Notes On the Great Indian Circus

by Khushwant Singh

  ‘Yuppy’ is an elongation of YUP, an acronym for ‘young urban professional’. Another variation was ‘yumpy’, for ‘upwardly mobile professional’. They are to be distinguished from yippies, a group of brash iconoclasts who nominated a pig as President of the United States in 1968, as also from Flower Children, the progeny of affluent parents who advocated freedom to do anything anyone wanted. Yuppies, of whose existence I learnt after their demise, consisted of young (under 50) people coming from wealthy backgrounds with degrees from well-known universities and making a lot of money on their own: the minimum earning for qualifying as a yuppy was 35,000 dollars per year. At one time they were also known as baby boomers because lots of them were born after World War II. The elite amongst the yuppies were dinks (double income no kids) where both husband and wife had handsome incomes and had decided not to have children. At one time they had become a dominant political and cultural force in American society.

  Although yuppies did not form a distinctly identifiable group, this freemasonry of the young-rich evolved a recognizable lifestyle: a BMW sports car, penthouse with a large pedigreed dog like a Saint Bernard or an Afghan hound and the best of clothes—shirts from Brooks Brothers and ties from Van Heusen. They cultivated sophistication in apprehension of art, music and literature, ignored politicians and upstarts, ate frugal salad-based meals and rarely went to church.

  As often happens, what was fashionable in America becomes the rage in India some years later: the Indian yuppy is coming into his own. My acquaintance with the Bharati young-rich is limited to breeds spawned in northern India, mainly with Punjabi or Marwari pedigrees. Let me point to some features which may help you to identify him. Like the American, the Indian yuppy is the son of a wealthy father and is not a nouveau riche. But unlike his American counterpart of yesteryear, he is not the product of a renowned public school or institute of higher learning like the Jawaharlal Nehru University or one of the IITs: their products end up as civil servants or boxwalas. Our Yuppy has a degree in commerce from a second-rate college, is familiar with American business terminology which he pronounces with an imitated nasal twang and mispronounces most other English words. He often lives with his parents but maintains a separate kitchen. He owns an air-conditioned Mercedes, Toyota or Datsun. He wears gold or platinum rings with lucky stones, and occasionally, a charm round his neck. He has the most expensive Swiss-made gold watch—Cartier, Omega, Rolex or a custom-made Patek Phillipe bearing his initials—and wears it facing inwards. He buys Hindi comics and film magazines like Stardust, Filmfare or Cine Blitz at airports and travels executive class. Once a fortnight he takes his wife and children to a Hindi movie. He drinks premium brand Scotch in five-star hotels. He calls on his guru at some ashram once a month, and when out of his hometown, has bandobast with a call-girl. He is the future hope of India.

  Sunday, 6 June 1987

  Tamilian Connection

  I confess to my total inability to understand the politics of our southern States. I am sure this is largely due to my inability to pronounce words of Dravidian origin. Linguistically speaking, I draw a line from Pune to Vijayawada. I do not have much difficulty in understanding what goes on in the northern three-quarters of the country. But once the Pune-Vijayawada line is crossed, I am all at sea; I do not suffer from snobbery of any kind. On the contrary, I have a distinct sense of inferiority in dealing with my South Indian friends: their IQs are higher, their minds nimbler, and they are more Bharatvasi in their culture and their adherence to tradition. I also find them more attractive than people of the north. What other region of our country can match a Sridevi or a Jayaprada? Or send to Parliament a woman as fair and speech-perfect as Jayalalitha Jayaram? I belong to the class of semi-literate Punjabis who regard places and persons south of Pune as Madras and Madrasis. Our mental block against the South is entirely due to the tongue-twisting names they have given themselves and their habitats. How can we tackle Bodinayikkanur, Tiruchirapalli, Upptiliyappan, Erachezhiyan, Azagiyasinhar? Dravida Munetra Kazhagam we have got used to; but now also have a party called Tamizhagar Munnetra Munnani.

