarat 85 77 75 78.4 87.6 80.5
All-India 58 66 53 77.5 85.6 79.3
Source: National Family Health Survey (NFHS) 1 and 4.

pregnant women who deliver their children at a health facility is 99 in Tamil

Nadu, which is among the highest in the country (see Figure 4A.3). In fact, there
has been an increase in the share of institutional deliveries in public hospitals
in recent years (Government of Tamil Nadu 2017). Aggregate indicators may,
however, mask the extent to which outcomes vary across different social groups.

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 D emocratising C are

Providing an inter-state comparative map of outcomes across caste groups in

the next section, we establish that the health status of Scheduled Castes (SCs)
too, is better than in either Gujarat or Maharashtra, and even better than that
of caste elites in states like Uttar Pradesh (UP).

C A S T E A N D H E A LT H

As in the case of the overall trends, health indicators for SC groups in Tamil
Nadu are better than the all-India average. In 1992–93, the IMR for SCs in
Tamil Nadu was 90 points and it has come down to 23.6 points in 2015–16.
While the IMR came down from 85 to 32 in Maharashtra and 70 to 44 in
Gujarat in the same period, the corresponding figures for India stand at 107
and 31.1 points, respectively. The U5MR among SCs has fallen from 127 to 31
during this period and is again better than the national average (see Table
4.1). The percentage of undernourished children among SCs too has fallen
during this period, and is lower than at the all-India level (see table 4.1).
Such a trend holds for child immunisation and mothers’ antenatal care as
well (see Table 4.1).1 In fact, across many health indicators, deprived caste
groups in Tamil Nadu enjoyed better health status than even dominant caste
groups in the northern states. As per data from the fourth National Family
Health Survey (NFHS-4) for (2015–16), the IMR for upper castes (non-SC/
OBC) in UP is 60.2 which is much higher than that for SCs (23.6 points)
and OBCs (18.4 points) in Tamil Nadu. Such outcomes among lower-
caste groups hold true for other indicators such as child immunisation and
mothers’ antenatal care too.
About 99.1 per cent of pregnant women among SCs in Tamil Nadu
delivered their children at a health facility as against 88.6 per cent in Gujarat
and 93 per cent in Maharashtra, while only 75.9 per cent of even upper-
caste women avail such facilities in UP. A supporting indicator of health
among women and children is the proportion of births that are assisted
by a health professional (that is, a doctor, nurse, or midwife). The delivery
assistance given to pregnant SC women by such health personnel is about
99 per cent in Tamil Nadu while it is just 77.8 per cent even for upper-caste
women in UP. The relevant indicators for SC women in UP are much worse.
Tamil Nadu has therefore managed to not only provide overall healthcare

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but has made sure that the system is inclusive of lower-caste groups as well.
Studies also affirm that the state has one of the best reproductive health
and childcare systems in this country, with better contraceptive prevalence
rates and extent of antenatal check-up coverage than most states (Mehrotra
2006).
We would like to point out that the reproductive health outcomes that
we have mapped for the state are also a result of demand-side interventions
in domains such as literacy and efforts to increase the age at marriage for
women (Sinha 2016). The state’s ability to reduce the gender gap in literacy
over time that we discussed in the previous chapter has therefore been critical
in this regard. This reduction in literacy gender gap has been accompanied
by a considerable decline in TFR. The declining fertility rate also has a close
relationship with the marrying age of women. As per NFHS-4, the average
age at first marriages (the median age) among women in the age group 25–49
in Tamil Nadu is 20.1 as against 19.7 in Gujarat and 19.9 in Maharashtra, while
the corresponding figure for India is 18.6. The age at marriage determines
the extent to which women are exposed to the risk of pregnancy and also
influences fertility levels. Both the increase in age at marriage and the
reduced gender gap in literacy, while driven by larger socioeconomic changes
have also been incentivised by specific interventions that we discuss later.
Mere expenditure does not translate into a robust health infrastructure (A.
Chakroborty 2019). Similarly, mere generation of intermediate outcomes such
as creation of health infrastructure need not translate into health outcomes.
We therefore emphasise the role of intermediary processes between these
stages of healthcare interventions.

T H E P R O C E S S E S A N D I N T E R M E D I AT E
OUTCOMES

Sen and Drèze (2011) point out that the state has seen a gradual consolidation
of universalistic social policies and built an extensive network of ‘lively and
effective healthcare centres’ offering access to people from across social groups.
In this section, we map the processes that have contributed to such access as
well as better health outcomes.

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 D emocratising C are

P O L I T I C A L C O M M I T M E N T T O H E A LT H I N F R A S T R U C T U R E

As we demonstrate later, the state has generated better health infrastructure

and outcomes with no marked difference in the quantum of health expenditure
compared to many other states. Further, the state has focused on creating a
primary healthcare infrastructure that is one of the best in the country. As
a senior bureaucrat observed, ‘about 50 per cent [of the] state buildings are
associated with the health and education sectors’.2 Not only did the state
make effective use of the limited assistance occasionally offered by the
central government to build infrastructure, it has also used its resources very
strategically towards primary healthcare. The political regime’s commitment
to health can be seen in the many committees the state constituted on health.
As a senior public health expert observes:

The government of Tamil Nadu was the first to constitute a state planning
commission with a task force on health … presided over by Malcolm
Adiseshiah … [It] divided itself into working parties to consider in depth the
problems of health services, medical education, family planning, nutrition,
sanitation, the role of voluntary organisations and indigenous medicines,
including homeopathy. It handed over its report to the Chief Minister of
Tamil Nadu, M Karunanidhi, in 1972. (Sanjivi 1973)

The state has more primary health centre (PHC) density than at the all-
India level, a key infrastructural intermediary in ensuring public health. A
circular from the health department3 outlines the role of PHCs in addressing
maternal, infant and child mortality in the state. The PHCs through their
village health nurses (VHNs) monitor registration of each pregnant woman
since 8–12 weeks of pregnancy and also enumerate all children of the ages of
0–5 for vaccination, ensuring adequate nutrition and other medical check-ups.
The PHCs are also responsible for antenatal, intra-natal and postnatal care of
mothers, as well as infant and child care in their jurisdictions. The population
covered by a PHC in Tamil Nadu is 27,215 whereas the corresponding figure
for India is 32,884 (see Table 4.2). The wider coverage of PHCs in the state
becomes clearer when we look at the extent of coverage of villages. On average,
a PHC covers 12 villages in Tamil Nadu while the all-India average stands at

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25 in 2015. The state also has a well-functioning network of health sub-centres.

One sub-centre caters to two villages compared to the national average of four
villages. Even the community health centre (CHC), which operates at the
taluk (block) level, has more density as compared to most states in India. Each
CHC covers 42 villages in the state, while the national average stands at 116
villages.
The health centres are also better functioning and equipped on an average
compared to Gujarat or Maharashtra. More than 89 per cent of the PHCs
function 24 × 7 in the state while the all-India figure is just 39 per cent (see
Table 4.3). Establishing a PHC does not guarantee the functioning of the unit.
Several intermediary parameters for Tamil Nadu have translated expenditure

Table 4.2 Health Infrastructure across States in India

Average Rural Population Average Number of Villages

Covered by a Covered by a
States Sub-centre PHC CHC Sub-centre PHC CHC
Andhra Pradesh 4,541 32,350 1,80,189 2 16 88
Bihar 9,491 51,244 623,929 5 25 303
Chhattisgarh 3,781 24,820 126,503 4 25 130
Gujarat 3,942 26,404 107,747 2 14 57
Haryana 6,409 34,830 150,085 3 14 62
Himachal Pradesh 2,982 11,923 78,178 10 40 262
Jharkhand 6,338 76,621 133,272 8 99 172
Karnataka 4,015 15,924 181,890 3 12 142
Kerala 3,819 21,203 77,649 0 1 5
Madhya Pradesh 5,718 44,882 157,357 6 47 164
Maharashtra 5,818 33,990 170,989 4 24 121
Odisha 5,229 26,797 92,760 8 39 136
Punjab 5,877 40,619 115,628 4 29 84
Rajasthan 3,574 24,760 90,193 3 21 78
Tamil Nadu 4,273 27,215 96,700 2 12 42
Telangana 4,439 32,313 189,345 2 16 94
Uttarakhand 3,810 27,381 119,270 9 65 285
Uttar Pradesh 7,569 44,414 200,928 5 31 138
West Bengal 5,997 68,408 178,175 4 44 115
All-India 5,377 32,884 151,316 4 25 116
Source: Rural Health Statistics 2015, Ministry of Health and Family Welfare.

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Table 4.3 Facilities at Primar y Health Centres (PHCs)

PHC PHC PHCs PHCs with

with Two with Lady Functioning Labour
Doctors Doctor on 24x7 Basis Room
States (%) (%) (%) (%)
Andhra Pradesh 36.6 50.1 44.8 85.4
Bihar 3.1 8.7 41.9 41.9
Chhattisgarh 12.9 8.4 28.8 88.3
Gujarat 23.6 29.7 22.6 80
Haryana 28.3 25.3 64.2 78.4
Himachal Pradesh 3.9 18.3 0.7 34.8
Jammu & Kashmir 28.1 44.1 32 54.5
Jharkhand 24.8 10.7 33.7 75.8
Karnataka 6.9 26.5 43.2 71.1
Kerala 80.5 55.5 25 7.5
Madhya Pradesh 11.4 11.9 71.2 63.7
Maharashtra 76.3 37.9 55 93.3
Odisha 54.3 40.2 9.8 45.6
Punjab 27.6 43.6 49.5 63
Rajasthan 15.3 9 47.1 80
Tamil Nadu 73.5 72.7 89.3 95.4
Telangana 41.2 58.4 49.3 100
Uttarakhand 23.7 22.6 33.5 63.8
Uttar Pradesh 21 9.1 12.1 54.6
West Bengal 22.1 15.6 25.6 99.5
All-India 26.9 27 39.2 69
Source: Rural Health Statistics 2015, Ministry of Health and Family Welfare.

into functioning infrastructure. On an average, only 27 per cent PHCs have

doctors (mandatory two doctors at each unit) at the all-India level while in
Tamil Nadu it is as high as 74 per cent. More than 72 per cent of PHCs in the
state have a lady doctor while the corresponding all-India figure is only 27 per
cent. The percentage of PHCs, which have an attached labour room, is as high
as 95, while it is 69 per cent in the country. Field-based studies also endorse
such a vibrant health infrastructure in the state (Drèze and Khera 2012). The
state, thus, not only has a wider network of PHCs but also well-functioning
ones with modern equipment. If the state used the assistance provided by the
rural health component of the Minimum Needs Programme during the Fifth

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Five Year Plan (1974–78) to build PHCs in rural Tamil Nadu earlier, it used the
recent assistance under the National Rural Health Mission (NRHM) to equip
PHCs with better equipment and infrastructure, upgrade 385 of them into
CHCs and open 197 new PHCs in areas previously not covered (Vaidyanathan
2014).
Healthcare functioning has also been aided by better density of the
total health workforce (doctors, nurses and midwives, dentists, pharmacists
and other medical staff ). This better density is a cumulative outcome of
medical colleges established in both the public and the private domain. The
state stands second in generating healthcare personnel in the country with
a larger number of medical colleges than the official norm in India.4 By
2014, the state had 45 medical colleges against the recommended norm of
14, and was again ahead of most states (Choudhury 2016).5 Of the total 385
colleges in India, Tamil Nadu alone accounts for about 12 per cent, and also
12 per cent of the total intake of students in the country (Choudhury 2016).
Importantly, even as it encouraged private-sector entry, the state has made
efforts to set up medical colleges in the public domain in different parts to
ensure equitable access (Government of Tamil Nadu 2017). Even in terms of
allopathic doctors registered with the Medical Council of India per million
population, the state ranks second. According to the National Health
Profile (2019), it has 17.7 registered doctors per 10000 population, as against
8.7 at the all- India level. Similarly, in the case of nurses and auxiliary nurse
midwives (ANMs), the state has 44.4 per 10,000 population as against
the national average of 22’ (National Health Profile, 2019). According to
the NSSO-EUS, the state has 9.07 doctors per 10,000 population, much
more than the national average of 4.28. Similarly, in the case of nurses and
auxiliary nurse midwives (ANMs), the state has 10.4 per 10,000 population
as against the national average of 7.4.
Importantly, the state has also built a cadre of medical officers dedicated to
PHCs with incentives to work in remote and underserved areas. As a result,
it has retained doctors within the public health system. Only 7.6 per cent of
medical officers’ posts in PHCs are vacant in Tamil Nadu, while in a state
like Bihar, the corresponding figure is as high as 63 per cent (Alexander 2018).
Similarly, the state has also built a network of VHNs who receive performance-
based compensation to administer vaccinations, medicines and contraceptives,

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and to offer counselling, referral and other services for reproductive and child
health. These VHNs are trained for 18 months both in-house and in the
field before they are certified (Alexander 2018). Such infrastructure has been
made possible through an emphasis not just on the effective use of available
resources but by also ensuring that the composition of such expenditure is
skewed towards primary healthcare.

PUBLIC EXPENDITURE: C O M P O S I T I O N M AT T E R S

Comparative studies often establish a weak link between public expenditure

and health outcomes across lower-income countries, suggesting that how
well money is spent is at least as important as how much is spent (Berman
and Ahuja 2008). Similarly, Dipa Sinha (2016) shows that one per cent
increase in per capita public health spending (average per year) over a
period of five years has been associated with only 0.35 per cent reduction
in IMR. Dholakia and Dholakia (2004) too show a limited but positive
relationship between public expenditure and indicators of health, education
and nutrition.6 Our contention is that the extent to which the composition
of expenditure is biased towards primary health or otherwise plays an
important role in shaping certain key health outcomes. The percentage of
social sector expenditure to the total expenditure has been around 40 per
cent since the 1990s except during the phase—2002–08 (see Table 4.4). This
ratio is quite similar to many states such as Andhra Pradesh, Bihar, Orissa,
Madhya Pradesh and West Bengal. In terms of per-capita expenditure,
Tamil Nadu ranks third after Kerala and Punjab. The average per-capita
expenditure during 2005–10 at 1999–2000 prices for the state was INR 383
as against INR 309 in Maharashtra and INR 266 in Gujarat (see Table 4.5).
Nevertheless, it is the expenditure bias towards primary healthcare that
stands out.
Apart from the relatively low levels of public expenditure on health at the
all-India level, Das Gupta (2005) also argues that there has been a tendency
towards elite capture of the health sector by funnelling resources to high-end
tertiary sectors rather than concentrating on primary health. Not only does
India spend very little on the health sector, but even that limited amount
is spent on expanding subsidised medical training and high-end tertiary

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Table 4.4 Proportion of Social Expenditure to Total Expenditure

1990– 1993– 1996– 1999– 2002– 2005– 2008–

States 93 96 99 2002 05 08 11
Andhra Pradesh 40.9 36.6 39.1 36.5 31.7 33.4 38.4
Bihar 41.4 40.7 43.2 41.8 34.5 40 42.4
Gujarat 33.7 34.1 33.4 35.4 28.9 33.3 37.8
Haryana 31.1 24.4 24.3 34 23.1 31.5 39.7
Himachal Pradesh 33.6 36.9 37 35.6 29.3 33.4 36.1
Karnataka 36.6 38.4 38.6 37.1 29.4 34.3 39.2
Kerala 41.5 39.7 42.5 39.9 34.5 33.1 34
Madhya Pradesh 40.3 40.9 40.9 39.7 30.3 34.9 37.2
Maharashtra 37.7 37.2 37.6 35.5 30.8 37 39.9
Orissa 36.9 38.6 38.4 39.8 29.5 33.3 41.7
Punjab 25 23.9 22.6 24.7 17.4 19.8 24.6
Rajasthan 37.4 37.5 39.3 40.4 35.7 39.7 44.2
Tamil Nadu 40.4 41 39.9 38.5 33 35.5 40.2
Uttar Pradesh 35.5 30.6 33.6 33 26.1 33.8 38.3
West Bengal 44 40.6 38.4 37.1 27.7 31.8 38.2
All-India Average 37.4 36 36.7 36.3 30.2 34.6 38.8
Source: Adapted from D. Sinha (2016).

medical services at the cost of essential public health services. Therefore, the
effectiveness of public spending rests both on the composition of spending
(reflecting political priorities), as well as efficiency, that is, to what extent the
services are actually reaching the people. These in turn are seen to depend on
political will and how accountable the government is to the people, whether
there is ‘public action’ on these issues and so on. On the face of it, the fact that
primary health accounts for about 45 per cent of the total budget, which is
much higher than that of many other states in India, testifies to the direction
of political priorities in the state.

INVERSION OF MYRON WEINER’S THESIS

Like education, health too is held to have been subject to elite capture
in India.7 Based on surveys of official planning reports of the 1970s,
Jeffery remarks that the Indian ‘… model of health services is top-heavy,

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Table 4.5 Average Per Capita Real Public Expenditure on Health

(at 1993–94 Price)
1980–81 to 1988–89 to 1992–93 to 1998–99 to
States 1987–88 1991–92 1997–98 2002–03 2005–10*
Andhra Pradesh 63 73 75 103 224
Bihar 34 44 47 57 155
Gujarat 75 87 89 121 266
Haryana 75 74 71 90 323
Karnataka 65 77 86 118 343
Kerala 75 90 97 116 438
Madhya Pradesh 51 57 58 75 242
Maharashtra 76 83 85 101 309
Orissa 55 60 58 77 251
Punjab 92 117 107 162 324
Rajasthan 62 78 88 107 332
Tamil Nadu 71 90 101 124 383
Uttar Pradesh 41 59 58 57 282
West Bengal 58 67 71 104 277
*Post the NRHM period, it includes health expenditures under the NRHM. The figure is in constant
1999–2000 prices.
Source: Reserve Bank of India Bulletin for various years. The data for previous years until 2002–03 is
adapted from Seeta Prabhu and Selvaraju (2006).

over-centralized, heavily curative in its approach, urban and elite oriented,

costly and dependency creating’ (1994: p. 116; see also Jeffery 1988). Cassen
too argues that India’s ‘health system shares several features of the pattern
of health services in other developing countries including a large share of
health budgets devoted to major hospitals in urban centres and a consequent
relative neglect of rural health infrastructure’ (1978: 201). Tamil Nadu seems
to have bucked this all-India trend. This commitment to primary healthcare
is evident since the days of the Justice Party in the Madras Presidency.
The Justice Party fought the election in 1921 on two major planks: the
enactment of affirmative action for non-Brahmins in state employment
and the promotion of health and education for all. Keeping its promises,
the government introduced a scheme in 1924 to deliver healthcare to the
rural population of the Presidency (Muraleedharan 1992). Incentives were
designed to attract health professionals to go and stay in rural areas. The

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creation of an effectively working primary health infrastructure along with

attention to nutrition through the noon meal scheme alludes to this process
of inversion of priorities. The inversion of priorities is also visible in the
state’s emphasis on public health.

P U B L I C H E A LT H

The elite bias in policy-making meant that the focus shifted from improving
public health systems to supporting curative technologies and methods
of healthcare financing. As a result, medical doctors acquired more status
and power than public health professionals, particularly with the growing
corporatisation of tertiary care. Acquiring qualifications in specialised curative
skills therefore became more attractive than pursuing public health (Das
Gupta 2005). Tamil Nadu, on the other hand, took a different route. It retained
its separate cadre of public health personnel when public health services were
merged with the medical services in the 1950s in the rest of India (Das Gupta
et al. 2010).
It is important to note here that health is a state subject in the Indian
Constitution. As in the domain of education, the state has a track record
of effective public health policies since the Justice Party’s rule in the 1920s.
The Madras Presidency was the first province in British India to pass a
Public Health Act in 1939 which placed the responsibility for provision of
public health services, including maternal and child health, in the hands of
the state. The Act has seen many amendments according to the changing
needs of the state. Public health professionals have to secure a public health
qualification in addition to their medical degree. The Public Health Act8
assigns responsibilities to different layers of the government and agencies,
sets standards of food hygiene, water quality and so on and mandates
regulation and inspection of agencies and establishments. Tamil Nadu has
been successful in maintaining anticipatory/preventive health planning. The
deputy director of health services (DDHS), who is responsible for the health
of the district as a whole, conducts regular inspections that include assuring
sanitary conditions and vector control. The DDHS also prepares the district’s
Epidemic Contingency Plan, including plans for responding to natural
disasters, controlling diarrhoeal diseases during floods and so on (Das Gupta

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et al. 2010). A recent example was the intervention made in the aftermath of
the 2016 floods in Chennai city. Amidst concerns raised in several quarters
over the possible outbreak of such diseases once the flood waters recede,
the preventive intervention undertaken by public health authorities ensured
that no such outbreaks occurred. In other words, the state is able to respond
proactively to avert potential health threats.
This success story of public health administration in Tamil Nadu is usually
attributed to smooth coordination between the public health managers and
technical staff. Sujatha Rao (2017), the former union health secretary in the
Government of India, argues that the health secretary, particularly at the
state level, is accountable for better health outcomes. She further asserts that
Tamil Nadu’s success lies in keeping its health secretary unchanged for at least
three years. This certainly makes a contribution, but there are other significant
factors at play. Importantly, she does not quite tell us why such accountability
mechanisms have been generated to begin with. In other words, she does
not explain why relatively more effective institutional practices emerged in
the state. Santosh Mehrotra (2006) argues that the real explanation for such
performance has to be located in the set of incentives emanating from social
mobilisation. One outcome of such mobilisation is the emergence of a socially
inclusive pool of healthcare professionals who are incentivised to serve in the
public health system.

S O C I A L I N C L U S I O N A N D I N C E N T I V I S AT I O N

Apart from its ability to generate a pool of skilled healthcare professionals,

Tamil Nadu has an incentive structure in place to retain professionals in the
public healthcare system. Medical colleges are spatially distributed, ensuring
that every district headquarters has at least one public medical college in the
state. While this production of health personnel ensures the adequate supply
of doctors for the public health system, an incentive structure developed over
time allows the state to retain doctors even as other states are witnessing
brain drain due to the exodus of doctors to the private sector or their leaving
the country for better prospects. Rao et al. (2011) in fact suggest that many
states fail to retain doctors in rural areas due to the inability of the public
sector to attract them accompanied by the disinclination of qualified private

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providers to work there. We provide two extreme examples of Karnataka and

UP to illustrate this. While Karnataka produces marginally more health and
medical personnel than Tamil Nadu, it has not been able to retain them in the
public health system. The state has a poor doctor–patient ratio in the public
health system with one doctor for every 13,556 people as against the national
average of a doctor per 11,082 people while Tamil Nadu has a much better
ratio with one doctor for every 9,544 people (National Health Profile 2018).
The other example is UP which lacks in both production of health personnel
as well as in retaining them within the public health system. With only 31
medical colleges, less than the official norm of 42, the doctor–patient ratio
in the public health system is only 19,962.9 Tamil Nadu, on the other hand,
not only generates more health personnel but also retains them in the public
health system.
A related aspect is the social composition of medical officers. If the 69 per
cent reservation policy in education has ensured the production of doctors
across caste groups, reservation in public employment has ensured the
presence of doctors and other medical professionals across communities in
the public health system. The results of a medical entrance exam for MBBS/
BDS held in 2015–16 illustrate this pluralisation of representation in the
medical profession in the state. Of the 31,525 total seats, OBC candidates
secured 67.9 per cent, which is higher than their reserved quota of 50 per
cent, while SCs accounted for 26 per cent of the total seats which is eight per
cent more than what they are entitled to.10 In other words, at least sections
of the SCs and OBCs are in a position to compete for a share in the open
quota. This ability to generate a pool of skilled healthcare professionals from
a range of caste locations is important for several reasons. While it generates
a relatively inclusive opportunity structure and diffuses aspirations among
marginalised youth, it also makes possible a communally representative
healthcare bureaucracy. Such a bureaucracy is crucial in incentivising more
democratic access. They are likely to appreciate the importance of delivering
healthcare to marginal groups and are hence more responsive to demands
emanating from these groups (Mehrotra 2006). Healthcare professionals
also constitute a voice that could resist incursions of privatisation. For
instance, when the AIADMK-led government introduced a policy of
hiring doctors on a contractual basis in 2005, the Tamil Nadu Government

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Doctors’ Association launched a series of protests and ensured the reversal of

the policy. When the DMK came to power in 2006, the then governor had
to mention the policy stance of regularisation of appointments of medical
personnel in his speech.11
Another important incentive is the ‘in-service quota’ in postgraduate
admissions to all branches of medicine, including super-speciality courses, for
doctors who complete a minimum of two years of service in PHCs or district
hospitals. The state has a 50 per cent in-service quota for postgraduate courses
in all medical colleges run by the government as well as seats12 reserved
for the government in private colleges (Kalaiyarasan 2017a). In addition,
students completing post-graduation and super-speciality courses availing
the in-service quota need to work in public hospitals for a minimum of
three years. Such rules for the admission process at both undergraduate and
postgraduate levels in all branches of medicine have ensured the retention of
specialist doctors who are incentivised to work in rural areas.
Moreover, the state has a separate public health cadre with distinct
qualification requirements, service conditions and pay scales. The public health
cadres are recruited as health officers through the Tamil Nadu Public Service
Commission (TNPSC). While the minimum qualification at the entry level is
an MBBS, they are also required to obtain a Diploma in Public Health within
four years of their appointment for regularisation as health officers (Datta
2010). Since there is no lateral entry, these health officers can retire as Director
of Public Health and Preventive Medicine in the state. A significant portion
of health personnel are thus allotted to the public health department in Tamil
Nadu. The department alone comprises of an almost 36,000-strong workforce,
which is about 42 per cent of the total health workforce in the state (Datta
2010). Unlike in other states where a general doctor or a surgeon can become
the director of the public health department, a public health professional alone
can become the director of the department in the state. The department also
has its own incentive structure for internal promotion. As a result, a health
officer can become DDHS by the age of 45, whereas his clinician counterpart
may need to wait until the age of 55 to reach an equivalent salary and status
in the health system (Datta 2010). Many of these health personnel also opt
for teaching assignments to share their experiences as the system provides
inter-transferability with medical colleges. The state also has similar pathways

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for paramedical personnel. The VHN who manages sub-centres is recruited

from the anganwadi workers of the Integrated Child Development Services
(ICDS), and is sponsored for an 18-month training programme. Based on
their seniority, the VHNs are appointed as sector health nurses (SHNs)
with six months of training. They also get promoted to community health
nurses (CHNs), and can retire as a district maternal and child health officer
(DMCHO) having started as an anganwadi worker after finishing their class
10 education.
We now turn our attention to the interventions designed to improve access
to the health system.

R AT E O F U T I L I S AT I O N

Better health outcomes are not merely based on spending and the creation of
intermediary outcomes like effective infrastructure. On the demand side, it
is important that citizens recognise the importance of accessing healthcare,
particularly of the preventive kind. Incentivising and ensuring access through
such awareness creation is therefore an important component of this process.
Its excellent record of immunisation, among other achievements, illustrates
this (Government of Tamil Nadu 2017). Once again, the rate of utilisation of
health services in Tamil Nadu is not only higher than in most states but is
also pro-poor in nature (Acharya et al. 2011). Looking at access to the public
health system across income quintiles, Acharya et al.’s study finds that in
Tamil Nadu, unlike in other states, the bottom 20 per cent of the income
quintiles use public healthcare more than the top quintile. In other states,
the richer income groups are held to disproportionately use public facilities,
marginalising the poor. The study also observes that the state has a better
drug distribution system. It goes on to suggest that apart from supply-side
factors like better infrastructure for healthcare, the state has also devised a
range of incentives for effective access to such services and for increasing
institutional deliveries. This takes us to the dimension of creating demand
for healthcare.
The Dr Muthulakhmi Reddy Maternity Benefit Scheme, named after
one of the first female Indian doctors under colonial rule and an activist who

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fought for women’s rights, illustrates this process. The scheme offers INR
18,000 in five instalments for the first two pregnancies of every woman in
the state. Within three months of the pregnancy, based on her registration
at the local PHC, a pregnant woman gets INR 2,000 along with a box of
nutrition enhancing products worth an additional INR 2,000. After the first
four months of pregnancy, she gets a similar incentive. Immediately after her
delivery, she gets a third instalment of INR 4,000. The fourth instalment of
INR 4,000 is given after the first vaccination of the child. The fifth instalment
of INR 2,000 is given after the MMR vaccination at any time during 9 to 12
months after childbirth.
A novel approach that combines maternal health with infant healthcare,
this phased out process not only improved health outcomes but also made
health personnel at PHCs more accountable to the people. As a result, the
delivery of antenatal and postnatal services improved in the state. For instance,
the NFHS-4 (2015–16) shows that a woman receiving antenatal care from any
skilled provider in the state is 92 per cent as against 79 per cent at the all-India
level. Similarly, 67 per cent of women use a public facility for child delivery as
compared to the all-India figure of 52 per cent. The data shows that the average
out-of-pocket cost paid for delivery at a public facility for the most recent live
birth is lowest in the state. The phased instalments of the scheme also made
child immunisation compulsory.
Yet another slew of schemes that have contributed to improving both age at
marriage and the educational attainment of girls before marriage are marriage
assistance schemes like the Moovalur Ramamirtham Ammaiyar Ninaivu
Marriage Assistance Scheme. This scheme is a conditional transfer scheme for
girls from poor households at the time of marriage. The government provides
a fixed amount of cash and gold if the girl has completed 10 years of schooling
and is above the age of 18. The amount transferred is doubled if the girl has
completed a bachelor’s degree or a diploma (Balagopal and Vijayabaskar 2018).
While such schemes are expected to help the daughters of poor and vulnerable
households, they also work to increase both the age at marriage and the levels
of educational attainment.13 Together, they are likely to have contributed
to better awareness and hence an ability to take advantage of maternal and
antenatal care provided by the public health system. A more immediate factor

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in facilitating access is the public procurement and distribution of drugs at

subsidised rates.

DRUG POLICY

A key measure of well-being is reduction in the out-of-pocket expenditure on

health of households. Drugs and diagnostics alone account for 70 per cent of
out-of-pocket expenditure (Rao 2017). Tamil Nadu has pioneered free provision
of essential drugs and diagnostics at public healthcare facilities (Reddy 2016).
Kumar et al. (2011) also observe that the state allocates more resources towards
drugs and medical research when compared to other states in India. As a
result, it has been able to bring down the burden of out-of-pocket expenses
on healthcare more than most states. It has set up an elaborate network
consisting of a pharmaceutical corporation, the Tamil Nadu Medical Services
Corporation (TNMSC) and a well-developed supply chain with computerised
records (Lalitha 2008; Narayan 2018). The TNMSC has a transparent process
of drug procurement based on the Tamil Nadu Transparency Tenders Act
1998.14 The process allows only a 15 per cent price rise from the previous year’s
rate for the medicine it buys. The corporation also follows the two-bid system,
one for technical specifications and the other for prices. This dual-tier process
ensures that the procurement of drugs is cheaper and the drugs are of good
quality. The corporation also has drug warehouses and health facilities which
are linked electronically to ensure adequate inventories and continuous flow of
medicines to its PHCs.15 As a result, TNMSC prices are several times lower
than market prices (Selvaraj et al. 2014), and this has also ensured the highest
percentage of availability of free drugs in public health facilities. The result of
such measures is reflected in secondary data as well. The NSS (71st round 2014–
15) indicates that the average expenditure a household incurs for hospitalisation
in a government health facility is lower in Tamil Nadu in both rural and urban
areas (see Table 4.6). Since this difference in average expenditure is accounted
through provision of free medicine at government hospitals in Tamil Nadu,
state interventions have managed to insulate the poor from the negative effects
of increases in drug prices. We now turn our attention to the nutritional aspects
of healthcare, a dimension that has been well recognised in literature on social
welfare in the state.

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Table 4.6 Average Medical and Non-medical Expenditure Per

Hospitalisation Case in Public and Private Facilities (INR)
Tamil Nadu All-India
Public Rural Urban Total Rural Urban Total
Medical 459 780 600 5,512 7,592 6,120
Non-medical 1,986 1,598 1,816 1,682 1,451 1,614
Total 2,445 2,378 2,416 7,193 9,043 7,734
Private
Medical 19,554 33,261 27,228 21,726 32,375 25,850
Non-medical 2,221 2,641 2,456 2,266 2,287 2,275
Total 21,775 35,902 29,684 23,992 34,662 28,124
Public + Private
Medical 11,842 23,757 18,006 14,935 24,436 18,268
Non-medical 2,126 2,336 2,234 2,021 2,019 2,021
Total 13,968 26,092 20,240 16,956 26,455 20,288
Source: NSSO 71st round (2014).

THE NOON MEAL SCHEME

Child nutrition rates in particular show that the state has been doing well as
compared to the all-India average thanks to the ICDS and the ‘noon meal’
programme. Tamil Nadu has the distinction of being the first state in post-
independence India to introduce free mid-day meals for school children.16 The
scheme, however, has its antecedents in the Justice Party rule in the Madras
Presidency during the colonial period as pointed out in the previous chapter.
The scheme acquired new life again under the chief ministership of K. Kamaraj,
through the slogan of ‘combating classroom hunger’ in the 1950s (Rajivan
2006). The programme retained children in schools and effectively reduced
dropouts, especially children coming from a lower-caste and class background.
The programme was expanded from 1982 onwards. As Barbara Harriss notes:

From July 1982 ... rural pre-school children registered from the age of 2 at
balwadis or nurseries and all of the 3.8 million registered school attenders
under the age of 10 have been entitled to one free meal daily throughout
the year. 5.6 million participated in the scheme at its inception. Then
in September 1982 it was extended to children in urban areas and in the

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cities of Madras, Madurai and Coimbatore adding an increment of 6.5

lakhs of participants. Two months later a monthly supply of tooth powder
was distributed via the infrastructure built up ... In January 1983, old
age pensioners were included, netting in a further 1.9 lakhs. A year later
ex-servicemen’s widows became eligible for a free meal. (Harriss 1984: p. 4)

The noon meal programme is run professionally. Over 90 per cent of the
schools have proper kitchen infrastructure which is periodically upgraded and
modernised. The mid-day meal centres are also equipped with weighing scales,
mats for children to sleep on, educational charts and toys. The programme
is not managed by school teachers but by a team consisting of a noon meal
organiser, a cook and a helper (Rajivan 2006). They are paid adequate salaries
with pension benefits. Panchayat-level vigilance committees regularly monitor
the functioning and leakages. Local communities too contribute by, among
other things, developing kitchen gardens for the mid-day meal centres. The
success of the programme has been attributed to pressure from both above and
below. A political will and well-functioning bureaucracy from above ensure
the required budgetary support while the pressure from below makes officials
accountable (Rajivan 2006; Narayan 2018).
Over the years the programme has become integrated with the larger
goal of addressing malnutrition and promoting child development in the
state. In addition to mid-day meals, the ICDS has also contributed to the
state’s success in improving the nutritional status of children. The aim of the
ICDS is to provide integrated health, nutrition and pre-school education
services to children under the age of six through local anganwadis (childcare
centres) (Drèze and Sen 2013). The programme has become mandatory
after the Supreme Court’s intervention making it available to all children
under six as a matter of legal entitlement. Given the history of its success in
mid‑day meals, Tamil Nadu has also done well in implementing the ICDS.
A report by Focus On Children Under Six (FOCUS) (Drèze 2006)17 also
points out that the awareness level of various welfare programmes is very
high in Tamil Nadu when compared to other states in India. This takes us to
the processes that empowered people to make claims to healthcare access in
the state.

