Why have we as a civilization become such big babies? Like maladjusted brats we squat in the middle of the road and throw a full-blown tantrum the minute we’re faced with the slightest opposition and any home truths that we don’t agree with. And like all babies, the issue is always about us and us alone. We are at the centre of the universe and no one better say or do anything that will prove otherwise. So any remark about this leader or that, dead or alive, will cause us to scream, shout, bang our heels, spit, and possibly throw up our dinner. We take everything personally. Except of course the real and true outrages of society like rapes, kidnappings, murders of old defenceless people, felling of trees…for which we have no time or interest, because somehow it’s not about us.
When we want to make a point about how shop names must appear in our very own script (never mind the fact that many of us can’t spell and write a sensible sentence in that very script), we’ll go red in the face and throw stones. When we’re asked to wear helmets on two-wheelers and strap ourselves into our cars, for our own good, like real brats we’ll hold our breaths till we’re almost purple, and the administration, like a tired and overstretched mother, gives up and lets us just do what we like.
We also think that other people are complete babies themselves. So when visitors turn up from various parts of the world to explore tie-ups with our city, we assume that they can’t see for themselves that our roads and electricity suck. We instantly look around, the idiot-children that we are, for some scapegoat and whirl about pointing at the Press for telling tales and ‘spoiling the name’ of this lovely city. No amount of explaining will get us to understand (or admit actually) that reality is not defined by words. It is defined by what people see in front of them. And what is in front of the whole world to see, without even a single press report to ‘prejudice’ them, is huge gaping craters, road-works projects that overshoot their schedule by not weeks and months, but entire calendar years, and power cuts and outages galore.
We sulk and grumble and then lash out at books and films that we don’t agree with and which have any whiff of dissent, or counter-argument, or a different take on history. And it is highly possible that if just one of us begins to wail about it, a whole lot of other babies nearby will wail even louder and throw even bigger fits, without knowing exactly why they’re doing it. People may try to reason with us: ‘array, but have you read what you’re objecting to so strongly?’ But we’re beyond reason, in full fury, as we sob inconsolably and shriek: “We don’t neeeed to reeead it, we knoowwww you’re calling us names. Waaaah. We hate you, we hate you, get out, we’ll killlll you. Mummmmy telll him, nooooo.” And then we may throw some of our toys hard at anyone trying to intervene and insert any kind of reasonability into the situation. And while we’re at it, we’ll break some street lamps too. Just for the fun of it. Babies are sometimes easily amused.
We’re also deeply into tit-for-tat. So aggressively can we play that game, that sometimes we can cut off our nose to spite our face, rioting, burning and even rampaging in hospitals and ourselves having to be hospitalized if something irritates us enough.
The thing is, we were not like this. Not in living memory. We have regressed in the last 25 years. Obviously some strange emotional accident has happened to us. And from being people with the ability to absorb and deal with a multitude of milieus, live in several centuries at the same time, and to reconcile contradictory viewpoints or truths, we have become exactly like the other countries who we are so critical about, who declare: Do it MY way or no way. And like all babies in a huff, we have no sense of humour whatsoever left, when it comes to our various holy cows.
There are many examples in public and private life of how much more pluralistic we once were. But just a small example will do. Just listen to some of the comic Hindi film songs of yesteryear, and you’ll see how much more relaxed we were about history, religion, mythology and all those areas that are now highly inflammable and not to be loose shunted. There’s a funny-funny old song which begins: Sikandar ne Porus sey ki thi ladaai….to mai kya karu?
The song goes on to list various historical and mythological jodis and face-offs, including one from the Mahab….Oh well, I better not spell it out. Go find it for yourself. It’s cute and funny, if you’re grown up. If the same lyrics were written today, there would be much wailing and gnashing of teeth and blowing of spit bubbles by different groups of big babies.
I won’t put here the actual words of the song, because who knows, someone may have a fit, come and throw toys at me, defecate or hurl their baby-formula on my doorstep.
When we want to make a point about how shop names must appear in our very own script (never mind the fact that many of us can’t spell and write a sensible sentence in that very script), we’ll go red in the face and throw stones. When we’re asked to wear helmets on two-wheelers and strap ourselves into our cars, for our own good, like real brats we’ll hold our breaths till we’re almost purple, and the administration, like a tired and overstretched mother, gives up and lets us just do what we like.
We also think that other people are complete babies themselves. So when visitors turn up from various parts of the world to explore tie-ups with our city, we assume that they can’t see for themselves that our roads and electricity suck. We instantly look around, the idiot-children that we are, for some scapegoat and whirl about pointing at the Press for telling tales and ‘spoiling the name’ of this lovely city. No amount of explaining will get us to understand (or admit actually) that reality is not defined by words. It is defined by what people see in front of them. And what is in front of the whole world to see, without even a single press report to ‘prejudice’ them, is huge gaping craters, road-works projects that overshoot their schedule by not weeks and months, but entire calendar years, and power cuts and outages galore.
We sulk and grumble and then lash out at books and films that we don’t agree with and which have any whiff of dissent, or counter-argument, or a different take on history. And it is highly possible that if just one of us begins to wail about it, a whole lot of other babies nearby will wail even louder and throw even bigger fits, without knowing exactly why they’re doing it. People may try to reason with us: ‘array, but have you read what you’re objecting to so strongly?’ But we’re beyond reason, in full fury, as we sob inconsolably and shriek: “We don’t neeeed to reeead it, we knoowwww you’re calling us names. Waaaah. We hate you, we hate you, get out, we’ll killlll you. Mummmmy telll him, nooooo.” And then we may throw some of our toys hard at anyone trying to intervene and insert any kind of reasonability into the situation. And while we’re at it, we’ll break some street lamps too. Just for the fun of it. Babies are sometimes easily amused.
We’re also deeply into tit-for-tat. So aggressively can we play that game, that sometimes we can cut off our nose to spite our face, rioting, burning and even rampaging in hospitals and ourselves having to be hospitalized if something irritates us enough.
The thing is, we were not like this. Not in living memory. We have regressed in the last 25 years. Obviously some strange emotional accident has happened to us. And from being people with the ability to absorb and deal with a multitude of milieus, live in several centuries at the same time, and to reconcile contradictory viewpoints or truths, we have become exactly like the other countries who we are so critical about, who declare: Do it MY way or no way. And like all babies in a huff, we have no sense of humour whatsoever left, when it comes to our various holy cows.
There are many examples in public and private life of how much more pluralistic we once were. But just a small example will do. Just listen to some of the comic Hindi film songs of yesteryear, and you’ll see how much more relaxed we were about history, religion, mythology and all those areas that are now highly inflammable and not to be loose shunted. There’s a funny-funny old song which begins: Sikandar ne Porus sey ki thi ladaai….to mai kya karu?
The song goes on to list various historical and mythological jodis and face-offs, including one from the Mahab….Oh well, I better not spell it out. Go find it for yourself. It’s cute and funny, if you’re grown up. If the same lyrics were written today, there would be much wailing and gnashing of teeth and blowing of spit bubbles by different groups of big babies.
I won’t put here the actual words of the song, because who knows, someone may have a fit, come and throw toys at me, defecate or hurl their baby-formula on my doorstep.
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment