by Shobhaa De
An Italian magistrate, who also happens to be a highly successful crime-writer, was interviewing me on the last day of the last leg of his twenty-two day journey through India. Another whistle-stop book telling us how ‘exotic’ and ‘complex’ we are? I hope not! Gian Carlo seemed far too intelligent to fall into that silly trap. He'd been taking copious notes and talking to dozens of people. I did my own sales pitch with additional doses of josh. India is impossible to categorize, I told him. It needs several lives to fathom. He brought up the inevitable China comparison. he looked particularly crestfallen when discussing India's poverty. I leaned forward (deep eye contact always helps) and said, ‘The big difference is that in China poverty has been made invisible. You don't see the poor because they are forced out of sight. They've been shunted out to remote regions to which tourists are never given access. In India, we are dealing with our poverty far more openly. We may not be doing a brilliant job of it, but at least we are not marginalizing our poor by pretending they don't exist.’
Poverty scares Westerners
It upsets them greatly. I believe it has to do with memories and stories about the two World Wars they survived. The horror of those decades of deprivation, starvation and torture have not been entirely buried or dealt with. Psychologically, the spectre of poverty scares the hell out of them. Behind that veil of ‘sympathy’ is panic—‘What if this happens to us?’
We, on the other hand, can afford to throw a really unabashed OTT bash for once! No more cost-cutting, no more shopping around for tacky, cheapie party favours. At present, India is very much the belle of the ball, why ruin the magical moment by spoilsport self-denigration?
There's much that begs for serious and immediate fixing. But there's a lot out there worth celebrating, too. Money isn't everything. But in an arena where money does call the shots, India is looking ‘hot’ (like our Bollywood stars, cricketers and fashion models).
Like it does for any protective Indian parent, this has me worried. The momentum is moving brilliantly ahead— despite bureaucracy and the awful politicians. French President Sarkozy was the chief guest for the spectacular Republic Day parade. Good move. We need him. The French need us. The chances of the present coalition government hanging in there, precariously or otherwise, are looking good. The commies have backed off (for now), but not before creating dramatic flutters (the Sensex's yoyo-ing is attributed to the commie factor during the complicated 1–2-3 crisis). Barring the breakout of a nuclear war, or a global calamity, India's position is looking unshakeable. Natural disasters? Well, we live with those. We cope.
And dare I say, in our own clumsy, bungling way, we seem to do it better than the mighty United States of America (still dealing unsuccessfully with the devastation wrought by Katrina in New Orleans). Our tsunami efforts were not perfect by any standards years ago. But we got on with our lives shortly after, and rehabilitation programmes continue in their own crazy way. The thing is, we bounce back. And fast. How we manage to do that, time and time again, remains an esoteric puzzle. Some say it is in our Karmic coding. We are philosophical enough to handle crises of whatever magnitude, believing it is our dharma to do so with grace and fortitude. Left to ourselves, without the annoying interferences that cripple us (Babudom! Forms in triplicate! Rules and regulations! Damn!), we are incredibly resourceful and innovative. Our problem-solving skills may be considered unconventional by others, but we know exactly how to deploy them when stuck.
Survival instincts? Heck… each day of our lives tests them. And our billion-plus numbers tell the whole story. Today, if we indulge in some much-needed morale-boosting and shameless bragging, we can afford to get away with both. It's a good time to be an Indian. Especially an Indian in India. We have taught ourselves not to get shaken by perceived or real international insults. From being hyper-sensitive, we've become totally cool. Just like those young adults one overhears chatting animatedly in gleaming shopping malls. We finally seem to have got our act together and figured out what we're all about. We are a delicious bhel-puri, dahi-misal, bisi bele, chorchori, chaat— whatever tickles your palate. The tantalizing tastes of India are finding takers all over the world— metaphorically and literally.
Let Britons claim that inedible yellow paste as the ultimate Indian ‘curry’ if they wish to. We know better. And our curries defy such easy categorization, such simplification. Just like us! We have thousands and thousands of curries from across the length and breadth of India. Each one unique, delicious and easy to digest. Like us.
