Desicritics Author: commonsense

Thekedaars of the Middle-Class?

commonsense — Fri, 14 Nov 2008 02:49:39 EST

We have all heard of the “my sentiments are hurt” claim to push for a ban on topics that we cannot handle. The long list of such political maneuvers includes but is not limited to Rushdie’s The Satanic Verses, the artist M. F. Hussain, Taslima Nasreen etc. Such claims by the thekedaars of so-called religious, regional, linguistic communities are quite obviously irrational and appeal to the lowest common denominator in all of us.

The Gujarat government has gone step ahead by claiming that the sentiments of the state and of its middle-class are “hurt” by the loose canon scholar Ashish Nandy’s op-ed piece published last summer in the Times of India.

Stung by the acerbic piece by penned by Nandy (who by the way, received his PhD from Gujarat), the Gujarat state government has apparently lodged a case against the scholar for apparently implying the middle-class’s addiction to development at any cost, is to blame for Modi’s re-election. Nandy of course, is a self-styled provocateur who passes sweeping, frequently quite off the mark pronouncements in the prophetic mode. He is taken more seriously outside rather than within India. Once in a while he does provide quite interesting insights about Indian society. More often than not, he lashes out at any hint of the term “development” and indeed considers himself as the “thekedaar” of the “real” India and Indians.

The point however is not whether one agrees or disagrees with him as far as his takes on Indian society are concerned.

What is ominous is the government taking a writer to court for imagined injuries to the sentiments of the state and its middle-class. Are we slipping backwards to the era when any critique of state policies was labeled as “treason” and the pressure to conform was enforced by intepreting the law in particular ways? This time around, the Supreme Court of India not only dismissed the case against Nandy but also issued a stern rebuke to those who wanted to prosecute the author.

Where exactly are we headed in the future as far as freedom of critical commentary is concerned? If we disagree with any critical commentary, there is always the option of criticising the critic. If established media outlets won't publish our critiques of critics, there is always the world-wide blogosphere. The proliferation of self-appointed of thekedaars of who seek to address real or imagined injuries, is, at least from a non-sectarian point of view, indeed ominous.

Beijing Olympics - Indians and Desis Missing in Action

commonsense — Sun, 10 Aug 2008 13:10:08 EDT

With the Beijing Olympics well under way, we are yet again bombarded with the usual myth-making machines in overdrive. The biggest myth of course is that these games are actually about sports not business. None of us is stupid enough to understand this simple point. However, the irritating advertisement blitz notwithstanding, it is a lot of fun to watch the games. For sure it gets my goat when the TV screen is constantly bombarded by the alleged “official product car/paint/drink/condom of the Games” etc. And when the hypocritical so-called “world leaders” make the usual noises patronizing noise about China’s “behaviour” vis-à-vis human rights while simultaneously signing up as many business deals as they can.

When some gold-medalists will test positive for doping, as surely they will, there will be the usual breast-beating about cheating and lack of integrity, as if other spheres of our global existence are beacons of the same. And of course, there will be the usual commentaries on the crass commercialization of the games. As if sophisticated commercialism or consumerism might be any better.

Back home in desi-land, the usual question, raised every four years, will be prominent once again. What exactly explains the spectacular absence of desis from this mega global display? Why are they always missing in action, when it comes to the Olympics? What are the best possible explanations? The usual suspects will wax eloquent about the alleged fact that desis are a cerebral lot and couldn’t care less about such trivial corporeal pursuits. Some will contend that only those who are supremely lacking in confidence really need to shamelessly strut their stuff for the world stage. The Ministry of youth affairs and sports in India and their equivalent in other South Asian nations will be blamed. They in turn will perhaps blame corruption that allows our athletes and officials to treat the Olympics like a free foreign junket, a shopping spree that might be otherwise beyond financial reach. Some will argue that we need not waste our precious resources on such trivia as sports. Others will point out that since we are apparently already on our way to becoming a superpower, who cares if over a billion people are conspicuous by their absence, not just on the medals tally, but in most of the events too. Not even the proverbial “also rans.”

It is difficult to pick a specific cause or determine what are the plausible explanations for this puzzling situation. Perhaps it is not at all a big deal after all. Any plausible, tentative explanations for this state of affairs?

Sir Salman Rushdie: Have Pen, Will Kneel

commonsense — Sun, 6 Jul 2008 02:08:56 EDT

When one thinks of Sir Salman Rushdie, the words modesty and humility immediately pop up in my mind. Oops! I intended to say just the opposite of how that last sentence came out. Oh well! Some time back somebody with an undeniable mean streak wrote that Sir Salman would be quite upset if he were to receive a Nobel Prize for Literature. He would probably fulminate “Why after so many years? And why only one, not three Nobels?”

