Of Being Indian

I recently read Pavan K.Varma's Being Indian: Inside the Real India as part of the project of reading my own books. I understand that there are quite a few books that attempt to distill the essence of India into chapter sized generalisations, such as The Argumentative Indian and India Unbound. Like all good social commentators, Pavan K. Varma acknowledges that for every generalisation he offers, the opposite is equally true for a vast country like India. He sets out to break certain myths - that Indians are spiritual or other-worldly and inherently non-violent - and takes on the behemoths of technology and pan-Indianness.

Varma argues that Indians are as materialistic as any other people on earth and that their spirituality co-exists undisturbed with materialism and the quest for Lakshmi. I agree with most of his observations about the pursuit and relentless exhibition of wealth and power in India. I have two main quibbles with these sections of the book though. For one, some of these myths are not as widespread as the author thinks they are. The book was first published in 2004, and by then we were sufficiently into the liberalised economy for materialism to have become a common societal malaise. The idea of India as a spiritual and non-violent cocoon may have been an Orientalist construct, but by 2004 it is more an easy straw figure against which Varma can lay out his argument. One should argue against stereotypes, but neither the stereotypes nor the arguments against them should be simplistic.

Which brings me to my second quibble. Yes, Indians are materialistic, pursue and display power blatantly and chase wealth as an ideal goal without any niggling sense of discomfort. But how is that different from a majority of people anywhere in the world? We do not grow up outside the world, and the world today, whether London or Ludhiana (the problem with easy generalisations is that they are catching!) is a world that extols the virtues of wealth and success, that thrusts the messages of consumption down our throats 24/7. I do not think I can say of any space in the world that the people living there do not pursue power. Yes, I am aware that there is a minimalism movement in the West, and I am thankful for it. That movement however shapes itself as opposed to the dominant culture, and unfortunately the dominant culture in the world today is very similar, no matter what part of the world you are in. If I wax philosophical, I would argue that this is not only about the world today. The desire to acquire and possess has always been a part of the human condition. Merchants found plying the Silk Route profitable because there were men and women desirous of buying silk and willing to pay well for it.

As far as technology is concerned, Varma argues that the almost universal emphasis on a certain kind of higher education - engineering and English (the language and not the literature) for example - makes Indians better at being the outsourcing capital of the world. He also discusses how they are usually software coolies, doing the more manual of the work while the creative work is done in the West. Some Indians working in American environments are able to tap into creativity and compete alongside the first citizens of the online world. Varma states that "Indian society encourages status-quoism and tolerates mediocrity" (p. 122). As a student and a teacher in India, I came up against the vagaries of the system often enough to sympathise with this idea. At the same time, I would argue that these phenomena are as much about colonialism and structures of power as about systems of education. When you praise Indians for their 'jugaad' in the chapter on business but declare their inability to be creative in the chapter, you are not only undermining your own argument, but also demonstrating that perceptions change as context changes. Current perceptions in technology rest along the Orientalist axis of Western work as inherently superior to Eastern work. After all, it is American freedom that sets glorious Indian minds free! I have studied in both Indian and Australian universities, and I would argue that a lack of resources is as much of a problem as the lack of innovative thinking. Universities in both India and Australia have good and bad thinkers, and I am sure both Indian and American IT companies have similar pools of creative and not-creative thinkers.

The final section of the book focusses on the idea of pan-Indianness. This topic is of special interest to me, given that my thesis flirts with the ways in which ideas of India are constructed. Varma attributes greater cohesion in Indian identity to the usual suspects - popular culture, which is mostly Bollywood, and greater mobility within India, courtesy transportation and the new jobs of a liberalised economy. I am just surprised that he does not mention cricket. It is a familiar argument, and I do not oppose it in the sense of 'no, this is incorrect'. Yes, Bollywood does interest a large number of people in India (except me, of course :P). At the same time, the rise of the vernacular television channels and movie industries show that both these seemingly contradictory arguments - "Bollywood brings India together" and "the rise of regional cinemas shows that regional identity is not dead" - are equally valid and relevant. They bear each other out even as they cancel each other out.