Sometimes, I purr contentedly and say to myself, ‘Gosh We're very attractive people, aren't we? I must have done something very right to be born Indian.’ These moments used to be rare, very rare, earlier. But during the past two years, I have been purring quite a lot.
Before I start looking like the cat which has swallowed the cream, I do a quick ‘removing the evil eye’ ritual (it involves spit, and you really don't want to know the details!). Nazar is a delicate superstition. It's a little like a fond grandmother who refuses to pay compliments to her grandchildren, fearing her love and admiration will attract the dark forces and affect the kids adversely. That restraint applies to receiving compliments from strangers as well. The eyes will glow with pride, but a devoted granny will never openly agree with an outsider's gush about her brood. ‘God knows what's in the person's heart?’ she'll argue— before hastily changing the subject.
Similarly, I stop myself from going stupidly overboard with the praise, especially when I'm discussing India with foreigners. I used to make mistakes earlier and go blue in the face explaining, apologizing, defending. These days, I merely shrug… and smile enigmatically. It's enough for me to ‘know’. Why brag? I don't know what's in anyone's heart, either. As my granny would say, ‘How pure is that person's gaze? Can you tell? How black are that person's thoughts? Does anybody know?’ I like to think my present reticence has to do with confidence and faith. Both are personal belief systems that don't require propagandist rhetoric.
The young Indian does not have to boast, either. Most don't. Their main problem revolves around identity. But even that has solutions. It's a phase, a mere pause. When the country's own identity is undergoing such a dramatic change compacted neatly into a decade, what can one expect from the people who are an intrinsic part of this switchover? I said lightly to a lady who expressed her anxiety over her children's reluctance to dress ‘Indian’ during festivals. I told her young India was bland and featureless, like blancmange. All wobbly and uncertain. But, so what? If her daughter prefers jeans over any other outfit and her son speaks ‘American’, not ‘English’ or Hindi or any other Indian language, so be it.
Global is as global does
The faster young Indians integrate into the new borderless world, the better will be their opportunities. We will all be hurtling across continents and putting down roots (temporary, of course) wherever our fancy dictates.
Not all these decisions will be based on good sense or economics. Unlike their forefathers, who didn't dare, this generation has gone beyond mere daring. It is living its dreams. Those dreams may baffle/annoy the previous generation, but that's what social change is all about. India's youth realizes it is a vital part of the India story. There is a special thrill in knowing you are drivers of dramatic, revolutionary, sweeping alterations that are likely to impact lives over the next hundred, even two hundred years.
Talking to an enthusiastic engineering student at an Id dinner, I was riveted by his take on the situation. No matter that, as we tucked into delicious biryani, a bomb had exploded in Ludhiana, killing half-a-dozen people. As he was a young Muslim professional, I asked him what he felt at that moment. He shrugged, not indifferently, but pragmatically. ‘It happens. It is sad. But it happens… is happening. All over the world, not just in India. We have to address the problem. Ignore the symptoms, and we are doomed! Our terrorist-watch mechanisms aren't good enough. We have to tackle that issue first. Demand answers from elected representatives. And if those
answers aren't good enough, stop cribbing and get into a more pro-active mode. Join politics. Or, at least motivate the people around you to get more involved. In Mumbai, students are too passive and disengaged. Not entirely a bad thing. I mean, look at Delhi University! But if more students became aware of their rights, and India focuses on basic and higher education for all, things are bound to change.’
I liked his optimism, and the fact that the news of the blast had not unhinged him. His response was measured and rational. If more Indians thought like him, behaved like him and remained as positive, I'd be exhausting a kilo of kaajal a day, putting those black spots on everything in sight!
*
Dil Chahta Hai that I could be around for the next sixty years just to watch India soar still higher. That it is going to do so, is indisputable. At least, in my besotted mind. I also believe strongly that the new Golden Age for India is here. If Emperor Ashoka heralded its dawn during his reign (273 BC to 232 BC, it is believed), it's up to the present generation to reignite long-buried pride and passion for a glorious future. There is really no excuse, no reason why we can't regain all that was once ours.