Last year when the list of those who would willingly prostrate themselves before the Queen for the honor of adding Sir to their names was announced, the not-yet-Sir Salman exclaimed that he was “humbled” by the news. A few days ago when he finally got the chance to kneel before royalty, he almost stumbled. A “case of nerves”, he explained later. Somebody who had never passed up a chance to take a swipe at the pretensions of Empire and its hangers on, was now tamed and domesticated. Privamavda Gopal, writing in The Guardian, described Sir Salman as a shadow of “his own creation Baal, the talented poet who becomes a giggling hack coralled into attacking his ruler's enemies.”

Quite a contrast to the response from the black British poet Benjamin Zapaniah who when approached with an offer from Tony Blair to receive the Order of the British Empire (OBE), refused to mince his words: “Me? I thought, OBE me? Up yours!” As he explained later, in a piece published in The Guardian, “there is a part of me that hopes that after writing this article I shall never be considered as a Poet Laureate or an OBE sucker again.” Taking a dig at some of his fellow writers who offer “pathetic excuses” such as "I did it for my mum"; "I did it for my kids"; "I did it for the school"; "I did it for the people", he recalled that “I have even heard black writers who have collected OBEs saying that it is "symbolic of how far we have come". To understand why he was so surprised by the letter from Tony Blair, he cited a poem he had published much before the offer of an OBE:

Cause every laureate gets worse
A family that you cannot fault as muse will mess your mind,
And yeah, you may fatten you
Don't take my word, go check the verser purse
And surely they will check you first when subjects need to be amused
With paid for prose and rhymes.

Zapaniah ended his piece with a final jab: “Stick it, Mr Blair - and Mrs Queen, stop going on about the empire. Let's do something else.”

When the desi writer Amitav Ghosh heard that his book_The Glass Palace_ had been short-listed for the Commonwealth Literature Prize, he swiftly wrote a letter of protest to the committee. In his letter he demanded that his book be withdrawn from the short-list and reminded the committee that “the issue of how the past is to be remembered lies at the heart of _The Glass Palace_ and I feel that I would be betraying the spirit of my book if I were to allow it to be incorporated within that particular memorialization of Empire that passes under the rubric of "the Commonwealth".

This stance will of course do nothing to stall the continuing co-optation and neutralization of colorful critics, raconteurs and assorted shit-disturbers without whom the blandness of life would be unbearable. Some like Christopher Hitchens can be tamed even without such awards! However oxymoronic it might sound and regardless of how pissed off his colleague Keith Richards and his other admirers were, Sir Mick Jagger is now a fact of life.

Last week, at about the same time when Salman Rushdie was going down on his knees, it was also announced the media’s demon of the year Robert Mugabe had been stripped of his knighthood. Apparently this was also the case with the Romanian dictator, Nicolai Causescu who was “de-knighted” barely a few days before his execution. Thus are villains either glorified or vilified, depending on the compulsions of what is called real-politics.

Maintaining one’s integrity and resisting such rewards for ensuring good behaviour is of course not an easy task. But it is not impossible. There is the example of Jean Paul-Sartre, the first individual to refuse the Nobel Prize in 1964. In his own polite version of “stick it!”, Sartre refused that ultimate dream of many by remarking: “it is not the same thing if I sign Jean-Paul Sartre or if I sign Jean-Paul Sartre, Nobel Prize winner. A writer must refuse to allow himself to be transformed into an institution, even if it takes place in the most honorable form."

The only other person who had the courage and integrity to say “stick it!” to the Nobel Prize was the Vietnamese leader Le Duc Tho (1973 Nobel Peace Prize). He was the co-winner of the Peace Prize (1973) with that renowned peacenik and anti-war monger Henry Kissinger. Needless to say, Kissinger grabbed the prize, presumably with both hands, prompting the now famous one-liner by the singer-songwriter, satirist and ex-MIT faculty member, Tom Lehrer: “political satire became obsolete when Henry Kissinger was awarded the Nobel Prize for Peace.”