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 D emocratising C are

P O L I T I C A L LY A N D S O C I A L LY D R I V E N D E M A N D

In earlier sections, we pointed out how improvements in educational

attainments and age at marriage may have indirectly contributed to awareness-
induced claim-making on healthcare resources. In addition, we identify
three distinct pathways that forged better collective demand, especially
from marginal social groups. To begin with, apart from forging a ‘politically
integrated region’,18 political mobilisation also generated awareness among
people of their rights and entitlements. Undermining of caste hierarchies
has made institutions more responsive to collective action (Srinivasan 2010).
As a result, social popular interventions could be extended all the way to the
poorest and the most marginalised social groups. When this does not happen,
Srinivasan points out, it is common to see people resorting to ‘public action’
for violation of their entitlements. If proper care is not given by a PHC doctor,
patients write to the district medical officer, local newspaper or confront the
doctor themselves—a culture of protest and public action that ensures better
accountability.
Second, Narayan (2018) also points to the role of Dravidian party
functionaries as intermediaries in linking marginalised social groups to the
state apparatus. He argues that while collective action from below may have
emerged as pressure groups to ensure better public services later, it was the
party functionaries who initially represented the grievances of marginalised
groups through petitions, protests and so on. Third, social diversification of
health professionals is an important pathway through which access gets
socially broad based. Literature suggests that social diversification and
adequate representation of marginal groups in public administration in a
stratified society offers a ‘feeling of affinity’ among communities.19 Following
Granovetter (1973), there has been a recognition that ‘weak ties’, that is, social
ties that are not intimate and personal but widespread, are crucial to the
diffusion of information in a society. His contention is that when information
is passed through a network where ties are strong among a smaller group, it
is likely to diffuse less among those outside these strong ties. Weak ties, on
the other hand, by virtue of the fact that they are more widespread and link
relatively disparate groups, are likely to be more useful for dissemination of

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information and access. In the context of the United States, Cornwell and
Cornwell (2008) for example, demonstrate how concentration of access to
‘experts’ and ‘expert knowledge’ within high-status groups (in terms of class
and race) and the exclusivity of such networks have led to the widening of
disparities between whites and minorities. Disparities in access to expertise
may therefore be a key pathway through which social and economic hierarchies
are reproduced. Given the importance of social networks, particularly caste and
kinship networks in accessing information in India (Munshi 2014), networks
between members of a marginalised community and a service provider in
a caste stratified system are likely to be critical to improved access. Having
people from their community as a provider of public services can motivate
those from marginal sections to access such services. Political mobilisation in
Tamil Nadu is likely to have enabled the expansion of weak ties on the one
hand and reduced the disparities in access to expert knowledge on the other.
By forging a pan-Tamil-Dravidian identity (Singh 2015), the movement paved
the way for the formation of ‘weak’ ties across multiple marginalised social
groups. Affirmative action enabled the emergence of health experts from
different marginal groups and hence broad base vertical ties with such experts.
Horizontal bridging networks linked to such broad-based vertical ties can
forge improved demand and access to public healthcare.

POPULIST INTERVENTIONS AMIDST REFORMS

We have argued that the state’s better outcomes in health and nutrition have
been made possible by ensuring relatively more equitable access to public
health services and ensuring better utilisation. While the coverage may be short
of World Health Organization (WHO) standards, it is still better than that in
most states in India. We related this to the state’s century-long track record of
effective public health policies contrary to elite capture of the health system
in most other parts of the country. Another significant achievement of the
Dravidian experiment is its success in ensuring efficiency in health outcomes.
Apart from an incentive structure, entry of lower castes in the bureaucracy
brought in valuable insights into processes on the ground that ensured better
design and implementation of key health policies. They further contributed to

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improved access by virtue of their ‘weak ties’ with marginal groups. Mobilisation
around the Tamil identity and social justice has produced horizontal solidarities
and generated awareness among people of their entitlements, which in turn
made institutions accountable and ensured effective delivery of certain public
services. Economic popular interventions like incentive schemes for specific
healthcare access also contributed to this process.
Subsequent developments in tertiary delivery in the state are also
suggestive of the ability of the state’s populist slant to negotiate with market-
based reforms. The growing demand and greater opening up of tertiary care
to the private sector in the post-reform period meant a dramatic expansion
of corporatised healthcare providers in the state. As Hodges (2013) argues,
Apollo, India’s first private limited hospital, offered a business template for
other private players to corporatise health services in the state. In fact, this
led to the emergence of the state as a major hub for healthcare services in
the country. Of the 30 districts in the state, 18 districts have at least one big
private hospital.20 This also led to a growing perception of quality differences
emerging between public and private care providers within this segment.
Squeezed fiscally and unable to expand tertiary care capacity in the public
sector, the state launched a state-funded health insurance scheme for the
poor that enabled them to access private healthcare since 2006. The domain
of economic popular interventions has thus expanded with the growing cost
of tertiary care and the inability of the public sector to universalise this care.
Subsequently, the scheme was also extended to public hospitals too so that
patients could choose between the two streams of providers. The insurance
premium is covered by the state government. Kailash and Rasaratnam (2015)
in fact suggest that Tamil Nadu and Kerala have modified the health insurance
scheme to give an advantage to public hospitals unlike in other states. Though
the insurance-based model has not led to market failures as it has happened
elsewhere thanks to the prevalence of a robust public health infrastructure,
evidence of slippages in delivery of certain public health services has been
observed (Balagopal and Vijayabaskar 2019). What kind of state and public
action can address such slippages, however, remains to be seen.

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APPENDIX 4A

Under-five Mortality Rate (Per 1,000 live births, 2015)

70 62 62
56
60
48 48 50 51
50 43 43
38 39 39 39
34
40 30 31 33
30 24 27
20
20 13
10
0
Karnataka

Haryana
Himachal pradesh

Assam
Jharkhand
Telangana

AP

Bihar
Kerala
Tamil Nadu
Maharashtra

West Bengl

India
Uttarakhand

Madhya Pradesh
Punjab

Uttar Pradesh
Odisha
Gujarat

Chhattisgarh
Rajasthan
Figure 4A.1 Subnational Variation in Under-five Mortality Rate
Source: NFHS-4 (2014–15).

Maternal
Maternal Mortality
MortalityRatio
Ratio(Per
(Per100,000
100,000live
livebirths,2016-17)
births, 2016–17)
250 215
197
200 164 173
149 150 159
150 129
113
91 92 98 99
100 65 71 75
60 63
43 46
50

0
Haryana

Karnataka
Andhra Pradesh

Assam
Madhya
Telangana

Jharkhand

Bihar
India
Kerala

Maharashtra

Tamil Nadu

West Bengal

Uttarakhand

Punjab

Odisha

Uttar Pradesh
Gujarat

Chhattisgarh

Rajasthan

Figure 4A.2 Subnational Variation in Maternal Mortality Ratio

Source: Special Bulletin on Maternal Mortality in India 2016–17, Sample Registration System, Office
of the Registrar General, Government of India.

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Institutional Delivery (%) (2015)

120
99.9 99.0
100 94.3 91.6 91.5 90.5 90.3
88.7 85.4
84.0 80.8 80.5
78.9 76.4 75.2
80 70.6 70.2 68.6 67.8
63.8 61.9
60

40

20

Haryana
Karnataka
Andhra Pradesh

Assam
Telangana
Kerala
Tamil Nadu

Maharashtra

India

West Bengal

Jharkhand #
Punjab

Himachal Pradesh
Gujarat

Madhya Pradesh

Bihar
Odisha

Uttarakhand
Uttar Pradesh
Rajasthan

Chattisgarh
Figure 4A.3 Subnational Variation in Institutional Delivery
Source: NFHS-4 (2014–15).

NOTES

1 Tamil Nadu has underperformed in most of these indicators in the last

decade. Until 2005–06, the state was one of the better performing states
but the reverse is seen in 2015–16. The percentage of child immunisation
was 81 in 2005–06 and but came down to 69 in 2015–16. While the level of
indicators is still better in the state as compared to most states, the rate of
change has come down during the last decade.
2 Interview with a senior bureaucrat in the health ministry on April 11 2019.
3 Circular 9/2014, dated June 24, 2014, National Health Mission, State Health
Society, DMS complex, Chennai -6.
4 The Government of India constituted a committee under A.L Mudaliyar
in 1962 which recommended the establishment of one medical college for a
population of five million.
5 The TNHDR 2017 (Government of Tamil Nadu 2017) offers a figure of 29
medical colleges while the report also estimates the presence of 166 private
nursing colleges along with 27 nursing institutions in the state.
6 Eighty-five per cent of public health expenditure in India is by state
governments. While the share of state governments’ expenditure in overall

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public health expenditure is decreasing, especially after the introduction of

the NRHM, it still constitutes the major part.
7 Following the all-India sanitary conference in 1912, Captain Hutton,
sanitary engineer, complained that the advance of sanitation in the Madras
Presidency was necessarily slow owing to ‘… the reluctance of responsible
authorities to provide sufficient funds and the backward condition of the
people in understanding sanitary methods …’ (Harrison 1994: p. 200).
8 The Act specifies the legal and administrative structures for the public health
system in the state. It provides a framework of well-defined responsibilities
of different government agencies within the structure, with corresponding
budget allocations.
9 The UP cabinet tried giving capital subsidies for private players who would
invest in setting up medical colleges but could not build the momentum.
(Indian Express 2013).
10 The estimation was done based on the provisional merit list released by
the Directorate of Medical Education for the academic year 2015–16. The
breakup of the total seats (31,525) is—BC: 12,944, MBC/DNC: 6,754,
Backward Class Muslims: 1,694, SC: 7,257 and SC–Arunthathiyar: 1,079,
while the figure for the remaining open category is 1,493. The list is still
available on https://realitycheck.files.wordpress.com/2015/06/mbbs2015-16.
pdf (accessed 24 December 2019).
11 See Tamil Nadu Governor’s speech (2006): https://tnrd.gov.in/
Announcement_pdf/governor_addr_May2006.pdf (accessed 12 March 2019).
12 Private colleges are mandated to offer 50 per cent seats to the Government of
Tamil Nadu for which the reservation policies of the state become applicable.
13 See for details, http://www.tnsocialwelfare.org/pages/view/marriage-
assistance-schemes (accessed 15 March 2019).
14 A Planning Commission (2011) expert group on universal health coverage,
too, acknowledged the success of Tamil Nadu in providing essential drugs,
and proposed to the Government of India that ‘an increase in the public
procurement of medicines from around 0.1% to 0.5% of GDP would ensure
universal access to essential drugs, greatly reduce the burden on private out-
of-pocket expenditures and increase the financial protection for households’
(Planning Commission 2011: p. 10).

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15 The setting up of the TNMSC, a state-owned company, is being seen as key

to ensuring essential drugs at affordable prices (for further details see Basu
2010).
16 The scheme was introduced in 1956 by K. Kamaraj, the then chief minister,
known for his pro-poor and pro-lower-caste policies, to ensure that
education reaches the poor and the marginalised.
17 The report was brought out by the Citizens’ Initiative for the Rights of
Children Under Six (2006), based on a survey of 200 anganwadis in 2004
in six states—Chhattisgarh, Himachal Pradesh, Maharashtra, Rajasthan,
Tamil Nadu and Uttar Pradesh.
18 Paul Brass (1979) argues that subnational identification became strong in
Tamil Nadu, quoted in Singh (2015: p. 122).
19 Mark Granovetter (1973) offers insights on how social networks among
small groups facilitate the flow of information on mobility opportunities
between community organisations.
20 Hooda argues that India has seen an escalation of private enterprises in
the healthcare market since the 2000s. Most such enterprises are placed in
urban and the most-developed regions in the country. About 60 per cent
of districts in Tamil Nadu as against 29 per cent at the all-India level have
at least a private allopathic enterprise consisting of medical and dental
hospitals, diagnostic centres/labs and blood banks. See Hooda (2015).

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 5

BROADENING GROWTH AND

DEMOCRATISING CAPITAL

If social justice, as the Dravidianists imagined, was rooted in a process

of inclusive modernisation, what does it mean for the process of capital
accumulation? There are two interpretations of the unfolding of the process
of accumulation in the state. According to one, both Dravidian parties have
focused on welfare politics, leaving the elites to dominate the realm of capital
accumulation (Harriss and Wyatt 2019). Harriss (2003) in fact observes
that the prominent business leaders have continued to remain at the top
for decades. Harish Damodaran (2008), though not exactly contesting this
position, argues that there has been a ‘democratization of capital’ in southern
India including Tamil Nadu, due to certain historical factors. Drawing upon
works by historians like Mahadevan (1992, 2017), Damodaran argues that the
absence of a dominant trading community (Vaishya) in the south allowed
for entrepreneurs from lower castes to emerge, bringing about a process of
‘democratisation of capital’. He thus attributes this ‘democratisation’ to a
combination of opportunities opened up by colonial commerce and the ability
of specific lower castes rooted in particular geographies to take advantage of
these opportunities. In other words, this process has happened independent
of any deliberate policy interventions. On a similar note, while Swaminathan
(1994) suggests a relative absence of entrepreneurship in the state, Sinha (2005)
argues that there has been inadequate state support for industrialisation.
Partly contesting these propositions, in this chapter we make a case for the
role of state intervention backed by a political imagination in facilitating and
‘democratising’ capital accumulation in Tamil Nadu.
According to ideologues of the Dravidian movement, there were two factors
that hindered democratising capital accumulation in the region. First, they
 B roadening G rowth and D emocratising C apital

held that the caste system rendered actors from some castes ‘born capitalists’
and those from others ‘born labourers’ (Vidiyal 2017: pp. 737–38). Addressing
railway workers in 1952, Periyar called upon the workers to understand that it
was being born into a specific caste that made them a part of the working class
while members of the upper castes become capitalists by virtue of their birth.
Their struggle should therefore be to destroy the institution that generates and
sustains this class divide. Second, the dominance of Marwari (‘north Indian’)
capital in the country and in the region was seen to prevent modernisation of
the economy and entry of ‘Tamils’ into business (Annadurai 2017 [1949]). Such
dominance meant not only that the surplus was being siphoned off but also
led to the neglect of the region by the union government in a context where
the Indian state was leading industrialisation through licensing and setting up
public-sector enterprises (Annadurai 2017 [1949]). Simultaneously, they held
that the social domination of caste elites and their collusion with dominant
business communities helped them to monopolise the sphere of capital
accumulation. We argue in this chapter that notwithstanding other factors
at work as pointed out by scholars like Damodaran (2008) and Mahadevan
(1992, 2017), political mobilisation and state-level policies have ensured better
prospects for capital accumulation as well as ensured a relatively better share of
lower castes in this domain.
We trace three pathways through which this process unfolded. First, we
argue that the diffusion of a productivist ethos and a belief that industrialisation
is critical to undermine social hierarchies translated into a broad-based political
consensus leading to consistent demands in this regard. This translation is also
partly tied to the transformation of social relations that may have otherwise
hindered entry. Second, as infrastructure was critical to modernisation, such
demands translated into investments in physical and social infrastructure
which allowed for more diffused entry into the domain of capital accumulation.
Finally, we point out that specific policies in the domain of industrialisation
and servitisation have also enabled this process. We therefore contest the claim
that ‘politicians concentrated on the social sectors, leaving entrepreneurs pretty
much to themselves’. The state pursued active industrial and infrastructure
policies since the 1950s responding to the consistent pressure of mobilisation
built around a narrative of regional neglect, which was reworked in the post-
1990s period of economic reforms as well. While the narrative of regional

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neglect translated into a demand for greater resources and autonomy from the
union government, the narrative of domination by ‘north Indian’ capital led to
the consolidation of an aspirational ‘Tamil’ identity that could be mobilised to
demand redistribution of material resources towards the Tamil region. Such a
demand thus enabled development through subnational solidarities (Singh 2015)
and also helped constitute a spatial distributional politics based on a politics
of recognition. Questioning the vertical imbalance in resource mobilisation
and sharing between the union and regional governments, the state has
consistently claimed greater devolution of resources and rights. The Rajamannar
Committee, constituted by the DMK government in 1969 for example, was the
first committee by a state government mandated to look at centre–state fiscal
relations and recommend more transfers to states as well as more taxation
powers for regional governments (Panneerselvan 2018). We thus suggest that a
programmatic intervention driven by a ‘social popular’ imagination has enabled
a relatively more inclusive process of capital accumulation.
We distinguish four temporal phases over which these pathways traversed.
The first phase overlaps with the colonial period marked by the emergence of
a productivist ethos and a popular demand for modern industries to improve
the regional economy along with state support for early industrialisation. This
popular demand was an outcome of a mobilisation that managed to establish
equivalence between demands for social justice, dominance of a collusion of
caste and business elites in the cultural and material domain, and perceived
absence of adequate industrial development. The second phase corresponds to
the post-1947 period until 1967 when the DMK came to power. This was a
phase when the Congress government was in power and when equivalence
of these demands was strengthened and articulated consistently by both
the DMK seeking formal political power and the DK. The last two phases
correspond to the period when the Dravidian parties have alternated in power.
While the first of these phases pertains to the pre-reform period when state-
led industrialisation continued to dominate, the last phase coincides with the
post-reform period that saw an increase in the role of regional governments in
attracting private investments. As these phases also overlap with regime and
policy shifts at the national level, policy interventions are also shaped by such
shifts.

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Apart from using secondary data to map patterns of economic growth

and enterprise ownership, we rely on government orders (GOs) and other
policy documents pertaining to industrialisation in Tamil Nadu as well
as on field-based research. The analysis is organised in three parts. First,
we map the outcomes in terms of economic growth and the contribution
of different sectors to growth. In the second part, we map the broadening
of industrialisation and the social base of entrepreneurship in Tamil Nadu.
Finally, we map the processes shaping such outcomes.

G R O W T H A N D S T R U C T U R A L T R A N S F O R M AT I O N

In this section, we look at the trends in the composition of growth to establish

that the state has not only witnessed better structural transformation than
most states, but also has created conditions for sustaining the process. We rely
on data on the state domestic product (SDP) and its components (agriculture,
industry and services from the Central Statistics Office [CSO], compiled by
Economic and Political Weekly Research Foundation [EPWRF]). We use the
net state domestic product (NSDP) because it is available for a longer period
of time (for the method and computed results, see Appendix 5A). Table 5.1
provides the log-linear growth for the last 55 years starting from the 1960s.
While the SDP has grown at 4.7 per cent per annum during this phase, there
are variations across sub-periods. Beginning with 2.1 per cent per annum in
the 1960s, there is a slight increase in the 1970s (3.4 per cent per annum) and
further in the 1980s (4.9 per cent). It is, however, only in the 1990s that the
state registered an average growth rate of 6.2 per cent, and entered a phase
of much higher growth (a rate of 8.4 per cent) during 2000–14.1 While the
trajectory mirrors all-India patterns, the growth rate in the post-1990s is
higher than that at the all-India level (see Figure 5.1). If we compare with
Gujarat and Maharashtra, until the 1980s, the state grew at a much lower
rate than the other two, particularly Maharashtra. It is only in the 1990s that
the state picked up its growth, and stood at 8.4 per cent during 2000–14—the
same rate as that of Maharashtra, but less than that of Gujarat.

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Table 5.1 Economic Growth (NSDP)

Tamil Nadu Maharashtra Gujarat All-India

1960–1970 2.1 2.9 2.7 3.3
1970–1980 3.4 5.6 4.6 3.2
1980–1990 4.9 5.4 4.7 5.2
1990–2000 6.2 6.7 7.7 5.8
2000–2014 8.4 8.4 9.3 6.8
1960–2014 4.7 5.6 5.5 4.8
Source: Data converted to 2004–05 base year using the method described in Appendix 5A.

70000

60000

50000

40000

30000

20000

10000

0
1960-1961

1963-1964

1966-1967

1969-1970

1972-1973

1975-1976

1978-1979

1981-1982

1984-1985

1987-1988

1990-1991

1993-1994

1996-1997

1999-2000

2002-2003

2005-2006

2008-2009

2011-2012

All India Tamil Nadu

Figure 5.1 Trend in Per Capita Income (in INR at 2004–05)

Source: Data converted to 2004–05 base year using the method described in Appendix 5A.

This higher growth rate is also reflected in the widening difference in per
capita income between the all-India average and that of Tamil Nadu (see
Figure 5.1). The gap in per capita income between Tamil Nadu and India has
increased from 14 per cent in the 1960s to 55 per cent in 2010 (Chapter 1).
In the sub-periods, the relative position of Tamil Nadu vis-à-vis the all-India
number was stagnant during the 1970s and marginally declined in the 1980s.
It improved only in the 1990s—from 15 per cent in the 1970s to 27 per cent in
the 1990s. In the 2000s, the state decisively entered a higher growth path, with
the difference in per capita income growing larger. In terms of position, while

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Table 5.2 Growth by Sectors in Tamil Nadu

Per Capita
Agriculture Industry Services NSDP Income
1960–1970 -0.8 6.0 3.6 2.1 0.0
1970–1980 1.0 5.7 3.9 3.4 1.7
1980–1990 3.5 4.0 6.4 4.9 3.4
1990–2000 2.9 5.1 8.7 6.2 5.1
2000–2014 3.1 8.2 9.6 8.4 7.7
1960–2014 1.9 5.0 6.1 4.7 3.4
Source: Data converted to 2004–05 base year using the method described in Appendix 5A.

the state stood at fourth place among 12 large states in the 1960s, it has steadily
improved and moved up to the second position in 2014 (Chakravarthy and
Dehejia 2016; Figure 5.1).
What is significant, however, is the sectoral composition of this growth
(Table 5.2)

SECTORAL GROWTH AND SHIFTS

If we disaggregate by sector, agriculture, at 1.9 per cent, has been the lowest
growing sector among the three sectors for the entire period. Its share has
come down to just 7.2 per cent in 2014–15. Agriculture was obviously the
dominant sector during the 1960s with an average share of 45.2 per cent in
the SDP. While growth was relatively stagnant until the 1970s, it picked up
in the 1980s, growing at 3.5 per cent thanks to the spread of Green Revolution
technologies. Its growth fell to 2.9 per cent in the 1990s but improved to 3.1
per cent in 2000–14. The sector’s relative contribution to aggregate growth
has been declining faster than at the all-India level. The share of agriculture
in Tamil Nadu has fallen from about 52 per cent in 1960–61 to just 7.2 per
cent in 2014–15 while the corresponding figures at the all-India level are 48
per cent and 14 per cent, respectively. Despite this sharper fall in share, the
agricultural economy performs well in terms of productivity. The state has
the highest productivity for maize, groundnut and other oil seeds in the
country.2 Productivity in overall food grains too is 22 per cent more than the

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all-India average. In fact, while food grain production increased 2.21 times in
five decades since 1965–66, the population doubled from 3.3 crore to 7.2 crore
during 1961–2011, implying better per capita food availability over time at the
state-level.
While the industrial sector has grown at 5.0 per cent per annum during
the entire period, the growth rate was the highest (8.2 per cent per annum)
in the period—2000–14. Though the higher growth in this period is in line
with all-India trends, the upward trend is again stronger. Despite the share of
manufacturing having marginally fallen in recent years,3 the state still retains
the status of the most industrialised state in the country. As discussed in
Chapter 1, the state has specialised in more labour-intensive sectors like textiles,
garments, leather goods and automobile manufacturing, compared to Gujarat
and Maharashtra.4 Sectors such as automobiles (18 per cent), textiles (11 per
cent), food products (9 per cent) and basic metals (7 per cent) constitute about
half of the output in the factory sector in Tamil Nadu. As a result, the state has
the highest share of manufacturing to total employment in the country.
Apart from labour intensity, a distinguishing feature is the spatial spread
of the process of industrialisation. We use the Herfindahl–Hirschman Index
(HHI) to measure the spatial concentration of industrialisation in districts,
based on the Economic Census (2013–14). The index number for the state
is 796 as against 867 in Maharashtra and 1,076 in Gujarat. It suggests that
enterprises are relatively better distributed across sub-regions in the state,
indicating a better spatial spread. While it is true that the western (Tiruppur
and Coimbatore) and northern (Chennai and Kancheepuram) regions are
the most industrialised regions in the state, manufacturing is still spatially
diverse. Each region hosts specific industrial clusters. For instance, Sivakasi in
southern Tamil Nadu specialises in safety matches, firecrackers and printing,
Karur, Erode and Salem in power looms and home textiles, Tiruppur in knitted
garments, Ambur, Vaniyambadi and Ranipet in leather goods, Coimbatore
in textiles and engineering and Chennai in auto and auto-component and
electronics production (Damodaran 2016).5 While the state inherited a better
manufacturing base (15 per cent of the SDP as against 11 per cent at the all-
India level) in the 1960s, Tamil Nadu has transformed into a service-led
economy in the last decade with the latter being a more dynamic sector than
in most states.

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At a rate of 6.1 per cent, the services sector has registered higher growth
than other sectors, and grew faster (9.5 per cent per annum) post-2000, even
more than the industrial sector. The sector accounted for about 67 per cent
of the state’s income in 2014–15 while the all-India average was 58 per cent.
In the 1960s, the service sector’s share was the same as the national average
(around 30 per cent of the SDP). Importantly, services is a catch-all category
and its dominant share need not reflect economic dynamism as often labour
productivity is low in several segments of the services sector. The Tamil
Nadu story is, however, different. Within the service sector too, the state has
better diversification as is evident in the performance of modern subsectors.
Apart from software services where the state is a major player along with
Karnataka and Telangana, the state is also home to vibrant tourism, medical
and educational services. To summarise, it has a dynamic manufacturing and
services sector, with manufacturing being a lot more spatially diffused. It is also
important to note that high-end services like information technology (IT),
education and health also rely upon human capabilities for their competitive
edge, apart from access to infrastructure. While we address this aspect later,
we next point out that this dynamism and spatial diffusion of the growth
process have been accompanied by relative social inclusion in the ownership
of enterprises.

BROAD-BASING ENTREPRENEURSHIP

Indian business has been dominated by a few caste communities (Damodaran

2008; Bagchi 2012). Though market reforms may be expected to undermine
social barriers to entry, studies indicate that this has not happened, with Dalits
continuing to be poorly represented within the business community (Prakash
2012; Harriss-White et al. 2013; Iyer, Khanna and Varshney 2013). The studies
attribute such persistent barriers to exclusivity of social networks and access to
capital, among other factors. Though the share of Dalits among entrepreneurs
continues be low, Tamil Nadu has seen a relatively higher degree of entry of
lower castes in business.
The latest Economic Census (2013–14) provides information regarding
ownership patterns among different caste groups, the size of enterprises and

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Table 5.3 Distribution of Enterprises by Ownership Pattern

(Economic Census 2013–14)
Category of 100 and above
Workers Category of 20 to 99
Tamil Tamil
Nadu Gujarat Maharashtra Nadu Gujarat Maharashtra
Public Sector 243 208 807 2,362 2,165 4,988
Private 1,735 947 1,804 26,080 7,880 14,559
Private Joint 1,144 1,658 1,884 3,954 8,382
Stock
Others 538 376 409 4,273 2,237 2,372
All 3,219 2,675 4,678 34,599 16,236 30,301
Population per 22,413 22,594 24,022 2,085 3,723 3,709
Enterprise
Mean Size of 373.0 341.0 321.4 38.0 38.0 36.5
Enterprise
Per Capita 66,635 68,575 72,200
Income (2014–15
at 2004–05)
Population 72.1 60.4 112.3
(In Millions)
Source: Computed from Economic Census 2013–14.

the source of finance, among other parameters. Census data indicate that
the state has more enterprises per given population compared to other states
(Table 5.3).
The table also indicates that the state has a larger share of small enterprises
(in the 20–99 workers category) than the other two industrialised states,
though fewer in the larger enterprises (medium and large) category. If
we, however, standardise this in relation to the population, the state has
a large enterprise (with above 100-workers category) per 22,413 persons
while it is 24,022 in Maharashtra and 22,594 in Gujarat, which actually
suggests that even overall, the state has more entrepreneurial ventures, and
not just in the small-scale sector. The mean size of enterprises for Tamil
Nadu is 373 workers per firm, while the corresponding figures are 321 and
341 for Maharashtra and Gujarat, respectively. We next look at the caste
composition of ownership (Table 5.4).

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Table 5.4 Distribution of Enterprises by Caste Status of Ownership

(Per Cent)
Caste Groups Tamil Nadu Gujarat Maharashtra
All size
SC/ST 6,45,455 (14.1) 6,11,289 (17.3) 7,30.440 (13.1)
OBCs 31,26,013 (68.2) 14,43,918 (40.2) 13,24,793 (23.8)
Elites 8,11,683 (17.7) 15,34,952 (42.6) 35,14,846 (63.1)
All 45,83,151 (100) 35,90,159 (100) 55,70,079 (100)
Size of 20–99 workers
SC/ST 2,532 (9.7) 1,249 (15.9) 1,022 (7.0)
OBCs 18,777 (72.0) 917 (11.6) 1,442 (9.9)
Elites 4,771 (18.3) 5,714 (72.5) 12,095 (83.1)
All 26,080 (100.0) 7,880 (100.0) 14,559 (100.0)
Size of 100 and above workers
SC/ST 100 (5.8) 115 (12.1) 109 (6.0)
OBCs 1,169 (67.4) 102 (10.8) 143 (7.90)
Elites 466 (26.9) 730 (77.1) 1,552(86.0)
All 1,735(100.0) 947 (100.0) 1,804 (100.0)
Source: Computed from Economic Census 2013–14.

Caste details are available for those firms which are privately owned.6 We
have excluded details on enterprises with ‘less than 20 workers’ in the table as
such enterprises are likely to be petty producers who produce to survive rather
than accumulate. The data for overall enterprises, however, includes the caste
details of such enterprises as well. Looking at the break-up of enterprises
by caste groups, other backward classes (OBCs) have a much higher share
in ownership compared to other states (Table 5.4). Of the total enterprises
(privately owned) in the state, OBCs have 68 per cent and Dalits have 14
per cent while the elites have about 18 per cent. If we disaggregate by size
and compare with the other two states, they still do better. In the category
of 100 workers and above, OBCs control about 67 per cent of enterprises in
Tamil Nadu, 11 per cent in Gujarat and 8 per cent in Maharashtra. Dalits have
about 6 per cent of the total enterprises in this size category in both Tamil
Nadu and Maharashtra while it is 12 per cent in Gujarat. These findings must

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be read in the context of the caste distribution of the population in these

states. While OBCs in Tamil Nadu account for about 74 per cent of the state’s
population, they account for about 52 per cent in Maharashtra and about 40
per cent in Gujarat, as per National Sample Survey (NSSO) 2011–12. While
the share of the OBC population in the state is higher than that in Gujarat
or Maharashtra, it is clear that their share in entrepreneurship is much higher
than in the other two states. Similarly, the share of the Dalit population in
the state is 21 per cent which is quite similar to Maharashtra and Gujarat,
yet the state does better as compared to Maharashtra though not as well as
Gujarat. Though the Dalits’ share in enterprises is less than their share of the
population, the Dalit Indian Chamber of Commerce and Industry (DICCI)
records that the state is home to one of the highest concentrations of Dalit
enterprises in India (Naig 2015). As per the Economic Census 2013–14, one
out of every four Dalit enterprises in the ‘20–99 workers’ category is located
in Tamil Nadu. Hence, the overall trend shows a process of socially inclusive
capital accumulation.
This democratisation is, however, uneven across regions, especially
the two industrially dominant regions in the state, the north and the west.
The northern region corresponds to the greater Chennai region while the
western region comprises of Coimbatore, Erode and Tiruppur districts. In
the northern region, caste elites (non-OBC and non-SC) owned about 38
per cent of the total small-scale enterprises and 37 per cent of the above-100-
workers category which is about seven times higher than their population
share whereas they owned only 22 per cent (Economic Census 2013–14) in the
western region. Capital accumulation in the northern region is therefore less
socially democratised compared to other parts of the state.
The OBCs’ entry into the domain of capital may also not be even
across castes, but we do not have caste specific break-up. Studies on
entrepreneurship globally indicate that the phenomenon has a strong
regional bias (Acs, Audretsch and Lehmann 2013). Given that castes in
Tamil Nadu are concentrated in specific regions, this regional bias implies
that the process of entry into entrepreneurship among the lower castes is
likely to be uneven. Micro-level studies by Chari (2004), Mahadevan (1978),
Hardgrave (1969) and Kawlra (2018) indicate a relationship between specific
castes and entrepreneurship. Such differences may emanate not merely from

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differential distribution of capabilities required for entrepreneurship but

may also be tied to the specific historical geographies that caste groups are
embedded in. Neelakantan (1996) narrates the process of democratisation of
entrepreneurship within a region, based on his observations of Karur, a hub
for textiles, home furnishings and body-building for transport vehicles. In an
anecdotal narrative of the transition that has taken place in Karur, Neelakantan
points out that in the 1950s, most of the wealthy were from the landed gentry.
However, by 1995, he argues that out of the 200 odd millionaires, there were
very few who were from landed households and most would qualify for the
‘rags to riches’ tag. Even in the case of big business, a Nadar business group
owns Hindustan Computers Limited (HCL), one of the leading technology
firms in the country, with the group diversifying its interests into healthcare
and education as well.
What needs to be, however, understood is that though larger business
enterprises may continue to be predominantly under the control of upper castes,
the ownership of small and medium enterprises that the state is known for has
been open to lower castes. In other words, capital accumulation in the state
has been made possible by a large number of small and medium enterprises
owned significantly by backward castes. We now turn to the explanations
and processes that made this possible. In terms of processes driving capital
accumulation, both hard and soft infrastructures are found to play an important
role, apart from direct policies meant to boost industrialisation (Morrison and
Schwartz 1996; Audretsch and Lehmann 2013; Audretsch, Heger and Veith
2015). In the next section, we map the building up of physical infrastructure
critical to capital accumulation in the state.

INFRASTRUCTURES OF GROWTH

The National Council of Applied Economic Research (NCAER) has been

publishing an investment potential index for states (State Investment Potential
Index) in recent years that is a composite index of six broad parameters of
infrastructure (physical and social) and governance. According to the latest
one published for 2018, Tamil Nadu has the best index after Delhi (National
Council of Applied Economic Research [NCAER 2018]).

