From Udta to Judta Punjab: The surreal takeover

The other day, a friend sent me a hilarious picture on WhatsApp and I generously shared it with many others. Everyone doubles up on seeing it. Sadly, I cannot show it to my readers but perhaps they have also seen it: it shows two hideously overweight cops standing next to each other. Their huge stomachs bulge out of their khakhi trousers to touch as they face each other. Described thus, it may not seem as funny or obscene but believe me nothing captures the image of a bloated and corrupt police force as that one image of the Punjab cops. The clip is called ‘Judta Punjab’, an obvious take-off on the controversial film, ‘Udta Punjab’.

Time was when the Punjab policeman was a lean, mean fighting machine who evoked terror in the hearts of criminals as he approached moustache a-bristle and muscles rippling. Today, this human torpedo has been reduced to a joke and become a ready butt of the cartoonist and stand-up comedian. Much the same can be said for the rest of the state machinery as well. When and how did this degeneration take place and when and how did a prosperous and well-run state get transformed into a version of Sodom and Gomorrah?

In the early seventies, when we first came to this prosperous and warm-hearted state, my husband’s batch-mates in the civil service envied him for being sent to Punjab, rather than to the boondocks of UP, Bihar and Madhya Pradesh. They had every reason to feel that way because on practically every index of economic development then, Punjab was right up there. Agriculture, its main occupation, had received a huge boost after the Green Revolution, and the evidence was all around us as we settled into the SDM’s house in Samrala (the birthplace of Manto, by the way). The only cinema hall in the sub-division was located at Khanna, a place that appeared to my eyes as a small market junction, full of flies hovering over mounds of ‘gur’ sold along the main road. Little did I realize that even then, it was regarded as among the largest grain markets of Asia. In that faraway time, since many politicians were farmers themselves, they were solid sons of the soil who knew virtually every voter by name and were fully conversant with their problems. Generous and large-hearted, they had a touching faith in the opinion of a young 24 year-old SDM and remained in touch to seek his help and advice even after he had moved to the Secretariat.

I have written before of how in the eighties, Chandigarh’s social and natural landscape was innocent of the whiff of power and pelf. I had my own life and friends as a lecturer in the University and that always kept us grounded. Despite living in a sarkari enclave, we were well-connected with a large cross-section of academics, writers, performers and music lovers. I do not remember anyone ever pointing to us as a breed apart: we were all hard up, struggling with the responsibilities of juggling homes and careers and shared each others’ books and food. I have no way of confirming this but it seems to me as if this easy social interaction was destroyed after the wave of terrorism that swept the state later in the eighties. Mutual suspicion led to people seeking the comfort of one’s religious community or social groups and the innocent trust we enjoyed retreated and slowly died out. 

Obviously, the situation today did not develop overnight. It was a slow and dangerous undercurrent that was never given serious attention until it burst upon our screens as a frightening spectacle of a state gone rogue. Even if the film Udta Punjab exaggerates the problem, no one can deny that Punjab is now a very sick state. Yet, instead of coming together to own up to a collective responsibility we now have politicians milking it for what electoral gain they can extract. It is facile to point fingers to the politician alone, although he does bear the biggest burden of guilt, for it is also equally the breakdown of the student-teacher relationship, the sharing of neighbourly concern over a child going astray and an emphasis on instant gratification rather than the hard work that brings satisfaction to success.

Just as an irresponsible overuse of pesticides and underground water has poisoned the land, a skewed sense of what constitutes social sophistication and parental irresponsibility are equally to blame. Parents keep such a strict vigil over their daughters and daughters-in-law, yet fail to exert any control over the ‘mundas’ and ‘kakajis’ who have fuelled this deadly trade. Boys will be boys, is how they shrug away the behaviour of such monstrous creatures: girls are constantly advised to dress modestly but boys can sport punk hairdos and zoom around on their mobikes, drunk and helmet-less. 

As every Punjabi housewife knows, when home-made yoghurt turns sour, she turns to a fresh ‘starter’ from a neighbour’s home. This simple kitchen remedy may well show us the way out for bringing today’s lost generation back to the path they have strayed from.