The charge of the lumpen brigade

IT seems that we are living in a wounded society characterised by some sort of cultural neurosis, widespread violence, hatred and anger. Where are the ideals of India as a civilisation — the ideals we learned from great sages, mystics, poets, philosophers and freedom fighters? Why is it that all noble visions — say, the ethos of cultural/religious/linguistic pluralism; the quest for a fine thread of harmony and connectedness amid splendid diversities; and the longing for the union of the material and the spiritual — are disappearing fast?

Even though the master narrative of Hindutva speaks of unity, it’s essentially divisive as it is based on a conflicting binary: Hindus vs Muslims.

Of course, it is possible to say that these ideals are just empty words, and India was never free from institutionalised hierarchy, social and economic inequality, cultural conflict and associated violence. Yet, in the process of our journey towards modernity and decolonisation, as a careful look at the works of Gandhi, Tagore, Nehru, Ambedkar, Maulana Azad and above all, the vision implicit in our Constitution would indicate, we sought to strive for these principles. India was economically poor, but our civilisational ideal was pretty high.

The irony is that at this moment, when the nation loves to flaunt the tag of the ‘fourth largest economy’ in the world, there is no end to our moral and cultural fall. Take, for instance, what we witnessed recently in the streets of Uttarakhand and Uttar Pradesh: the degradation of Kanwar Yatra — an annual pilgrimage of the devotees of Shiva to sacred sites like Hardwar, Gaumukh and Gangotri in order to fetch holy water of the Ganga, and carry it on their shoulders for hundreds of miles to offer it in their local Shiva shrines — into sheer hooliganism and vandalism.

Yes, some of these ‘pilgrims’, it seems, were on a mission to demonstrate their anger and brute masculinity. We saw how they targeted roadside dhabas and stalls over disputes on nameplates; we saw them vandalising a school bus in Meerut; and they even punched a CRPF jawan at Mirzapur railway station during an argument over train tickets. Their noisy journey generated fear and anxiety, not the rhythmic music of spiritual harmony.

Even though Uttar Pradesh Chief Minister Yogi Adityanath warned us against ‘defaming’ Kanwariyas, the fact is that some of these ‘devotees’ looked like a gang of directionless youngsters carrying hockey sticks and trishuls, demonstrating their hidden anger, frustration and the utter meaninglessness of a non-reflexive, non-meditative existence. In fact, it is this lumpen brigade the Machiavellian political masters often pamper in order to implement their divisive agenda.

There seems to be no end to this sort of cultural neurosis. Think of, for instance, our refusal to accept that India is about diversities. Imagine that you are travelling on a local train in Mumbai. You are bound to see people speaking in many languages — Marathi, Bhojpuri, Hindi, English. This is cosmopolitanism; this is the experience of modernity and mobility; and this is the reflection of India’s diversities.

Yet, when we see angry members of the Maharashtra Navnirman Sena attacking a food stall owner in Thane for his inability to speak in Marathi, we realise how this sort of linguistic chauvinism negates the very spirit of India.

Or, imagine a young software engineer from West Bengal or Assam who has just arrived in Bengaluru in search of a better fortune. You cannot expect her/him to speak Kannada fluently; possibly, she/he will try to communicate with a cab driver or a delivery boy in broken Hindi or English. This is understandable. However, because of the absence of even this minimal empathy, we are seeing overenthusiastic ‘pro-Kannada’ groups asking these ‘outsiders’ to speak Kannada or leave Karnataka immediately.

Of course, it is desirable to see beyond our mother tongues, expand our mental horizons and become sensitive to the rich traditions of many other languages. In fact, it is the art of good translation that helps us internalise the spirit of cross-cultural conversations. I do not know Kannada. However, it is the power of good translation as a bridge between cultures that has enabled me to read the works of a great Kannada literary figure like the late UR Ananthamurthy, and enrich my vision of the world.

Likewise, I assume that there are many Tamil-speaking people who too, because of translation, have read the works of Munshi Premchand and got a glimpse of the rich Hindi literary sphere. We need this willingness to overcome the otherness of the ‘other’. However, the closure of the mind we see in the recent language politics negates this very spirit of India as a civilisation.

Possibly, it is the fear of the ‘other’, and the resultant paranoid and psychic insecurity that leads to this sort of cultural neurosis. Is there any way we can heal ourselves, and move towards collective sanity? Even though the master narrative of Hindutva speaks of unity, it is essentially divisive as it is based on a conflicting binary: Hindus vs Muslims. The violence implicit in such a homogenised doctrine is infectious.

No wonder it even simplifies Hinduism and misses the heterodoxy within it. Not every Hindu, for instance, worships Rama. Or, for that matter, not every Hindu is a vegetarian. If you visit Kolkata during the Durga Puja festival, you are bound to see Bengali Hindus enjoying chicken biryani and fish cutlet outside pandals. Even if a vegetarian Gujarati Hindu feels uneasy with this indulgence with non-vegetarian food, the fact is that it can’t be wished away.

We need to accept this wonder called India, and cherish these diversities. It is this libertarian education that alone can enable us to overcome the prevalent cultural neurosis.