  Our Tamilian brothers and sisters add to our confusion by their convoluted politics. We were told that the Dravida movement launched by Periyar and carried forward by Anna Durai and M.G. Ramachandran was anti-God, anti-Aryan, anti-Hindi, and above all, anti-Brahmin. Now we find the same M.G. Ramachandran’s flag being carried aloft by two ladies, both Brahmins: one an Aiyyar, the other, an Iyengar. Their shifting alliances with other parties make the political scene worse confounded. All the four leading contestants—the DMK, the Congress-I and the two AIADMKs—are more than willing to collaborate with Communists of any brand and the Muslim League of any faction. Their election manifestos read very much alike. To gain women’s votes, all of them promise reservation of seats for women in the services; yet in their lists of candidates, there are very few women. It would appear that it is not performance in the political field but on the cinema screen that counts most in Tamil Nadu. The Congress Party has sensed this. It is relying heavily on projecting Rajiv Gandhi as a mega filmstar. It hopes to cash in on his good looks rather than performance as prime minister. His handsomeness may prove to be a winning card with women voters. That’s Tamilian democracy for you!

  The Hindustan Times, 14 January 1989

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  Killing Business

  The most effective way of turning a meat eater into a vegetarian is to take him to a slaughterhouse. Seeing goats’ heads being hacked off at the Kali temple in Calcutta churned my stomach and I could not sleep for several nights. I argued with myself that in many parts of the world humans cannot survive without killing animals, birds and fish. Under the circumstances, the best we can do is to minimise the pain of living things on which we depend for our survival. In advanced countries they have done so by ensuring that animals are stunned before they are slaughtered. And no animal is exposed to the killing of another of its species. They have other laws which ensure that slaughterhouses are located far from human habitation, kept clean and no diseased animals are slain for food.

  We have similar laws—on paper. In practice, not one of them is being observed. There are innumerable illegal slaughterhouses in the city. The main slaughterhouse in Delhi created more than 80 years ago, is today in the midst of a crowded locality with a Hindu temple and a school in close vicinity. Of its six acres, two are in illegal occupation of squatters. In the remaining four acres, every single day an average of 3,000 buffaloes, 10,000 sheep and goats have their throats slit and are allowed to bleed to death in view of each other. Many animals are brought from long distances loaded on top of each other in trucks or driven long distances. By the time they reach their destination, they are famished, thirsty or sick. Their owners don’t bother because they are anyhow meant to die. For years the administration has been promising that this slaughterhouse will be removed to a distant suburb and modernized. A large sum of money (I believe over Rs 20 crore) has been earmarked for the purpose. So far, no alternative site has been found. Nevertheless, four officers have wangled a tour abroad to study modern methods of slaughter. Scandalous!

  The only group agitating to put an end to this wickedness consists of young girls who have set up an office under an overbridge. It goes under the name Friendicoes-Seca, the Society for Eradication of Cruelty to Animals, initially sponsored by Maneka Gandhi. Its attempts to rouse the authorities to take action have not yielded results. Its requests for an appointment with the prime minister remain unanswered. One of these days when there is a communal clash—the situation of the slaughterhouse makes it highly probable—everyone will start accusing everyone else of not having done his duty.

  The Hindustan Times, 25 February 1989

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  Censored

  In my long career in journalism and writing books I have never had anything cut out by the censor. I have been dragged to law courts and before the Press Council, but never censored. I didn’t even know that in our country committed to
freedom of expression, an animal known as censor existed, except that all films require clearance by the Censor Board before they can be publicly screened. There is a grey area between the print media and films where different rules apply: you can get away with derogatory references to a person in writing but you can’t say the same thing in film. There is no logic to it, but rules are rules say the censor boys who are lakeer ke faqeer—worshippers of the printed line.