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The role of human capital in driving both economic growth and

entrepreneurship is well established (Marvel, Davis and Sproul 2016). Tamil
Nadu, as we elaborated in Chapter 3, has come to be recognised for its
ability to generate one of the largest pools of technically skilled labour in the
country. In fact, the NCAER index ranks the state at the top in this regard.
Creation of higher education infrastructure and ensuring higher and more
broad-based enrolment, particularly in technical education, have contributed
to this. Importantly, this is also critical to ensure that the resources for
entrepreneurship formation are socially more widespread than in other states.
Affirmative action policies have not only democratised the labour market but
are also likely to have ensured new entrants from diverse caste groups into the
space of entrepreneurship. While we discuss this in detail later, we next map
the transformations in physical infrastructure.
The state had achieved 100 per cent rural electrification by the 1970s itself
and earlier than Gujarat and Maharashtra. As per the NCAER index, it has
the narrowest gap between supply and demand for power, and also ranks third
in the information technology (IT) readiness index. The state has the third
largest (after Maharashtra and Gujarat) installed capacity of power with 24,433
MW in 2016. Even by the early 1960s, it had built above average capacity in
electricity generation. This was a phase when the Dravidian narrative of ‘south
waning, north flourishing’ was dominant.7 Importantly, such building up of
infrastructure was also accompanied by relatively low cost access for marginal
and small producers.
The perspective planning document prepared by the first state planning
commission in 1972 too highlights the importance of electricity and how its
lack may constrain industrial growth.8 The state has since then diversified its
energy resources over time, particularly through the renewable energy route.
Established as a nodal agency in 1985, the Tamil Nadu Energy Development
Agency (TEDA) sought to improve renewable energy generation in the state.
At present, renewable energy accounts for more than 40 per cent of the total
energy produced in Tamil Nadu,9 with the state emerging as one of the leading
producers and markets for renewable energy in the world (Down to Earth
2019). In fact, as Cullen (2019) points out, it was active collaboration between
policy and private actors at the state level that made this possible, with the

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government devising a range of innovative incentives to attract investments

in this sector. Cullen also contends that it was the extent of networked grid
infrastructure laid out by the state electricity board that helped installation of
wind energy plants on a large scale.
Apart from production, the state has also responded to demands from
small producers for price subsidies. Since the 1970s, it has not only expanded
coverage of electrification, but has also favoured certain economic sections
like farmers and weavers in response to agitations and protests by them.
Tamil Nadu was one of the first to provide farmers with free electricity.
As the majority of cultivators depend on well and tube-well irrigation,
power has been a significant input into their cultivation since the 1970s.
As a result, both Dravidian parties have subsidised electricity and waived
payment of dues from farmers following large-scale farmer agitations in the
state in the 1980s.10 Since then, subsidised electricity to farmers has been
institutionalised in the state which enabled accumulation within agriculture
through exploitation of groundwater and diversification of agrarian surplus
into non-farm investments, although the same has also led to an ecological
crisis (Rukmani 1993; Varshney 1995; Damodaran 2008; Heyer 2016). Public
investments in irrigation too facilitated the formation of agro-industrial
capital (Harriss-White 1996). Another group of producers that enjoy free
power is weavers. In 2006, the DMK introduced a scheme of 100 units
bimonthly to handloom weavers having their own work shed and 500
units bimonthly to power-loom weavers (Rao 2017). The government also
introduced a scheme of free power for Scheduled Caste/Scheduled Tribes
(SCs/STs) who use open irrigation wells in the state. Hence, rather than see
this subsidisation as a tool of state patronage for votes (Ramakrishnan 2018),
its role in capital accumulation in rural Tamil Nadu, particularly in the 1980s
and 1990s, needs to be recognised.
The state also has a well-established road network with a road density
that is 2.5 times that at the all-India level. Tamil Nadu is particularly
known for the spread and development of ‘minor’ roads, namely, roads
other than highways connecting every major district road in the state—
and bus services that ensure the flow of people and goods across the state.
As Nagaraj (2006) points out, rural–urban linkages in the state have been

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strengthened particularly from the 1970s. The decades of the 1960s, 1970s
and 1980s witnessed a significant increase in the spread and development of
the road network—of ‘minor’ roads and major district roads, in particular (see
Table 5.5)—along with improvements in public transportation.
In addition to improvements to road networks, the state also paid attention
to increasing the mobility of goods and people through strengthening
bus networks. After assuming power in 1967, the DMK-led government
appointed a high-level committee to analyse the efficiency of the Tamil Nadu
State Transport Department. Based on the committee’s recommendation,
the Tamil Nadu Fleet Operating Stage Carriage (Acquisition) Act was
passed in 1971 to nationalise private bus transport units having 50 or more
permits.11 In the process, the government established 15 passenger transport
corporations during the period 1972–90, which were finally merged into the
Tamil Nadu State Transport Corporation (TNSTC). In order to finance
the corporations, the state established the Tamil Nadu State Development
Finance Corporation in 1972. Thanks to the nationalisation of bus transport in
the early 1970s, the state could build one of the best public transport networks
in the country, linking most rural areas to nearby towns (Vignesh Karthik
and Karunanithi 2018). Again, as in the case of education and healthcare,
the state’s efficiency of resource utilisation has been better than that of other
states with studies indicating that its transport corporations have the highest
productive efficiency in the country (Singh 2000). Such policies integrated
the countryside with the towns and created diversification options outside of
agriculture for livelihoods. The fact that non-farm business accounts for one
of the largest sources of income for rural households in the state is indicative
of the facilitating role of such infrastructural support (Chapter 6). The
government has also managed to ensure one of the lowest freight rates and
passenger fares in the country. The state has the lowest fares in the country
with the fare per kilometre being 42 paisa for an ordinary mofussil bus.12
Over time, innovations such as the mini bus have been introduced to improve
links between remote rural areas and urban areas. Having established the
role of systemic interventions in the domain of infrastructure, we map the
evolution of a ‘productivist’ ethos in colonial Madras that translated into
political demands, policy decisions and outcomes in succeeding phases of the
state’s development.

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 Table 5.5 Road Infrastructure in Tamil Nadu

Major roads Minor roads Minor

National State Major Municipal, Other Panchayat Roads as %
highways highways district roads P.W.D and others Total district roads union roads Total of all roads
1960–61 1,754 1,754 13,742 5,827 23,077 1,194 19,748 20,942 47.6
1965–66 1,754 1,780 13,591 6,423 23,548 6,859 35,160 42,019 64.1
1970–71 1,804 1,780 13,776 7,235 24,595 9,537 40,032 49,569 66.8
1975–76 1,865 1,745 13,866 7,956 25,432 15,833 53,468 69,301 73.2
1980–81 1,865 1,814 14,028 7,956 25,663 18,118 71,527 89,645 77.7
1985–86 1,884 1,864 14,004 9,169 26,921 21,927 99,112 1,21,039 81.8
1988–89 1,884 1,885 14,008 15,022 32,799 29,254 1,02,515 1,31,769 80.1
1989–90 1,884 1,885 14,008 15,022 32,799 30,420 1,02,515 1,32,935 80.2
1990–91 1,884 1,896 13,923 15,156 32,859 31,733 1,02,515 1,34,248 80.3
1991–92 2,002 1,915 13,930 15,156 33,003 33,110 1,02,515 1,35,625 80.4
2001–02 3,850 7,163 48,325 N/A N/A 37,122 N/A N/A N/A
2013–14 4,974 11,594 11,289 41,701 69,558 34,160 1,43,071 1,77,231 71.8
Source: Tamil Nadu: An Economic Appraisal 1992–93 (Government of Tamil Nadu 1993) and Applied Research, Government of Tamil Nadu, Chennai, https://www.
tn.gov.in/dear/Transport.pdf (accessed 11 January 2019).
 T H E D R AV I D I A N M O D E L

THE EMERGENCE OF A PRODUCTIVIST ETHOS

The idea of inclusive modernisation envisioned by the Dravidian movement

was borne out of specific political and economic processes that unfolded in
the Madras Presidency as a result of colonial interventions. To begin with,
the land tenure system introduced in the region by the colonial government
established a set of incentives for the process of modernisation, particularly
in the domain of agriculture. Bannerji and Iyer (2005) demonstrate that the
ryotwari tenurial system generates incentives for both improvements in
productivity and infrastructure because individual cultivators could appropriate
greater returns from such improvements. Tamil Nadu was historically largely
under the ryotwari system, and since it did not have an all-pervasive regional
trading caste, there were incentives for generation of surplus within agriculture
and the possibility for agrarian castes to diversify through trade and other non-
farm investments. Further, as productive development was visible, Gupta (2012)
argues that in ryotwari regions, social movements that emerged during the
colonial period were engaged more with the productive domain and sought
to link social emancipation with incentivising modern production. This was
visible in the Madras Presidency as well.
By the end of the first decade of the 20th century, the non-Brahmin
movement began to articulate a vision of inclusive modernisation that saw
a role for state-of-the-art industries, and supported measures for technical
education and sophisticated industries (see Chapter 3). As Kalaiyarasan
(2017b) points out, though both Bengal and Tamil Nadu had a sound
industrial base at the end of the colonial period, the two states witnessed a
different trajectory subsequently, with the former failing to make much of its
first mover advantage. Tamil Nadu, on the other hand, despite not having as
many modern industries as the Bombay and Bengal Presidencies regions or
‘Cawnpore’ until the first decade of the 20th century (Swaminathan 1992: 57)13
managed to expand this base much better. As discussed in chapter 2, many
leaders of the Justice Party and subsequently the SRM echoed this ethos in
their demand for modernisation and industrialisation.
Theagaraya Chetty, a founding member of the Justice Party is also credited
with having had a key role in setting up both the Victoria Technical Training
Institute in the late-19th century and the Chengalvarayar Technical Training

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School in 1905.14 Geetha and Rajadurai (2008) also point out how he contrasted
the emphasis on technical education in Japan with the thrust given in British
India to literary skills. Soon after the Justice Party came to power, the State Aid
to Industries Act was passed in 1923, the first of its kind in the country (Tyabji
1988), which sought to ensure state support for the setting up of industries.
Though it didn’t work well, debates around it illustrate the general approach to
industrialisation in the region. When the Congress members of the legislative
council were demanding support for handloom weaving, the government said
that public funds should not be spent on activities that do not generate much
revenue or income for workers. The resistance to promotion of traditional
weaving without the use of mechanised technologies was based on the fact
that its low productivity in relation to modern textile production would mean
that not only will workers earn less, but importantly this would prevent the
expansion of modernisation.
This emphasis on productive labour was also shaped by the activities of
sections of missionaries who trained lower-caste youth in certain trades, and in
instances, also set up manufacturing enterprises. The role of Basel Mission in
the Malabar region of the Presidency is noteworthy in this regard (Raghaviah
2014). In fact, this Mission pioneered the hosiery industry in the Presidency,
which in turn contributed to the subsequent rise of Tiruppur as a major global
hub of cotton hosiery production (Vijayabaskar 2001). Being a colonial city,
Madras also witnessed the emergence of a few modern industries. Chennai’s
growth during this phase owes in good part to what Krishna Bharadwaj
(1982) has termed as the port-enclave mode of development. However, in
comparison to Bombay or the Bengal Presidency, the Madras Presidency did
not develop enough industries (Swaminathan 1992). Though not all colonial
officials were in favour of promoting industries in the colony, there were some
like Chatterton who argued otherwise and pioneered a set of initiatives in
this regard (Swaminathan 1991a).15 His work with chrome leather tanning, for
instance, played a critical role in the growth of the leather and leather-goods
cluster in the state (Swaminathan 1991b).
The promotion of industries was also partly tied to the promotion of
artisanal castes, and this is particularly visible in the case of the leather goods
sector. L.C Gurusami, a Dalit leader from the leather working community
and associated with the Dravidian movement, not only championed the cause

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of modern education for Dalits and opened hostels for lower-caste students,
but was also instrumental in starting a cooperative society for leather goods
production in Madras city.16 This sustained emphasis on a productivist ethos
was thus also tied to a strong belief that modernisation is critical to the
upliftment of the lower castes.
Even as such broad based aspirations for industrial development were
emerging, colonial Madras also witnessed the emergence of a few modern
enterprises, largely European to begin with, and subsequently by natives,
primarily caste elites (Damodaran 2008). Damodaran documents how sections
of caste elites entered into modern industries, particularly in the automobile
sector in the Chennai region. Meanwhile in western Tamil Nadu, a different
set of processes of industrialisation were unfolding (Mahadevan 1992).
Referred to as Manchesterisation, western Tamil Nadu saw the expansion of
cotton cultivation, particularly after the introduction of Cambodia cotton in
the region. In the backdrop of a ‘Vaishya vacuum’ (Mahadevan 2017), a few
of the cultivators among the Kamma Naidus first and followed by the Kongu
Vellala Gounders, managed to enter into cotton trade and subsequently into
the setting up of gins and presses as well as composite mills. There were also
a set of entrepreneurs from the weaving castes like Devanga Chettis and
Kaikolars whom Mahadevan and Vijayabaskar (2014) refer to as handloom
capitalists. The region became a major textile hub in south India by the time
of Independence in 1947.17 The provision of electricity with the launch of
hydroelectric projects in Pykara first and then in Mettur in the 1930s also
contributed to the expansion of industries and the use of electric power in
existing operations in the region. Power looms and hosiery machines began
to be adopted by entrepreneurs. Use of electric pumps for drawing water
also spawned entrepreneurial diversification into agricultural machinery and
later into textile machinery. Technical training institutions too were set up by
businesses. It was this symbiotic linkage between agriculture and industry that
made the accumulation processes in Coimbatore and later Tiruppur distinct
from capital accumulation elsewhere.
By the 1940s, a trenchant critique of the Gandhian imagination of a
swadeshi economy on the one hand and the emphasis on modernisation
and industrialisation on the other transformed into a common-sense that
subsequent political regimes in postcolonial Madras could ill afford to

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ignore. Importantly, the argument that the southern region was industrially
backward compared to the ‘North’ translated into a popular demand to
counter such neglect. Over the next two decades, successive Congress
governments in the state sought to respond to this ‘common-sense’ built by
Dravidian mobilisation.

P H A S E I I — 1 9 4 7 – 6 7 : D R AV I D I A N D E M A N D S A N D
P L A N N E D I N D U S T R I A L I S AT I O N

The phase of planned industrialisation meant that the state was to play a lead
role in not only creating production infrastructure but also in directing private
capital into specific sectors and specific regions. Though policies for industrial
development were in the concurrent list of the Constitutional division of
responsibilities between the union and state governments, recourse to licensing
meant that the union government had a greater role in both resource allocation
and location. If the Justice Party emphasised technical education and modern
industries, the post-1947 regime led by the Congress continued this legacy in
many ways. This was a period when it had to confront the growing popularity
of the DMK, formed in 1949 with the explicit aim of capturing political power.
Periyar, who wanted to confine his conduct of politics to the terrain of civil
society fell out with leaders of the DMK. But he threw his weight behind
the Congress government after Kamaraj, a lower-caste leader, assumed chief
ministership in 1954 as he saw him as a true ‘Tamilian’ (Venkatachalapathy
2018). While Periyar was working through the Congress government to spread
his ideas, he also conducted agitations whenever the government acted against
the principles of social justice upheld by the Dravidian movement. As a result
of this ‘double-barrelled gun’ formation, Venkatachalapathy argues that the
ideas expounded by the Dravidian movement became more popular in Tamil
society during this period.
In the sphere of industrialisation, this is quite visible in the recurrent
demands for setting up new industries and criticisms of the government for
failure to act on this front in the Assembly. A. Govindasami (Manian and
Sampath 2017), for instance, narrates his observations about Chandigarh and
Ludhiana in the course of one of his speeches in the Assembly. He says that

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during an official visit to these towns, he saw that there were as many as 30
factories specialising in varied activities like weaving, matches and oil engines
in a town which had a population of only 30,000 (Vol. 2, p. 13). He also claims
that there are no beggars there and according to a businessman in Ludhiana,
even if there are, they are likely to have come from south India! Pointing out
how shameful it is for him to listen to this, he goes on to ask the government
about the plans it has to ensure that there are no beggars. On another
occasion, he asks whether the government agrees that a weaver’s child should
not necessarily take up weaving and if yes, whether the government has plans
to support the weaver households in this regard (Manian and Sampath 2017:
Vol. 2, p. 431). He also enquires whether and when modern industries can be
set up or modern technologies introduced in agriculture. For example, he asks
whether a modern milk factory like the Aarey milk factory in Bombay can
be built in the state (Manian and Sampath 2017: Vol. 2, p.3), about the nature
of state support for an aluminium factory (p. 14), type of industries that can
be set up because of the Neyveli lignite corporation power plant (p. 79), need
for large-scale iron smelting units (pp. 400–01) and so on. Such demands
are generally embedded in a sense of neglect of the region by the union
government in terms of disbursal of funds, industrial licenses to entrepreneurs
(Manian and Sampath 2017: Vol. 2, pp. 402–03), or the setting up of public
sector enterprises. On another occasion, C.N. Annadurai, founding member
of the DMK, speaking in the Rajya Sabha in 1962, invoked the ‘Southern
Question’ in Italy to seek economic advancement of the Tamil region:

For the information of the house I may say, that the very same problem
arose in Italy. Southern Italy was industrially very backward compared to
Northern Italy and then the Italian Government took very intelligent, very
bold and very radical steps formulating a special scheme for Southern Italy.
They offered tax concessions for new industries to be started in Southern
Italy. They gave loans and other aids for this purpose in order to improve this
part of Italy (Ramachandran 1975: pp. 103–04).

The persistent difference in the allotment of industrial licenses and the

domination of a few Indian business houses belonging to powerful pan-
Indian mercantile communities at the national level continued to fuel the

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sense of industrial neglect and a simultaneous forging of a subnational identity.

Even earlier, there was a call by the movement to take over the property
owned by religious organisations like temple mutts to use for investments in
productive activities or modern education. Responding to such pressures, the
Congress governments through the 1950s and until the mid-1960s, brought
in public sector enterprises (PSEs) and secured licenses for a few private
entrepreneurs in Tamil Nadu. While caste elites benefited disproportionally
from such initiatives, particularly in securing industrial licences, such policy
measures did lay the foundations for broadening industrialisation as such
ventures led to the development of ancillary industrial clusters around these
PSEs such as the ones near Bharat Heavy Electricals Limited (BHEL) in
Trichy and the Avadi defence factory in Chennai. This response from the
Congress governments, it needs to be remembered, was unlike in several
other Congress-ruled states where the political pressure was a lot weaker.
Apart from such initiatives, the government also set up the Tamil Nadu
Industrial Development Corporation (TIDCO) and the Tamil Nadu Small
Industries Corporation Limited (TANSI) in 1965 for the promotion of
enterprises in the state. The DMK sustained such interventions after it came
to power in 1967.

PHASE III—1967–90: INSTITUTIONALISED POPULISM

A N D S TAT E - L E D I N D U S T R I A L I S AT I O N

The DMK not only continued this legacy, but also broadened its scope.
During the first phase of its being in power—1967–76—the government set up
two corporations, the State Industries Promotion Corporation of Tamil Nadu
(SIPCOT) and the Tamil Nadu Small Industries Development Corporation
(SIDCO) to promote both large and small enterprises. Incorporated as a public
limited entity in 1971, SIDCO’s objectives were to ensure efficient and equitable
distribution of raw material to small firms, supply expensive machinery on a
hire–purchase basis, to create work sheds and also provide technical support.
The Tamil Nadu Small Industries Development Corporation not only took
over the management of existing industrial estates, but has established more
than 50 estates since its inception. The role of TIDCO too was expanded.

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It pioneered the joint sector model, partnering with the private sector to
establish industries (Ravindranath 2015). The first major project of TIDCO
was a joint venture, Southern Petrochemicals Industries Corporation Limited
(SPIC), to manufacture fertilisers in Tuticorin which could also feed into the
commercialisation of agriculture. Established in 1971, SIPCOT developed
industrial complexes by providing infrastructure facilities for medium and
larger investors to build their factories.
While ancillary industrial estates were promoted around large enterprises,
the government also mooted a proposal in 1976 to set up a special ancillary and
instruments cluster in Hosur, located close to Bangalore, to tap into demand
from PSEs in Bangalore such as Bharat Electronics Limited (BEL), Indian
Telephone Industries Limited (ITI) and Hindustan Aeronautics Limited
(HAL) (Government of Tamil Nadu 1976: p. 314). Importantly, Hosur’s
location in a backward district was highlighted. The subsequent setting up of
a joint venture Titan with the Tatas in Hosur and emergence of an industrial
hub in the region is an instance of successful, state-induced, industrial cluster
development. By the mid-1970s, government policy documents also report
TANSI units producing jigs, tools and fixtures for BHEL, Scooters India and
the heavy vehicles factory, Avadi (Government of Tamil Nadu 1976: p. 325).
Units (TANSI engineering works) in Karur and Namakkal were engaged
in designing and fabricating carts for transporting sugarcane. The state
government also set up support facilities, like testing laboratories, for small and
medium firms. The Central Electrical Testing Laboratory, set up in Thiruvallur
district in 1973, is one such example. A regional testing laboratory was also set
up in Madurai in 1972 to cater to industries from the southern districts.
There were also specific sectoral interventions. The Tamil Nadu Textile
Corporation was started in 1969 as a fully owned state government enterprise
to take over and run sick textile mills (Government of Tamil Nadu 1976: p. 335).
While initially it sought to support the spinning mills in the cooperative
sector by centrally purchasing yarn and other equipment, it was subsequently
instrumental in setting up 10 power-loom complexes in different parts of the
state. It is worth mentioning in this context that this also paved the way for a
booming small-scale power-loom sector in the state, with looms often started by
ex-workers of textile mills. Importantly, given the availability of power and offer

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of subsidies, power-loom production is highly decentralised in the state, and

spread across several villages, unlike the power-loom clusters in Maharashtra or
Gujarat. The Tamil Nadu Dairy Development Corporation, formed in 1972 to
support the milk producers in the state with regard to procurement, processing
and marketing, culminated in the formation of the Tamil Nadu Co-operative
Milk Producers’ Federation (TCMPF) in 1981 along the lines of AMUL, and is
now a successful model of a state-level dairy cooperative in the country. But as
we documented in the first part of this chapter, the non-agricultural economy
witnessed a more radical transformation and dynamism in the post-reform
period, particularly since the 2000s.

P H A S E I V — P O S T- R E F O R M I N T E R V E N T I O N S A N D T H E
NEW PROFESSIONAL ELITE

Economic reforms initiated in the 1990s were also accompanied by political

reforms that sought to devolve more functions to state governments
(Kennedy 2014). Accompanied by a decline in central transfers, states were
made responsible for mobilising resources through private investments
unlike in the past when investments were directed through licensing by the
union government. While providing a degree of autonomy, this shift implied
competition between states to attract investment, and implementation of
institutional reforms directed towards drawing private capital (Kennedy 2004).
Following this shift, the state initiated a slew of reforms to embed growth
within private capital in the absence of adequate resources.
Given the need to augment resources for infrastructure, the state created
the Tamil Nadu Urban Development Fund (TNUDF), a special purpose
vehicle, in a public–private partnership (PPP) mode to generate long-term
debt for urban infrastructure development.18 Though it ran into trouble after
a decade due to rigidities in the lending model, the fund is supposed to have
been successful in providing finance for infrastructure development to several
urban local bodies (ULBs), particularly for roads and sanitation.19 The Tamil
Nadu Road Development Company was another joint venture launched by
TIDCO to promote road infrastructure in 1998. According to its website, it

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has come to be a benchmark in this sector and has served as a model for other
state governments.20
The state also set up the country’s ‘first operational SEZ [special economic
zone]’, Mahindra World City, in a public–private mode as a collaboration
between TIDCO and the Mahindra and Mahindra group (Vijayabaskar
2014). Both TIDCO and SIPCOT, in tune with the larger shifts in policy
orientation, became facilitators for industrial development through support
for infrastructure creation and easing of procedures for setting up of industries.
The move by SIPCOT to acquire land since the mid-1990s facilitated the
creation of a land bank that proved useful when SEZ promotion began a
few years later. The state was also one of the first to formulate a SEZ policy
in 2003, and is home to one of the largest number of SEZs in the country.
The Nanguneri SEZ in southern Tamil Nadu was one of the first two SEZs
at the national level launched through the export–import (EXIM) policy of
2000. This SEZ was also seen as a way to address caste conflicts in the region
as the judicial commission enquiring into caste violence suggested that
the industrial backwardness of the region should be addressed to mitigate
such violence.21 Importantly, unlike several states where SEZ promotion
was more a speculative activity, the state did witness creation of productive
capacities through this route.22 The development of a hardware hub in
the Sriperumbudur region, the arrival of a number of auto majors and the
expansion of established software firms into tier-II towns like Coimbatore
are all considered facets of this success story. Such broad-based investments
in infrastructure need not, however, necessarily broad-base entrepreneurship.
The latter was made possible during this phase primarily through the state’s
support for human capital development combined with such expansion of
physical infrastructure.
We conducted a series of interviews with entrepreneurs in the engineering
sector (including auto-component making) in the Chennai region and also
in the Coimbatore region during the period June 2017–December 2019
intermittently. We also interviewed Dalit entrepreneurs through the DICCI
and other contacts in the second half of 2019. A couple of features stand out.
Most of them are from second-generation-educated households with their
parents having a steady job either in the government (particularly so for
Dalits) or in the private sector. After having acquired a technical qualification,

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they have taken the entrepreneurial route. Often networks forged in colleges
and schools have had a role. Some of the backward caste entrepreneurs also
had some access to land.
The entry of entrepreneurs from non-traditional business families is
even more evident in the case of the software services economy (Varrel and
Vijayabaskar 2019). Coimbatore has emerged as a modest hub for software
services with the government and private actors setting up IT parks for
development centres. Outside these parks, the city is also home to several
small start-up firms in this domain that include sophisticated ones such as in
robotics and the internet of things (IoT). Two incubation centres in leading
engineering colleges in the city too have contributed to this development.
More interesting, however, are the enabling networks forged by entrepreneurs
with little link to traditional business families. They had all attended school
in the city and some of them studied in colleges in the city or in Chennai.
They have then gone on to work for IT majors including MNCs like IBM.
After having worked for a few years, they have come back to Coimbatore
to set up firms. They tend to partner with friends from school, college or
workplaces who are likely to be based in places outside Coimbatore, with
some of them continuing to work in other firms. The business model is often
based on inter-city networks. While the actual software development takes
place in Coimbatore, the marketing end of the business is taken care of
through their partners based in Chennai, Bangalore or even in the United
States. Through this, they are able to leverage the advantages of networks
created in metropolitan regions. Their partners are engaged in marketing,
sourcing orders from new clients or trying to access venture capital funding.
Damodaran’s discussion of democratisation of capital in the region, however,
does not consider this possibility. This phenomenon also nuances the
contention that caste elites and their caste networks dominate the software
business community elsewhere as suggested by Taeube (2004).23 Outside
the domain of software services, the city is also home to a vibrant medical
services sector established largely by medical professionals hailing from the
region. A leading orthopaedic hospital in Coimbatore city, for example, is run
by a doctor from a backward caste with no prior business networks. While
democratising higher education has opened up spaces for entrepreneurship
among non-elites in new economic sectors, there are shifts taking place in

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older sectors as well. In western Tamil Nadu, Tiruppur has emerged as the
biggest centre of garment exports in the country. Industrial estates by SIDCO,
both in the pre-reform period and subsequently in the 1990s, have contributed
to its development along with support for common effluent treatment plants.
Given the fragmentation of the production process, entrepreneurs from lower
economic and social backgrounds could easily enter the industry (Chari
2004). The state government also set up an industrial estate exclusively for
Dalit entrepreneurs in the region though it did not do well (Vijayabaskar
and Kalaiyarasan 2014). However, over time, with the demands of the global
market and the need to network with global clients, not only have highly
educated second-generation entrepreneurs emerged from owner families, a
new set of entrepreneurs with better educational qualifications have managed
to take advantage of market opportunities.24 The networks they are embedded
in are less about kinship than about ties formed in modern social spaces like
the classroom.
Apart from the entry of the Kongu Vellala Gounders into manufacturing,
the entry of Nadars, a backward caste, into this space is unique. Though tapping
of palmyra trees was their primary traditional occupation, they have become
successful professionals and businessmen, even forming one of the largest IT
enterprises in the country.25 Their mobility has been both through education
leading to a professional elite who went into business, and also through entry
into trade. While Christianity and early investments in education allowed
them to enter into modern professions such as IT and medicine, others could
transit from toddy tappers to merchants by trading in palm gur, dried fish,
salt, and assorted agro produce (Damodaran 2008: p. 181). Early diffusion of
aspirations for modern education and interventions by both the colonial and
postcolonial subnational governments thus enabled their mobility.
Better road and energy infrastructure has allowed firms to also move further
away from towns to take advantage of lower land costs as well as access to
labour. As Ghani, Goswami and Kerr (2012) argue, organised manufacturing
in India has moved to rural and semi-urban areas since the 1990s. The broad-
basing of social and physical infrastructure has contributed to furthering
this process in the state. An industrial estate set up by the state for knitwear
production on the outskirts of Madurai has now helped move production of
segments of knitwear away from Tiruppur to an industrially backward region.

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Developments in the Coimbatore region too are important in this regard.

From being a hub for agricultural and textile machinery, it has diversified
into auto components, kitchen equipment and electrical home appliances
among others. The Coimbatore District Small Scale Industries Association
(CODISSIA), started in 1969 for lobbying with the state for infrastructure
and other support, has now emerged as one of the largest business associations
for small-scale entrepreneurs in the country. Once again, the emergence of a
pool of technically qualified entrepreneurs has contributed to such dynamism
in the region, with many of them emerging from non-elite backgrounds.

D E M O C R AT I S I N G O P P O R T U N I T I E S A N D
INCLUSIVISING GROWTH

Hariss and Wyatt (2019), based on Washbrook’s formulation, argue that the
role of the state in Tamil Nadu is ‘neither … developmental nor … social
democratic ... while having some elements of both …’ They further argue
that it did not contribute much to industrialisation as such roles were pretty
much left to the entrepreneurs themselves, while it confined itself to the social
sectors. Such a reading, we have tried to establish does not explain either
the sectoral diversification that the state has witnessed or the shifts in the
social basis of entrepreneurship. While factors that Damodaran alludes to
in explaining the process of democratisation of capital in the state did play a
role, we have sought to establish how a particular imagination of social justice
made possible a set of interventions that simultaneously expanded capital
accumulation and broad-based entrepreneurship. While the questioning
of caste-based division into ‘born capitalists’ and ‘born workers’ allowed for
capacities to aspire among lower castes, broad-basing education and physical
infrastructure allowed for translation of aspirations into actual capabilities for
entry into spaces of accumulation. This diffusion of entrepreneurship has been
embedded within the growth process itself.
It is true that upper castes like the Brahmins and Nattukottai Chettiars
continue to dominate big business. We, however, point to a process of
democratisation of capital in the lower rungs, with new entrants from among
the backward castes and a section of Dalits, especially through access to

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professional education. As a result of such pluralisation, it is difficult for one

or a few business groups to exercise control over policy-making in the state.
Pareto (1968) distinguishes the modern governing elite from its traditional
counterpart, as one that acquires its stability through recruiting members
from across different socio-economic groups and also offers scope for the
movement of persons from non-elite to elite positions and vice versa. The
coming to power of the Dravidian parties in 1967 opened up such possibilities
for many lower-caste groups to be a part of the ruling elite. This was made
possible by a political imagination that upheld demand for, or actual mobility
of specific lower castes to be essential to undermining of caste hierarchies
(Karthick 2020). This imagination in conjunction with a belief in economic
transformation in undermining caste hierarchies has fostered a relatively
more inclusive growth process in the state. This inclusive character has been
sustained by circulating elites emerging across several caste groups. It therefore
suggests that once a path is created by a set of interventions, it generates a
trajectory of growth and development fairly independent of specific and more
immediate policy measures.
Such interventions have led to structural shifts in the economy that ensured
the movement of people out of traditional livelihoods much more than in most
states in the country. What are the implications of this process for lower-caste
labour in rural and urban Tamil Nadu? How has the political regime responded to
the demands of these classes? The next two chapters engage with these questions.

APPENDIX 5A

SDP data is available from 1960 to 2014 in five different series, that is, with
five different base years: 1970–71, 1980–81, 1993–94, 1999–2000 and 2004–05.
We have therefore made the series comparable by using 2004–05 prices as
the base by splicing. Since we do not have data for all the years (1960 to
2014) with the same base year, using the splicing technique provided by
Kumar and Chandra (2003), data with different base years are converted to
the same base year. We have spliced individual components—agriculture,
industry and services—and then added them up to arrive at the SDP for
each year. We use here two growth rates; annual growth rate and log-linear

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growth for longer periods. The annual growth is estimated using the
following method; using the sub-components of SDP, the growth rate
between two years, t and (t + 1)

gt + 1 = gAt + 1 × sAt + gIt + 1 × sIt + gSt + 1 × sSt

where the contribution of each sector to overall growth is a combination of

its own growth rate (g) and its share in the NSDP. We then add them up for
aggregate annual growth rates.
For estimating the growth rate for longer periods, we use the log-linear model.
For example, growth between the time period 1980–81 and 1989–90 is defined as

ln (SDPi) = α + gt

Where i = 1980–81 … 1989–90, α is the intercept and t = 1 ... 9, is the time

variable.

NOTES

1 While growth has significantly picked up since the 2000s, when we tried
endogenously testing for a structural break using the Zivot–Andrews
method, the analysis suggested a break at 2002 at 10 per cent significance
with a chosen lag length of 2. It means while the growth has seen
acceleration in the 2000s, it has been gradual over time.
2 Policy Note: Demand no. 5—2017–18. Department of Agriculture,
Government of Tamil Nadu.
3 Swaminathan (1994) argues that though the state has managed to remain
among the top 3 industrialised states in the country, it has not only lost
ground to Maharashtra and Gujarat but has also not taken advantage of
new economic opportunities.
4 As Nagaraj and Pandey (2013) show, export-oriented petroleum refining
alone accounts for about a quarter of the gross value added in registered
manufacturing in Gujarat.

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5 Damodaran in fact attributes the absence of unrest among agrarian

communities like the Jats in Haryana, Marathas in Maharashtra, Kapus
in Andhra Pradesh and Patels in Gujarat, to this model of decentralised
industrialisation in the state.
6 We do not, however, have caste details for private joint stock companies and
corporations which are excluded from the caste survey.
7 A debate in the state assembly in the early 1960s illustrates this.
Mr A. Govindasami, a major voice in the DMK who also served as the
Minister for Agriculture when the DMK assumed power in 1967, was
speaking in the assembly during his term as an MLA in 1957–62. He
points out that though the Congress repeatedly claims that the south has
done better than the north in terms of electricity, there are still parts of
the state where supply of electricity is poor (Manian and Sampath 2017:
280–81).
8 Perspective Plan prepared by Malcolm Adiseshiah (1972)
9 See http://teda.in/ (accessed 17 March 2020).
10 The farmers, particularly those who use pump sets in western Tamil Nadu,
were agitating for waiving off the ‘belated payment surcharge’ (BPSC)—a
payment levied on the amount of electricity dues (Rao 2017)
11 Order dated November 8, 1971 (G.O. No:86)
12 Policy Note: Demand No. 48 2014–15. , https://cms.tn.gov.in/sites/default/
files/documents/transport_e_pn_2014_15.pdf (accessed 15 April 2019).
13 Swaminathan cites a note prepared by Alfred Chatterton, School of Arts,
Madras to make these observations.
14 See http://siragu.com (accessed 8 May 2020).
15 Alfred Chatterton, an engineer by profession, was appointed by the
colonial government as Superintendent of the School of Arts in Madras
in 1897. He was responsible for laying the foundation for technical
education, experimenting in industrial clusters and modernising caste-
based industries in the Madras Presidency. His initiatives among others
are (a) the development of the aluminium industry, (b) the inspection
and reorganisation of existing industrial schools and the establishment
of new ones and (c) the development of indigenous industries and the
establishment of a manual training class in the college of engineering
workshop or elsewhere. (Swaminathan 1991a: p. 4).