Nothing's gonna stop us, now, is becoming a familiar and very cheery refrain on campuses. Parents who agonize over their children drifting away and forgetting their ‘Indianness’ (I am one of those!) must teach themselves to realign and rethink their own priorities. ‘Being Indian’ itself has different connotations from what it had during Mahatma Gandhi's time. Wearing khadi has become a fashion statement for the elite, with no connection to nationalism. The youth may appear ‘directionless’ to us but in that same state lies their strength!
They can afford to take their time before taking the plunge, be it into a vocation or marriage. The options and opportunities are unlimited. When I hear stories about students from the most economically backward communities working their way up and finding wonderful careers in, say, hotel management, I applaud them.
These sorts of hat ke opportunities did not exist in my time. Studious siblings and contemporaries opted for safe, steady but boring careers, since their own parents had endured years of uncertainty, and they didn't want to repeat the experience.
But, look at our youngsters today—they may give the appearance of being unmotivated bums, taking ten years to graduate and ten more to find proper jobs. But in fact, they are actually living life far more fully than my own anxious generation. Their thinking is bold, out-of-the-box and vastly stimulating. Their outlook is adventurous and daring. They challenge the status quo all the time, and take the sort of crazy chances we never did—or could. My reactions go from panic to admiration, even envy at times. What a life! Look at their body language, man! That says it all. They walk tall. They strut, not shuffle. The gait is brisk and confident. Gone is the typical ‘Indian Stoop’ and apologetic demeanour. How terrific a shift is that?
Don't worry. Be happy. Some of us cluck-cluck our disapproval and say self-righteously, ‘Oh, but look how lazy they are. They do nothing but eat and sleep. Where will these people be twenty years from now? Their values are hopeless. They smoke, drink, have indiscriminate sex, do drugs, show scant respect for elders, can't speak any Indian language correctly, are indifferent to history and tradition, live selfishly, dress absurdly, waste money… they are gone cases…’
Well, some are. But most are not. If they appear to be doing zilch, they can afford to! Their supposed irresponsibility is actually an important period of taking stock. We had no such luxury—true. But why grudge it these guys if they have it in abundance? Again, it's another demonstration of India's growing prosperity.
Life really is a beach for the lucky Indians born in the '80s and '90s. They find it hard to believe the stories told to them by their parents and grandparents. Their India has arrived! Their India is a superstar! A big player on the global scene. Mega success fuels mega ambitions. Today, any and every Indian can dream big and reach for the sky.
Talk to that chaiwallah boy in the modest, roadside canteen. Listen to him boast about how he'll own a trucking company when he grows up. He believes it's possible. He is as fully invested in India as that ambitious entrepreneur who plans to make a killing in the IT field. Both have a bloody good chance of making it.
The notion of success itself has undergone so much change. This new-found buoyancy is based on sound fundamentals, despite the misgivings of India-watchers who'd like the bubble to burst—sooner rather than later.
Talking to a European ambassador, I was amused by the man's arrogance, as he sniggered superciliously at the euphoria surrounding the Sensex (it was at 19,000 that crazy night). ‘Speculation—that's all it is,’ he pronounced, even as I contradicted his sweeping generalizations and provided a few facts and figures to substantiate my claims. He looked unconvinced and lofty, as he talked about his experiences with Indian business people. ‘I was in Bihar recently…’ he said, recycling the tired observations on the lawlessness and chaos there. ‘At one point, we lost our police escort, and I can tell you, it was a terrifying feeling to be on those awful roads without protection.’ I pointed out how similar his Bihar experience sounded to goings-on in his own country. He hastily changed the subject and said he loved wearing kurtas during Delhi's hot summers— ‘it's a good costume… I like it. But I definitely don't like the way Indian designers cut our jackets.’
