In 1901, Bhiva, a ten-year-old boy, got down from a train at Masur, a small station in the Bombay Presidency. He was escorting his younger brother and two cousins to Goregaon where his father was posted. There was no sign of the peon who was supposed to receive them. Seeing the kids alone at the station, the curious station master asked their whereabouts and did an about-turn when he heard that they belonged to the Mahar community. Later, he asked them to leave the station and get a bullock cart to Goregaon. The drivers of the carts refused to take them even at the prospect of being paid double. Finally, the band of four boys, Bhiva being the oldest, had to drive the cart themselves with the cartman walking behind. They had food packed by their aunt with them but could not eat as people refused to give them clean water to drink and wash.

The humiliation and exhaustion of the overnight journey without water or food left a deep impression on young Bhiva’s mind: he would recount it in an unpublished manuscript called Waiting for a Visa some thirty-four years later. By that time, his name was changed to Bhimrao. He held two PhD degrees, from Columbia University and the London School of Economics, had a successful legal career, edited numerous magazines, led satyagrahas for access to clean water and temple entry, fought with M.K. Gandhi and other nationalist leaders on the question of electoral rights of the Depressed Classes, and established himself as the undisputed leader of the ‘untouchables’ of India. The station master and the cartmen would probably still not eat with him. Bhimrao Ramji Ambedkar was still waiting for a visa to enter the extremely prejudiced social and political milieu of his own country.

There is always a risk of sentimentalising the political and the intellectual struggles of Dalit leaders in their biographies, especially those written by savarna authors. Ashok Gopal, a savarna himself, is refreshingly free of this tendency. His biography of Ambedkar is a patient and meticulously researched study of a life that is either neglected or mythologised in our public historical consciousness. Written in a mostly non-academic language, but not without flair, Gopal’s comprehensive intellectual biography of one of the most powerful thinkers of the twentieth century exhibits an earnest attempt to understand his colossal mind and non-conformist vision, much of which is still misunderstood or obscured by both his supporters and detractors. Labouring through a huge archive of Ambedkar’s published and unpublished writings in both English and Marathi, Gopal has been successful in bringing out a narrative, which does not shy away from talking about the inconsistencies, the self-contradictions and the humanity of a man torn between his public commitments and personal motivations. This was not an easy task considering the myths that surround him. A Part Apart, like its protagonist, is uncompromising in tearing down some of the preconceived notions about Ambedkar as a public figure who continues to inspire millions of people in their everyday fights against discrimination and injustice.

make the book stand out among the current scholarship on Ambedkar. First, his academic training, which availed him of the intellectual rigour and clarity of thought in his later career as a political activist and statesman. Second, his relentless allegiance to a notion of modernity, which was lacking among many of his contemporaries in the nationalist movement. Finally, his conviction in an idea of justice based on the ethics of ‘associated living’ that made him embrace Buddhism in his later life. With his nuanced reading of Ambedkar’s works, Gopal shows how these ideas presented themselves in different phases of his life and inspired him to make personal and political decisions. His situatedness in the reality of his identity as an untouchable also made curious deflections in these ideas as he went on to become the voice of millions. His battle with Gandhi was as much ideological as tactical, for the latter represented a vision that would never recognise the rift between the political ideals and the social realities of a caste-ridden, conservative, unwelcoming nation. Ambedkar was convinced that the transfer of power from the British to the upper-caste Indians would do nothing in terms of ending the inherent oppressions that characterised the exclusivity of our national identity. After seventy-five years of Independence, we still have Dalit students committing suicide in the best of our academic institutions.

The biggest achievement of A Part Apart is reminding us of the spirit of not accepting one’s present reality as permanent or sacred — a confidence Ambedkar instilled in the minds of his followers. As pointed out by Gopal in the Preface, the famous Dalit Marathi writer, Shankarrao Kharat, once said, Ambedkar gave the entire Dalit community “the power of speech”. Nobody can take this power away, even in this world of growing inequality and intolerance.