  What is there that has not been written about Chandraswamy which, if untrue, would entitle him to sue papers which published them, for heavy damage? He has been accused of forgery, blackmail, breach of foreign exchange regulations and pimping for Pamela Bordes. Nevertheless, when I said this in an interview with ‘Indiaview’ of the Indian Television, the censors deleted the following words: ‘He is also mixed up with several shady deals like Bofors and St. Kitts scandals. In addition he goes about with hidden tape recorders and is involved in forgery.’ I was shown mouthing these words like a fish in a fish bowl gasping for breath without emitting any sound. Then suddenly my voice was allowed to come alive with the summary: ‘In short he is a thoroughly unsavoury character.’ This the sensors did not find objectionable. Does it make any sense?

  The Hindustan Times, 13 April 1991

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  Turning Shit into Gold

  An early morning train journey out of any large city can be a nauseating experience. On both sides of the rail track are lined men with their backsides turned towards passing trains defecating in the open. Their logic is simple: if they can’t see passing trains, they don’t care if passengers in these trains see what they are doing. Why can’t we provide latrines where people can evacuate their bowels in privacy? Another thing I have noticed is that there are no women among these daylight defecators. They are too modest to expose their hind parts to public gaze, and suffer agonies till it is dark enough for them to go out.

  I am not sure if it was this kind of experience that lured young Bindeshwar Pathak from Vaishali (Bihar) to think of doing something about it. He came from a family of very modest means, lived with an uncle who ran a college chai shop while he was working for his Master’s degree and then a doctorate. Or perhaps it was the sight of bhangis (scavengers) carrying cans full of stinking night soil on their heads which made his blood boil at the humiliation imposed on these unfortunate workers, numbering over 800,000. Why could not every home have a lavatory and every street have a row of them for men and women? Was not there a way of making lavatories that would be self- cleansing and human excreta put to good use? Bindeshwar Pathak designed just such a latrine. Two litres of water sent human excreta into small pits where bacteria purified it, and the gas it produced was piped to generate fire and electricity. And all within the means of the poorest of the poor householders. At first, no one would take him seriously. He found an enthusiastic supporter in Sumitra Prasad who was a minister in the Bihar government. She gave him the green signal. So began the Sulabh Shauchalaya Sansthan in Patna in 1970. Today it spans the entire length and breadth of the country with millions of Shauchalayas generating their own income, lighting homes and localities and providing them cheap cooking gas. Pathak got national recognition with the award of a Padma Bhushan in 1991, international recognition when given audience with the Pope and the award of the Saint Francis Prize for environment in 1992.

  Since then, Pathak has expanded his activities to provide training and employment to children of deprived scavenger families. His institute in Mahavir Nagar near Palam Airport trains boys and girls as car drivers, electricians, carpenters, typists, tailors, mechanics etc. In the same compound are many designs of Shauchalayas on display. It is well worth a visit—if only to realize the magnitude of the problem created by human waste and get the feeling that something can be, and is being done about it. Dr Bindeshwar Pathak deserves the gratitude of the nation.

  The Hindustan Times, 25 December 1993

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  No Common Festival

  Has it ever occurred to you that we Indians have no common festival that we can celebrate in the same way in our homes? And that it might be a good thing if we had one? It had not crossed my mind till Vikash Goenka, a businessman in Bangalore, drew my attention to it. ‘We have innumerable festivals but all are based on religion or region; we do not have a single national festival celebrated by every Indian irrespective of caste, creed, religion or region on the same day in the same manner,’ he said.

