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Saturday, September 8, 2012


The Indians – Portrait of a People
Sudhir Kakar & Katharina Kakar
Penguin Books, Published in 2007

What makes this diverse congregation, this desperate assembly of people into calling themselves Indians?  Our erstwhile colonialists would take some credit for constructing this identity by their geographical unification of this huge landmass into a nation, perhaps for the first time in our history.  Beyond the political constructs of ‘state’, ‘nation’ and the concomitant arousal of passions of ‘nationalism’, are there stray sociological strings which tie and knot our people to form a unique pattern and design?  Could we march further  from  the much touted ‘mozaic of cultures’ to discover one overwhelming design which units us all?  The larger and bigger question perhaps is, are we to understand our relationship to the territory we inhabit and the institutions of state in the western linear sense of something borne out of assuming another identity for the sake of establishing this bonding (a Leviathan which has come into existence for this purpose) or are there unique features which deviates or departs from the western model?

These were some of the questions which arise in our minds even before opening this book.  Sudhir and Katharina Kakar provide some answers to these questions.  In the opinion of the authors, the building blocks of Indianness are:  an ideology of family and other crucial relationships that derives from the institution of the joint family; a view of social relations profoundly influenced by the institution of caste; an image of the human body and bodily process that is based on the medical system of Ayurveda; and a cultural imagination teeming with shared myths and legends, especially from the epics Ramayana and Mahabharata, that underscore a ‘romantic’ vision of human life and a relativist, context-dependent way of thinking.

Young and modern Indians would finds references to joint family and caste relationships as crucial components of Indianness quite disquieting, but these two institutions still remain crucial factors in defining the personal identity of a large mass of Indians.  The authors do concede the fact that Indian identity has not remained a constant, fixed and unchanging through the march of history.  As they put it, Indic civilization has been in constant ferment through its encounters with Islam and European civilizations, but had not only that inherent capacity to absorb and assimilate these influences but be proud of such inheritance!

What makes our ‘family’ an inherent part of our selves even in modern times?  In the view of the authors, the institution of family has continued to discharge its function as a ‘fall back’ tool for Indians in times of need.  Such a continuous reliance on family also adversely reflects our lack of faith in the effectiveness of modern institutions of state.  In the absence of effective institutions of state, achievements of individuals are still seen as achievements of the family rather than that of the Institutions or of those individuals.

Caste is another social institution unique to India and is of enormous influence.  The Kakars hold that the organising principle of caste system is the notion of ‘pollution’ and ‘impurity’ and they cite Alan Dndes’ postulate about association of these notions with faeces, instilled by the Hindu cultures toilet training.  The Kakars go on to deny this association, but it is important considering the fact that such ‘impure’ jobs are still being performed by the so called ‘untouchables’.

Between the two, caste and family, which one pulls a modern Indian towards it more?  The authors note that for an increasing tribe of professions, civil servants, managers and others, it is easier to repudiate their caste than shed their responsibilities to their families, given the moral stigma attached to family obligations.  There is riveting discussion about the innate preference of a son in Indian families, discrimination built against daughters, their careful ‘nurturing’, the role of mother in-law in monitoring the functions of a daughter in-law in the new family and especially in preventing any kind of attachment and tenderness to develop between the son and the new entrant.  But by far the most fascinating discussion is about the ‘love’ versus ‘arranged’ marriage and why love marriages are perceived to be so upsetting to the psyche of an Indian.

Even with the express inhibition, if not prohibition against love marriage, why does ‘love’ hold such a fascination to the Indian mind?  The elaborate answer given by the authors need to reproduced in full:  “Love and the lyrical impulse of its narration are indeed universal, one of the few constants left in a world that makes a fetish of cultural relativism.  Erotic passion, with love’s tender discoveries, sudden torments and consuming desires, is one of the last bastions of our common humanity.  In India, as in most other cultures through history, the love story has never been a reflection but a subverter of the accepted mores prescribing the relations between the sexes.  The pleasure we take in this subversion is one of the many enduring fascinations of the love story which is a vehicle for the vicarious satisfaction of our hidden desires and obscure longings.  The love story, whether in movies or fiction, is the dream of capturing love’s freshness and spontaneity free of all social restrictions and internal inhibitions and of becoming one with the beloved while overwhelming the forces that would dampen desire and the urge to merge.”  Perhaps, the Kakars provide the direction which the fast-changing Indian world must traverse, if it is to find fulfilment.