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16 See http://chamaar-today.blogspot.com/2019/04/lc-gurusamy-1.html (accessed

23 April 2020). Bharathidasan (2015) also makes a similar argument based
on his ongoing study of L. C. Guruswamy.
17 Coimbatore accounted for 82 per cent of the investment in south India, and
26 of the 30 units that came to be promoted between 1940 and 1957.
18 See http://tnuifsl.com/tnudf.asp (accessed 15 March 2020).
19 See http://tnuifsl.com/tnudf.asp (accessed 15 March 2020).
20 See http://tnrdc.com/about/ (accessed 15 March 2020).
21 Report of the High Level Committee formed under Justice S. Mohan
(Rtd.) for Prevention of Caste Clashes in Southern Districts of Tamil Nadu
( January 31, 1998: pp. 20–21).
22 This is, however, not to deny the speculative dimension of large-scale land
acquisitions for SEZs in the state (Vijayabaskar 2014).
23 Taube (2004) suggests the dominance of caste elites within entrepreneurial
networks of the dynamic software sector in the country. He also traces the
global mobility of caste elites through the software industry and how caste
networks sustain such mobility.
24 This information is drawn from a series of interviews conducted in the
Tiruppur region during March 2009 and again during February–April 2018.
25 In August 1976, Shiv Nadar created Hindustan Computers Limited (HCL).
The firm has become one of the country’s leading IT conglomerate.

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 6

TRANSFORMING RURAL RELATIONS

Many scholars have suggested that identity-based mobilisation in the state

has ignored class- based issues such as land reform or empowering of labour
(Mencher 1975; Thangaraj 1995; Subramanian 1999). In this and the next
chapter, we argue for a more nuanced understanding of how the subnational
state has negotiated the question of labour welfare even as it sustained capital
accumulation. In this chapter, we focus primarily on how mobilisation and
policy interventions have improved the terms of work, incomes and status
of rural labour including small holders and tenant farmers. As we argued in
Chapter 2, ensuring inclusive structural transformation was critical to the
Dravidian vision of social justice. Translated into developmental challenges,
this implies two sets of processes. First, interventions ought to ensure shifts
of people out of agriculture and other traditional occupations into secure
livelihoods in the non-agricultural sector to undermine caste hierarchies.
Second, while this involves shifts over time, interventions should also secure
place-based livelihoods and income security at a given point in time.
We map three policy interventions that have made this possible. First,
though land reforms were not pushed through strongly by legislation at
one stroke, land transfers from upper-caste landlords to lower-caste tenant
farmers did take place through molecular interventions and pressure
from collective mobilisation. Second, investments in physical and social
infrastructures have enabled diversification of rural livelihoods away from
agriculture. Such diversification, accompanied by investments in education,
in turn has led to better bargaining power for labouring households within
agriculture. Third, an important argument that both this chapter and the
next make is that substantial interventions in the labour market have been
 T ransforming R ural R elations

indirect through economic popular and social popular measures outside the
domain of the workplace. Rural welfare interventions primarily through the
public distribution system (PDS) and caste mobilisation sought to undermine
hierarchical labour relations between the landed and the landless. Availability
of food through the PDS weakened the basis of labour control and opened
up economic possibilities for labouring households outside the domain
of agriculture and the rural milieu. Such mediations outside the workplace
have not only transformed rural social relations, but have also helped poorer
households diversify into the non-farm sector on relatively better terms.
The chapter is organised in three parts corresponding to the three domains
of interventions. In the first part, we map the changes in land relations and the
factors that brought about such change. We next address the extent of non-
farm diversification and the drivers of the process. Finally, we trace welfare
interventions of the state and their impact on labour, particularly, the process
of weakening of the social hierarchy in rural Tamil Nadu. The section takes
up two such schemes, the PDS and the Mahatma Gandhi National Rural
Employment Guarantee Act (MNREGA) to demonstrate how these schemes
weakened hierarchical labour relations between the landed and the landless.
We begin with the changes in land relations in the state.

WEAKENING RURAL HIERARCHIES:

CASTE AND LAND

Micro-level studies hint at the decline of landlordism in the state (Harriss

and Jeyaranjan 2016). Macro-level data on landholding size in rural Tamil
Nadu indicates that the share of land held as large landholdings is much lower
than the all-India average (see Table 6.1 and Table 6A.1). We map the trend in
landholdings since the 1970s based on the agriculture census. The agriculture
census collects data from comprehensive land records on villages, and hence
offers reliable information on operational holdings in India from the first
census conducted in 1970–71 to the latest—2015–16.
Data from the above tables shows that marginal and small landowners, who
constituted about 78 per cent of all landowners, controlled 37.6 per cent of
the total land in 1970–71. By 2015–16, while their share in the number of total

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Table 6.1 Distribution of Rural Households by Size Class (Landholdings)

for Tamil Nadu
Size of Landholding (in Hectare)
Semi- Large Average
Marginal Small medium Medium (10 and Size
(up to 1) (1 to 2) (2 to 5) (5 to 10) above) All Holding
1970–71 58.8 20.9 13.1 6.1 1.1 100 1.5
1980–81 69.7 16.8 9.2 3.7 0.6 100 1.1
1985–86 71.3 16.3 8.4 3.4 0.5 100 1.0
1990–91 73.1 15.9 7.7 2.9 0.4 100 0.9
1995–96 74.3 15.4 7.5 2.5 0.3 100 0.9
2000–01 74.4 15.6 7.3 2.5 0.3 100 0.9
2005–06 76.0 15.1 6.6 2.1 0.2 100 0.8
2010–11 77.2 14.6 6.2 1.9 0.2 100 0.8
2015–16 78.4 14.1 5.7 1.6 0.2 100 0.8
Area under Control of Different Sizes
1970–71 17.1 20.5 24.8 24.6 13.0 100 1.5
1980–81 24.7 22.2 23.6 20.2 9.3 100 1.1
1985–86 25.9 22.7 22.8 19.3 9.2 100 1.0
1990–91 28.3 24.0 22.6 17.4 7.7 100 0.9
1995–96 30.3 23.6 22.2 15.5 8.4 100 0.9
2000–01 31.0 24.6 22.2 15.7 6.5 100 0.9
2005–06 33.5 25.2 21.5 14.0 5.7 100 0.8
2010–11 35.3 25.3 20.9 13.1 5.4 100 0.8
2015–16 36.3 26.0 20.3 12.0 5.3 100 0.8
Source: All-India Rural Financial Inclusion Survey, 2016–17 (NAFIS), NABARD.

landholdings had increased to 92 per cent, their control of the total land had
increased to 62.3 per cent. These figures refer to operational holdings. There
may be variations between operational holdings and ownership patterns but
in the absence of tenancy, one may assume that the differences are not large.
Their share in the total number of holdings and the amount of land held is
also higher than the all-India average suggesting that the state has a relatively
better share of land operated as small and marginal land holdings. Similarly,
the average size of holdings in the state has come down from 1.5 hectares
in 1970–71 to 0.8 hectares in 2015–16 as against 2.3 to 1.1 hectares at the all-
India level during the same period. Scholars cite division of holdings due to

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inheritance as a major factor behind decline in landholding size over time in

India (Mahendra Dev 2018). Given the much sharper decline in fertility in
the state, this factor is likely to have played less of a role. In fact, across the
state, the share of Dalit households who reported as cultivators has gone up
from 6.5 per cent in 1993–94 to 13 per cent in 2017–18 while it has declined
for non-Dalits from 25 per cent to 17 per cent (see Table 6A.2 in Appendix
6A). Harriss, Jeyaranjan and Nagaraj (2012) observe that in 2010, land was
predominantly owned by Pallars (a Dalit caste) and Thevars (a backward caste)
in the case village they studied in southern Tamil Nadu.
Based largely on Jeyaranjan’s work (2020), we argue in this section that
legislative measures combined with pressure brought on landlords through
collective mobilisation by the Dravidian and Left parties, and the coming to
power of the DMK did result in transfer of land to the lower castes. After
assuming power in 1967, the DMK government enacted the Tamil Nadu
Agricultural Lands (Record of Tenancy Rights) Act, 1969. Through this formal
institutional process (de jure mechanism), the state managed to transfer some
land to tenant cultivators. However, more transfer of land to its tenants took
place through non-institutional processes that Jeyaranjan refers to as de facto
mechanisms. If de jure processes involved a slew of formal legislation, de facto
transfers worked through political mobilisation.
Jeyaranjan argues that Brahmin and Vellala elites who historically inherited
land in the fertile deltaic region of the Cauvery basin often migrated to cities
after selling their lands to backward caste and Dalit tenant households on
terms that were favourable to the tenants. According to him, the dislodging
of caste elites from the rural areas was not an organic process driven merely
by the attraction of accumulation and economic mobility prospects in urban
areas. Mobilisation played a key role in this regard.1 Jeyaranjan starts with the
dominant consensus in existing literature on land reforms in the state. Citing
a range of literature from the early 1970s up to the first decade of the 21st
century, he points out that they all concur that despite the passing of several
pieces of legislation in favour of tenants and agricultural labourers since the
1940s, the proximity of the landowning classes to those in state power enabled
them to flout such formal legal measures. Jeyaranjan questions this hypothesis
by starting from the present. If indeed this was true, how does one explain the
collapse of landlordism in the state? Further, he points to the disappearance

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of tenancy in several parts of the state as well as the substantially improved

terms of tenancy in the Thanjavur delta that is historically known for wealthy
landlords exercising control over the labour of tenants and agricultural
labourers through extreme non-economic forms of coercion. He then goes on
to demonstrate that this shift in power from the landlord to the tenant was an
outcome of molecular changes at the micro-level which in turn were enabled
by legislation and collective action. He demonstrates this through a study of
land transfer records from 1967 to 2014 and changes in tenancy in a village in
the western part of the Cauvery delta that is historically known for its high
levels of tenancy and control over land by caste elites.
While the role of the Communist Party in mobilising tenants and
agricultural labourers in the region is well known (Gough 1981), Jeyaranjan
highlights the less known but equally significant role played by the Dravidar
Vivasaya Thozhilalar Sangam (DVTS) (Dravidian Agricultural Workers’
Union) formed by the Dravidar Kazhagam in 1952.2 Citing a memoir by
an activist Kasthurirangan, which documents the struggle in the region,
he points out that the union had a membership of ‘15,000 dalit agricultural
workers and another 5,000 backward caste workers as members in [the]
Nagappatinam3 area alone’ (2020: p. 258). In another region, he cites an even
stronger presence with more than 50,000 members. Mobilisation by the
union was originally against the hegemony of Brahmin landlords. The union
often collaborated with the Communist Party union but also had conflictual
relations with them. Due to political contingencies, members of the DVTS
joined the Communist Party union and even assumed leadership of the
union. In a recent work, Thiruneelakandan (2017) recovers another micro-
history of the SRM taking up the cause of Dalit agricultural workers against
upper caste landlords in the Thanjavur delta during the 1930s. Such collective
action translated into a set of empowering interventions in the domain of
land relations.
Although the Congress party had passed acts like the Thanjavur Tenants
and Pannaiyals Protection Act, 1952, the Tamil Nadu Cultivating Tenants
Protection Act, 1955 and the Tamil Nadu Cultivating Tenants (Payment of
Fair Rent) Act, 1956, these acts were ineffective in the absence of a registry of
tenants. Tenants could not provide documentary evidence in courts that they
were actually working as tenants on a particular landlord’s land. The DMK

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passed the Tamil Nadu Agricultural Lands (Record of Tenancy Rights) Act,
1969, that sought to address the issue. Revenue officials were instructed to
prepare a register of tenants in each village. Tenants were given a document
certifying their claim to tenancy rights. Importantly, the tenants were not
required to provide documentary proof of their status to get such a certificate.
Oral evidence and statements by neighbouring households were deemed
sufficient evidence to demand their tenancy rights. This proved to be a major
victory for the movement with nearly 7,00,000 acres of land being registered
under about 5,00,000 tenant farmers. While the Congress government passed
the land reform act restricting a family of five members from owning more than
30 acres, the DMK government reduced it further to 15 acres. Rental shares too
were reduced, allowed to be paid in instalments and also waived on occasion.
While the latter is an economic popular intervention that provides only short-
term relief, the earlier interventions have clearly sought to undermine the
basis on which the power held by landlords was being reproduced. Another
important legislation passed by the DMK government in this regard was the
Conferment of Ownership of Homestead Act, 1971 which gave ownership to
all those living in homesteads belonging to someone else or on land belonging
to the government. This move further enhanced the freedom of the tenant or
the agricultural labourer.
Jeyaranjan also highlights some of the failed legislative efforts in this
regard. One bill that gave the right to purchase the landlord’s land by
payment of 12 times the fair rent by the tenant failed to receive Presidential
assent. Resistance by religious mutts which controlled vast tracts of land
is seen to have played a part in this. Subsequent developments led to
consolidation of backward-caste tenant power in the delta, their de facto
rights becoming stronger than what legislation allows. As a result, according
to a senior party functionary of the Communist Party of India-Marxist
(CPI-M), tenancy is a dead issue in the delta region at present ( Jeyaranjan
2020: p. 268). Jeyaranjan goes onto further map the transfer of land from the
upper castes to the backward castes and to a lesser extent, to Dalits, over the
last 40 odd years.
This narrative overlaps partly with processes mapped by Neelakantan
(1996). Discussing the rural and urban transformation of the Karur region
(in central Tamil Nadu), Neelakantan provides anecdotal evidence of the

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increasing costs that landlords had to incur to retain their lands and resist
claims by tenants. While he attributes this to increased transaction costs,
he does not engage with the possibility that transaction costs have actually
increased because of the power of tenants and their ability to resist them
and the local bureaucracy and judiciary. He shows how on occasion tenants,
including Dalit tenants, managed to acquire ownership through shifts in
rural power relations made possible by political mobilisation. Such accounts
demonstrate how caste and land relationships have been reconfigured in rural
Tamil Nadu and the strong ties that bound lower-caste landless labourers and
tenant farmers to land and landowners stand dissolved. Another significant
move that undermined elite power in the Tamil countryside is the abolition
of traditional village heads.

D E M O C R AT I S I N G B U R E A U C R A C Y

To abolish caste in rural areas, Periyar had suggested that traditional

administrative jobs such as that of the accountant or revenue collector, held
by caste elites, should be handed over to Dalits (Thirumavelan 2018: p. 8).
The abolition of hereditary village heads (karnam) by the DMK in 1975 in
line with such reasoning changed social dynamics in the rural hinterlands
(Narayan 2018). Until then, village administration was in the hands of
the village heads (karnam) who usually came from upper castes and were
appointed by inheritance. The village heads used to be a part of the colonial
bureaucracy introduced in Indian villages for revenue and other administrative
purposes. The abolition of such hereditary appointments opened up space for
participation of lower castes in village administration. Recruitment through
the public service commission meant that control over land administration
was no longer with the landed elites. Harriss, Jeyaranjan and Nagaraj (2010)
in their case study of a village in northern Tamil Nadu observe that the village
had only one president between 1957 and 1977 who was a landlord in that
village. It was only in the 1980s, however, that things started changing on the
ground. At the time of their study, the village panchayat had four Vanniyar
members (classified as a ‘most backward caste’) and two Dalits while the
president is a Dalit widow. The appointment of village administrative officers
through the Tamil Nadu Public Service Commission (TNPSC) unsettled

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the inherited social power of the dominant castes and opened another
pathway to democratise rural caste relations. Such efforts to reconfigure rural
land relations were also accompanied by shifts in rural labour relations that
contributed much more to the mobility of Dalit households.

L A B O U R D I V E R S I F I C AT I O N

Recent micro-level studies suggest that rural Tamil Nadu has become ‘post-
agrarian’ with a reduced role for agriculture in contributing to household
income (Harriss, Jeyaranjan and Nagaraj 2010, 2012). In this section, we
establish using unit-level data of various NSS rounds that this is indeed a
state-level phenomenon, with rural labour considerably diversifying out of
agriculture. Though the rural non-farm sector has become a significant source
of livelihood for rural households across India (see Table 6A.3 in Appendix
6A), the levels, patterns and drivers of the non-farm sector are distinct in the
state. For the purpose of this chapter, we define the non-farm sector to include
all income-generating activities that are not agricultural but located in rural
areas.4
The share of the rural workforce in agriculture which was 70 per cent in
1993–94 has come down to about 42 per cent in 2017–18. The decline is much
faster than in Gujarat or Maharashtra (see Table 6.2). Rural Tamil Nadu has
a higher share of population dependent on income accruing in the non-farm
sector compared to other high income states in the country. Non-farm sectors
have in fact emerged as the biggest source of livelihood. According to the
recent National Bank for Agriculture and Rural Development (NABARD)
All-India Rural Financial Inclusion Survey (NAFIS) conducted in 2016–17
(see Figure 6.1), only 13 per cent of the rural households in the state can be
classified as ‘agricultural’ even under a very generous definition of what
constitutes an agricultural household.
Clearly this is much lower than the all-India average of 48 per cent or that of
Maharashtra or Gujarat, and along with Kerala, is the lowest among the major
states. Income of farm households from wages and salary and from non-farm
business in Tamil Nadu is the second highest among all the states. Household
income from cultivation has also declined. Among farm households in the

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Table 6.2 Rural Non-farm Employment

1993–94
Non-farm
Agriculture (including MFG) MFG All
Tamil Nadu 70.1 29.9 12.9 100.0
Gujarat 78.5 21.5 9.2 100.0
Maharashtra 82.4 17.6 5.0 100.0
All-India 78.1 21.9 7.0 100.0
2017–18
Agriculture Non-farm MFG All
Tamil Nadu 42.5 57.5 14.3 100.0
Gujarat 66.6 33.4 9.1 100.0
Maharashtra 74.5 25.5 5.4 100.0
All-India 59.4 40.6 7.8 100.0
Source: Estimated from various rounds of NSS–EUS unit-level data sets.

% of Agricultural HHs in Rural Area

70 63
58 58 58 59
60 55
48 51
47 47 47
50 41 42
34 34 35 36
40
30
20 13 13
10
0
West Bengal

Uttarakhand

Telangana
Tamil Nadu

Haryana

Maharashtra

Gujarat

Madhya Pradesh

Karnataka
Andhra Pradesh

Jharkhand
Kerala

Odisha
All India

Rajasthan
Punjab

Assam

Bihar

Chhattisgarh

Figure 6.1 Share of Agricultural Households in Total Rural Households

Note: An ‘agricultural household’ is defined as a household that has received some value of produce
more than INR 5,000 from agricultural activities (for example, cultivation of field crops, horticultural
crops, fodder crops, plantation, animal husbandry, poultry, fishery, piggery, bee-keeping, vermiculture,
sericulture and so on) and having at least one member self-employed in agriculture either in the
principal status or in a subsidiary status during the last 365 days. The condition of land possession was
dispensed with.
Source: NABARD All-India Rural Financial Inclusion Survey, 2016–17 (NAFIS), NABARD, 2018.

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 T ransforming R ural R elations

state, only about 43 per cent of the household income is from agriculture, as
against 60 per cent for the rest of India (see Table 6A.3 in Appendix 6A). In
fact, if we take cultivation alone, it accounts for just 27.5 per cent of agricultural
households in the state as against 48 per cent for all India. Diversification into
livestock accounts for a significant share of farm incomes. The percentage of
cultivators in rural Tamil Nadu has also come down from 29 per cent of the
rural workforce in 1981 to just 13 per cent in 2011, which is again one of the
lowest shares in India (Vijayabaskar 2017). Further, about 40 per cent of the
rural households live in areas classified as semi-urban5—having a population
less than 50,000—in Tamil Nadu as against 16 per cent at the all-India level.
The rural is no longer synonymous with agrarian life in Tamil Nadu, with the
working population moving out of agriculture at a faster pace than in other
Indian states.
If the declining share of agricultural labour in the total workforce indicates
the opening up of opportunities in the non-farm sector, increased bargaining
power due to new non-farm opportunities is likely to have weakened the
control that the landed could exercise over agricultural labour. This is also
borne out by the increase in agricultural wages. The state has seen an increase
in real agricultural wages (Harriss and Jeyaranjan 2016) in spite of a relative
stagnation of the agricultural economy. The recent wage data (2017) from the
Labour Bureau suggests that agricultural wage rates in the state are the second
highest after Kerala (See Figure 6.2).
Wage rates are also relatively higher in the non-farm sector. The average
nominal daily wage in the non-farm sector, as Figure 6.3 indicates, is once
again the second highest in the country after Kerala.
If we compare over time, the state has seen a faster rate of growth of
real wages compared to either Gujarat or Maharashtra (see Table 6.3). Real
wage has increased from INR 72 in 1993–94 (at 2011–12 prices) to INR 179 in
2011–12, an increase of 148 per cent while it increased only by 72 per cent in
Gujarat and 109 per cent in Maharashtra. We also see the wage picking up
from the second half of last decade. Between 2004–05 and 2011–12, the real
wages witnessed a rise from INR 114 to INR 179, an increase of 57 per cent.
The remarkable increase in wage rates, particularly in rural areas, is generally
attributed to the spillover effect of MNREGA on the one hand, and the
shortage of labour, partly due to higher participation in education, on the

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700 655

600
500
383 361 361
400 323
290 270 267 264 263
300 252 235 225
224 220 219 206
188 186
200
100
0

Karnataka
Haryana

Assam
Kerala

Tamil Nadu

Bihar
Himachal Pradesh

Meghalaya

Maharashtra
Punjab

Tripura

Andhra Pradesh

West Bengal

Odisha

Madhya Pradesh
Uttar Pradesh

Gujarat
All-India
Rajasthan

Figure 6.2 Inter-state Differences in Rural Agricultural Wages (2017)

Source: Labour Bureau (2018), Ministry of Labour & Employment.

700 620
600

500
397
400 355
328 312
303
276 271
300 250 244 241 241 238 234
224 219 213
197
200

100

0
Karnataka
Haryana

Assam

Bihar
Kerala

Tamil Nadu

Himachal Pradesh

West Bengal

Tripura

Maharashtra
Andhra Pradesh

Uttar Pradesh

Odisha

Madhya Pradesh
Gujarat
Punjab

All-India
Rajasthan

Figure 6.3 Inter-state Differences in Rural Non-agricultural Wages (2017)

Source: Labour Bureau (2018), Ministry of Labour & Employment.

other (Mehrotra et al. 2014). The demand for workers in the non-farm sector,
particularly in states like Tamil Nadu, too, is likely to have played a role.
This diversification out of agriculture has also importantly been
accompanied by relatively lower wage inequality between rural and urban areas
(see Table 6.3). The ratio of rural to urban wage—a measure of disparity—is

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Table 6.3 Trends in Wage Disparities (in Per Cent)

1993–94 1999–2000 2004–05 2009–10 2011–12

Rural–Urban Ratio Comparison
Tamil Nadu 50.4 52.9 46 52 55.3
Gujarat 48.1 42.5 43.4 40.9 49.7
Maharashtra 30.5 35.1 34.8 27.8 38.5
All-India 41.1 41.4 41.4 39.6 45.4
Rural Wages
1993–94 1999–2000 2004–05 2009–10 2011–12
Tamil Nadu 72 108 114 151 179
Gujarat 85 103 112 119 146
Maharashtra 80 102 120 135 168
All-India 75 98 119 112 171
Source: Estimated from various rounds of NSS–EUS unit-level data sets.

not only higher as compared to other states but also improving over time
indicating that the rural labour markets are getting better integrated with
urban labour markets. This diversification has also been relatively inclusive
in terms of caste. The share of Dalit households in agriculture is 37 per cent
in Tamil Nadu as against 68 per cent in Gujarat, 57 per cent in Maharashtra
and 47 per cent at the all-India level. Their dependence on agricultural
labour has also come down. The percentage of Dalits working as agricultural
labourers declined from 71 per cent in 1993–94 to 24 per cent in 2017–18. The
corresponding figures for non-Dalits in the state are 32 per cent and 14 per
cent, respectively. What we see therefore is a trend of Dalits moving away from
being agricultural labourers and accessing increased job opportunities outside
agriculture. A section of them have also become cultivators as we pointed out
in the previous section.
Data also suggests that within the non-farm sector, Dalits in the state
have been able to access a relatively higher share of ‘regular salaried’ jobs, an
indicator of better quality jobs (Table 6A.2). Twenty-four per cent of Dalit
households held regular salaried jobs in rural Tamil Nadu as against 20 per
cent among non-Dalits. The corresponding figure for Dalits in the rest of
India is about 12 per cent (see Table 6A.2. This is indeed significant though
we are aware that ‘regular, salaried’ jobs may not always imply better quality

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jobs. We therefore also traced the educational background of salaried workers.

‘Graduates accounted for 32 per cent (see Table 6.4) of such salaried Dalit
worker households which is similar to that of non-Dalits suggesting that
education has indeed enabled mobility of Dalits into relatively better quality
jobs.6 The remaining Dalits are engaged in casual jobs in the rural non-farm
sector. Dalits employed under this category have gone up from 12 per cent in
1993–94 to 20 per cent in 2017–18 while the corresponding figures for non-
Dalits are 13 per cent and 19 per cent, respectively. Thus, a section of Dalits is
reducing the economic distance between them and the non-Dalits in rural
Tamil Nadu, at least those occupying economically and socially lower rungs
of the rural hierarchy. This, as recent episodes of caste violence suggest, poses
anxieties among sections of other caste groups.7 In sum, Dalits are a lot less
dependent on the landed non-Dalits for livelihoods with a section of them
entering into relatively remunerative jobs in the non-farm economy. While
the educational mobility of Dalits is a trend that is visible across India,8 it is
much sharper in Tamil Nadu.
To understand the extent to which labour relations have been democratised
in rural Tamil Nadu, it is worth recalling the extent to which labour relations
were caste-hierarchical in the past. Besides being agricultural labourers
for daily wages, Dalits historically worked as panaiyal or padial (attached
labour) for landlords—a tradition of semi-servitude in this region that can be
witnessed in both the colonial and postcolonial period. The system of padial
tied labour to land and the landlord’s family. Padial did not have mobility and
she or he could not work on others’ land. She/he was paid in kind usually

Table 6.4 Educational Status of Rural Workers (in Per Cent)

Salaried Workers All Workers

SCs Non-SCs SCs Non-SCs
Illiterate 11.8 7.5 27.6 24.7
Primary and Middle 31.5 33 46.8 47.5
Secondary and Higher Secondary 24.6 27.7 15.2 17.5
Graduate and Above 32.2 31.8 10.4 10.3
Source: Estimated from NSS–Periodic Labour Force Surveys (PLFS) unit-level data sets.

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 T ransforming R ural R elations

through food grains. As Gilbert Slater, who pioneered village studies in India,
defines it:

… ‘padial’ is a sort of serf, who has fallen into hereditary dependence on a

landowner by debt ... Such a loan never is repaid, but descends from one
generation to another; and the padials themselves are transferred with the
creditor’s land when he sells it or dies (Cited in Harriss, Jeyaranjan and
Nagaraj 2010: p. 55).

Padial is different from daily agricultural labour. While agricultural labour

was also paid in kind through food grains, she or he was not tied to land or
the landlord’s family permanently. The system of padial continued as late
as the 1980s. Guhan and Mencher (1983a, 1983b) observe the presence of 36
padials working largely in households of persons belonging to the dominant
caste of the village they studied. Harriss, Jeyaranjan and Nagaraj (2010) who
visited those villages in 2008 observe that while the system of padial had
vanished, there are still some who are engaged in such jobs though with better
remuneration. Given this history of such limited mobility and strong bonds of
dependence on the landowning castes, economic diversification in rural Tamil
Nadu has helped weaken these dependent relations and improved livelihoods
for Dalits.
The question therefore is what made this diversification possible? Standard
explanations for non-farm employment are broadly two-fold (Davis et al.
2009). One source of expansion is rooted in agricultural dynamism which
allows for surplus to be transferred to investments in the non-agricultural
sector, particularly in agro-processing, trade in inputs and output, repair and
maintenance of assets and infrastructure related to agricultural production
and trade. The other mode of diversification is distress-induced. While agro-
processing has contributed to non-farm dynamism, the state has witnessed
more penetration of other modern manufacturing activities.

R U R A L M A N U FA C T U R I N G A N D I N F R A S T R U C T U R E

At 14 per cent, the share of manufacturing in the total rural workforce is

one of the highest in the country (see Table 6.2). Rural Tamil Nadu has a

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sizeable number of units. There are 5,036 units with 20 or more workers,
higher than the 3,356 factories in Gujarat and 3,075 in Maharashtra. The
share of rural manufacturing units in total manufacturing in the state is
about 41 per cent in Tamil Nadu as against 31 per cent in Gujarat and 34
per cent in Maharashtra (Economic Census 2013–14). It is, therefore,
plausible to argue that manufacturing is an important source of productive
employment in rural areas in the state (Sarkar and Karan 2005). The reduced
gap between average rural and urban wage rates may also be because of such
penetration. Though construction is the biggest employer of rural labour
after agriculture, the relatively higher wages in construction in the state
(Government of Tamil Nadu 2017) suggest that wage rates are influenced by
demand across such sectors.
In addition to this process, two more variables shape the rise of the non-
farm sector in the state: rural transport and electricity infrastructure. As we
discussed in the previous chapter, a significant increase in the spread and
development of the road network, particularly ‘minor’ roads has enabled
intra- and inter-state mobilities of people, goods and services. The percentage
of minor roads to total roads increased from 47 in 1960–61 to 80 per cent in
1990–92 (Rukmani 1994). Thanks to policy interventions to build broad based
road transport infrastructure and lower costs of access, the state has managed
to link the rural and urban, and expanded the scope for non-farm livelihood
options among rural households.
Similarly, we pointed out in the previous chapter that the state was
a pioneer in rural electrification.9 The long term-trend towards higher
non-farm diversification is therefore rooted in the provisioning of rural
infrastructure such as electrification and transport that allowed not only
for accumulation within agriculture but also for non-agricultural activities
to take off in rural areas. In addition, free power for poor households
was introduced in Tamil Nadu in the 1970s. Initially, each hut (up to 200
square feet) was to be provided with a single light bulb not exceeding 40
watts under various schemes including the Jawahar Velai Vaiippu Thittam
( Jawahar Employment Opportunity) and TAHDCO Kamarajar Adi
Dravidar housing, which was increased to 100 watts after 2006.10 Apart from
diversification contributing to the tightening of rural labour markets and

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facilitating greater integration with the urban labour market, there were
other policy moves that undermined traditional relations of power. Welfare
interventions like the PDS not only offered freedom from hunger, but
also substantially weakened relations of dependence and hierarchy. Access
to food was a significant factor that tied labour to land and the landlord’s
family. The PDS contributed in good measure to break such ties of economic
coercion.

W E L FA R E A N D L A B O U R

The state’s better ability to design and implement welfare interventions

like the PDS and other central schemes like MNREGA is well recognised
(Vivek 2014; Drèze and Sen 2011; Vijayabaskar and Balagopal 2019). Some
of these schemes are path dependent and have become irreversible given
their link with electoral political appeals. The rural population has also
acquired an ability to negotiate with the state over the years to ensure that
such welfare schemes are implemented better. Put simply, what began
as economic popular appeals have evolved to become legitimate claims
of people and if the state fails to deliver such services, people resort to
collective action. Srinivasan (2010) maps the process of how collective
action has worked towards making public institutions more accountable
and implement welfare schemes better. Here, we discuss two schemes—the
PDS and MNREGA, which have direct implications for changing labour
relations in rural Tamil Nadu.

MAKING OF THE PUBLIC DISTRIBUTION SYSTEM

The PDS has become an important institution in shaping and influencing

the way the economy works in rural Tamil Nadu. This section explores briefly
the functioning of the PDS in Tamil Nadu, its effect on rural social relations
and reasons for its relative success in the state. We suggest that the PDS and
its evolution in the state is intimately tied to the history of the Dravidian
movement and its vision of social justice.

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The DMK came into power with a promise to supply three measures of
rice per rupee which was part of its election manifesto (Venkatsubramanian
2006).11 The new DMK government declared food policy to be a central
concern. The first step taken in this regard was the establishment of Tamil
Nadu Civil Supplies Corporation (TNCSC) in 1972. Until then, food supply
policies were designed by the union government. The state government was
dependent on the central pool for food grains and had to seek the permission
of the union government to procure them from other states. Guided by its
commitment to state autonomy, the DMK established the TNCSC to govern
supply and distribution of food grains without interference from the union
government. Mirroring the union government’s procurement and distribution
architecture like the Food Corporation of India (FCI) at the state level, the
TNCSC began to procure paddy directly from farmers, process and distribute
it to various parts of the state through its transport contractors. The government
established fair price shops across the state and enacted guidelines to ensure
that no PDS beneficiary has to travel more than 2 kilometres to access a fair
price shop. Using cooperatives as the primary instrument for extending these
shops to all villages across Tamil Nadu, by 1982 there were 17,536 fair price
shops in the state.
Political commitment to the PDS continued to be firm in the state even when
the union government attempted to dilute it following the macro-economic
reforms of the 1990s. In 1997, the union government initiated the Targeted
Public Distribution System (TPDS) by introducing below poverty line (BPL)
and above poverty line (APL) categories and setting differential prices for
the two. The DMK government that was in power rejected the proposal and
reaffirmed its commitment to a universal PDS (Venkatsubramanian 2006). The
state’s commitment to the programme is visible in the amount of subsidies that
go into it. In its initial stage, the open market price, central price and the state
procurement price within the PDS were the same for rice (Venkatasubramanian
2006). It was perhaps meant to ensure the availability of food grain more than
subsidising it. The state, however, started to gradually subsidise it to the extent
that the price at PDS stood at 22 per cent of the open market price (see Table
6A.4 in Appendix 6A). When the centre imposed the TPDS, the state continued
the universal PDS, at times bearing the associated fiscal cost too.

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CONTENT OF THE PUBLIC DISTRIBUTION SYSTEM

Along with the increased coverage, the basket of commodities provided

within the PDS has also widened. Initially, the TNCSC provided rice, wheat,
sugar and kerosene. Under a special PDS, it further included tur dal, urad
dal, palmolein oil, fortified wheat flour, rava and maida at subsidised prices.
In addition, the TNCSC also started supplying cement at concessional
rates, free LPG stoves and LPG connections to poor families. Importantly,
the price of essential commodities under the PDS in Tamil Nadu is much
lower than the price fixed by the Government of India. The issue price of
rice under the PDS as fixed by the Government of Tamil Nadu was INR
1 per kilogram during 2006–11, after which it was made completely free.
This is against the Government of India’s issue price of INR 3 per kilogram
under the Antyodaya Anna Yojana allotment, INR 5.65 per kilogram
under BPL allotment and INR 8 per kilogram under APL allotment
(Venkatasubrmanian 2006).
As it is universal, the PDS has become a source of income support and
social protection in the state (Drèze and Khera 2013). Drèze and Khera’s study
(2013) study estimates that the state offers the highest implicit subsidy through
the PDS. The same study also provides estimates of the potential effect of
the PDS in reducing poverty. Income transfer through the PDS accounts
for about 11 per cent of the total poverty reduction in rural India whereas for
Tamil Nadu, the effect of the PDS in reducing poverty is as high as 44 per
cent, which is again the highest among all states in India. Commitment to the
PDS is reflected in its efficiency and coverage as well.