It is in this section that Varma brings up the stereotype of non-violence. He argues that Indians can be violent when it has social sanction, and prefer to compromise when the opponent in superior and there is the prospect of annihilation. The violence perpetuated on a regular basis against Dalit, minorities and poor people certainly makes the notion of Indians being nonviolent seem like a cruel joke perpetrated on those who live with the routine violence of everyday Indian life. At the same time, Varma argues that violence levels are relatively low because of a certain kind of pragmatism in the Indian fabric. Violence is bad for business, and different religious communities find ways of living and working together that work for them and keep violence at bay as exceptional rather than the norm. Again, I do not disagree with the argument per se. I do have two quibbles again. One is that 'not too much violence' is a slippery slope kind of an argument. In a nation of a billion people, how many people have to die before we think that too many people have been killed? (yes, I badly paraphrased the song) What I mean is this: the idea that India is relatively peaceful works in certain contexts, wherein we look at violence and deaths in other countries or at an abstract number that seems large, and so we derive notions of relative peace and relative goodwill. Just like everywhere else in the world, religious identities are far more complex, and ways of living and working together enmeshed in these identities in far more complicated ways than 'we are all a relatively not so violent family' would suggest. Yes, people from different communities work together, but who owns the business and who is the labour?

My second quibble is similar to the one I made above. Violence is endemic to the human condition, as 'natural' as natural can be. These instances - of violence against specific communities or groups of people, as well as co-existence - are not exclusive to India alone. Across history, in all sorts of conflicts and wars, we have seen the best and the worst of human behaviour on display. This brings me to my central problem with the book, and probably with other such books, with the idea of such books. Whatever the aspects identified as being Indian, whether positive or negative, are ultimately narratives created to serve their purpose in arguments. They may or may not be true, but their truth or falsity is not the point. Any series of circumstances or phenomena can be woven together to present one picture, and we can go on creating multiple such pictures. Some arguments are more compelling than others. I am sure some books on Indian realities are more insightful than others, and I hope to find and read them. At the same time, all these books create realities as much as document them, and there is not an Indian reality that exists outside of such documentations.

16 June 2009

We have been married for five years today. Half a decade has gone by. It feels like time has simply flown past, as if it were just yesterday that Vipul and I went to Prithvi theatre in Mumbai for a date. At the same time, it feels like forever, as if this was always the way life was meant to turn out. So do I have any words of wisdom, any pearls of truth about what makes a happy marriage? Yes I do.

The secret of a happy marriage is simply this: Marry Vipul. And everything will turn out to be wonderful. You'll have to find your own Vipul though. This one is taken!

Narendra Modi's Opening Gambits

I am doing my PhD at the School of Culture, History and Language (CHL) at ANU, which falls under the College of Asia and the Pacific (CAP). What does that have to do with Narendra Modi, you may well ask. Well, I have written a blog post called Narendra Modi's Opening Gambits, and it has been published on the College's website. Here is a link, in case you are interested.

http://asiapacific.anu.edu.au/news-events/all-stories/narendra-modis-opening-gambits#.U5BImV5hMpE

Any further sharing shall make me happy. If that's not your goal in life, what else is?!

Canberra Calling

On a windy day last month, Shabdita and I moved to Canberra to start a PhD at the Australian National University. I was sobbing with apprehension, not sure if I was making a big mistake moving with a child younger than two, starting afresh in a new city. Vipul's job, unfortunately, is in Adelaide, and so we have become a three member family in two cities. He comes on weekends and whenever he can, and stays as long as possible. When he's not around, mostly on weekdays and sometimes on alternate weekends, I learn what it is like to be a single mom, and we both learn anew how much living together in one house means to us.

As I settled down in Canberra, the apprehension slowly turned into excitement. Yes, it is challenging to be on my own, whether it will be less or more difficult also depends to a large extent on what I make of it. I am really happy to be back in a University environment, and just walking around a University campus with Shabdita feels so good. I hope I pass on this sense of excitement to her; I hope that she is happy to be in an atmosphere of learning someday. There are logistical environments to be established. I need to get Internet at home, for example, which has currently become a task akin to climbing Mt. Everest. Yes, that's not entirely true. Climbing Mt. Everest is surely easier! Anyway, I am on my way to getting these things done and sorted. When I look back to last month, I can see that I have come a long way. Shabdita and I have a home and are working towards a routine. She comes into my office with me, which has toys and a table for her, and sometimes she lets me work while she plays!