It is difficult to agree with the authors’ view that a belief in the curative potential of Ayurveda holds any fascination for the Indian mind, considering the poor state of research efforts being put into this system of medicine and the inability of its practioners to build an effective cadre of medical professionals.  More than health, a fuller discussion on our food habits would have been useful considering the fact that our culinary practices exhibit more commonality.

The  greatest cliché about this country is our supposed ‘spiritualism’.  In contrast to other people, we are supposed to lead more spiritual lives and place more reliance on the non-worldly quotient than the crude obsession with materialist possession.  The discussion on religion and spiritual lives of Indians brings out the fact that we are as much prone to materialist longings as others.  One breed of this unholy nexus between  the spiritual and material is the ‘flexible Hindu’ who combines the opportunity presented by material benefits to explore other ‘spiritual byways’.  Such characters are aplenty and they hog the headlines in the newspapers for all the wrong reasons.

No discussion of Indianness would be complete without delving into the question of religious differences, especially Hindu-Muslim relationship, which has bedevilled the country for so long with disastrous consequences.  Quite unlike others, the authors    seem optimistic when they chart the futuristic course as one of recognition and tolerance of the differences – indeed benign indifference - between these two communities rather than evolving into a ‘composite culture’.

Have the authors left anything which has a bearing on Indianness?  One feature  which would have enriched this discussion is the fusion of technological innovations in the daily lives of Indians.  The easy adoptability of technological innovations by Indians, especially by people belonging to the lowest strata of society, needs a probe.  How technological changes have affected family lives, caste relationships, sexuality and even spiritual lives also need a detailed study.

First Law of Bargaining

One of the assumptions which people from the South carry when they come visiting Delhi is that nothing, practically, nothing is gotten without a tough bargain.  The most popular and unsolicited advice rendered by their friends to people going to Delhi is that they should bargain and quote a figure at least 50% of the price demanded by the vendors.  Experiences of their own visits to markets such as the ones at Karol Bagh, Sarojini Nagar and Chandini Chowk are recalled with relish; of how they purchased a Jacket for Rs.250 after a hard bargain when the vendor demanded Rs.600,  how  the price of a fancy lamp was brought down to Rs.1200 when the seller did not budge from his price of Rs.2500.  A visitor who did not get an article for less than 50% of the price demanded by the seller is considered to be an ‘innocent goose’ who is not well-versed in the ‘tricks of the trade’ or even worse, a ‘moron’ who is oblivious of the ‘wicked world’ out there in the open.

I realised how deep rooted this feeling is when a few relatives came to visit Delhi in the nineties.  After the customary ‘sight-seeing’ around the city and the equally compulsory trips to Agra and Jaipur, they set out to do the ‘purchase’.  Their heavily-accented Hindi spoken  was huge problem.  With this handicap, the game is lost even before its commencement!  The boys selling their wares aren’t Jesus ready to bear the bombardment of the  ‘Madrasis’.  They could track the origin of the buyers down to their villages just by a glance of their faces!  These boys would even speak half-dozen languages, Tamil, Telegu, Malayalam, Kannada, Bengali etc to woo the customers.

After a cursory glance at the market and gauging their size and articles staked, the visitors went for the kill.  A sweater for Rs.200, handbags for Rs.75, office bags for Rs.300 and the list went on and on, all bargained for half the prize!  When they were loaded to the full and could hardly lift them, I suggested that they travel by rickshaw to the nearest bus stop for our onward journey to Lawrence Road, where I stayed.  I followed them behind in my motor-bike.  At some point, there was traffic congestion, but the rickshaw could manage to squeeze through.  I was caught in the jam and lost track of them.  When I reached the nearest bus-stop, there was no trace of them.  After waiting for a while, I went back to the market to find out whether they lost their way.  Unable to find them, I came back to the bus-stop again.  This time, they congregated with their bags and bag gages, ready to pounce upon me for my indiscretion which kept them waiting for so long.  To relieve the dead-lock, I politely enquired what had really happened?  One of them said, they asked the rickshawallh to take them to Lawrence Road and unable find me there, they came back to Karol Bagh by the same rickshaw so that I do not become disturbed!