PDS: EFFICIENCY AND COVERAGE

Khera (2011b) ranks the performance of the PDS across states based on eight
parameters such as degree of inclusiveness, quality of PDS grain and physical
access. At 4.4 per cent, Tamil Nadu has one of the lowest diversion rates (the
proportion of grain that does not reach beneficiary households) compared
to the all-India average of 44 per cent. The state has an efficient tracking
mechanism in place to prevent diversion (Vydhianathan and Radhakrishnan

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2010). Further, card holders can also check the stocks by sending short
message services (SMSs). In addition to such technical interventions,
awareness and mobilisation of users of PDS also contributes to its effective
and transparent functioning (Vivek 2014). As a result, both coverage of and
consumption through the PDS are better compared to other major states in
the country. Importantly, as Tables 6A.5 and 6A.6 in Appendix 6A indicate,
this is true for households at the bottom of the economic and social hierarchy.
The coverage of the PDS measured as a percentage of households availing
ration cards, percentage of people availing BPL cards and access among lower
castes and lower income groups are all better in Tamil Nadu than in other
major states.
The success of the programme becomes more evident if we look at the
actual reliance of rural households on the PDS for food consumption. The
National Sample Survey Office (NSSO) consumption survey (68th round—
2011–12) offers insights on the consumption of various goods (see Table 6A.6
in Appendix 6A). The monthly per capita average consumption of rice in rural
Tamil Nadu is about 9 kilograms, of which, the PDS alone accounts for about
5 kilograms (56 per cent). In other words, on average more than half of the
household consumption of rice comes from the PDS in the state while the
corresponding figure at the all-India level is just 29 per cent (see Table 6A.6
in Appendix 6A).12 If we disaggregate by deciles, for the bottom decile—the
poorest of the poor, about 73 per cent of the consumption of rice comes from
the PDS in Tamil Nadu while such category gets only 42 per cent in the rest
of India. The PDS in fact accounts for more than 50 per cent of household
rice consumption for 70 per cent (until the 7th decile) of households in Tamil
Nadu. While the programme is universal, the poor and lower castes gain more
from such universal provisioning.
Apart from its role in social protection and poverty reduction, an important
outcome of the scheme is that it has enabled Dalits to be freed from food-
related servitude. As pointed out earlier, food grains constitute the single most
dominant factor in controlling labour. The PDS, on an average, accounts for
59 per cent of the total rice consumption of Dalit households in Tamil Nadu
(see Table 6A.7 in Appendix 6A). The poorest households among Dalits (the
bottom decile) actually get 74 per cent of their rice from the PDS. The PDS
therefore, apart from ensuring a degree of food security, has also undermined

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relations of coercion. This once again shows how interventions in the domain
of the economic popular have implications for the social popular domain.
This undermining is likely to have been accompanied by better bargaining
power apart from a rise in the reservation price of labour. The PDS in addition
t0 ensuring freedom from hunger has also worked in conjunction with
MNREGA to enhance the bargaining power of labour in the state. The next
section maps this process.

T H E M A H AT M A G A N D H I N AT I O N A L R U R A L E M P L O Y M E N T
GUARANTEE ACT (MNREGA)

This section explores three aspects with respect to MNREGA, a national

legislation passed in 2005: its relative performance in the state, factors that
made the programme successful and finally, its implications for rural power
relations. The Mahatma Gandhi National Rural Employment Guarantee Act
is a rural job guarantee programme funded largely by the central government
through which rural households have the legal right to get up to 100 days of
on-demand employment in public works every financial year. The programme
is generally evaluated based on the three stipulated components in the Act:
(a) at least 100 days of guaranteed wage employment to each household
requesting work in a rural area, (b) every worker entitled to wages at the
specified wage rate for each day’s work based on minimum wages set by the
government and (c) one third of the beneficiaries of the programme to be
women. A study by Princeton University (Bonner et al. 2012) shows that
Tamil Nadu has topped all states in ensuring women’s participation in the
programme and also does better on the other two dimensions.13 Though
higher women’s participation may well have to do with the possibility that
male workers access higher wage jobs in the rural economy and hence prefer to
not seek MNREGA work, effective implementation has nevertheless made it
possible for women in rural Tamil Nadu to enhance their incomes. The higher
level of women’s participation in Tamil Nadu is also endorsed by other micro-
level studies (Drèze and Oldiges 2011; Carswell and de Neve 2014).14
The state also scores better with regard to caste-wise inclusiveness. As
per NSSO data (2012), a larger share of lower castes participated for more
than 60 days in Tamil Nadu. The macro-level success story in terms of caste

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inclusiveness is also borne out by evidence from micro-level studies such as by

Carswell and de Neve (2014).
Interviews with bureaucrats reveal how efforts were made by the state
government to ensure that persons from the lower castes, particularly Dalit
households, could access MNREGA work.15 Rather than using the village
as the basis for identifying work sites, they worked with data on habitations
within villages. As residential neighbourhoods in rural areas are segregated
on the basis of caste, it is possible that some work sites cannot be accessed
by Dalits. Further some sites may not be close enough for residents in some
habitations to access. Working with habitations as the unit to identify work
sites, bureaucrat respondents are of the opinion that they were able to ensure
employment access across caste groups better.
Scholars agree that MNREGA has pushed up rural wages (Chandrasekhar
and Ghosh 2011; Mehrotra 2013). Given the rapid sectoral changes in the
structure of the state economy with negative employment generation in
agriculture, MNREGA has also helped sustain the livelihoods of those in
rural Tamil Nadu who cannot access the non-farm sector for work. As stated
earlier, the rural real wage has doubled between 2004–05 and 2011–12 both in
Tamil Nadu and at the all-India level. It can therefore be argued that such
welfare interventions do enhance bargaining power in the rural labour market.
Though the number of days of employment has been falling in agriculture, a
combination of investments in education, demand from the non-farm sector,
a universal PDS and MNREGA employment has pushed agricultural wages
up as well. Such interventions therefore not only effect changes in rural labour
markets but, as Carswell and de Neve (2014) point out, can also contribute to
a progressive shift in social relations and empower historically marginalised
caste groups in rural areas.
As in the case of PDS, the relative success of the programme in the
state is definitely in part due to the presence of an efficient bureaucratic–
administrative mechanism for its monitoring and implementation (Abraham
2016). But as a senior bureaucrat who was in charge of implementing the
programme clarified, ‘It is only because of the political will that we are able
to implement better. Without the political leaders giving us direction, we
would not be in a position to implement.’16 Leveraging this programme to
seek electoral support, as in the case of other welfare measures, has therefore

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contributed to populist politics in the state. Further, awareness has also led
to increased public demand for employment. Often, the administrative
mechanism has been forced to meet the heightened public expectation due
to collective action by people at the ground level.17 Vivek (2014) argues that
the reductions in caste inequalities due to social movements the state has
witnessed for a century have expanded the ‘substantive freedom of lower
caste groups’, changed the unequal social norms and influenced institutions
to deliver better. In other words, while lower-caste mobilisation has led to
better implementation of programmes like MNREGA and the PDS, better
implementation in turn contributes to expanding the substantive freedom of
the poor and lower castes in rural areas. If the PDS worked to free labour
from food-related dependence on landlords, MNREGA has certainly worked
in setting a reserve wage and freeing them from dependency on landowners
and petty capitalists in rural Tamil Nadu.

CONCLUSION

Rural Tamil Nadu is arguably the least agrarian in the country with the
exception of Kerala. While this transformation is in line with the Dravidian
vision of moving the subaltern out of caste bound traditional occupations,
limits to structural transformation also imply that those who are unable to
make the transition have to be provided with a degree of social protection.
The analysis clearly shows that the state has not only seen greater economic
transformation in rural areas, but such transformation has also been
accompanied by improvements in the well-being of people and undermining
of traditional labour and land relations. Contrary to popular perception, rural
land has indeed been transferred to backward castes and to a lesser extent to
Dalits. The non-farm sector has acquired a predominant role in providing
opportunities in rural Tamil Nadu. It has undermined rural wage relations,
offered a degree of mobility for the lower castes and supplemented farm
incomes for the lower classes of farmers. Such diversification only affirms the
‘post-agrarian’ character of the state. State intervention through infrastructure,
education and welfare has only accelerated such transformations. If rural–urban
connectivity through roads and transport opened up new opportunities and

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widened access to the world, the network of primary health centres (PHCs),
mid-day meals for school children and education for all contributed to building
the capabilities of individuals. Economic popular welfare interventions such as
the PDS and MNREGA have not only worked to cushion the rural poor from
economic shocks but have crucially freed lower castes from social bondage
and weakened hierarchical labour relations between the landed and the
landless. If promotion of the rural non-farm sector opened up opportunities
for the mobility of lower castes, state welfare interventions equipped them
to participate in the market and negotiate with the state. Mobilisation that
sought to undermine status based inequality and populist policy interventions
in response have therefore not only improved socio-economic conditions of
lower castes in rural Tamil Nadu, but have also improved the terms on which
they could participate in the labour market.

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 APPENDIX 6A
Table 6A.1 Distribution of Rural Households by Size Class (Landholdings)—All-India

Size of Landholding (in Hectare)

Marginal Small Semi-medium Medium Large (10 and Average Size
(up to 1) (1–2) (2–5) (5–10) Above) All Holding
1970–71 50.6 19.1 15.2 11.3 3.9 100.0 2.3
1980–81 56.4 18.1 14.0 9.1 2.4 100.0 1.8
1985–86 57.8 18.4 13.6 8.1 2.0 100.0 1.7
1990–91 59.4 18.8 13.1 7.1 1.6 100.0 1.6
1995–96 61.6 18.7 12.3 6.1 1.2 100.0 1.4
2000–01 62.9 18.9 11.7 5.5 1.0 100.0 1.3
2005–06 64.8 18.5 10.9 4.9 0.8 100.0 1.2
2010–11 67.1 17.9 10.0 4.2 0.7 100.0 1.2
2015–16 68.5 17.7 9.5 3.8 0.6 100.0 1.1
Area under Control of Different Sizes
1970–71 9.0 11.9 18.5 29.8 30.9 100.0 2.3
1980–81 12.0 14.1 21.2 29.6 23.0 100.0 1.8
1985–86 13.4 15.6 22.3 28.6 20.1 100.0 1.7
1990–91 15.0 17.4 23.2 27.0 17.3 100.0 1.6
1995–96 17.2 18.8 23.8 25.3 14.8 100.0 1.4
2000–01 18.7 20.2 24.0 24.0 13.2 100.0 1.3
2005–06 20.2 20.9 23.9 23.1 11.8 100.0 1.2
2010–11 22.5 22.1 23.6 21.2 10.6 100.0 1.2
2015–16 24.2 23.2 23.7 20.0 9.0 100.0 1.1
Source: Computed from the First Agricultural Census 1970–71 to the 10th Agricultural Census 2015–16 compiled by the EPWRF.
 Table 6A.2 Rural Occupational Classification of Households

Tamil Nadu
SC Non-SC
1993–94 2011–12 2017–18 1993–94 2011–12 2017–18
Cultivator 6.5 6.7 13.3 25.3 18.4 16.8
Self-employed 4.3 6.5 9.4 16.3 14.5 15.7
Regular Salaried 14.3 23.9 15.6 20.1
Agri-labour 0.7 49.7 24.1 31.9 29.7 13.9
Non-farm Labour 12.3 15.4 19.6 12.6 15.6 18.9
Others 6.2 7.5 9.8 14.0 6.3 14.6
All 100.0 100.0 100.0 100.0 100.0 100.0
All-India
SC Non-SC
1993–94 2011–12 2017–18 1993–94 2011–12 2017–18
Cultivator 20.1 19.55 26.8 43.4 37.7 39.8
Self-employed 10.7 14.2 12.3 14.4 17.1 16.3
Regular Salaried 8.54 11.5 10.5 13.6
Agri-labour 49.3 31.4 19.6 23.3 17.2 9.3
Non-farm Labour 10.1 21.28 20.3 6.8 11.1 10.3
Others 9.8 5.08 9.5 12.1 6.4 10.8
All 100.0 100.01 100.0 100.0 100.0 100.0
Source: Estimated from various rounds of NSS–EUS unit-level data sets.

Table 6A.3 Average Monthly Income (INR) from Different Sources and
Consumption Expenditure (INR) per Agricultural Household for July
2012–June 2013
Average monthly income
Net Net
Net receipt receipt Average
Income receipt from from monthly
from wages/ from farming of non-farm Total consumption
States salary cultivation animals business income expenditure
Tamil Nadu 2,902 1,917 1,100 1,061 6,980 5,803
Kerala 5,254 3,531 575 2,529 11,888 11,008
Andhra Pradesh 2,482 2,022 1,075 400 5,979 5,927
Telangana 1,450 4,227 374 260 6,311 5,061
Karnataka 2,677 4,930 600 625 8,832 5,889
Maharashtra 2,156 3,856 539 834 7,386 5,762
Gujarat 2,683 2,933 1,930 380 7,926 7,672
All-India 2,071 3,081 763 512 6,426 6,223

Source: The Situation Assessment Survey of Agricultural Households, NSSO (2013).

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Table 6A.4 PDS Subsidies

Open Market Central Issue State PDS Ratio of PDS Price to

Price Price Price Open Market Price
1978 1.6 1.5 1.6 100
1979 1.65 1.5 1.6 97
1980 2 1.65 1.6 80
1981 2.9 1.75 1.75 60.3
1982 2.71 1.88 1.75 64.6
1983 3.71 1.88 1.75 47.2
1984 3.12 1.88 1.75 56.1
1985 3.38 2.17 1.75 51.8
1986 3.52 2.31 1.75 49.7
1987 3.75 2.39 1.75 46.7
1988 4.17 2.44 1.75 42
1989 5.54 2.89 2 36.1
1990 4.37 2.89 2 45.8
1991 4.9 3.77 2 40.8
1992 5.67 4.37 2 35.3
1993 6.81 5.37 2.5 36.7
1994 6.85 5.37 3.5 51.1
1995 8.35 5.37 2 24
1996 9.15 5.37 2 21.9
BPL APL
1997 8.53 3.5 7 2 23.4
1998 9.09 3.5 7 2 22
1999 10.1 3.5 9.05 2 19.8
2000 10.55 5.9 11.8 3.5 33.2
2001 10.36 5.65 8.3 3.5 33.8
2002 10.69 5.65 8.3 3.5 32.7
2003 11.79 5.65 8.3 3.5 29.7
Source: Venkatasubramanian (2006).
Note: The distinction between ‘below poverty line’ (BPL) and ‘above poverty line’ (APL) was
introduced only from 1997.

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Table 6A.5 Coverage of PDS (in Per Cent)

Poor Non-poor Total

Tamil Nadu All-India Tamil Nadu All-India Tamil Nadu All-India
Rural 90.9 80.6 88.4 81.9 89.2 81.4
Urban 82.2 71.8 76.6 65.8 77.6 67.0
Caste-wise Coverage of PDS
Tamil Nadu
ST SC OBC Others Total
Rural 93.7 91.3 89.0 71.6 89.2
Urban 68.4 79.2 79.4 81.6 79.4
India
Rural 75.6 83.0 81.3 82.0 81.0
Urban 53.0 70.1 68.8 69.3 68.8
Source: Estimated from NSS–Consumption Expenditure Survey (CES) 68thunit-level data set.

Table 6A.6 Average Per Capita Quantity Consumed in

30 Days (Kg)—Rural

MPCE_ Tamil Nadu All-India

MRP_ Share of Share of
Decile PDS Rice Total Rice PDS (%) PDS Rice Total Rice PDS (%)
0–10 5.74 7.92 72.5 2.76 6.59 42.0
10–20 5.23 8.23 63.5 2.07 6.44 1
20–30 5.58 8.82 63.2 1.97 6.43 30.6
30–40 5.12 9.04 56.6 1.83 6.32 29.0
40–50 5.12 8.90 57.5 1.63 6.14 26.5
50–60 5.21 9.37 55.6 1.83 6.26 29.2
60–70 5.49 9.65 56.9 1.58 6.03 26.2
70–80 4.55 9.42 48.3 1.60 6.12 26.1
80–90 4.42 9.66 45.8 1.38 5.79 23.8
90–100 3.48 8.87 39.2 1.21 5.80 20.8
Total 4.99 8.99 55.6 1.79 6.19 28.9
Source: Estimated from NSS–CES 68th unit-level data set.

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Table 6A.7 Average Per Capita Quantity Consumed in 30 Days (Kg)

for Caste Groups

MPCE_ SC Non-SC
MRP_ Share of Share of
Decile PDS Rice Total Rice PDS (%) PDS Rice Total Rice PDS (%)
0–10 5.92 7.96 74.3 5.29 8.03 65.8
10–20 5.42 8.41 64.4 5.31 8.33 63.7
20–30 5.18 9.03 57.3 4.90 8.53 57.4
30–40 5.15 8.90 57.9 4.69 8.55 54.9
40–50 5.76 9.17 62.8 4.79 8.83 54.2
50–60 5.89 10.10 58.3 4.23 8.84 47.8
60–70 4.64 8.97 51.7 3.70 8.46 43.7
70–80 3.94 8.46 46.6 3.43 8.30 41.3
80–90 2.71 7.12 38.1 2.79 8.02 34.8
90–100 1.31 3.96 33.1 1.43 6.17 23.2
Total 4.91 8.37 58.7 4.01 8.21 48.8
Source: Estimated from NSS–CES 68th unit-level data set.

NOTES

1 Tenant farmers in the region were largely from the following castes—
Thevars, Vanniars, Pallars, Paraiyars and Nadars, who were lower backward
castes and Dalits.
2 Thirumavelan (2018) too discusses this mobilisation in the delta region.
3 The lower delta region.
4 Some understand the non-farm sector as all those income-generating
activities that are not agricultural but located in rural areas (Lanjouw
and Lanjouw 2001), while others also include remittances and rural
infrastructures such as roads, schools and hospitals under the non-farm
label as they are integral to the rural economy (Davis and Bezemer 2004).
5 The NAFIS adopted the definition of ‘semi-urban’ based on the RBI
classification: Tier-III to Tier-VI centres with a population of less than 50,000.
6 Even if one considers all workers among Dalits, graduates constitute about
10 per cent which is the same as for non-Dalits (See Table 6.4).
7 Several recent micro studies show how this new mobility for Dalits has
generated anxiety among the intermediate castes as they no longer wield

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control over them in the way that they used to in the past (Pandian 2013).
Further, state interventions through a slew of welfare measures, as well as
urbanisation, have improved the position of Dalits vis-à-vis sections of
intermediate caste groups (Anandhi and Vijayabaskar 2013).
8 The recent study by Asher, Novosad and Rafkin (2020) shows, based
on historical time series data, that the upward educational mobility of
Scheduled Castes (SCs) is higher than that of other social groups in India.
9 See https://recindia.nic.in/download/TAMILNADU.pdf (accessed 6
August 2019).
10 Government of Tamil Nadu, Amendment to the Schedule to the Tamil Nadu
Revision of Tariff Rates on Supply of Electrical Energy Act, 1978, Notification,
http://cms.tn.gov.in/sites/default/files/gos/energy3-e.pdf (accessed 3 August
2019).
11 Faced with a serious food and financial crisis, the government could manage
to provide only one measure of rice per rupee.
12 A similar trend prevails even if we compare wheat consumption, although
its consumption is relatively very limited in the state. The per capita average
consumption of wheat in rural Tamil Nadu is just about one kilogram,
and the PDS alone supplies about 80 per cent of it. On the other hand,
expectedly, the per capita consumption of wheat is about 5 kilograms at the
all-India level but the PDS contributes only 26 per cent of it.
13 The study compares the performance of states in India in implementing
the programme using certain basic indicators such as the number of days
worked, level of wages and women’s participation.
14 The study by Carswell and de Neve (2014) was carried out in two villages in
the Tiruppur district of Tamil Nadu.
15 Interviews were conducted for the study by Vijayabaskar and Balagopal (2019).
16 Personal interview with a senior bureaucrat closely associated with the
implementation of MNREGA in Tamil Nadu, June 20, 2016.
17 Srinivasan (2010) provides a detailed account of how the programme
worked at the ground level in Tamil Nadu, and what changes it brought
about in the socioeconomic institutional set up at the village level.

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 7

POPULAR INTERVENTIONS AND

URBAN LABOUR

In the last chapter we argued how traditional rural labour relations were
destabilised and new opportunities opened up for lower castes due to a
set of measures informed by Dravidian common-sense. Identity-based
mobilisation was not merely about a politics of recognition but also a politics
of redistribution that ensured a degree of material improvement in rural
Tamil Nadu. In this chapter, we turn to ask: How did such mobilisation
shape the material conditions of urban and non-agrarian labour in the state?
Given the different institutional embedding of formal and informal labour,
we make a distinction between interventions and outcomes in the two labour
market segments. Establishing that the condition of labour in both formal
and informal segments is relatively better than in other states characterised
by industrial dynamism, we map a set of processes that made this possible.
The study of Tamil Nadu’s interventions in the domain of urban labour, we
argue, suggests a solution to an interesting puzzle. A state which embraces
economic reforms including the key tenets of labour market flexibility also
does relatively better with regard to wages, working conditions and social
protection for labour in both organised and unorganised sectors. Tamil Nadu’s
commitment to liberalisation has been accompanied by a relatively higher
degree of social protection of informal workers.
Apart from secondary data and literature, the chapter also relies on
detailed interviews with trade union officials, labour bureaucrats, activists
and professionals employed in the software sector. We observe that the
state has a relatively better share of decent jobs in the labour market, better
wages and conditions of work. Importantly, while the state has not been
able to counter the process of contractualisation of labour that we witness
 T H E D R AV I D I A N M O D E L

all over the country, it has nevertheless managed to contain it. The share
of wages in organised manufacturing too is higher vis-à-vis other states
in India. We explain such relatively better conditions for labour in terms
of collective mobilisation and better embedding of the state’s political
regime in the interests of the lower castes and labouring classes. While Left
unions and the DMK-affiliated Labour Progressive Front (LPF) played an
important role in mobilisation, political regimes tend to respond to such
demands better than in other industrially dynamic states. Next, based on
survey data and a case study of the software services sector, we establish that
affirmative action policies have made the organised labour market socially
more inclusive despite persistent caste differences. We also use a micro-level
intervention to show how the idea that caste-based differences in access
are not because of intrinsic differences in capabilities but due to social
deprivation is widely diffused in Tamil civil society. We suggest therefore
that Dravidian common-sense has de-naturalised the idea of merit to an
extent.
Moving to the domain of informal work, we show how welfare
interventions have shaped labour well-being. Such measures have enabled
the state to sustain accumulation even as it provides a degree of protection to
vulnerable workers. Interventions outside the domain of work are also likely
to contribute to a relatively higher reservation wage. Wage rates for urban
casual labourers are not only the second highest in the country but are closer
to those of regular workers. Apart from such universalist interventions outside
the workplace, we emphasise the constitution of welfare boards for different
segments of unorganised workers and the political processes leading to this
constitution.
We begin with a comparative account of different labour market outcomes
in the state and link it to the structural shifts of the state’s economy in terms
of employment. The second section offers insights on how jobs are distributed
across castes and the role of affirmative action. In the third section, we
demonstrate how labour institutions mediate labour welfare in the organised
sector. The fourth section presents strategies adopted by the state to address
labour market vulnerabilities generated by rapid economic transformation
particularly among workers in the urban informal economy.

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 P opular I nterventions and U rban L abour

L A B O U R M A R K E T: S T R U C T U R E
AND QUALITY

STRUCTURAL CHANGE IN EMPLOYMENT

As stated in Chapter 1, the state has the most structurally diversified workforce
in India. Though the diverging structures of output and employment that
are evident at the national level hold true for the state as well, the growth
path is distinct. Hasan, Lamba and Sen Gupta (2015) argue that Tamil Nadu
is one of the few states which has achieved structural change and poverty
reduction simultaneously in India. A key indicator of this structural shift, as
we pointed out in the previous chapter, is the much lower share of agriculture
in total employment in the state as against the all-India average. Apart from
having the highest share of its workforce in manufacturing (see Table 7A.1 in
Appendix 7A), the state also has a larger share of its workforce in the service
sector (37 per cent) than Gujarat or Maharashtra. Combined with the high
levels of urbanisation, Tamil Nadu thus has a relatively larger share of its
workforce employed in the urban economy.
This structural shift in employment has been accompanied by relatively
lower additions to the workforce in the last three decades thanks to the decline
in fertility rate in the state1 (see Table 7A.2 in Appendix 7A). Between 1993–94
and 2017–18, the agricultural sector has seen a withdrawal of 6.2 million from
its workforce, registering one of the highest reductions in the country. This
withdrawal of the workforce from agriculture started in the 1990s in Tamil
Nadu whereas this began to happen only from the mid-2000s in most other
states. Though this diversification has still not kept pace with diversification in
incomes, the state has seen a faster diversification of its workforce in the three
decades compared to all-India trends. Importantly this is true even in the
case of the female labour force. Women’s participation in paid employment,
as Arthur Lewis (1954: p. 404) remarks, ‘… is one of the most notable features
of economic development’. Notwithstanding the possibility of such paid
employment leading to a ‘double burden’ for women, entry into new spaces
of participation and access to independent incomes may contribute to
undermining of gender hierarchies as well (Kabeer 2012).

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In India, we are actually witness to a reversal of this process, with the female
labour force participation rate (FLFPR) declining.2 Despite following the
national trends, not only is the overall labour force participation rate (LFPR)
much higher for women in the state (Government of Tamil Nadu 2017),
women workers are also engaged in a higher share of jobs in the non-farm
economy. Women’s participation in service and manufacturing is 64 per cent
as against 44 per cent in Gujarat, 35 per cent in Maharashtra and the all-India
average of 43 per cent. This sectoral shift of women away from agriculture in
Tamil Nadu is significant given the larger national trend towards feminisation
within agriculture (Government of India 2018b). We next turn our attention to
the quality of jobs generated in the urban economy.

THE QUALITY OF URBAN EMPLOYMENT

Belying the anticipation of economic modernisation, a substantial section of

the workforce in India continues to be self-employed (NCEUS 2009). Self-
employment is often survival driven and tends to be higher in lower-income
states.3 The process of diversification in Tamil Nadu has been accompanied
by increases in wage-led employment, both regular and casual, and much less
in self-employment. The share of self-employed persons in total non-farm
jobs is only 26 per cent in 2017–18, as against 38.4 per cent in Gujarat and
32.8 per cent in Maharashtra, while the all-India average is 35.6 per cent.4
The share of casual jobs is, however, much higher in Tamil Nadu than in
Gujarat or Maharashtra (see Table 7A.3 in Appendix 7A). The share of regular
jobs with a stable contract and wage structure is about 46 per cent in Tamil
Nadu and not too different from Gujarat or Maharashtra (see Table 7A.3 in
Appendix 7A). Populist interventions in the domain of urban labour have
to therefore respond to two structural constraints. First, despite having the
best parameters of structural transformation, labour absorption in the non-
farm sector continues to lag behind income shifts taking place across sectors.
Second, regular employment with security of employment continues to
account for only a small share of urban employment. While this is partly tied
to macro policy shifts that tend to view labour as a cost to be minimised, the
inability of the modern sector to absorb the workforce exiting agriculture on
‘decent’ terms should also be recognised. In the absence of adequate regular

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waged employment, workers are therefore more likely to be engaged in casual

wage work than be self-employed. This wage-led employment, however, has
implications for social policy in the state.
Based on the sectoral definition put forward by the National Commission
for Enterprises in the Unorganised Sector (NCEUS) (NCEUS 2009), we
compute the extent of employment generated by formal enterprises from
the NSSO–EUS unit-level data.5 Forty-seven per cent of enterprises
(for industry and the services sector) in Tamil Nadu were still in the
organised sector in 2017–18, higher than that in Gujarat, Maharashtra and
the all-India average (see Table 7A.4 in Appendix 7A). If we go by the
employment definition of informality, a greater share of the workforce
within manufacturing is in the unorganised sector compared to Gujarat or
Maharashtra. However, when we look at the share of informal workers in
both industry and services, the state has a lower share compared to Gujarat
or Maharashtra (see Table 7A.4). Nevertheless, only around 23 per cent of
the workforce is formally employed indicating the dominance of informality
in the labour market and consequent vulnerability. Notwithstanding such
high levels of informal employment, the state still has a relatively better
wage share in organised manufacturing.

T R E N D S I N WA G E S A N D WA G E S H A R E S

The wage share in national income has been falling across the world due to
increases in capital intensity as well as a policy regime that privileges labour
market flexibility (OECD and ILO 2015). Going by the wage share in
organised manufacturing in the state, Tamil Nadu is no exception (see Figures
7.1 and 7.2). In relative terms, however, the state has a higher share of wages in
gross value added (GVA) in the factory sector (Government of India 2014)
than most states in India.
The average wage share in GVA for the period 2008–15 is 22 per cent in the
state which is about twice that of Gujarat (10 per cent) and Maharashtra (12 per
cent). The share of total emoluments in GVA too is the highest.6 This higher
share accruing to labour in the state can be attributed to two possible factors.
First, wage levels are higher because of lower levels of contractualisation and
the better bargaining strength of labour. Or, it may have to do more with the

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 10.0
15.0
20.0
25.0
30.0
35.0
40.0
45.0
50.0

0.0
5.0

10.0
15.0
20.0
25.0
30.0
35.0

0.0
5.0
1980 - 1981 1980 - 1981
1981 - 1982 1981 - 1982

Emoluments)
1982 - 1983 1982 - 1983
1983 - 1984 1983 - 1984
1984 - 1985 1984 - 1985
1985 - 1986 1985 - 1986

Cent Wage and PF Alone)

1986 - 1987 1986 - 1987
1987 - 1988 1987 - 1988

Gujarat

Gujarat
1988 - 1989 1988 - 1989
1989 - 1990 1989 - 1990
1990 - 1991 1990 - 1991

Source: Estimated from ASI data series, EPWRF.

Source: Estimated from ASI data series, EPWRF.
1991 - 1992 1991 - 1992

178
1992 - 1993 1992 - 1993

Maharashtra

Maharashtra
1993 - 1994 1993 - 1994
1994 - 1995 1994 - 1995
T H E D R AV I D I A N M O D E L

1995 - 1996 1995 - 1996

1996 - 1997 1996 - 1997
1997 - 1998 1997 - 1998
Tamil Nadu

Tamil Nadu
2008 - 2009 2008 - 2009
2009 - 2010 2009 - 2010
2010 - 2011 2010 - 2011
2011 - 2012 2011 - 2012
2012 - 2013 2012 - 2013
2013 - 2014 2013 - 2014

Figure 7.2 Trend in Wage Share in Gross Value Added in the Factory Sector (Per
2014 - 2015 2014 - 2015
Figure 7.1 Trend in Wage Share in Gross Value Added in the Factory Sector (Total
 P opular I nterventions and U rban L abour

sectoral composition of manufacturing in the state, with a higher share of

labour-intensive sectors. While it is true that the state has a number of labour-
intensive sectors like textiles, garments and leather goods, the wage share
is higher even in these sectors than in Gujarat or Maharashtra suggesting
relatively better bargaining strength in the formal sector. Second, a larger share
of workers in the factory sector are directly employed against the prevailing
trend of contractualisation in the country. The percentage of directly employed
workers in the state is 80 as compared to 62 per cent in Gujarat, 58 per cent in
Maharashtra and the all-India average of 66 per cent (Kalaiyarasan 2020).
Outside the world of formal manufacturing, we find that the urban casual
wage in Tamil Nadu (INR 205 in 2011–12) is one of the highest in the country
and much higher compared to Gujarat or Maharashtra (see Table 7A.5 in
Appendix 7A). The state has also seen a faster rate of growth of urban real
wages compared to the other two states. The combined (casual + regular) urban
real wage has gone up from INR 144 in 1993–94 (at 2011–12 prices) to INR
323 in 2011–12, an increase of 125 per cent while it increased by only 57.7 per
cent in Gujarat and 104 per cent in Maharashtra (see Table 7A.6). Apart from
better returns to labour in the organised sector as well as in the urban casual
wage segment, we also find that wage inequality between the unorganised
and organised segments is relatively lower than other industrially dynamic
states. The ratio of the urban casual to urban regular wage rate is 55 per cent
for Tamil Nadu which is higher than the 45 per cent in Gujarat, 31.5 per cent
in Maharashtra and 38 per cent at the all-India level. This once again suggests
a role for regional labour market institutions and policy interventions. Before
we examine this dimension, we highlight the caste dimensions of the organised
labour market given that affirmative action has been a key plank of social justice
in the state.

CASTE AND LABOUR

I D E N T I T Y A N D L A B O U R I N U R B A N TA M I L N A D U

While caste differences in rural Tamil Nadu have been undermined over time
as we demonstrated in the previous chapter, caste inequalities continue to exist

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in urban Tamil Nadu. If it was the rural caste elites who migrated initially
responding to opportunities opened up during colonialism and Nehruvian
policies, it was a new segment of elites who exited the rural areas during
the economic reforms that began in the early 1990s. Together, they have
cornered a disproportionate share of opportunities in the formal urban labour
market. Affirmative action policies in public sector employment may have
addressed this to an extent, but the privatisation of services and expansion of
private sector employment since the 1990s is likely to have undermined the
effectiveness of this measure. Nevertheless, affirmative action policies in the
domain of higher education may have helped broad base employment in the
private sector.
Going by occupational categories of the NSSO, about 68 per cent of caste
elites are in salaried jobs as against 50 per cent among the SCs and 48 per
cent among OBCs (see Table 7A.7 in Appendix 7A). There are also variations
within salaried jobs if we disaggregate by the educational level of workers
and their skill-based occupations. About 72 per cent of the salaried among
the elites are graduates as against 45 per cent among OBCs and 30 per cent
among Dalits. If we take all of them as workers, 37 per cent of workers among
the elites are graduates while it is only 19 per cent among OBCs and 13 per
cent among SCs (see Table 7A.8 in Appendix 7A). Thus, while entry into
salaried employment has been broad-based, earlier entry into urban spaces
and probable use of social networks7 to ‘hoard opportunities’ (Tilly 1998) or
access to premium private educational institutions continue to provide elites
with an advantage over lower castes in accessing quality employment.
Observations on skill-based occupations too affirm such caste divisions in
urban Tamil Nadu. Occupational groupings are constructed from occupation
categories of employment given in NSSO data. The National Classification
of Occupations (NCO)-2004 provides information on skill levels and
number of years of education which are helpful to categorise the occupations
held by workers. We have grouped occupations into three categories:
professional, skilled and unskilled. We find that caste does play a role in
skill formation and entry into high productivity jobs. In 2017–18, around 63
per cent of the salaried among elites were found to have been employed as
professionals while this share was only 36 per cent among OBCs and 24 per
cent for SCs. If we take all workers, 58 per cent of elites are professionals

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while it is 31 per cent among OBCs and 17 per cent among SCs (see Table
7A.9 in Appendix 7A).
However, despite such inter-caste differences in access to the state’s
premium labour market, OBCs and SCs in Tamil Nadu are relatively better
off across all these parameters—nature of jobs, educational level of workers
and skill-based occupations—compared to the all-India level. The percentage
of graduates among the salaried class of SCs in Tamil Nadu is 30 as against 23.7
per cent at the all-India level. Even if we take all workers, 13 per cent of SCs are
graduates in Tamil Nadu as compared to 4 per cent in the rest of India. When
we disaggregate by skill levels, about 24 per cent of SCs are professionals in the
salaried category as against 22 per cent in the rest of India. This suggests that
while economic modernisation has led to a degree of mobility among lower
castes within the urban labour market, it has not been able to unsettle caste
hierarchies as much as in rural Tamil Nadu despite increased access to higher
education among the lower castes in the state.
To illustrate that lower castes have indeed been able to access higher
segments of the urban labour market, we provide a case study of employment
in the software sector to demonstrate how affirmative action policies have
rendered the labour market relatively more inclusive through incorporation of
employees from lower-social-status households in Tamil Nadu.