  The more I pondered over his statement the more I realized its truth. Muslims have their three Eids; non-Muslims have no share in them except occasionally joining them for iftar during Ramadan. Christians have Christmas; for non-Christians it is no more than a spectacle and listening to carols over radio or TV. Sikhs celebrate their Gurus’ birthdays; non-Sikhs simply see them taking out the Granth Sahib led by massive procession of bands and hymn singers. Hindus have many more festivals but they signify different things in different regions and are celebrated in different ways. The most popular, Diwali, celebrated as puja in the East is accompanied by the worship of Kali or Durga; in the West it is homage to Lakshmi, the goddess of wealth; in the South it is Balipadyami and Narako Chaturdasi. Dusshera which precedes Diwali is Durga Puja in Bengal, Ram Lila across the Gangetic plain and Ayudha Puja in the South. Even our seasonal festivals are different: it is Baisakhi in the Punjab, Bihu in Assam. What might be described as national festivals are post-Independence phenomena; Independence Day (August 15), Republic Day (January 26), Gandhiji’s birthday, (October 2) and Pandit Nehru’s birthday (November 14). Both Bapu Gandhi’s and Chacha Nehru’s birthdays are no more than holidays with some ritual singing of hymns at their samadhis. Independence Day and Republic Day have become sarkari affairs: unfurling of tri-colour flags by the President, chief ministers and Governors; marchpasts of armed forces and displays of our military might. The ordinary Indian does not participate in them—he is a mere spectator. Can we evolve one common festival, like the American Thanksgiving which means something to every Indian and is celebrated in every home with the same ritual and eating the same kind of food? Goenka is right in suggesting that one most suitable choice would be Republic Day, January 26. The first thing to do is to rescue it from the sarkar. We’ve seen enough of Republic Day parades and Beatings of Retreats. They could be seen at other times. Add to it festivities we have at Diwali: lighting up homes, display of fireworks, giving gifts to each other, particularly the children. Vikash Goenka thinks that the most suitable sweet for the occasion should be laddoos because they comprise small pieces moulded into one whole. What do you think of the idea?

  The Hindustan Times, 1 January 1994

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  Karuata Not Kentucky

  I discovered Colonel Sander’s Kentucky Fried Chicken twenty years ago while teaching in Hawaii University. I found it as tasty as our own tandooris: wholesome, and above all, cheaper than food in any restaurant. Where it scored over tandoori was its consistency: Tandoori is chancy: it can be well made or left half-roasted, over-spiced or under-spiced. Kentucky was invariably the same and with the carton of gravy supplied with it, became a finger-licking delicacy. It was, and is, the best take-away food. Why they called it ‘junk food’ I had no idea. I expect owners of fancy eateries faced with competition tried to denigrate pizzas, hamburgers, potato chips and French fries as non-gourmet food fit only to fill bellies of the poor. I hoped someday, some Indian would introduce this so-called junk food to India.

  Kentucky Fried Chicken opened in Bangalore a few months ago. The agreement to allow Kentucky Friend Chicken to open a chain of restaurants was approved by the Indian government on terms entirely favourable to India. All the investment is to be American; for the first seven years all earnings will be invested in India. It will give employment to thousands of Indians and give a boost to poultry farming. What they had not reckoned with were elements in our society led by unscrupulous politicians who exploit patriotic sentiment to extort money from anyone who has it. So an agitation was launched in Bangalore.
Propaganda leaflets were circulated stating that the chickens served were sub-standard and fattened with chemicals. It so happened that the chickens came from a reputed firm of poultry breeders; laboratory tests proved the allegations of their having been fed with chemicals, wholly false. The Karnataka High Court stayed the order to close the restaurant in Bangalore. The second one opened in New Delhi is likewise threatened with gheraos and litigation. The prime mover was Maneka Gandhi. If she marshalled her facts as she does her emotions, she would be on firmer ground. If she launches a crusade to ban slaughter of all animals and birds for human consumption, I, despite being a meat-eater, would back her. But selective targeting of those who sell meat products is neither patriotic nor honest.

  The Hindustan Times, 18 November 1995

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  No More Birthdays

  Most upper and middle-class Indian families celebrate birthdays. We were lower-middle class and in my time parents did not even bother to record dates of birth and, therefore, were never able to have horoscopes cast. So some like me chose a suitable date to have a party and receive presents. With the passage of years, birthdays ceased to be occasions for celebration. Now when I run into one of my peer group we usually exchange information on each other’s health. It goes somewhat as follows: ‘I see you wear glasses; what strength are the lenses?’ (Meaning: Are you going blind?)

  ‘Do you have a hearing problem? Do you use a hearing aid?’ (Meaning: Are you going deaf?)