Remember this happened in the early nineties Delhi, before the mobile era.  After receiving an unconcealed jab at my ‘lack of devotion to duty’ (When we were at Bombay last time, Suresh always followed us like our shadows!), I gathered them for our onward march to Lawrence Road. Before proceeding, one of them boasted his ‘achievement’ on how he bargained with the rickshawallah.  After the back and forth journey to Lawrence road from Karol Bagh (a total distance of 15 kms), the rickshawallah demaned Rs.80, which my relative instantly reduced to Rs.40!  The lengthy negotiations failed to produce results, not quite unlike the Indo-Pak talks!  Again like Indo-Pak confabulations, one the parties, the rickshwallah walked out in anger refusing to accept Rs.40.

Now I became serious and realised the enormity of injustice caused to the poor rickshawallah.  I demanded a mark of identity of the rickshawallah so that I could trace him and pay the money demanded by him, which was quite reasonable.   I was told that he wore a ‘spectacle’.  I tried to locate him in two or three gatherings of rickshaw-pullers but could not find a rickshaw-puller with a spectacle. All of them said they had never seen a rickshawallah with a spectacle in their life-times!  I realised that probably the man was an ‘outsider’ who did not belong to this place.

A believer would have concluded that all this was an act of God - ‘Bhagwan ka Leela’ – the closest one could come to meeting God in person, God in the guise of a man who vanished into thin air!  To a rationalist, it was just a case of human folly and justice going upside down.  I was neither and I blamed it all on the inapplicability of the ‘first law of bargaining’ in all situations!

You neither allow me to eat, nor........

It was another frustrating day.  I could not share the festive mood in which my neighbours were in.   I was on my way to the Doctor to treat my wife for a suspected infection of dengue.  Though dengue was clearly ruled out after blood test, the persistence of vomiting in her made us suspicious still.  The untimely pestering of children to get their demands fulfilled first tested our patience.

After I reached the clinic, the first thing I did was to  include her name in the list of patients, warding off the threat posed by two other women patients in include theirs.  In the eerie silence of the doctor’s ward, the only voice we could hear was that of the doctor himself.  The patient consulting him was probably 50-55 years old.  Her dialogue was interspersed with complete sentences of English, which made us believe that she was fairly educated.  As the conversation with the doctor proceeded, it became clear that she was a teacher in possibly a Senior Secondary School.  First, she wanted a ‘certificate’ for the period of treatment she underwent with the doctor.  As the Schools were about to re-open after puja holidays, the teacher wanted the certificate to regulate her absence.  Don’t we  all ‘combine’ holidays with ‘leave of absence on medical grounds’ with the assistance of a helpful doctor!

As I was lost in my thoughts, I lost track of her consultation with the doctor.  When I picked up their dialogue again, I could hear her sobbing.  The doctor admonished her in Hindi, “Nothing, absolutely nothing comes good by crying.  Face the world with a smile and laughter.  When you laugh, the world joins you; when you cry, nobody would!  Unlike other doctors, I don’t beat around the bush.  I call a spade a spade.  I tell the truth on the face of the patients.”

Suddenly, all the waiting patients looked up.  The doctor continued, “ You have got to take a dose of Insulin daily for the rest of your life.  I cannot tell you for how long.  If it gets cured on its own, then I would be the happiest.  All I can tell you is, you need to take it till you get cured.  The moment you are completely cured, I would be the first person to offer you a box of sweets.”

Slightly convinced by this line of argument, the lady gathered some courage and asked the doctor whether she should take the dose of insulin before breakfast or lunch.  The doc became a little tougher.  He said, “You need to take it before lunch.   If  you don’t have breakfast, have one.  But don’t take lunch if you already had break-fast.  Take a dose of insulin at your school and have a cup of tea without sugar for lunch!  That’s it!”

The lady was downcast and crestfallen.  All her efforts at getting some ‘concession’ on the eating front have been in vain.  She left the consultation room in a huff.  As she passed by, I could hear her say, “Mujhe Khanay Bi nahin dhetay, Aur...........”