C A S T E I N C L U S I V E N E S S I N T H E S O F T WA R E S E C T O R

Though software and IT-enabled services (ITeS) have been key sources of
quality employment generation in post-reform India, social exclusion plagues
the IT labour market. Given the requirements of knowledge of English and
tertiary education, it has been pointed out that the growth of this sector
may aggravate labour market inequities given the wide disparities in access
to tertiary and English language education across castes and regions. Though
there is no large-scale data on caste-based distribution of the workforce in
the IT sector, micro-level studies by and large affirm the predominance of
upper castes in the workforce (Rothboeck, Vijayabaskar and Gayathri 2001;
Upadhya 2007) across the country. In fact, Upadhyay brilliantly argues how
the sector deploys a narrative of ‘merit’ to generate such exclusivity. In this
section, we discuss the impacts of reservation in higher education in the case

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of Tamil Nadu. The state not only has a longer history of reservation in higher
education, but importantly, has been at the forefront of the IT sector’s growth
in India along with Karnataka, Andhra Pradesh and the NCR. With regard
to the growth of the software sector, the state accounts for nearly 14 per cent
of the total exports from the country in addition to a major share of business
process outsourcing (BPO) exports (Dubbudu 2017).
While the dominance of upper castes in terms of magnitude persists, it
is our contention that the long history of reservation for OBCs and Dalits
in higher education has made a difference. The expansion of the IT sector
has led to a growing demand for technically qualified engineers to undertake
programming and coding tasks. Tamil Nadu, as we indicate in Chapter 3,
accounts for the highest share of engineering seats in the country.8 Sixty-nine
per cent of seats in government colleges and aided colleges are reserved for
OBCs, the most backward castes (MBCs) and SCs/STs. In private colleges,
50 per cent of seats come under the government quota and reservation is
applicable to only that share of the total number of seats. Also, 32 per cent of
those enrolled in tertiary education are in technical or professional courses in
Tamil Nadu as compared to 15 per cent at the all-India level. It is also fairly
distributed across castes.
Apart from campus recruitment, bigger firms also recruit personnel through
referrals and weekly interviews. As a result, it is difficult to get detailed data
on the profile of employees though it is unlikely that only elite caste students
will be recruited given the large share of students from lower castes entering
into these colleges. We therefore rely on information provided by insiders
with long-term experience in the industry. Since 2008, we have conducted
interviews with 12 middle- and senior-level professionals in the software sector
in the state who have studied in Tamil Nadu. Out of the 12 informants, all
except one are middle-level managers in software firms located in Chennai.
The exception is a manager working in a multinational corporation (MNC)
in Coimbatore.9 Informants acknowledge that there has been a change in the
social profile of entrants into the software sector since the early 2000s. Early
entrants into the software sector from Tamil Nadu have been primarily from
the upper castes. A testimony to that is their overwhelming presence in top
managerial positions which continues to this day. One informant working

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in a leading Indian IT firm in Chennai said that at least 80 to 90 per cent

of such positions were occupied by caste elites. As we go down the hierarchy
to the middle levels of management, the profile does change. Among the 30
project managers he knows, he can recall at least 12 who are caste elites. Of the
remaining, he knows for sure that six of them are not. In his own project team, a
largish team consisting of 24 members, 10 are from Tamil Nadu. Of these, three
are elites, and the rest he felt, going by their names, should belong to the non-
elite castes. Identifying Dalits’ share is almost impossible, he feels. According to
another key informant, caste elites may not account for more than 20 per cent
of the workforce at the lower and intermediate levels in her firm.
Other informants, including a human resources (HR) consultant, concur
on the entry of personnel from smaller towns of Tamil Nadu and from less
affluent backgrounds. Often, they belong to the first generation in their
families to have accessed tertiary education. Though informants point out
a similar social broad-basing in the case of recruits from undivided Andhra
Pradesh, evidence for such opening out is lacking in the case of recruits from
north India. According to one key informant, a good share of colleagues
from the north are vegetarian, indicative of their high-caste status. Apart
from Chennai, Coimbatore is emerging as a destination for software service
investments among tier-II cities in the country. A project manager in a leading
MNC there says that out of his project team of around 120, most are Tamil
speakers of whom none are from an elite background to the extent that he is
aware of. He further remarks that many are first generation graduates who
often talk about how but for Periyar and the Dravidian movement, they
wouldn’t have got this opportunity. In fact, the emergence of Coimbatore
as a hub for software is actually owing to the availability of labour from such
backgrounds as metropolitan elites may not prefer to work in smaller cities.
As we stated earlier in chapter 3, there has been a steady reduction in
the difference between cut-off marks for entry into technical and medical
education for different caste groups. However, the software sector continues
to erect high barriers to entry through its emphasis on consistent performance
from the 10th standard onwards. A minimum of 70 per cent is required in
the 10th, 12th and undergraduate examinations. Such requirements pose
considerable barriers for students from lower-caste backgrounds as according

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to the educationist Anandakrishnan, it is not easy for students from non-elite

backgrounds to do well consistently given the vulnerabilities they confront.
He further points out that what the IT employers do not comprehend is the
trainability of graduates from less privileged backgrounds who have much less
access to soft skills that are demanded by the industry. Students from rural
and lower socioeconomic backgrounds tend to access the near-free education
provided through the public education system. This system offers instruction
to a large extent in Tamil, with English being taught only as a second language.
Even when English is the medium of instruction, the social milieu does not
allow for acquiring skills to communicate in English. The software sector,
catering to global markets, places a premium on soft skills like communication
and interaction skills, primarily in English.
This demand for soft skills obviously creates a tremendous entry barrier
for students from less affluent households. K. B. Chandrasekhar, a leading
entrepreneur in the Silicon Valley and an alumnus of Anna University,
Chennai, however, points to the possibility of imparting soft skills to students
from such backgrounds through an interesting exercise he was a part of at
Anna University.10 An external HR trainer was hired for six weeks to train
50 students from colleges located in the most backward areas of Tamil Nadu,
who were in the third year of their engineering course in the University. They
were trained to speak about themselves for a minimum of 30 seconds and
87 per cent of them cleared the test at the end of the training. The students
who received the training have been asked to carry forward this system by
contributing to the training of future students. Thanks to the Dravidian
movement, he says that Tamil Nadu has come to be one of the most socially
progressive states offering a higher degree of mobility to the lower castes. The
shift to knowledge-based growth has enabled children from these castes to
aspire higher. This is one reason, he argues, why tier-2 cities are attracting
software investments. Such training in soft skills for socially less privileged
students is also now being offered by the state government though the impacts
of these measures in terms of access to employment are not clear.11 The
government has also introduced soft skills courses in all state universities as a
part of regular degree courses in addition to initiating steps to set up separate
finishing schools in the state.12 This shows how the idea of merit is called into
question within Tamil civil society. Public policies such as affirmative action

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have therefore addressed pre-entry barriers in the labour market to an extent.

Supply-side interventions, like reservations for the marginalised castes, have
made a difference, albeit insufficient, in rendering the labour market more
inclusive. Other interventions in the labour market in response to labour
mobilisations too have led to a relatively better distribution of gains in the
organised labour market.

LABOUR INSTITUTIONS AND ORGANISED LABOUR

As per the Indian Constitution, labour regulation comes under the concurrent
list, allowing state governments to legislate on certain matters. Macro
deregulation measures since the early 1990s emphasise the need for labour
market flexibility as a key attribute for building competitive production
structures and attracting private investments. As a result, several regulations
that have sought to protect labour in the past have been called into question.
Among the most contentious is the Industrial Disputes Act (IDA), 1947,
that deals with closure, lay off and retrenchment of workers in industries
employing 100 or more workers. The other is the use of contract labour under
the Contract Labour (Regulation and Abolition) Act, 1970. Over the last three
decades, there has been a shift against workers both in the interpretation of
these acts in courts and on the ground across India (Gopalakrishnan 2015).
But, it does appear that the state has ensured relatively better protection for
labour. Shyam Sundar (2010) shows that contractualisation has been relatively
low in the state. Trade union activists point out that it is their mobilisation
and claim-making, which in turn pressured the government to act in favour
of labour, that have made this possible.13 We illustrate this with two pieces of
evidence.
One important intervention undertaken by the state is in amending the
IDA in 1982 by inserting Section 10B (Sundar 2010).14 The amendment
empowers the state to offer interim relief in industrial disputes, particularly for
workers, until the grievances are settled. Employers have to accept the terms
and conditions including payments to workers based on the order issued from
the Labour Court or Industrial Tribunal. It also offers discretionary powers
to the government to intervene in dictating terms and conditions of work to

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both employers and workers. Interviews with those associated with the trade
union movement in the state reveal that this allowed workers to often use
this provision to force the state to act in their favour. One instance cited by
them is the lockout in 2007 by Madras Rubber Factory Limited in response to
labour unrest. Responding to the workers’ demands, the government passed a
resolution in the state assembly declaring that it would nationalise the factory
if the management did not reopen it.15 Though such instances are not many,
the labour department does play a relatively more effective role in conciliation
and negotiation.
Another instance pertains to reliance on apprentices. At present, several
firms appoint apprentices in large numbers who are replaced with a fresh set
once the period of apprenticeship is over. While the Apprentices Act is meant
to facilitate skill formation, firms often use this law to recruit a set of workers
on short-term contracts and at lower costs. In response to the pressure from
trade unions, the state has recently amended the provisions to restrict the
extent of employment of apprentices in factories.16 While this may not reflect
the actual levels of apprentices in specific firms as unionisation is not evenly
distributed across firms, it nevertheless provides them with legal scaffolding to
negotiate with the management.
Such interventions pose the question: What makes them possible,
especially when the Left parties are politically marginal in the state? We
suggest that this negotiation between workers and the state becomes possible
due to a specific history of political and labour mobilisation in Tamil Nadu. It
can be understood partly by the distinction that Sennett (2012) makes between
two modes of building solidarity across the poor—the social Left and the
political Left. The former is a bottom–up approach that helps build an ethos
of community and cooperation whereas the latter emphasises engagement
for capture or sharing of political power. Social Left mobilisation is likely
to be concerned with making claims in the domain of reproduction such as
education, health and housing while the latter is concerned with broader
political change. To begin with, unionisation is more widespread in Tamil
Nadu compared to other industrially dynamic states. While the Left parties
are politically marginalised, their trade unions do have a presence in the state.
Overall union density is also relatively higher, with more membership and
spread across sectors. According to the NSS 2011–12, about 27 per cent of

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workers in the manufacturing sector reported having unions in their factories.

This is higher than the 19 per cent in Gujarat, 22 per cent in Maharashtra and
the 19 per cent national average. If we take the organised sector alone, the
share goes up to 75 per cent (Sundar 2010).
An activist working with the Maruti Workers Union in Haryana17 also
observes that workers are more politicised, with connections to political parties,
and as a result are able to bargain better with capital through such networks
unlike in other states, particularly ones ruled by the Congress or the Bharatiya
Janata Party (BJP). Labour mobilisation is therefore embedded within larger
political mobilisations in the state. Another trade union activist with exposure
to national-level trends points out that the probability of a member of the
legislative assembly (MLA) or member of parliament (MP) intervening in
labour disputes is high in Tamil Nadu. Besides electoral compulsions, MLAs
and MPs are forced to take more pro-labour positions as there is always
scope for dialogue with both the Dravidian parties. Trade unions reportedly
use leaders from the DMK to voice their grievance if the AIADMK is in
power and vice versa. As a result, the spaces of negotiation for labour tend to
be larger. The activist working with the Maruti Workers Union points out that
it is almost impossible to get a politician to speak in their favour in Haryana
and contrasts it with the situation in Tamil Nadu. There are union leaders in
major parties in the state who occupy or have occupied prominent positions
within these parties.18
Further, while having multiple unions is seen to fragment and dissipate
bargaining power, Tamil Nadu’s experience suggests otherwise. Data on
government-verified union membership suggests that the LPF, affiliated to the
DMK, accounts for about one-third (34 per cent) of the total union members
followed by the Centre of Indian Trade Unions (CITU): 14 per cent, Indian
National Trade Union Congress (INTUC): 12 per cent and All India Trade
Union Congress (AITUC): 9.5 per cent, while other regional unions account
for about 17 per cent. Often workers have membership in more than one union
(see Table 7A.11 in Appendix 7A). The link to political parties has made their
bargaining more effective. While there maybe competition between unions
within specific factories, this works to the workers’ advantage. For example,
when the DMK is in power, working through their union tends to yield
results. Apart from political competition and embedding within party political

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mobilisation, there is also a difference with regard to the social embeddedness

of trade unionism in the state.
Politicisation through identity-based mobilisation has also worked to
create broad-based labour solidarities. Trade unions often come together
in the state in support of non-labour struggles. Their support for youth
protesting against the ban on jallikattu is one such example (Ravikumar
2017). Importantly, as the experience of the formation of the first trade
union for software employees shows, identity-based mobilisation has also
led to the emergence of collective bargaining institutions. The Forum for
IT Employees (FITE) became the first registered trade union for workers
in the IT sector in the country following its recognition by the court.19
Originally formed to mobilise software employees to protest against the
massacre of Tamils in Sri Lanka in 2009, they have since then moved on to
address issues such as sexual harassment and finally to issues of the broader
rights of workers. When leading software firms retrenched workers in 2014,
they mobilised software employees across the country and formed the
first recognised union to represent them. Interestingly, this claim-making
gets recognised immediately in the policy domain. In the DMK’s election
manifesto for the 2019 parliamentary elections, the party promised to work
with the union government to form a tripartite committee to address the
grievances of workers at the state and national levels.20 Such multiple
mobilisations for economic and social issues also created better awareness
among the workers, an option not available for workers in many states, says
a trade union activist.21
Another possible factor according to union activists is their strategies. They
tend to be less militant and make more incremental demands. According to a
prominent CITU union leader, since unions are known to be less disruptive
of production, employers tend to be more open to negotiation. Another trade
unionist observes that workers have developed a culture of appealing to the
government and challenging capital in the court rather than confronting
the management on the shop floor. Such an approach, according to him is
an accumulated outcome of a long tradition where labour is not completely
alienated from the political system nor seen by the system as an obstacle to
industrial development. While such mobilisations and policy response within
the domain of organised labour market have contributed to better conditions

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of work, the growing precariousness of employment cannot be denied.

As we argued earlier, rights-based intervention with certain redistributive
content—wage share, nature of the work contract and conditions of work—
articulated by trade unions broadly faces two constraints—structural and
electoral. When unable to further its intervention in these domains, the state
shifts its focus from the social popular to the economic popular—through a
strategy of welfare interventions outside the workplace. We argue that welfare
interventions outside the workplace have also allowed for labour to offset such
labour market vulnerabilities.
One such major intervention is social protection—creation of welfare
boards for informal workers within the sectors in which they work. In the next
section, we map the evolution and impact of welfare boards.

W E L FA R E I N T E R V E N T I O N S

W E L FA R E B O A R D S A N D I N F O R M A L L A B O U R

A welfare board is a tripartite institution that is funded by employers, states

and informal workers. The state now has 17 welfare boards under the Ministry
of Labour and another 17 boards working under specific departments. While
the first board for construction workers was formed in 1994, the Tamil Nadu
Manual Workers Welfare Board was established in 1999. Subsequently, the
state has added another 15 industry-specific welfare boards in the last two
decades.22 This recognition of the need to protect unorganised sector workers
predates interventions at the all-India level by more than a decade. It was
only in 2009 that the Supreme Court issued an order for the establishment of
similar boards for construction workers across the country (Gopalakrishnan
2015). As Agarwala (2013) elaborates, the state has been a pioneer along with
Kerala in innovating the welfare board as a social security institution for
informal sector workers.23
The idea of welfare boards has a long history in the state, says Mr
Shanmugam, currently an MP and president of the LPF. He recalls how in
1974, the then Chief Minister Karunanidhi took issue with trade unionists for
their treatment of informal workers. He is apparently said to have remarked
that it is not fair that unions are recruiting only those who can afford to

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pay santha (member’s contribution) as there are large sections of labour

who cannot! Mr Shanmugham, narrates how the design and constitution
of welfare boards has evolved over time, reflecting in part a shift from the
domain of the social popular towards the economic popular. This in turn is
linked to the changing nature of modern production and resultant global
narrative on informality (Sanyal 2007). Informal labour protection was
initially perceived in terms of addressing traditional demands of workers such
as minimum wages and conditions of work. At present it is more about social
security benefits such as healthcare, education, pension and other non-work
related benefits.
While the legal basis of welfare begins with the enactment of the Tamil
Nadu Manual Workers (Regulation of Employment and Conditions of
Work) Act by the AIADMK in 1982, the idea goes back to the first DMK
government in the 1970s, when the government constituted a committee
to prepare a comprehensive report on the condition of informal workers in
1975.24 While trade unions such as the Tamil Maanila Kattida Thozhilalar
Panchayat Sangam (TMKTPS) and the Beedi workers’ unions did mobilise
informal workers to make demands on the state, the committee was more
an initiative from the government—a fact that union activists acknowledge.
The idea of a union for unorganised workers was relatively new in India.25
As stated earlier, initial concerns were around issues like minimum wages
and better conditions of work as it was believed at that point that informality
is a transitory phenomenon, and workers in this segment would eventually
become formalised.
Following the report prepared by the committee, the AIADMK
government led by M. G. Ramachandran enacted the Tamil Nadu Handloom
Workers (Conditions of Employment and Miscellaneous Provisions)
Act, 1981. To expand protection to all workers, the government went on to
enact the Tamil Nadu Manual Workers (Regulation of Employment and
Conditions of Work) Act in 1982. The Construction Workers Act was passed
in 1984 while the Construction Workers Welfare Board was formed in 1994.
When it came to power in 1996, the DMK expanded the boards to cover an
additional 16 unorganised sectors (see the list of boards in Table 7A.12 in
Appendix 7A). It formed a second committee in May 1997 which submitted
its report in 1998 after a comprehensive study of the functioning of such

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boards in Kerala and other parts of the country. Based on the committee’s
recommendations, the state created welfare boards for more sectors with the
DMK government showcasing these boards as significant achievements. Not
only did he take an active interest in these welfare boards,26 Karunanidhi,
who was Chief Minister at that point, personally unveiled these boards in a
massive rally in Chennai in the run up to the 2001 elections, and appointed
the labour minister as the head of these boards to mark their significance.
A retired senior official from the Labour ministry and a member of the
committee also acknowledges the political support that the DMK provided
to make some important changes in the welfare boards.27 One innovation
that the DMK government introduced was to link the members registered
with these welfare boards to the Chief Minister Kalaignar Insurance
Scheme in 2009, a non-contributory health insurance scheme supported by
the government that we mention in Chapter 4.
Two significant differences can be observed in the approaches between the
two reports submitted in 1975 and 1998, respectively. First, the former focused
only on non-unionised informal workers but the latter included all those who
are not legally protected. Second, provisioning of welfare benefits outside the
worksite was emphasised more in the latter report.28 In other words, if the
1975 report focused on extending formal rights to informal workers, the 1998
report argued for the creation of welfare boards recognising that informality
was here to stay. While the discourse on informality in the 1970s was rooted
in the belief that informality is transitory, by the 1990s, particularly with the
onset of reforms, informality was seen as inevitable and in fact an outcome of
the development process itself (Sanyal 2007). The second report reflects this
changed perspective on the informal sector.

The five year plans have not evolved an integrated comprehensive scheme
of social security for unorganized labour. The majority of the existing labour
laws seek to benefit the organized sector which constitutes merely a little
more than eight percent of the total 313 million workforce. A very bold
policy is needed. (Government of Tamil Nadu 1998: p. 79)

As on 31 July 2019, the boards cover 43,59,728 workers registered under

them. Welfare boards offer compensation for accidents at workplaces,

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pension, educational assistance for workers’ children and marriage and

maternity assistance. While the state funds most of the interventions,
it also mobilises resources through cess from construction firms for
the construction workers’ welfare board and motor vehicle cess for the
drivers’ welfare board.29 If the formation of these boards was an outcome
of political intervention, better implementation can be attributed to the
collective mobilisation of workers. The latter also helped to expand the
benefits provided under these boards.
In response to a petition from workers’ representatives, the boards now
have 35 centres across the state to help workers access benefits more easily.30
Micro-level studies confirm the relatively better functioning of these boards.
Agarwala shows that all workers she interviewed received welfare benefits in
Tamil Nadu while less than half of them received benefits in Maharashtra
and only one worker in West Bengal (2013: p. 71). According to her, traditional
unions refuse to recognise that a narrow class reading is insufficient to address
the life chances and multiple axes of vulnerability of individuals in a stratified
society. Citing the experience of West Bengal, Agarwala argues that the CPI-
M’s power over unions constrained the articulation of concerns of informal
workers. When conventional collective bargaining strategies seem to be
weakening, this route of political mobilisation has offered a degree of protection
to informal workers, albeit insufficiently so. Importantly, Tamil Nadu has also
created welfare boards for the differently abled and for transgenders indicating
the importance of recognising other axes of vulnerabilities. It is the first state
to constitute a welfare board for transgenders and also the first state to enable
persons with disabilities to access MNREGA work (Government of Tamil
Nadu 2017). Agarwala also points out that as members of welfare boards,
workers are now in a position to make legitimate claims on the state through
recognition and identity. It is important to note here that while many of the
informal workers make claims as workers through their membership in welfare
boards, they also continue to stake claims through caste identities in the
realms of education and formal employment for the next generation. Access
to caste-group-specific benefits therefore complements support provided to
them as marginal, poor and informal workers. In addition, economic popular
interventions for the urban poor have also allowed for a degree of protection
from labour market vulnerabilities.

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OTHER ECONOMIC POPULAR INTERVENTIONS

AND THE URBAN POOR

In 1971, Chief Minister M. Karunanidhi created the Tamil Nadu Slum

Clearance Board (TNSCB) as an agency separate from the Tamil Nadu
Housing Board (TNHB) to deal specifically with the problem of slums.
What the government sought to do was to provide in situ tenements for slum
dwellers. Fishermen in Chennai city were one of the earliest beneficiaries of
this effort to provide housing infrastructure. As a result of such measures,
Royapuram in north Chennai, dominated by the fishing community, remained
a bastion of the DMK for two decades because of its ‘strategic accommodation
of many fishermen and SCs in public tenements’ (Subramanian 1999: 206).
Such interventions in the domain of urban housing have, however, not
expanded much, especially across other cities. Interventions since then have
primarily been in the domain of food and education.
The recent NSSO consumption data shows that on average, the public
distribution system (PDS) contributes about 43 per cent of the per capita
consumption of rice in urban Tamil Nadu while it contributes just 15 per cent
in the rest of urban India. For the poorest of the poor (the bottom 10th decile),
about 66 per cent of the rice consumed comes from the PDS as against 30
per cent for the poorest in the rest of urban India. In fact, about 50 per cent
of the rice consumed is still sourced from the PDS for one-third (30 per cent)
of the urban population in Tamil Nadu (see Table 7A.10 in Appendix 7A).
The PDS thus plays an important role in the lives of the urban poor even
among those employed in the formal sector but on short-term contracts or at
the bottom end of such markets. Such welfare interventions outside specific
sectors have an important role to play in shaping the labour market outcomes
of industrial growth in the state. This is particularly significant given the shift
in accumulation strategies towards competing for global markets through
low-cost labour among other elements. We illustrate this through a case study
of labour in the Tiruppur garment cluster in western Tamil Nadu when it was
affected by the global recession of 2008–09.31
The Tiruppur cluster is the single largest node for garment production in
the country employing anywhere between 4,00,000 and 5,00,000 workers
directly and several lakhs indirectly. Most workers during the 1990s and 2000s

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were migrants from either the immediate rural hinterlands or from poorer
regions of rural Tamil Nadu employed invariably through contractors or
through short-term piece-work-based contracts by exporters. The cluster has
always been marked by a high entry and exit of firms as they are confronted
with unsteady demand in the global market. When the global crisis hit the
cluster in 2008–09, several firms cut down the number of work hours as well as
days of work. Such reduction needs to be juxtaposed against the above average
hours of work that workers put in under ‘normal’ conditions. According to a
study on the impact of the recession on employment, about 40,000 to 1,00,000
workers had also completely lost their jobs by December 2008 ( Jha 2009: p. 12).
Confronted with such job losses, rather than stake claims against
retrenchment, workers sought to negotiate this vulnerability by falling back
on rural areas for their basic entitlements through reverse migration. Workers
were less severely affected because of their ability to access welfare entitlements
like the PDS and MNREGA employment outside the workspaces.
Interestingly, exporters had cried foul earlier when the MNREGA scheme
was implemented fearing an increase in wage costs. However, when they were
hit by recession, they and sections of the government too suggested that a
similar urban employment guarantee scheme should be implemented so
as to ensure that sectors like theirs can access labour and also prevent out-
migration.32 Welfare interventions outside the domain of work therefore allow
for firms in the organised sector to rely on flexible labour markets without
being encumbered by the need to provide for the social protection of labour.
This once again highlights the interplay between shifts in the nature of
populist interventions and macro shifts in policy regimes. When the latter
does not allow for rights-based claims within the workplace, economic
popular interventions outside the domain of work become attractive. Apart
from helping sustain such a flexible workforce in the organised sector, welfare
interventions have also contributed to bettering conditions for the urban self-
employed or casual labour.
As in the case of rural areas, welfare interventions are likely to have
contributed to not only higher real incomes but also to improved bargaining
power by increasing the reservation wage. Heyer (2010) in her study of Dalit
households in villages near Tiruppur clearly points to the critical role played
by the PDS in improving their real incomes. The significance of the food

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component in wages becomes evident if we look at the factors going into

determining minimum wages in India. The recent report on minimum wages
submitted to the central labour ministry33 suggests INR 414 as the minimum
wage for Tamil Nadu irrespective of skills and occupation, of which 56.7 per
cent is the food component. Another report, the Living Wage Report, for
Tiruppur City by an international agency estimates that the ‘replacement value
of a free lunch to families is Rs. 24.04 per meal on average per child’ as children
attending a public school or government-aided school receive a free meal (p.
26).34 This is tied to the free noon meal scheme innovated in the state and now
supported through the integrated child development services (ICDS).
A less noticed but successful scheme which caters to the urban poor is
Amma Unavagam,35 a chain of low-cost canteens serving cooked food run by
local self-help groups. Comparable to soup kitchens in the United States and
Europe, it offers meals priced at INR 1, INR 3 and INR 5. Starting with only a
few locations (15) in the Chennai Corporation and a few other major cities in
2013, it is now being run in more than 400 locations in the state. By sourcing
subsidised grains, pulses and vegetables from state-owned enterprises like
the Tamil Nadu Cooperative Milk Producers Federation (TCMPF) and the
Tamil Nadu Civil Supplies Corporation (TNCSC) and cooperative societies,
these canteens have been able to cater to casual labourers and self-employed
persons like auto drivers and street vendors. This scheme is at present being
replicated in other states such as Karnataka, Delhi, Rajasthan, Madhya
Pradesh, Odisha and Andhra Pradesh (Doval 2017). The PDS, mid-day meals
and Amma Unavagam all therefore work as implicit wage subsidies for urban
labour, particularly those in the informal segments.

S T R U C T U R A L T R A N S F O R M AT I O N A N D P O P U L I S T
INTERVENTIONS

Limits to labour absorption in a transitioning economy and a policy emphasis

on labour market flexibility clearly shape the nature of populist interventions
in the domain of labour. Despite having been able to transform the economic
structure along the lines anticipated by developmentalist accounts, the
extent and terms of labour transition are clearly not along expected lines. It

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is under these constraints that the terrain of populist interventions needs to

be understood. The limits of the extent of social protection available in the
state may also be an indicator of the limits to this subnational experiment
under current macro regimes. Sustained welfare-based interventions outside
the domain of spaces of work not only protected labour from the shocks
emanating from a flexible labour market but also helped them increase their
reserve wages. This increased nominal wage could be compensated through
the state’s ability to supply a pool of skilled labour, and attention to physical
infrastructure. The ability of the state to sustain its manufacturing base as well
as its high-end services can be attributed to such investments. The latter in
turn allowed for labour to enter into better bargaining arrangements with
capital wherever bargaining institutions are present.
We also point out that in a society where caste-based inequalities are
naturalised, anti-caste mobilisation has chipped away the basis of such
inequalities and de-naturalised it. In north India, when affirmative action was
introduced post-Mandal, it was seen to go against natural justice as it was
against merit-based access. In Tamil Nadu on the other hand, merit was seen as
a means to secure elite privilege and hence caste-based reservation has become
an accepted means to ensure socioeconomic mobility and importantly, social
justice. Reservation in education and jobs is seen as a rightful entitlement.
This has been reinforced by the generation of a relatively more inclusive labour
pool in the high-end software services sector thanks to the long history of
affirmative action in the state that has managed to undermine the mainstream
narrative around ‘merit’.

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APPENDIX 7A

Table 7A.1 Structure of Workforce

Tamil Nadu Gujarat Maharashtra All-India

1983–84
Agriculture 53.4 60.5 61.1 64.6
Manufacturing 17.8 14.7 10.8 10.4
Non-manufacturing 4.5 4.2 4.1 4.2
Services 24.3 20.5 24.0 20.8
All 100.0 100.0 100.0 100.0
2017–18
Agriculture 27.7 42.4 47.8 47.8
Manufacturing 19.5 20.0 11.7 11.7
Non-manufacturing 15.5 7.3 6.3 6.3
Services 37.3 30.2 34.2 34.2
All 100.0 100.0 100.0 100.0
Source: Authors’ estimates based on NSS–EUS unit-level data.

Ta ble 7A.2 Size of Labour Force and Workforce by Sectors (in Million)

1983– 1993– 1999– 2004– 2009– 2011– 2017–

Sectors/Years 84 94 2000 05 10 12 18
Agriculture 13.9 15.1 14.6 14.9 14.2 11.4 8.9
Manufacturing 4.0 5.0 5.3 6.3 5.4 6.5 6.2
Non-manufacturing 0.8 1.3 1.7 2.2 3.4 4.5 4.9
Services 5.2 6.9 7.5 8.7 8.8 10.0 11.9
Total Workforce 23.8 28.3 29.0 32.0 31.8 32.4 32.0
Total Labour Force 24.6 29.0 29.7 32.7 32.5 33.2 34.6
Total Population 50.4 57.6 61.6 66.0 70.9 73.0 78.9
LFPR Male (15–59) % 92.2 89.1 87.7 78.0 85.0 84.6 84.0
LFPR Female (15–59) % 56.1 57.1 50.9 61.1 43.8 42.4 36.8
Ratio of Working 57.8 62.0 64.0 64.4 66.2 65.7 66.0
Population (15–59) %
Source: Authors’ estimates based on NSS–EUS unit-level data.

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Table 7 A.3 Types of Workforce (excluding Agriculture)

Tamil Nadu Gujarat Maharashtra All-India

1983–84
Self-employed 38.9 35.4 37.8 45.1
Regular 35.9 38.2 48.0 34.8
Casual 25.2 26.4 14.3 20.1
All 100.0 100.0 100.0 100.0
2017–18
Self-employed 25.9 38.4 32.8 35.6
Regular 46.2 49.2 54.7 39.9
Casual 27.9 12.4 12.5 24.5
All 100.0 100.0 100.0 100.0
Source: Authors’ estimates based on NSS–EUS unit-level data.

Table 7A.4 Organised Enterprises and Formal Workers in Industr y and

Ser vice Sectors
2011–12 2017–18
Organised Organised
Tamil All- Tamil All-
Nadu Gujarat Maharashtra India Nadu Gujarat Maharashtra India
Manufacturing 39.4 57.1 51.5 34.6 47.3 52.7 55.4 36.4
Non- 55.4 46.2 45.9 40.4 54.1 50.0 35.3 32.3
manufacturing
Services Sector 37.0 27.9 37.4 31.7 43.9 32.1 41.9 34.1
All 41.7 41.5 41.9 34.4 47.0 41.5 44.1 34.2
Formal Formal
Manufacturing 12.9 13.6 20.9 10.9 21.6 19.5 30.8 16.6
Non- 4.3 3.4 8.3 5.3 8.4 6.9 12.3 6.3
manufacturing
Services 24.5 17.5 24.9 19.9 29.3 17.3 29.6 22.4
All 16.6 14.2 21.7 14.4 22.8 16.7 27.8 17.5
Source: Authors’ estimates based on NSS–EUS unit-level data.

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Table 7A.5 Trends in Nominal Wages

1993–94 1999–2000 2004–05 2009–10 2011–12

Urban Casual
Tamil Nadu 44.9 63.6 73.9 105.9 205.4
Gujarat 25.1 61.0 68.7 103.9 141.8
Maharashtra 21.7 52.8 67.3 108.9 151.6
All-India 25.3 56.8 68.4 121.3 168.5
Urban Regular
Tamil Nadu 58.6 118.6 164.4 302.7 375.5
Gujarat 67.9 159.6 164.0 285.0 317.2
Maharashtra 80.1 52.6 205.3 433.1 480.7
All-India 72.8 150.0 189.7 362.0 440.5
Source: Authors’ estimates based on NSS–EUS unit-level data.

Table 7A.6 Trends in Real Wages and Ratio of Casual to

Regular Wages
1993–94 1999–2000 2004–05 2009–10 2011–12
Real Urban Wages Combined
Tamil Nadu 144 191 230 268 323
Gujarat 186 241 246 289 293
Maharashtra 266 289 328 465 436
All-India 222 270 297 368 377
Ratio of Urban Casual to Urban Regular Wages
Tamil Nadu 76.6 53.6 44.9 35.0 54.7
Gujarat 37.0 38.2 41.9 36.4 44.7
Maharashtra 27.1 100.4 32.8 25.1 31.5
All-India 34.7 37.8 36.1 33.5 38.2
Source: Authors’ estimates based on NSS–EUS unit-level data.

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 Table 7A.7 Occupational Classification in Urban Areas

Tamil Nadu
SC OBC General
1993–94 2011–12 2017–18 1993–94 2011–12 2017–18 1993–94 2011–12 2017–18
Self-employed 20 22.1 14.2 37.2 33.7 38.9 25.6 25.3
Regular Salaried 25 45.6 50.6 41.6 48.0 39.3 66.8 67.8
Casual 55 32.3 35.2 21.2 18.3 21.7 7.6 6.8
All 100.0 100.0 100.0 100.0 100.0 100.0 100.0 100.0
All-India
SC OBC General
1993–94 2011–12 2017–18 1993–94 2011–12 2017–18 1993–94 2011–12 2017–18
Self-employed 30.1 30.1 29.4 44.9 40.5 42.3 44.6 40.6
Regular Salaried 33.3 45.3 47.3 38.0 42.7 39.4 47.6 51.2
Casual 36.6 24.6 23.3 17.1 16.8 18.3 7.8 8.2
All 100.0 100.0 100.0 100.0 100.0 100.0 100.0 100.0
Source: Authors’ estimates based on NSS–EUS unit-level data.
 P opular I nterventions and U rban L abour

Tabl e 7A.8 Educational Status of Urban Workers

Tamil Nadu
Salaried Workers All Urban Workers
SCs OBCs GEN SCs OBCs GEN
Illiterate 13.5 4.3 1.9 22.9 15.3 6.3
Primary and Middle 35.7 30.2 16.7 45.7 42.8 31.4
Secondary and Higher 20.7 20.9 9.6 18.7 22.6 24.9
Secondary
Graduate and Above 30.1 44.5 71.8 12.7 19.2 37.4
All 100.0 100.0 100.0 100.0 100.0 100.0
All-India
Illiterate 12.0 8.2 5.4 37.9 32.9 25.8
Primary and Middle 36.7 32.3 26.1 44.8 45.4 45.9
Secondary and Higher 27.6 32.1 34.5 13.3 16.8 20.8
Secondary
Graduate and Above 23.7 27.5 34.0 3.9 4.8 7.5
All 100.0 100.0 100.0 100.0 100.0 100.0
Source: Authors’ estimates based on NSS–EUS unit-level data.