What are the biggest lessons that I have learnt in the last month? First and foremost, I have learnt how much Vipul's presence matters to my life. It is but a half life, literally, when spent apart from him. I have also learnt that it is important for me to work,to have hopes and dreams and plans and goals. I have also learnt that I am stronger than I think I am, and I am not as much of a disaster in the domestic department as I thought I was. Food gets cooked, the house gets cleaned, the laundry gets done and the dishes get washed. The house has not fallen apart. I think living on my own revealed to me the beauty of self reliance. As long as there is one more person in the house, there is always something that you think the other person will do. Now I don't have that mental luxury any more. Shabdita is not really cleaning up yet! I've realised that rather than think 'X (or V in my case!) needs to do this', it is not just simpler to do it yourself, but also more satisfying. After throwing out the trash, killing insects and cleaning up after dead insects, I realise that normally I would have waited or nagged for these things to be done. It is incredibly liberating, for I now feel that these things do not matter at all. Chores get done. They are not worth arguing or getting worked up about. Doing them everyday has a rhythm of its own and can become comforting and even beautiful if you want to see them that way.

I have also enjoyed getting to know Canberra. It is a quirky city that takes some getting used to. Its combination of roundabouts, greenery and sector-like suburbs makes me feel as if I'm back in Gandhinagar again. It is slow and sparsely inhabited, and again this requires an attitudinal adjustment. I've heard people complain that there is nothing to do here, and I've had difficulty motivating myself to leave the University to return to my empty house. The house is filling up now, and my books and Shabdita's toys will arrive soon from Adelaide, and then the house will be populated with old and new friends. Even now, it is the leaving that is difficult. Once we are home, I have the radio playing (no Internet so no Bollywood music, sadly) and the whistling kettle on the stove. As my make dinner, Shabdita plays around. Often she wants to be carried and see what I am up to. She babbles alongside the radio, and is definitely more entertaining. Some nights she is full of energy, running around, babbling, dancing and trying to jump. Some nights she falls asleep soon, and I curl up next to her under the warm duvet, reading until I fall asleep. I like this pace of life. I must be officially old, but I think such an evening is a wonderful one, and the only thing missing is Vipul to talk to. I like not having a tv any more, and am planning not to get one. I want to try other things, which I shall update here as and when vagary strikes.

One thing that I'm very grateful for is the kindness of strangers. In my very first week here, desperately house hunting, I ordered a coffee and then couldn't find the card in my purse. I was already exhausted and started blabbering to the owner 'I can't find my card. I'll call my husband on the mobile and he can read out his card number to you, that you can fill out. I'm sorry. It's just one of those days' even while dialing the phone to Vipul, who was not able to take a call then. A woman walked up to the counter and paid for my coffee. Once Shabdita and I were in the bus and it started raining heavily outside. On top of that, she sneezed and that too more than once. The girl sitting next to me asked me 'when you get off, do you want my umbrella?'. At another time, Shabdita and I were caught in a sudden burst of rain and made a dash from the car park to my office building. A woman who was about to start her car rushed out and insisted on giving us her umbrella. When I told her I only needed to get till the building, she personally escorted us to the building, holding the umbrella over us like a protective charm, which is what it was. To all these women, thank you. Your kindness has warmed up this cold city for me. A note, especially for the grandparents: I have an umbrella and I now carry it everywhere. I wouldn't let Shabdita get wet, so please do not worry.

This had to be saved for the last. In Canberra, when a bus reaches the final stop, the announcement inside the bus reads thus "This bus, on arrival at the next stop, terminates. Please disembark.' I get a mental image of a bus, empty after the passengers have disembarked, exploding in a flash of self-pity, a la Marvin the paranoid android. Ah, bureaucratic town. Wouldn't it have been simpler to just say 'The next stop is the final one' and leave me without visions of exploding buses in my head?!