‘“Our” jackets, Mr Ambassador? What do you mean?’ I demanded. He went on (rather undiplomatically) to establish European supremacy over tailored blazers and suits. ‘Those are constructed for European body shapes. I've given a chance to some of your best designers. Sorry— they can't get it right, no matter how hard they try. Our chests, our silhouettes are different… Indians are totally flat-chested…’ Oops. Has the man seen SRK's six-pack or Salman's impressive ‘cleavage’
*
‘I don't want to let go of India,’ a beautiful woman from Mumbai said to me with tears in her eyes. Married to a European for the past five years, she now lives in a small town in Austria with a husband who adores her. Though she visits Mumbai frequently (at least thrice a year), she is unable to get enough of a fill on each trip. ‘I miss everything about our crazy country,’ she confessed over a lassi. ‘My life in Austria couldn't be more luxurious. I have every imaginable comfort—including a driver and a maid— which is rare in Europe. My husband's family loves me and I love them, too. But when I'm in Austria, I long for India… when I'm here… I long to return. Is there something wrong with me?’
Talking to an ambassador, I was amused by the man's arrogance, a he sniggered at the euphoria surrounding th the Sensex
We both laughed it off, and I teased her about her handsome husband, saying, ‘Get him to come to Mumbai. His business is bound to boom still further. Look at what's happening here You'll be able to afford three chauffeurs and five maids.’
I was half-joking. There was a time when Indian girls of a marriageable age would have given anything to marry a foreigner and settle overseas. It was considered a one-way ticket to a better life.
Today, the situation has reversed. Non- Resident Indians seeking ‘Suitable Boys’ for their daughters, look eagerly for alliances in India. ‘Everything is happening in India now… good food, good homes, good education. Why look anywhere else?’ It makes me chuckle.
Roti, kapda aur makaan. Basics. The three fundamentals many more Indians can finally start taking for granted. Food. Clothes. Shelter. It can't get more organic than that. ‘When stomachs are full, poetry dies,’ I once heard an impoverished poet lamenting. What a romantic notion. But how inaccurate.
Hunger has haunted India for far too long. Today, perhaps for the first time in Independent India's sixty-year-old history, hunger has been dealt with. There's enough food for all. Starvation deaths have little to do with the quantity of food available, as Nobel laureate Amartya Sen has reminded the world in his brilliant book dissecting famine. Food—that small four-letter word, is one thing every Indian should be able to count on as a given. This is no
thing short of a miracle. Self-sufficiency in this crucial area has given every Indian the confidence that a full belly provides.
Not that starvation can be wished away all that easily. Nor can corruption (which leads to starvation deaths in the first place). But today, every Indian knows food is available in plenty. That shortages are manmade. That no child needs to go hungry because of lack of food in the country. Like Sen points out, it isn't about the availability of food, it is the lack of a will to ensure food gets to the mouths that most need it. Balwadi children in strife-torn Kashmir Valley are given bowls of pulses and rice that have rotted due to the negligence of the government officers in charge of distributing grains to these kids.
The women protest on television that the meals are inedible, leading to sickness if consumed. But nothing happens to those responsible for this disgrace. It remains a TV story. A ‘meaningful filler’ between clips of the launch of a flagship Gucci store in south Mumbai and quotes from Shah Rukh Khan taking a swipe at Sony Pictures for distributing a rival's film (‘Indians will watch my movie, and Americans will go to see the other one’). All three images are a vital part of the mega India story in their own ways.
Gucci in Mumbai? Sure. There are enough eager buyers ready to shell out two lakh rupees for a limited edition bag. SRK reinforcing the ‘Indian’ component in his hardsell. Yup. Chak de, India! wasn't the top grosser of 2007, for nothing.
Kids in Kashmir rejecting substandard food? That, too. India may be shining, glowing and glittering. But the warts will take longer to disappear. The important thing is that the overhauling process has begun—falteringly, perhaps. But it is definitely underway.
Ironically, I received a poignant e-mail from an Italian friend who lives in India, and has been here for over thirty years, shuttling between Pune and Goa. He was on a short visit to Italy in order to get his paperwork sorted out before coming back. The tone of his e-mail struck me as being inadvertently appropriate. ‘I find Italy so vulgar after India. Especially the images on television… the way people dress, drink and eat these days.’ Reading these lines, I thought of several grand evenings I'd been to in Mumbai/Delhi over the past five years. They could be described as ‘vulgar’ too. Glamorous or vulgar? What a tightrope we are forced to walk these days!