Table 7A.9 Skill Status of Urban Workers

Tamil Nadu
Salaried Workers All Urban Workers
SCs OBCs GEN SCs OBCs GEN
Professionals 24.4 35.6 63.1 17.4 30.5 57.8
Skilled 57.8 54.7 30.7 54.2 55.8 31.9
Unskilled 17.9 9.7 6.1 28.5 13.7 10.3
All-India
Professionals 22.4 31.3 40.3 18.9 27.4 40.7
Skilled 51.9 55.6 49.4 51.6 55.8 48.8
Unskilled 25.7 13.1 10.3 29.5 16.8 10.5
Source: Authors’ estimates based on NSS–EUS unit-level data.

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Table 7A.10 Average Per Capita Quantity Consumed in 30 Days (Kg)

in Urban Tamil Nadu

MPCE_ Tamil Nadu All-India

MRP_ Share of Share of
Decile PDS Rice Total Rice PDS (%) PDS Rice Total Rice PDS (%)
0–10 4.87 7.43 65.6 1.34 4.57 29.3
10–20 4.57 7.90 57.9 1.09 4.54 24.1
20–30 4.32 8.04 53.7 0.93 4.39 21.2
30–40 3.87 8.20 47.2 0.85 4.50 18.8
40–50 3.62 7.93 45.6 0.67 4.37 15.4
50–60 3.40 8.04 42.3 0.45 4.25 10.6
60–70 2.47 7.14 34.6 0.39 4.28 9.1
70–80 2.01 6.67 30.1 0.25 4.32 5.7
80–90 1.73 6.46 26.8 0.20 3.84 5.3
90–100 0.72 4.86 14.9 0.08 3.16 2.6
Total 3.16 7.27 43.5 0.63 4.22 14.8
Source: Authors’ estimates based on NSS–CES unit-level data.

Table 7A.11 Distribution of Verified

Membership of Unions in Tamil Nadu
No. of % of
Unions Members Membership
LPF 6,11,108 33.8
CITU 2,54,347 14.1
INTUC 2,17,574 12
AITUC 1,72,517 9.5
Other Regional Unions 2,99,110 16.6
Other National Unions 2,52,022 13.9
All 18,06,678 100
Source: Adapted from Shyam Sundar (2010).

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Table 7A.12 Welfare Boards for Unorganised Workers

Date of
S. No. Name of the Board Formation
1 Tamil Nadu Construction Workers Welfare Board 30.11.1994
2 Tamil Nadu Manual Workers Welfare Board 17.01.1999
3 Tamil Nadu Unorganized Drivers Welfare Board 01.09.2006
4 Tamil Nadu Tailoring Workers Welfare Board 01.09.2006
5 Tamil Nadu Hair Dressers Welfare Board 01.09.2006
6 Tamil Nadu Washermen Welfare Board 01.09.2006
7 Tamil Nadu Palm Tree Workers Welfare Board 01.09.2006
8 Tamil Nadu Handicraft Workers Welfare Board 01.09.2006
9 Tamil Nadu Handlooms and Handloom Silk Weaving Workers 01.09.2006
Welfare Board
10 Tamil Nadu Footwear and Leather Goods Manufactory and 01.09.2006
Tannery Workers Welfare Board
11 Tamil Nadu Artists Welfare Board 01.09.2006
12 Tamil Nadu Goldsmiths Welfare Board 01.09.2006
13 Tamil Nadu Pottery Workers Welfare Board 01.09.2006
14 Tamil Nadu Domestic Workers Welfare Board 22.01.2007
15 Tamil Nadu Power Loom Weaving Workers Welfare Board 13.07.2009
16 Tamil Nadu Street Vending and Shops and Establishments 29.01.2010
Workers Welfare Board
17 Tamil Nadu Cooking Food Workers Welfare Board 24.02.2011
Source: RTI from Department of Labour and Employment, Government of Tamil Nadu.

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 Table 7A.13 Other Welfare Boards under Different Ministries

Date of
S. No. Name of Board Formation Department
1 Tamil Nadu Traders Welfare Board 25.9.1989 Commercial Tax
2 Tamil Nadu Agricultural Workers Welfare Board 22.12.2006 Revenue Department
3 Tamil Nadu Grama Koill Poosarigal Welfare Board 22.1.2007 Hindu Religious and Charitable Endowments
4 Tamil Nadu Tribal Welfare Board 20.4.2007 Adi Dravidar and Tribal Welfare
5 Tamil Nadu Denotified Communities Welfare Board 20.4.2007 BC, MBC and Minority Welfare
6 Tamil Nadu Disabled Persons Welfare Board 24.4.2007 Welfare of Differently-abled Persons
7 Tamil Nadu Folk and Artists Welfare Board 26.4.2007 Tourism, Culture and Religious Endowments Welfare
8 Tamil Nadu Scavengers Welfare Board 11.6.2007 Adi Dravidar and Tribal Welfare
9 Tamil Nadu Fisheries Welfare Board 29.6.2007 Fisheries
10 Tamil Nadu Transgenders Welfare Board 23.01.2008 Social Welfare
11 Tamil Nadu Cable TV Operators Welfare Board 28.3.2008 Information Technology
12 Tamil Nadu Narikuravar Welfare Board 27.5.2008 BC, MBC and Minorities
13 Tamil Nadu Ulemas Welfare Board 24.8.2009 Environment and Forest
14 Tamil Nadu Film Artists Welfare Board 28.10.2009 Information and Public Relations
15 Tamil Nadu Puthirai Vannar Welfare Board 19.02.2010 Adi Dravidar and Tribal Welfare
16 Tamil Nadu Khadi Spinners and Weavers Welfare Board 26.8.2010 Textiles and Khadi Handlooms
17 Tamil Nadu Coconut Farmers Welfare Board 27.8.2010 Horticulture
Source: RTI from Department of Labour and Employment, Government of Tamil Nadu.
 P opular I nterventions and U rban L abour

Table 7A.14 Welfare Schemes under Unorganised Welfare Boards

Amount
S. No. Type of Assistance (INR)
1. Accident Relief Scheme 1,00,000
a) Accidental Death 5,00,000
b) Accidental Disability (based on extent of disability decided 1,00,000
by the Tamil Nadu differently-abled welfare board)
2 Natural Death Assistance 2,00,000
Funeral Expenses Assistance 5,000
3 Educational Assistance
(a) Girl Children studying in 10th Standard 1,000
(b) 10th passed 1,000
(c) Girl Children studying in 11th Standard 1,000
(d) Girl Children studying in 12th Standard 1,000
(e) 12th passed 1,500
(f ) Regular Degree Course 1,500
with Hostel facility 1,750
(g) Regular Post-graduate Course 4,000
with Hostel facility 5,000
(h) Professional Degree Course 4,000
with Hostel facility 6,000
(i) Professional PG Course 6,000
with Hostel facility 8,000
(j) ITI or Polytechnic 1,000
with Hostel facility 1,200
4 Marriage Assistance
(a) For Men 3,000
(b) For Women 5,000
5 Maternity Assistance 6,000
Miscarriage or Medical Termination of Pregnancy 3,000
6 Reimbursement of cost of Spectacles up to INR
500
7 Pension 1,000 per
month

Source: RTI from Department of Labour and Employment, Government of Tamil Nadu.

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NOTES

1 The state is known for the dramatic decline in its fertility rate which is now
less than the replacement rate, and comparable to many developed countries.
2 The Indian case seems to be a paradox. It is witnessing an all-time low
in FLFPR during one of its highest economic growth phases—2005–15.
India’s FLFPR is well below some of its immediate neighbours, Bangladesh
(36 per cent) and Sri Lanka (35 per cent) and far below other Asian countries
such as Afghanistan (49 per cent), Malaysia (51 per cent), the United Arab
Emirates (51 per cent), Indonesia (52 per cent), Thailand (59 per cent) and
China (61 per cent).
3 Agarwala and Herring (2020) note that besides a small section of profitable
entrepreneurs, many self-employed workers are often misclassified workers
operating on a contractual basis; also a substantial number of them merely
survive through petty trade such as street vending, running a tea shop or rag
picking.
4 Chandrasekar and Ghosh (2011) and Deshpande and Sharma (2013) argue
that self-employment is often distress led in India, and cannot be seen as
entrepreneurial in nature; if given opportunities in regular salaried work,
the workforce will move from the former to the latter. This is particularly
evident from the fact that the share of self-employed tends to be much
higher in lower income states in the country.
5 Towards this, we use NSS unit-level data to arrive at resultant estimates.
As per the sectoral definition, unincorporated private enterprises owned
by individuals or households engaged in the sale and production of goods
and services operated on a proprietary or partnership basis and which
employ less than ten workers, are considered as unorganised enterprises.
This definition is well-accepted as it includes both enterprise type and size
criteria in its definition. However, it needs to be noted that the sectoral
definition of organised and unorganised, differs from the definition of
organised and unorganised in terms of workers. The NCEUS defines
unorganised workers as consisting ‘of those working in the informal sector
or households, excluding regular workers with social security benefits
provided by the employers and the workers in the formal sector without
any employment and social security benefits provided by the employers’.

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 P opular I nterventions and U rban L abour

NCEUS Report on Definitional and Statistical Issues Relating to Informal

Economy (NCEUS 2008: p. 11).
6 This higher share of wages in GVA has to be seen in light of the nature of
work contracts.
7 Munshi (2014) points to the role of social networks in shaping access to
labour markets.
8 Between 1999 and 2005, the number of private engineering colleges in Tamil
Nadu doubled, so that by 2005 there were more than 240—20 per cent of
the total number of engineering institutions in India—offering over 80,000
seats; a few of the colleges have become autonomous ‘deemed universities’.
By contrast, only nine engineering colleges, with about 4,800 seats, are
government-run or state-financed (Fuller and Narasimhan 2006: 258).
9 Except for the manager based in Coimbatore, all other interviews were
conducted during 2008–10.
10 Telephonic interview on August 6, 2008.
11 See https://digitallearning.eletsonline.com/2013/02/tamil-nadu-varsities-to-
impart-soft-skill-training/ (accessed 8 May 2020).
12 See Government Order Ms (No. 255), Higher Education Department,
24 June 2008, http://www.tn.gov.in/gorders/hedu/hedu_e_255_2008.pdf
(accessed 15 June 2012).
13 Interviews with trade union leaders and labour activists were conducted
during June to September 2019.
14 See http://www.lawsofindia.org/pdf/tamil_nadu/1963/1963TN9.pdf (accessed
8 April 2020).
15 See https://tnlabour.in/automobile-industry/4502 (accessed 19 August 2019).
16 The standing order was amended but the rules are yet to be amended.
Interview with Shanmugam, LPF president, 11 July 2019.
17 Interview dated 19 June 2019.
18 They include Kaalan of the Indian National Trade Union Congress
(INTUC), V. P. Chintan, K. T. K. Thangamani and A. M. Gopu of the
Centre of Indian Trade Unions (CITU), and Kuppusamy, Rahman and
Shanmugam of the DMK-affiliated LPF. The AIADMK also had a trade
union leader Chinnasamy, who went on to became an elected member in
the state assembly.
19 See https://fite.org.in/ (accessed 8 April 2020).

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 T H E D R AV I D I A N M O D E L

20 See https://fite.org.in/2019/04/13/forum-for-it-employees-stands-about-2019-
general-election/ (accessed 8 April 2020).
21 Personal Interview. We conducted a set of unstructured interviews with
trade union activists from the LPF, CITU, AITUC and Working Peoples
Trade Union Council (WPTUC) during June–September 2019 on the
strategies adopted by the labour movement in their negotiations with
industry representatives during the months of June and July 2019. We also
conducted a set of interviews with trade union activists in Delhi a for a
comparative analysis of trade union strategies.
22 Informal workers are classified into two categories; one is self-employed
workers such as street vendors, domestic servants, owners of petty
enterprises and so on, and the other is contract workers who work through
subcontractors for informal or formal enterprises in various sectors
including automobiles and textiles. Those contract workers who work in the
formal sector are excluded from such policies.
23 Kerala had constituted such boards in the coir industry much before Tamil
Nadu.
24 Mr Shanmugam narrated his personal involvement in the history of welfare
boards in the state.
25 There were a few such as the Self Employed Women’s Association (SEWA),
the National Alliance of Street Vendors in India, workers’ cooperatives
and self-help groups such as the Delhi-based Building and Woodworkers
International (Bhowmik 2008)
26 The LPF president (M. Shanmugam interviewed on July 11, 2019) suggests
that this concern maybe because Karunanidhi himself was from a background
of traditional informal labour.
27 Interview with a retired senior official from the Labour ministry in Tamil
Nadu on 14 June 2018.
28 The Report of Committee to Go into the Living Conditions of Workers in Beedi
and Other Unorganised in Tamil Nadu (Government of Tamil Nadu 1975a)
and the Report of the Committee Constituted to Study the Problems and Issues of
Unorganised Labour in Tamil Nadu (Government of Tamil Nadu 1998).
29 For details on welfare benefits see the Table 7A.14 in Appendix 7A.
30 Government Order (D) 486: Unorganised Workers—Construction Workers
Registered with Tamil Nadu Construction Workers Welfare Board Pension

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 P opular I nterventions and U rban L abour

Scheme, Department of Labour and Employment, Chennai. Monitoring

Reports on Tamil Nadu Construction Workers Welfare Board (Government of
Tamil Nadu 2008b); Monitoring Report for Welfare Boards for Unorganised
Workers (Government of Tamil Nadu 2008a).
31 The discussion in this section is based on a paper by the second author
(Vijayabaskar 2011).
32 See http://www.isidelhi.org.in/hrnews/isidownload/Labour/Labour-2009.
pdf (accessed 6 May 2020).
33 Report of the Expert Committee on Determining the Methodology for
Fixing the National Minimum Wage submitted to the Ministry of Labour
and Employment in January 2019.
34 See https://www.globallivingwage.org/wp-content/uploads/2018/05/urban-
india-living-wage-benchmark-report.pdf (accessed 8 May 2020).
35 Amma Unavagam is named after the late Chief Minister J. Jayalalithaa,
referred to by her partymen as Amma, which means mother (Narasimhan
2015).

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 8

FISSURES, LIMITS AND

POSSIBLE FUTURES

Chantal Mouffe makes a strong case for ‘Left populist’ mobilisation in

building radical democracy. By Left populism, she refers to a populist
mobilisation based on an expansive construction of a ‘people’ that works
towards deepening equality and social justice for multiple marginalised
groups. Taking cues from Laclau’s works on populist reason (2005, 2006;
Laclau and Mouffe 2014), she argues that radical politics requires deepening
the idea of democracy so that ideas of freedom and equality are no longer
confined to the domain of the liberal. They ought to be reworked so as to
transform social relations towards realising substantive freedom and equality.
Our narrative of the developmental trajectory of Tamil Nadu suggests that
populist mobilisation around a non-essentialised Dravidian-Tamil identity
and a demand for ‘social justice’ has indeed worked to expand freedom
and reduce inequities across castes. Operating within a constitutional
democratic framework, the state’s experience highlights the democratic
possibilities that can be opened up within such a structure. This is particularly
important in postcolonial societies where mobilisations have often drawn
upon essentialised and exclusionary constructions of ‘people’ that tend to
undermine prospects for democratising social relations. The state’s political
experience suggests that it is indeed possible to institutionalise an inclusive
populist mobilisation leading to a comparatively egalitarian developmental
trajectory in the Global South.
There are thus two distinct contributions that our analysis of the state’s
development makes to the literature on subnational development and politics
in the Global South. First, we establish that an inclusive populist mobilisation
can generate sustained developmental outcomes for the marginalised social
 F issures , L imits and P ossible F utures

groups even when national-level interventions have an elite bias. Populist

mobilisation and institutionalisation of that populist logic in the state
apparatus have fostered better developmental outcomes in Tamil Nadu
than in most states in the country. Such outcomes have been embedded in a
growth process that has managed to structurally transform the state’s economy
and livelihoods. In fact, such outcomes have fed into the broad-basing of
opportunities for entry into expanding modern productive sectors. Second,
we have also demonstrated how an emphasis on status-based inequality
has shaped this process. We thus call for greater attention to this source of
inequality in the Global South.
In contrast to other political mobilisations that focused merely on class-
based inequality, the Dravidian movement conceptualised injustice emanating
from caste hierarchies to be more central in India. Piketty’s recent work
(2020) only affirms such a conception. He sees two important sources of
contemporary inequality globally. One source of inequality emerges from
property ownership and another from social status. He points to the sustained
importance of status-based inequalities in countries like India, particularly
related to caste. Caste status conditions access to education and modern
sectors as well as the life chances of individuals. This is not, however, to deny
the overlaps between the two sources of inequality. As we demonstrated in the
case of Tamil Nadu, caste elites managed to sustain their economic dominance
through their social status signifying the systemic nature of caste-based power
relations. This phenomenon therefore calls attention to the pathways through
which status based inequalities reproduce or transform through the process of
economic modernisation in other post-colonial regions.
In this chapter, we engage with the limits to this populist developmental
process. We identify slippages not only in the quality of some of the outcomes
but also in ensuring adequate benefits of structural transformation or better
social inclusion. These slippages are translating into popular demands that
the subnational political regime is seeking to respond to, albeit with less
success. Using elements of the analytical framework outlined in Chapter 2 in
conjunction with a ‘multi-level’ approach, in this chapter, we aim to provide
explanations for such slippages and the limits of the subnational political
response. As we explain in Chapter 1, ‘multi-level’ refers to an approach that
recognises that policy and political outcomes at a particular level or scale,

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subnational in this case, are an outcome of an interaction of variables that are

more visible and embedded in higher levels with those that operate at the
subnational level. In doing so, we also reflect upon the implications of such
subnational politics and how these may resonate with the developmental
dilemmas of the Global South. In the following section, we highlight the
emerging fissures and slippages across the various domains that we have
analysed in this book.

F I S S U R E S A N D S L I P PA G E S

E D U C AT I O N

As we pointed out in Chapter 3, the state has one of the highest literacy rates,
particularly among marginalised social groups, and also hosts the largest
share of youth in higher education. Entry into tertiary education too has been
much more inclusive in terms of both caste and class. We argued that this was
made possible both due to a political ethos that imagined education to be a
key axis of inequality and a consequent set of policy interventions. This led to
an inversion of the prevailing elite bias in education at the national level by
emphasising primary education and creative affirmative action policies. There
are, however, two sources of concern in this domain.
Studies point to relatively poor learning outcomes among school children
in the state (Balagopal and Vijayabaskar 2018). Further, despite the fact that
learning outcomes in public schools are better than in private schools, there
is a growing preference for private schools not only among socioeconomic
elites, but even among poorer or marginalised social groups (Balagopal and
Vijayabaskar 2018). The increase in out-of-pocket expenditure on education
for such households, and welfare implications are obvious. The dominant
reasons that households cite for this shift are better learning environments
and better training in the English language. Such shifts are generating a
new axis of differentiation. The second issue relates to the uneven quality of
higher education. While the state has achieved a remarkable enrolment ratio
in higher education, its record in the quality of education has been uneven
(Bhatnagar 2011). While some colleges do better and meet the standards set

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by the All India Council for Technical Education (AICTE), many fail to meet
them. Poor infrastructure, inexperienced teaching staff and outdated syllabi
are typical issues that these colleges have failed to address. The disparity in
quality of education has a direct bearing on labour market inequities. Those
who graduate from these colleges are largely absorbed in poorly paying jobs
leaving those passing out of elite institutions to access premium jobs. Hence
the difference in quality of education escalates wage disparities and perpetuates
income inequalities. With the bulk of technical education being provided by
the private sector, this also has implications for household expenditure on
tertiary education and a high probability of poor returns to such investments
in education.

H E A LT H

We attributed the state’s achievements in the domain of health outcomes to

a relatively well-functioning, spatially distributed infrastructure and better
rate of utilisation of services. Importantly, the state has innovated a system
whereby a socially inclusive pool of health professionals feeds into the public
health infrastructure. The state’s achievements in preventive healthcare have
also been lauded. It could retain doctors in rural areas due to its responsive
reservation and incentive policies both in medical college admissions and in
the appointment of medical professionals in the state medical services. Such
policies not only ensured that an adequate number of medical professionals
could enter the public system to meet the growing demand, but also socially
broad-based entry into medical services. Hence, despite the relatively not
so high average per capita health expenditure, the state could achieve better
health outcomes.
The state has, however, also been a pioneer in the expansion of private
medical services and one of the earliest to offer a template for corporatisation
of medical services in the country. Further, the fact that a significant share
of the population relies on private healthcare facilities for hospitalisation
(Balagopal and Vijayabaskar 2019) suggests that once again (as in the case of
education), we are possibly witnessing a segmentation of the healthcare system
based on perceived or real differences in quality. There is also recent evidence
of shortages of human resources in some segments of the public health system.

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Importantly, the introduction of the National Eligibility Cum Entrance Test

(NEET), a national-level entrance exam for admissions to medical courses
may not only feed into the process of corporatisation of healthcare in the
state, but can also undermine incentive structures that sustained the entry
of qualified medical professionals into the public system. As the dreams of
NEET aspirants who have to spend a lot of money and resources on coaching
centres in metropolitan cities converge with the interests of world-class
corporate hospitals like Apollo, dreams of students like Anitha would remain
distant.

LABOUR OUTCOMES

Despite being embedded within a national macro-regime premised on driving

growth through labour market flexibility, the state has ensured relatively better
wage shares, incomes and social security for labour. While the former is an
outcome of a history of labour mobilisation that drew upon both class and
Dravidian-Tamil identities, expansion of the domain of social security was
based on a combination of interventions in the domains of both the social and
the economic popular. Importantly, a series of programmatic interventions
ensured a much higher degree of structural transformation of the economy
allowing for a much larger share of the population to move out of caste-
marked livelihoods. A universal and an efficient public distribution system
(PDS) ensured a higher degree of social protection than in most states even as
it contributed to the undermining of hierarchical caste relations in rural Tamil
Nadu. In conjunction with labour welfare boards for urban unorganised labour,
better implementation of a national-level rural employment guarantee scheme
and a slew of economic popular schemes targeted at specific social groups
in the state made such social protection possible. If inclusion in education
could democratise the formal labour market, welfare interventions such as
the universal PDS and mid-day meal programme for school children have
ensured a higher reserve wage for non-formal labour in the state. Contrary
to popular perceptions, the state has also enabled transfer of land from landed
elites to lower castes through a series of molecular interventions in response
to political mobilisation. Enhanced public transport and road connectivity too
have transformed rural–urban networks and hence people’s mobility.

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Slippages in this domain are along the following axes. Despite the
overseeing of a better process of structural transformation, a significant
number of livelihoods outside agriculture are far from ‘decent’. Casual
employment continues to be an important source of employment for those
exiting agriculture suggesting new vulnerabilities. Gender differences too are
visible. Once again, a larger share of the rural female workforce has moved
out of agriculture compared to most states, but wage disparities persist. The
share of manufacturing employment has continued to stagnate despite the
ability of the sector to respond well to global and domestic market impulses.
Further, while affirmative action policies have socially broad-based entry
into the middle and lower end of the organised labour markets, caste elites
continue to dominate the premium end. With declining employment in
the public sector, the role of caste-based affirmative action in employment
has also considerably reduced in scope. As a result, while the economic
divide across caste lines has diminished in rural areas, urban Tamil Nadu
that was seen as a space less marked by caste continues to reproduce caste
differences despite a higher degree of social inclusion. While this may be due
to differences in the quality of educational outcomes in the tertiary sector,
the role of ‘opportunity hoarding’ by elites through caste networks cannot
be dismissed. Unemployment, especially among the educated, has emerged
as another worrying phenomenon. A vibrant manufacturing and high-end
services economy has failed to absorb the large number of labour market
entrants with higher educational attainments. As a result, economic popular
schemes derogatorily referred to as ‘freebies’, are seen to reduce expenditure
on ‘productive’ investments that may have helped generate more jobs for
the educated youth. Such unevenness is also translating into fissures in the
‘Dravidian bloc’.

S U S TA I N I N G T H E ‘ D R AV I D I A N B L O C ’ :
EMERGING INTER- AND INTRA-CASTE DIFFERENCES

One central characteristic of Dravidian mobilisation is its refusal to universalise

specific caste interests. While it rejected the Brahminical caste hierarchy, it
also refused to completely embrace the putative glorious past of ‘Tamils’ or
civilisational claims by specific caste groups. Yet it could accommodate their

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diverse interests to forge a hybridised Dravidian identity rooted in a social and

economic future. It also managed to draw together a range of demands for
recognition and socioeconomic mobility from diverse lower castes which were
often in hierarchical and antagonistic relations with one another. Fissures are
therefore inevitable.
After the DMK came to power in 1967, the state managed to avoid the
dominance of a single caste bloc in influencing the political or policy domain
in the initial years. The DMK also managed to diffuse the dominance of
landed and urban elites that the state inherited from the patronage politics of
the Congress. Power was transferred to a bloc comprising a range of subaltern
intermediate caste groups and a section of Dalits. The ability to sustain this
heterogeneous group has been challenged in recent decades, particularly due
to the uneven socioeconomic development of different castes and emergence
of intra-caste disparities. Sections of backward castes resent the relative
mobility among sections of Dalits. The ‘slipping hegemony’ of such caste
groups (Pandian 2013) has led to several instances of violence against Dalits.
While Dravidian common-sense provided a vocabulary to articulate their
concerns, the institutionalised response has been inadequate.
Some have gained more than others across other caste axes too. While
there has been a convergence of incomes in rural areas, this is not the case
in urban Tamil Nadu. Many factors explain such uneven outcomes. First, are
regional differences. The TNHDR (Government of Tamil Nadu 2017) reveals
that districts that have the least levels of human development in the state are
also ones marked by low levels of urbanisation and industrialisation. Many of
these districts form a contiguous belt along the east starting from Cuddalore,
apart from a few that are south of Madurai. Given that caste groups are often
concentrated in specific regions of the state, this is also likely to translate into
uneven outcomes for different lower-caste groups. Second, in the domain of
human capital formation, there is a significant rural–urban divide, especially
with the privatisation of education in the tertiary sector. This would imply that
there are differences emerging even within specific caste groups apart from
the possibility that some caste groups are more urbanised than others. Third,
while land as a source of power within agriculture has declined enormously
because of the structural transformation that the state has witnessed,
land as a speculative asset in urban areas and in the rural areas adjoining

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the urban has become a source of accumulation not only in the state but
across the country (Chakravorty 2013). Once again, lack of access to such
speculative asset holdings, especially among non-landowning Dalits and
backward castes, may be a source of unevenness. The fourth and probably
the most important is the rural versus urban divide. Though rural–urban
wage disparities are relatively low, given the declining share of state income
from agriculture, income disparities persist. Hence caste groups who are
more dependent on agriculture or agricultural labour are likely to lose out.
Also, the emphasis on soft skills including spoken English as a growing pre-
requisite for entry into the upper end of the labour market implies that those
in rural areas or in non-metropolitan urban areas are at a disadvantage. The
persistence of caste divisions in the organised segment of the urban labour
market is possibly suggestive of this phenomenon. The absence of affirmative
action policies in the private sector also clearly contributes to this.
Finally, as we argued in Chapter 5, though entry into the domain of capital
accumulation has been broad-based, regional concentration of economic
dynamism and the inability of Dalits to adequately enter into this domain
constitute another axis of exclusion. A few castes, such as Nadars who have
historically occupied a low caste status have become successful entrepreneurs
and achieved considerable economic mobility over the last century. Members
from many peasant castes too could enter into entrepreneurship on a larger
scale than in other parts of the country. In fact, Damodaran (2016) contends
that as a result, the state has not witnessed protests by agrarian caste groups as
has happened among the Jats, Marathas and Kapus elsewhere. Failed efforts
to develop industries in industrially backward regions such as Tirunelveli
or Perambalur, however, signify the limits to the extent to which regional
differences in this regard can be addressed through modernisation.
There is also a temporal dimension to this differential mobility. Caste
groups or sections within castes who managed to access modern education
earlier because of historical or geographical advantage are likely to extend this
advantage through differences in household-level attainments. As Alcott and
Rose (2017) point out, household-level characteristics such as income, social
background and educational attainments of parents are very critical to the
educational attainments of school children. They particularly highlight the
role of parental education and household income levels in generating such

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differences. Irrespective of whether public schools are able to provide better

education compared to private schools, such household differences therefore
continue to perpetuate differences in schooling outcomes. Importantly such
differences tend to widen over time. Unequal returns to education and adverse
inclusion in the labour market reproduce differences over time. Soft skills are
also attributes that first-generation students are likely to lack. Despite efforts
by the Dravidian parties to constantly rework affirmative action to address the
unevenness of caste mobility among OBCs and Dalits, inter-caste differences
have emerged. As a result, this was also a phase when voices from specific
intermediate and Dalit castes began to articulate a politics outside the fold
of the Dravidian. The Dravidian-Tamil equivalence is therefore no longer
hegemonic as smaller group demands are not adequately met because of the
unevenness in the developmental process. The long history of intervention in
the domain of education and affirmative action has fostered a growing elite
from within the backward castes that no longer identify their stakes with
Dravidian common-sense. Entering into the upper end of the labour market
both within India and globally, their demands are unlikely to be met through
this identity. Simultaneously, there are also efforts to confine Tamil identity
within the Hindu fold thereby marginalising the positions of Tamil Christians
and Muslims who were key constituents of the subaltern that the Dravidian
movement mobilised.

G O V E R N A N C E S L I P PA G E S

The state ranks at the top with regard to several indicators of governance.
We pointed out how health and education outcomes have been better than
in most states despite moderate resource allocations. The state also has
arguably the most efficient PDS system in the country, with minimal leakages.
The bureaucracy in the state is known for designing and implementing
innovative social sector programmes. A senior bureaucrat explains this as
follows. ‘If a transgender in Theni district goes to the local authorities with
a problem that they face, the solution may well become a policy directive
for transgenders across Tamil Nadu within a couple of weeks’.1 According
to him, this underscores the institutionalisation of processes through which
specific demands are translated into macro policy interventions. He attributes

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this possibility to not just the bureaucracy but to a political history that
has ensured a process of such responsive policy-making. Importantly, it is
the embeddedness of a socially diverse bureaucracy in conjunction with a
responsive political process that makes this possible.
The state political apparatus, however, has a reputation for corruption and
rent-seeking. Walton and Crabtree (2018) have characterised the state as an
exemplary case of ‘crony populism’. As Jeyaranjan (2019) demonstrates, the
Dravidian parties have built a centralised mechanism for extraction of rents
from sand mining. The mechanism looks like pork-barrel politics, socially
embedded and politically institutionalised. He shows that both collude to
build cartels to corner contracts to mine and transport sand. As a result, there
has been systemic under-reporting both of sand sold and of the price at which
sand is sold (Rajshekhar 2016). One can find similar examples in the case of
other natural resources as well. For instance, Tamil Nadu Minerals Limited
(TAMIN)—a state-owned corporation established in 1978—was entrusted
with the task of mining minerals and granite. The officials in TAMIN were
accused of collusion with private contractors exporting minerals to siphon
off the difference between the book price and the actual price ( Jeyaranjan
2019). These trends only suggest the institutionalisation of rent-seeking in the
state. Such rent-seeking from natural resource extraction sectors also has a
direct bearing on electoral funding. The state has one of the highest election
expenditures per candidate in the country.

SOCIAL POPULAR AND ELECTORAL DEMOCRACY

Programmatic interventions may not always yield electoral dividends. In

Tamil Nadu, though the DMK has sustained social popular interventions
over a longer period, it has not fared as well as the AIADMK on the electoral
front. Apart from pioneering innovations in affirmative action and subnational
development planning, the DMK-led government also passed laws granting
equal inheritance rights to girl children and abolishing hereditary positions in
village administration, initiated farmers’ markets and made efforts to improve
the quality of school education in government schools. The reservation policy
was constantly reworked to address caste-based inequalities. It also tried
to bring in a policy of reservation to address rural–urban and class-based

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disparities—by offering preferences to rural students and first-generation

graduates, respectively, in higher education. While these policies laid the
foundation for economic transformations that become visible in the 1990s,
they could not, however, sustain the party’s electoral prospects.
Its regime during 1996–2001, for example, was seen by many as one of
the best that the state had seen in terms of programmatic interventions
to promote economic development, albeit through providing an enabling
environment for private capital. When the party lost the elections in
2001, Karunanidhi, the DMK leader, poignantly remarked that he would
take it as a prize that the people have given him for five years of his rule.
Narayan (2018) points out that since 2006, governments have been indulging
excessively in patronage or clientelist measures that may undermine the
gains in social justice made by the state. It is therefore important to ask
whether such a shift away from long-term social popular interventions is
a contingent phenomenon or a necessary outcome of the impulses that
propelled such a trajectory. Interestingly, here is a paradox. Chibber and
Verma (2018) show that Tamil Nadu’s developmental trajectory has less to
do with vote-buying, clientelism and patronage and more to do with the
embedding of its interventions in political ideology. Patronage-targeted
transfers and benefits do not always win elections and they point out that
notwithstanding cash transfers during elections and the prevalence of bribes
in accessing state resources, there is little evidence of citizens actually offering
votes in exchange for such favours (2018: p. 109). To add, a survey experiment
in Tamil Nadu reveals that the promise of ‘freebies’ did not influence voting
patterns (Kailash 2020).
To sum up, even as a century of mobilisation and over half a century
of institutionalised populist interventions have led to considerable
democratisation of opportunities and access to public services like health and
education, a set of fissures in the Dravidian popular are also visible. Specific
caste groups, Dalits in particular, do not see their demands addressed to the
extent others’ demands are, even as affirmative action policies are becoming
less effective. Despite being the most industrialised, issues persist on the
quality and quantum of employment generated in the non-farm sectors. Urban
Tamil Nadu that was imagined as a terrain less marked by caste-endorsed
hierarchies, continues to be segmented, with caste elites dominating the upper

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segments of the economy. There are also regional divides that interventions
have not been able to redress. In the rest of the chapter, we identify some
structural factors that contribute to the unravelling of this bloc and also
delineate possibilities. To do that, we bring back two elements of our analytical
framework. The first is the nature of the limits to institutionalised populism
and social popular interventions. And the second is the limit posed by the
dynamic of late-modern industrialisation and developmentalism to ensuring
social justice. In addition, we also highlight the role of federal relations and
the macro-economic regulatory shifts at the national and the global scale to
supplement this explanation.

S O M E E X P L A N AT I O N S

P O P U L I S M : F R O M T H E L O G I C O F E Q U I VA L E N C E T O T H E
LOGIC OF DIFFERENCE

If non-electoral mobilisation crystallised in building a historic bloc and

established a normative common-sense through a critique of structures and
ideologies that sustain social injustice, mobilisation for electoral dividends
has institutionalised populism in the state. This institutionalisation has
in turn led to a series of programmatic interventions that have sought to
undermine the prevailing relations of injustice based on caste status. Initially,
it therefore took the form of social popular interventions—affirmative action,
institutional rights and access to public resources. Within a pan-Indian
polity, there are, however, limits to the extent to which such interventions can
be carried out. Even if there is a collective will for such interventions, there
are limits posed by judicial interpretation of the constitutional framework.
In fact, Mehta (2007) draws attention to the growing ‘judicialisation’ of the
Indian state since the economic reforms of the early 1990s. Rendering efforts
by the state government to deepen affirmative action as illegal is a case in
point. The terrain of the social popular is therefore limited by such factors
even in the presence of a political will. This exhaustion of the possibilities of
the social popular therefore manifests as a governmental imperative and an
electoral imperative operating in the domain of the economic popular. The

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logic of equivalence across demands made by heterogeneous groups through

a Dravidian-Tamil identity is now weakened by the governmental logic of
difference. Welfarist interventions are targeted at specific groups and also are
not meant to transform the social relations that are generative of relations
of power. Importantly, such economic popular welfarism also implies an
unevenness and generation of new differences across these heterogeneous
groups. Narayan’s (2018) characterisation of the post-2006 phase of
Dravidian politics in the state suggests this possibility. An inability to expand
the terrain of affirmative action due to judicial intervention and the growing
privatisation of employment has posed clear limits on that front. Given the
need to attract private investments, large-scale interventions in this regard
too are less attractive. Wyatt (2013b) also attributes the shift in the DMK’s
style of appeal to the electorate in 2006 to a crisis on the economic and
political front.

L I M I T S T O M O D E R N I S AT I O N

The Dravidian ideology was clearly rooted in the high modern with a strong
faith in the ability of modernisation of the productive domain to diffuse and
undermine social hierarchies. But across most parts of the world, there is a
growing recognition that such modernisation can neither absorb the entire
‘surplus’ labour thrown out of traditional sectors like agriculture nor ensure
ecologically sustainable transitions (Dorin 2017). Given the extractivist logic
that underpins contemporary urban ecologies, Dorin points out that more
intensive urbanisations in highly populous countries like India and China,
as dominant economic paradigms prescribe, are likely to generate ecological
nightmares. Chatterjee (2017) in fact goes on to suggest that even in early-
modern Europe which has served as the template for building a theory of
economic modernisation, surplus populations that were dispossessed from
land and constituted wage labour for expanding capital accumulation in the
urban–industrial sectors, could never be entirely transformed into necessary
labour for capital. Rather, the bulk of the population evicted from agriculture
was resettled in colonies like the Americas or Australia, while large numbers
also succumbed to epidemics and famines. If the original historical model was

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faulty, the prospects of the Global South imitating this path look even more
remote.
As scholars working on India (Sanyal 2007), South Africa (Ferguson
2015) and Indonesia (Li 2010) have been suggesting, sizeable populations in
these countries are being rendered surplus to the process of accumulation
even as they are being dispossessed from their means of production. Unlike
earlier Marxist readings that saw the urban informal as a segment that
serves to facilitate accumulation by cheapening the costs of production
and reproduction, Sanyal argues that large segments of the urban informal
are redundant to the process of accumulation. Li makes a similar point and
attributes it to the increasing rate of dispossession of rural populations in
conjunction with the growing inability of capital to absorb such labour into
its productive circuits. Based on a similar reading, Ferguson therefore makes a
strong case for social protection and income provisioning based on citizenship,
outside the domain of the workplace. The experience of Tamil Nadu in many
ways supports this contention.
Despite having the largest share of its population in manufacturing and
a sustained economic dynamism, the state has not been able to increase the
share of employment in manufacturing. Further, though the wage share is
higher than in other states with a strong manufacturing base, it has not been
able to address the question of quality of employment adequately. Standard
explanations for this phenomenon that are currently popular in policy circles
revolve around two factors. The first pertains to the rigidity of labour laws that
render labour relatively more expensive than capital and hence incentivise
employers to replace labour with capital-intensive technologies. Second, a
narrative that is gaining popularity of late is the quality of skill formation.
The entire emphasis on skilling through missions like ‘Skill India’ reflects
this belief that once skilling happens, the issue of both quantity and quality
of employment can be addressed. Though labour unions have been able to
push back flexibilisation of labour markets to a limited extent in the state,
there has been a continuous shift towards use of non-permanent workers
in manufacturing. Further, the state is also home to arguably the largest
pool of technically skilled labour that is also socially inclusive. The limits to
transformation of social relations and caste hierarchies through inclusive
modernisation therefore probably lies in the limits posed by the paradigm of

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modernisation per se. This also explains the expanding domain of economic
popular interventions in the state or for that matter in other parts of the
Global South as well (Barrientos and Hulme 2009).

D E V E L O P M E N TA L A U T O N O M Y AT T H E
S U B N AT I O N A L S C A L E

Given that macro-economic policy-making is determined at the national level,

there is little scope for subnational governments to circumvent the limits set
by such measures. Policies such as the extent of trade liberalisation, currency
regulation and importantly, the direction of economic growth are decided by
the union government. We earlier highlighted the shift from an era of planned
industrialisation under the leadership of the public sector towards a macro-
regime that privileged the agency of private capital and competitiveness
in global markets. Flexibility in labour markets was seen as essential to
successfully produce for global markets and states were incentivised to
compete with one another through tax concessions, low-cost land, labour
and infrastructure. Subnational governments and/or political possibilities
are therefore circumscribed or enabled by such shifts and incentivisation. For
example, while during the planned era, Dravidian ideologues demanded public
sector enterprises (PSEs) and industrial licenses for the state, in the 1990s, the
Dravidian parties undertook a series of institutional interventions to attract
private capital. As a consequence, even if subnational popular demands seek
better employment security or higher wages, there is little that governments
can do in this regard. We observed how these demands were partly met
through interventions outside the workplace in Tamil Nadu. Given that social
services and sectors are under the prerogative of subnational governments, they
are in a position to innovate within this domain. To add, the framework that
guides the nature of resource transfers between subnational governments and
the union government also constrains the ability of the former to undertake
autonomous policy interventions.
The framework governing vertical and horizontal resource transfers is seen
to undermine the fiscal space available to relatively developed states like Tamil
Nadu to expand the domain of welfare interventions. Union governments are
also seen to deny resources to subnational governments through levy of taxes that

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are not meant to be shared with subnational governments. The asymmetrical

federal power structure puts a limit on the state’s capacity to intervene in the
economy both in terms of method and resources. Yet, subnational governments
account for 80 per cent of expenditure in social sectors and continue to be the
theatre of implementation of central schemes. Over the past two decades, India
has witnessed a phenomenon of union governments spending on domains that
are the primary responsibility of the state. Conditional transfers that allow
subnational governments to access funds only when they spend on programmes
and schemes that the union government has drawn up, constitute about 40 per
cent of the total transfers in the country. This is largely routed through centrally
sponsored schemes (CSS) and is hence outside the constitutionally mandated
purview of the finance commission. Hence this distorts states’ allocations and
limits the autonomy of the latter in prioritising state-specific developmental
goals. On the other hand, the expenditure burden on the states has been
increasing. States are required to spend about 85 per cent of the total educational
expenditure, 82 per cent in health and 78 per cent in agriculture. These three
sectors are key to developmental outcomes and constitute about 75 per cent of
the total combined expenditure of the union and the states (P. Chakraborty
2019). The introduction of the goods and services tax (GST) and increasing
share of various types of cess imposed by the centre have further eroded the
fiscal space of states in India. The ability of states like Tamil Nadu to sustain
and expand their achievements in human development has to be seen in this
context of centralisation.
There are also limits posed by the greater integration with global markets.
Increasingly in the Global South, both national and subnational governments
rely on global capital flows to access resources for investments unlike in the
past when surpluses generated from agriculture were seen to be a critical
source for investments and capital accumulation (Bernstein 1996). While such
opening up has relieved these governments of resource constraints, reliance on
global capital also comes with certain limits to policy-making. As this means
a greater reliance on global markets to generate growth, competing with other
countries for similar markets places limits on autonomous interventions. There
are compulsions to use frontier technologies, lower labour and environmental
standards and reduce trade restrictions that may otherwise have been used to
build capabilities and provide competitive physical and human infrastructures.

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Further, since financial markets are critical institutions through which

governments seek to tap resources, creating conducive conditions for financial
actors plays a critical role in the growth trajectory of these economies.
This financialisation of the growth process not only has implications for
real or productive sectors but once again reduces the range of policy levers
available. As a result, policy interventions across the Global South have strong
homogenising tendencies. This can be best illustrated by recent events in India.
Kerala and West Bengal in India best demonstrate how policy interventions
tend to assume a ‘there is no alternative’ position irrespective of the political
spectrum. Run by communist parties for long periods, both Kerala and
West Bengal are hailed for their better ability to initiate land reforms seen
as essential to inclusive transition from out of agriculture. However, Left
reformism in Kerala or West Bengal has not managed to generate alternate
transition possibilities (Das Gupta 2017). In fact, the Bengal government’s
efforts to attract a car factory through the offer of subsidised land led to one
of the most prolonged agitations against new modes of rural dispossession
(Nielsen 2018).

R E N T- S E E K I N G , S L I P PA G E I N L E A R N I N G O U T C O M E S
AND POSSIBILITIES

While mobilisation against corruption in service delivery may be effective in

reducing rent-seeking by state actors through this route, there are also certain
incentive structures that may not be easily addressed through subnational
resistance. The relationship between growth and corruption is a contested
one. While it is generally held to reduce efficiency and be inimical to growth,
studies also suggest the possibility that under certain conditions, rent-seeking
may also aid the growth process in the Global South (Khan 2000). China,
for example, is a case where rapid economic growth has been accompanied
by increased levels of rent-seeking (Ngo and Wu 2008). Be that as it may,
there is a strong popular sentiment against corruption by political elites in
Tamil Nadu, as in the rest of the country. Despite this sentiment and active
electoral campaigns based on promises of corruption-free governance, there is
little evidence to suggest that corruption levels have reduced. One important

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imperative for rent-seeking stems from the need for resources to sustain
political parties and fund elections.
Gowda and Sridharan (2012) point out that poor regulations that govern
the funding of political parties and election campaigns have led to the use of
political power by elites to mobilise resources through rent-seeking. Further,
this has also led political parties to rely on wealthy candidates to contest as
they are likely to spend more. This has in turn has led to the emergence of the
‘political entrepreneur’ who invests to gain political power so as to access rents.
While corporate funding is a significant source of funding for political parties,
Kapur and Vaishnav (2011) also point to the growing role of real-estate based
financing of parties. Given that corporates are more likely to fund national
parties, it is possible to suggest that regional parties will rely more on real
estate or other localised sources of rents for sustaining their parties or electoral
funding. Reliance on rents from sand mining or other minerals is also therefore
unlikely to disappear in this context. This has become a significant source
particularly after the real estate boom in both Tamil Nadu and at the national
level, given the increase in demand for housing and other construction. In fact,
a senior bureaucrat suggests that rents from these natural resources provide
relative autonomy from big capital for electoral financing.2
While such factors may partly explain the persistence of corruption in
certain domains, the poor learning outcomes observed in recent years suggest
a corruption of another kind. Despite having better quality and socially
inclusive teaching staff and better physical infrastructure for schools, the fact
that learning outcomes are poorer compared to many states is clearly a puzzle.
This is even more intriguing in a context where social justice was essentially
seen in terms of access to education. Though we do not have clear answers, one
possibility is that when elites exit from the public system (which is not unique
to the state) there is less collective pressure on the system. Rather than exercise
their voice, the lower-caste groups who can afford it are also possibly exiting
the system. But learning outcomes in private schools are in fact lower than
in public schools. According to a senior bureaucrat, the emphasis on scoring
high marks in school finals above other objectives to ensure college admissions
translates into lesser incentives for teachers to invest in learning. However, a
government initiative has been launched earlier this year3 to address this gap.

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POSSIBLE FUTURES

In the context of such structural constraints within and external to the

populist domain, the limits and possibilities of the political process in the state
can probably be best framed through the lives of Sattanathan and Anitha. As
Sattanathan, the lower-caste bureaucrat observes in his autobiography, his
mother, an illegitimate daughter of a local patron, did not have the ability to
demand or aspire for anything beyond food. He retired as a senior bureaucrat
and is popular for having written the first backward classes commission report
in the state. His mobility from poverty to becoming a public intellectual may
not be an exception as one can find many such examples in the state. The
Dravidian movement has provided mobility to people from such modest
caste–class backgrounds through access to spaces of entrepreneurship,
upper echelons of the bureaucracy and labour markets in the private sector.
The state has indeed evolved from being a highly unequal caste society to a
relatively inclusive, socially advanced and economically productive. On the
other hand, we have Anitha, a Dalit girl who took her life on failing to secure
admission to train as a medical doctor despite having the required marks due
to a change in the admission criteria. Her failure may suggest the inability or
indifference of the subnational political regime or the centre’s intransigence.
But it also exposes the limits or the fault line of the model. If her aspiration
to become a doctor epitomises the promise of the model, her failure to realise
it shows its limits.
Does this mean that the future is likely to be a mere continuation of
economic popular interventions? It may not be. To begin with, what is seldom
acknowledged is the possibility that even economic popular interventions
tend to have implications for freedom and social justice. Provision of laptops
for students, or mixies and grinders for women does have incremental
emancipatory effects. Combined with the broad-basing of education and
aspirations, such interventions may well serve to forge a new set of demands.
The recent large-scale protests around questions of ecology are reflective of
this shift. Three of the largest state-level protests in recent years have been
around issues of ecology and livelihoods. In Chapter 2, we have already
mapped the terrain of the jallikattu protests that sought to link the agrarian
crisis, indigenous livestock economies and Tamil identity. Since then, there

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were also protests across the state against the union government’s permission
to a private firm for hydrocarbon exploration in the Cauvery delta. This led to
the state declaring the delta a zone exclusively for agriculture though questions
continue to be asked on the efficacy of this policy move in protecting the zone
from further ecological damage. In May 2018, several protestors were killed
in police firing in Tuticorin when they were agitating against pollution from
copper smelting by a factory belonging to the Vedanta group. Also since 2011,
people from several villages in the same region have been protesting, with
support from state- and national-level movements, against the commissioning
of a new phase of the Kudankulam Nuclear Power Plant. Apart from
such protests, the state is home to one of the largest organic farming and
traditional seed preservation movements in the country. A number of civil
society initiatives are further underway to restore traditional water bodies
and localised irrigation systems. Clearly such concerns stand in contrast to
the productivist ethos that informed the making of Dravidian common-sense.
The DMK in its recent election manifesto for example promised to explore
the possibility of introducing affirmative action policies in private sector
employment and also assured state incentives for organic farming. Hence, even
when interventions seek to depoliticise and clientelise the ‘people’, the agency
of the people embedded in a longer history of political assertion may work in
directions not anticipated by readings of populism that do not adequately take
account of people’s agency. Chatterjee (2019), for example, does not concede
the possibility that even interventions driven by governmental imperatives
may produce surplus effects. The spaces of freedom opened by material goods
and cash transfers tend to exceed the pure logic of governmental control,
especially when other mobilisational logics are at work.
Issues of quality, be it in education or healthcare, and consequent disparities
in human development can possibly be addressed within the domain of
subnational politics and policy implementation. Expansion of the domain
of affirmative action too may continue to be the terrain of politics given
the persistence of caste-based inequalities all over the country. The limits of
structural transformation and its inability to generate dignified livelihoods for
those exiting agriculture, or uneven development generated through processes
of modernisation cannot, however, be addressed at the subnational scale. The
labour question, going by the experience of states like Kerala or Tamil Nadu,

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is increasingly being resolved through access to global labour markets. Tamil

Nadu has in fact emerged as a major source of remittances in the country,
with an expanding regime of labour mobility driven by investments in human
development. But with growing restrictions to labour mobility globally, there
are clear limits to this process. The extent to which populist mobilisation can
re-orient its terrain to forge appropriate demands in the new context will
shape the possibilities of further expansion of substantive democracy.

NOTES

1 Personal interview (6 April 2020).

2 Personal interview (12 July 2019).
3 Personal interview (6 January 2020).

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affirmative action. See reservation/ antenatal care, 86–87, 101

affirmative action/quotas Appadurai, A., 46, 52–53
Adiseshiah, M., 89 Apprentices Act, 186
agricultural household, 151–53, 168 Arasu, V., 31, 60
agricultural wages, 153–54, 164 Arooran, N., 32, 61, 64
All India Anna Dravida Munnetra Attippakkam Venkatacala Nayakar, 31
Kazhagam (AIADMK), 47, autonomy, 2, 24n2, 27, 40, 42, 114, 135,
49–50, 74–75, 77, 98, 187, 190, 160, 224–27
207n18, 219 auxiliary nurse midwives (ANMs), 92
All India Council for Technical
Education (AICTE), 213 backward castes/intermediate castes,
All India Trade Union Congress 10, 44, 49, 74, 123, 139, 149, 165,
(AITUC), 187, 202, 208n21 171n1, 171n7, 182, 216–18
All-India Rural Financial Inclusion backward class(es), 51n11, 55, 65, 74–75,
Survey (NAFIS), 151,171n5 121
Aloysius, G., 37 Backward Classes Commission, 46, 74,
Ambedkar, B. R., Babasaheb, 78 78, 228
Amma Unavagam, 195, 209n35 backward regions, 217
Anandhi, S., 47, 50n2, 63, 171n7 Basel Mission, 129
anganwadi, 100, 104, 111n17 Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP), 187
Anitha, 52, 79, 214, 228 bloc, historic, 11, 26, 30–35, 50n5, 221
Anjugam Ammaiyar inter-caste bureaucracy, inclusive, 83
marriage assistance scheme, 47
Annadurai, C. N., 38–39, 50n2, 74, capabilities, 1, 3, 7–8, 16, 79, 119, 123, 139,
113, 132 166, 174, 225
 INDEX

capacity to aspire, 46, 52–53, 79 Congress (party), 37, 39, 63, 77, 114, 129,
capital accumulation, 1–2, 4–6, 10–13, 131, 133, 142n7, 148–49, 187, 216
23, 28, 39–40, 48, 79, 112–14, connectivity, rural–urban, 165, 214
122–23, 125, 130, 139, 144, 147, 158, Contract Labour (Regulation and
174, 193, 217, 222–23, 225 Abolition) Act, 185
caste solidarities, 11, 42–43, 51, 107, 114, contractualisation, 173, 177, 179, 185
186, 188 cooperatives, 39, 130, 134–35, 160, 195,
caste status, 33, 121, 183, 211, 217, 221 208n25
Centre of Indian Trade Unions corruption, 75, 219, 226–27
(CITU), 187, 207n18 crony populism, 219
centre–state relations, 114 cultivators, 17, 125, 128, 130, 147, 153, 155
Chatterjee, P., 1, 4, 20, 28, 43–44,
222, 229 Dalit Indian Chamber of Commerce
Chetty, Theagaraya, 62, 73, 128 and Industry (DICCI), 17, 122
circulating elites, 140 Dalits, 49, 75, 119, 121–22, 130, 136, 139,
civil society, 1, 30, 41, 64, 131, 174, 184, 147, 149–50, 155–57, 162, 164–65,
229 171n1, 171n6–7, 180, 182–83, 216–18,
claim-making, 29, 45, 105, 185, 188 220
clientelism, 220 Damodaran, H., 17, 112–13, 118–19, 125,
clientelist, 46, 48, 220 130, 137–39, 142n5, 217
clusters, 17, 118, 133, 135, 142n15 delta, 148–49, 171n2–3, 229
Coimbatore District Small Scale demand, social, 27, 29
Industries Association demand, popular, 23, 27, 29, 114, 131, 211,
(CODISSIA), 139 224
collective action, 11, 105, 148, 159, 165 Dewey, J., 81n14
collective bargaining, 188, 192 Dharmambal Ammaiyar Memorial
Common sense, 23, 26–27, 29, 40–43, Widow Remarriage Scheme, 47
45, 52–53, 76–77, 130–31, 173–74, diversification, economic, 157
216, 218, 221, 229 Dravida Munnetra Kazhagam
Communist Party of India-Marxist (DMK), 38, 46–47, 49, 50n2,
(CPI-M), 148–49 62–64, 74–75, 77, 99, 114, 125–26,
Community Health Centre (CHC), 131–33, 142n7, 147–50, 160, 174,
90 187–88, 190–91, 193, 207n18, 216,
Conferment of Ownership of 219–20, 222, 229
Homestead Act, 149 Dravidar Kazhagam, 50n2, 74, 114,

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148. See also Dravida Munnetra federal, 3, 225

Kazhagam federal relations, 221
Dravidar Vivasaya Thozhilalar female labour force participation rate
Sangam (DVTS), 148 (FLFPR), 176
Dravidian common sense, 26–27, Food Corporation of India (FCI), 160
40–43, 45, 52, 76, 173–74, 216, 218, food security, 162
229 Forum for IT Employees
Dravidian-Tamil, 10, 27, 29, 33, 40, (FITE), 188
42–44, 106, 210, 214, 218, 222
Galanter, M., 41
ecology, 228 Geetha, V., 26, 32, 35–36, 39, 49, 73,
economic popular, 29, 45–48, 53, 65, 129
79, 83, 107, 145, 149, 159, 163, 166, governance, 3, 5, 17–18, 36, 83, 123,
189–90, 192–95, 214–15, 221–22, 218–19, 226
224, 228 governmentality, 48
education, primary, 34, 46, 53, 58–61, 63, Gramsci, A., 29, 45, 50n5
66, 80n4, 212 gross attendance ratio, 67–68
education, tertiary, 21, 53, 65, 71, 75, 79, gross enrolment ratio, 21–22, 57, 66
80n5,181–83, 212–13 Gurusami, L. C., 129
educational attainment, 57, 75, 101, 105,
215, 217 Harriss, B., 103–04
election manifesto, 160, 188, 229 Harriss, J., 3, 9, 12, 49, 59, 112, 145, 147,
electoral funding, 219, 227 150–51, 153, 157
elite bias, 42, 71–72, 75, 82, 96, 211–12 Harriss-White, B., 1, 28, 119, 125
elites, caste, 30–33, 36–37, 39–41, 43, 79, healthcare system, 16, 83, 97, 213
87, 113, 122, 130, 133, 137, 143n23, health insurance, 7, 83, 107, 191
147–48, 150, 180, 183, 211, 215, hegemony, 26, 28, 33, 36, 148, 216
220 Heller, P., 1–2, 13, 82
embedded autonomy, 2–3, 24n2 Herfindahl–Hirschman Index
embedded labour, 187, 214 (HHI), 118
entrepreneurship, 12, 17, 23, 112, 115, Heyer, J., 125, 194
119–24, 136–37, 139, 217, 228 Hindu Succession Act, 47
equivalence, demand, 27, 29, 32–33, 38, horizontal solidarities, 43, 51, 107
43–46, 48, 114, 218, 221–22 human capital, 7, 10, 24n8, 47, 53, 68,
Evans, P., 1–2, 24n2, 82 72–73, 124, 136, 216

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identity-based mobilisation, 11, 28, 144, Kaali, S., 31, 33, 61

173, 188 Kamaraj, K., 63, 103, 111n16, 131, 158
Indian National Congress (INC). See karnam, 150
Congress (party) Karunanidhi, M., 77, 89, 189, 191, 193,
Indian National Trade Union 208n26, 220
Congress (INTUC), 187, 202, Kennedy, L., 3, 6, 8, 12, 135
207n18 kinship networks, 106
Industrial Disputes Act (IDA), 185 Krishnan, R., 26
industrial growth, 12, 124, 193
Industrial Tribunal, 185 Labour Court, 185
inequality, 2, 11, 18, 20, 24n1, 31, 39, labour laws, 191, 223
41, 58, 67–68, 71, 75, 154, 166, 179, labour market flexibility, 173, 177, 185,
211–12 195, 214
infant mortality, 22, 82, 85 Labour Progressive Front (LPF), 174
informal economy, 174, 206n5 labour relations, 145, 151, 156, 159, 166,
information technology, 16, 119 173
inheritance rights, 219 Laclau, E., 26–28, 43–44, 48, 210
in-service quota, 99 land ownership, 40, 115, 119–21, 123, 146,
institutionalised populism, 133–35, 149–50, 221
221 land reforms, 10, 12, 41, 76, 144, 147, 149,
Integrated Child Development 226
Services (ICDS), 64, 100, 103–04, land relations, 145, 148, 150–51, 165
195 landless labourers, 150
inter-caste disparity, 57, 181, 215–18 left populism, 27, 210
intra-caste disparity, 215–18 liberalisation, trade, 224
Irschick, E., 32, 72, 80n10 licensing, 113, 131, 135
Living Wage Report, 195
Jaffrelot, C., 42, 75 logic of difference, 43–44, 46, 221–22
jallikattu, 228 logic of equivalence, 48, 221–22
Jayalalithaa, J., 77, 209n35
Jenkins, R., 8, 24n6 Madras Secular Society, 31
Jeyaranjan, J., 145, 147–51, 153, 157, 219 Mahadevan, R., 112–13, 122, 130
Justice Party, 26, 30, 34–36, 50n2, 53, Mahatma Gandhi National Rural
61–64, 66, 72–74, 95–96, 103, Employment Guarantee Act
128–29, 131 (MNREGA), 145, 163–65

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Mandal Commission, 77 noon meal scheme, 63–64, 83–84, 96,

Manoharan, K. R., 39–40, 49 103–04, 166, 195, 214
Marwari, 113
maternal mortality, 22, 82, 108 Other Backward Classes (OBCs),
medical colleges, 42, 52, 68, 92, 97–99, 51n11, 55–56, 64, 68, 74–75, 87, 98,
109n5, 110n9 121–22, 170, 180–82, 200–01, 218
mercantile communities, 17, 39–40, 132 Orientalist, 30, 32–33, 50n6
MGR (M. G. Ramachandran), 74, 190 out-of-pocket expenditure, 82, 102, 212
Minimum Needs Programme, 91
minimum wages, 163, 190, 195 padial, 156–157
modernisation, inclusive, 23, 26, 39, panaiyal, 156
48–49, 50n2, 112, 128, 223 Pandian, M. S. S, 26–27, 30–32, 34–36,
Moovalur Ramamirtham Ammaiyar 40, 44, 47, 49, 50n6, 51n16, 73–75,
Ninaivu Marriage Assistance 77, 171n7, 216
Scheme, 101 Pandian, Punitha, 49
most backward classes (MBC), 65 Panneerselvan, A. S., 114
Mouffe, C., 27–28, 210 Pareto, 140
multi-level approach, 4, 24n2, 211 patronage, 11, 46, 48, 125, 216, 220
people, construction, 26–29, 210, 229
National Commission for Enterprises Periyar. Ramasamy, E. V., 26–27, 34–37,
in the Unorganised Sector 39–40, 50n2, 61, 74, 77, 113, 131, 150,
(NCEUS), 177 183
National Rural Health Mission PHC, 89–92, 99, 101–02, 105, 166
(NRHM), 92 Phule, Jyotibai Mahatma, 78
nationalisation, transport, 126 Piketty, T., 211
NCAER index, 124 political Left, 186
NEET (National Eligibility cum politics of recognition, 114, 173
Entrance Test), 52, 76, 79, 214 politics of redistribution, 173
Neyveli Lignite Corporation, 132 populism, 10, 27–30, 42–48, 133, 210,
non-Brahmin, 26, 30, 33–35, 43–44, 219, 221–22, 229
51n16, 61–64, 72–73, 80n10, 95, populist mobilization, 210–11, 230
128 postnatal services, 89, 101
non-farm sector and employment, 17, Poverty indicators, 11–14, 18–20, 24n5,
41, 125–26, 145, 151–58, 164–66, 168, 25n12–14, 46, 53, 78, 160–62, 175,
171n4, 176, 220 228

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primary health care, 89–91, 99, 101, 105, reserve wage, 165, 196, 214
166 Rosanvallon, P., 44
productivist ethos, 27, 40, 113–14, 126, rural electrification, 124, 158
128–31, 229 rural manufacturing, 157–59
public action, 94, 105, 107 Rural–urban, 37, 47, 125, 155, 165, 214,
public distribution system (PDS), 145, 216–17, 219
159–66, 169–70, 193, 214 ryotwari system, 128
public health, 20, 23, 82–83, 89, 92–94,
96–102, 106, 109n6, 110n8 Sanyal, K., 1, 48, 190–91, 223
Public Health Act, 96 Sattanathan A. N., 78–79, 228
public health infrastructure, 16, 82–84, Sattanathan Commission, 78
107, 213 Scheduled Castes (SCs), 11, 22, 51n10,
public procurement, 102, 110n14 54, 65, 77, 87, 172n8
public sector, 39, 46, 66, 97, 107, 113, 120, Scheduled Tribes (STs), 51n10, 54, 65,
132–33, 180, 215, 224 77, 125
public–private partnership (PPP), 15, school infrastructure, 53, 57–59, 64–66,
135 79, 104, 171n4, 227
self-respect, 26, 35–37, 39, 47, 53, 50n2,
Rajadurai, S. V., 26, 32, 35–36, 39, 49, 73
73, 129 Self-Respect Movement (SRM), 26,
Rajamannar Committee, 114 30, 34–37, 47, 49, 50n2, 77, 128,
Rasathurai, P., 61–62, 66 148
real wage, 153, 164, 179, 199 semi-servitude, 156
redistribution, 7, 27, 36, 39, 47, 72, 76, semi-urban, 138, 153, 171n5
114, 173 Sennett, R., 186
reforms, pro-business, 8, 24n6 services sector, 119, 137, 174, 177, 196,
reforms, pro-market, 6, 23, 24n6 198
renewable energy, 124 servitude, 156, 162
rent-seeking, 219, 226–227 special economic zone (SEZ), 136
reservation/affirmative action/quotas, Shudra, 35, 43
10, 23, 27, 40–42, 46, 51n10–11, Singh, Prerna, 9, 11–12, 106, 111n18,
53, 69, 72–78, 80n10, 83–84, 95, 114
98–99, 106, 110n12, 124, 163, 174, Small Industries Development
179–82, 184–85, 194, 196, 212–13, Corporation (SIDCO), 133
215, 217–22, 229 Snyder, R., 1, 5–7

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 INDEX

social justice, 9, 23, 26–27, 38–41, 47, 52, Swaminathan, P., 112, 128–29, 142
61, 73, 76–78, 107, 112, 114, 131, 139,
144, 159, 179, 196, 210, 220–221, TAHDCO Kamarajar Adi Dravidar
227–228 housing, 158
social Left, 186 Tamil-Dravidian. See Dravidian-
social networks, 106, 119, 111n19, 180, Tamil
207n7 Tamil Maanila Kattida Thozhilalar
social popular, 29, 45–48, 53, 79, 83, 105, Panchayat Sangam (TMKTPS),
114, 145, 163, 189–90, 219–21 190
social protection, 161–62, 165, 173, 189, Tamil Nadu Agricultural Lands
194, 196, 214, 223 (Record of Tenancy Rights) Act,
software services, 16, 119, 137, 174, 196 147, 149
solidarities, 42–43, 51, 107, 114, 186, 188 Tamil Nadu Backward Classes
Southern Question, 132 Commission, 78
Sriramachandran, R., 26–27, 43 Tamil Nadu Civil Supplies
State Aid to Industries Act, 129 Corporation (TNCSC), 160, 195
State Industries Promotion Tamil Nadu Co-operative Milk
Corporation of Tamil Nadu Producers’ Federation
(SIPCOT), 133 (TCMPF), 135
State Investment Potential Index, 123 Tamil Nadu Cultivating Tenants
state planning commission, 83, 89, 124 (Payment of Fair Rent) Act,
status-based inequality, 41, 211 148
structural transformation, 4, 13–18, Tamil Nadu Cultivating Tenants
23, 39, 46, 48, 115–19, 144, 165, 176, Protection Act, 148
195–96, 211, 214–16, 229 Tamil Nadu Dairy Development
Subagunarajan, V. M. S., 49 Corporation, 135
subnational, 1–13, 23, 24n2, 24n4–5, Tamil Nadu Energy Development
26, 40,70, 108–09, 111n18, 114, 133, Agency (TEDA), 124
138, 144, 196, 210–12, 219, 224–26, Tamil Nadu Housing Board
228–29 (TNHB), 193
Subramanian, N., 10, 15, 49, 82–83, Tamil Nadu Human Development
144, 193 Report (TNHDR), 2–3, 58, 80n7,
subsidies, 53, 110n9, 125, 135, 160, 169, 109n5, 216
195 Tamil Nadu Industrial Development
Suntharalingam, R., 30–33 Corporation (TIDCO), 133

267
 INDEX

Tamil Nadu Manual Workers Thirumavelan, P., 49, 150, 171n2

(Regulation of Employment Thiruneelakandan, A., 148
and Conditions of Work) Act, Thirunavukkarasu, K., 73
189–190 total fertility rate (TFR), 22, 84–85
Tamil Nadu Manual Workers Welfare trade union, 173, 185–90, 208n21
Board, 189, 203 transgenders, 192, 218
Tamil Nadu Medical Services transport, 18, 64, 66, 123, 126, 158, 160,
Corporation (TNMSC), 84, 102 165, 214, 219
Tamil Nadu Public Service tripartite committee, 188
Commission (TNPSC), 99, 150
Tamil Nadu Road Development under-nutrition, 86
Company (TNRDC), 135 under-five mortality rate (U5MR), 22,
Tamil Nadu Slum Clearance Board 84, 86–87
(TNSCB), 193 universal progamme/welfare, 46, 162
Tamil Nadu Small Industries urbanisation, 171n7, 175, 216, 222
Corporation Limited (TANSI),
133 Vaishya Vacuum, 130
Tamil Nadu State Development Venkatachalapathy, A. R., 37, 131
Finance Corporation, 126 village health nurses (VHNs), 89,
Tamil Nadu State Transport 92–93, 100
Corporation (TNSTC), 126 Vivek, Srinivasan, 11, 159, 162, 165
Tamil Nadu Textile Corporation, 134
Tamil Nadu Urban Development wage differentials, gender, 58
Fund (TNUDF), 135 wage rates, 153, 158, 163, 174, 179
Taylor, C., 78 wage share, 177–79, 189, 214, 223
technical education, 16, 23, 69, 71, 73, 76, weak ties, 84, 105–07
80n78, 124, 128–29, 131, 142n15, 213 Weiner, M., 58–59, 94–96
tenancy, 47, 147–50 welfare boards, 174, 189–92, 203–05, 214
tertiary education, 21, 53, 65, 71, 75, 79, welfare interventions, 10, 13, 47, 82, 145,
80n5, 181–83, 212–13 159, 164, 166, 174, 189–95, 214, 224
Thanjavur Tenants and Pannaiyals welfare state, 10, 12, 48–49
Protection Act, 1952, 148 Western Tamil Nadu, 130, 138, 142n10,
Thoss, Pundit Iyothee, 33 193
‘the people’, 26–29, 210, 229 Witsoe, J., 9, 13, 42
Theosophists, 31–33 Wyatt, A., 3, 12, 46, 49, 112, 139, 222

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