On Volga and Other Restaurants Not Gone "Disco" Yet

commonsense — Thu, 5 Jun 2008 03:00:21 EDT

It is a truism that globalization is engendering rapid social transformation around the world. Desi-land of course, is not immune to these changes. Some would even argue that India is currently situated at the very vortex of the global storm. Some of these changes, such as the cropping up of public toilets in Delhi are of course, very welcome. No need for the ubiquitous dekho gadhaaa moot raha hai (look, that shameless donkey is peeing in public!) graffiti that invariably failed in their goal of embarrassing men taking a leak against the walls.

Having indulged in this wretched behaviour more than once, I can vouch that, graffiti or not, it’s simply the best feeling in the world - especially after a beer too many and not a loo in sight. And women on the go, no longer have to barge into restaurants or even someone’s homes during such emergencies. The immaculate and always on time Delhi Metro is also a positive and long overdue change. Other transformations are not so positive and some are downright creepy. Too long a list to enumerate here!

Naturally, restaurants and cafes are not totally immune to these dramatic transformations. Indeed, the familiar “madras coffee houses” and their clones in Delhi, with their liveried waiters sporting their trade-mark pugrees are giving way to numerous global style cafes filled with well-groomed and manicured young patrons and waiters. Even the “great coffee house” of Delhi University that used to serve very cheap and delicious food in a languid atmosphere that allowed one to hang around for hours, has been muscled out by the brash Nirula’s that is expensive and armed with hawk-eyed table-cleaners who, through their not so subtle body-language, urge students to move on and make space for the next round of big-spenders who eye the occupied tables impatiently.

The noise level in most of these cafes has also gone global and people conversing with each other have to contend with the loud, generic (“dan, dan, dan”) café music. In Delhi, many restaurants are now staffed with waiters who refuse to let go of their broken English, even when spoken to in Punjabi, Hindi or Urdu.

One of them confided that he needed to practice English without which his hopes of moving on to a better establish would never materialize. In a number of these restaurants, the focus is invariable not on the food but on the décor and other accoutrement that supposedly contribute to something people refer to as the dining experience. Disturbingly, some of these globalized restaurants come equipped with distracting plasma screens that bombard patrons with images that are invariably out of synch with the loud music emanating from the Bose jewel-cube speakers. In local parlance, such places have suddenly gone “disco”.

The term “disco” has nothing to do with night-clubs or what used to be called discotheques. Rather the term is meant to capture the addition of unnecessary “razzle dazzle” paraphernalia to any institution, place or even person. Thus a person usually clad in kurta pajama, could indeed suddenly go “disco” simply by putting on a polyester “safari suit.” A cheeky, mocking response to a recently transformed individual would be something like Yeh Aadmi hai ya disco or perhaps Arrey, tumbhee disco ho gaye (even you have gone disco!), delivered in a tone of mock disappointment.

The fact that some restaurants are suddenly going “disco” is not necessarily a negative development. Plasma screens and incessant loud music in restaurants ostensibly single-mindedly devoted to gastronomical pleasures certainly have unintended uses. Such distractions from the main dish in a restaurant can be substitutes for conversation during awkward first dates or for the conversationally challenged. While for some, such trappings might detract from the food, for others, dining out is not necessarily about food alone but a multidimensional experience. It is, literally, a matter of taste!

However, thankfully, not all restaurants have gone “disco”. Among the many popular eating spots that are holding out against “discofication” is Volga on the inner circle of Connaught Place. Over the sixty years or so, of its existence, Volga has witnessed many transformations – independence, blows to the monopoly of the Congress, the once impressive Connaught Place becoming decrepit and once again, slowly on the mend. Restaurants with stylish names with decors to match -Piccadelhi, Mirchi, Nirula’s – have cropped up while others have disappeared.

Thankfully, despite all the temptations, the management of Volga refuses to make any concession to superficial changes in décor, style – not even, the style of service and management.

We arrive there at 12.30 pm, only to find a bold red sign indicating that it opens only at 1pm for lunch. There is also a bold poster that announces “cash only: no credit or debit cards accepted.” Impatiently peering through the dark windows, we can do nothing but observe the waiters languidly laying out the white table-cloths. With our intestines on the verge of eating themselves, we tug at the door handles at exactly 1pm. Still locked. We wait. Nothing happens. We just wait for a manager or a waiter to open the door or provide some indicate that Volga is open for business. No sign of any activity.

We are on the verge of giving up when at around 1.15, a couple of patrons arrive and open the door and walk in. Apparently at some point, someone unlatched the door from inside but didn’t care to disclose this act to any hungry customers milling outside. We troop in. From the 45 degrees C heat, we walk in to the spacious, comfortably dark and extremely cool interior. The half a dozen or so aging waiters congregate around the massive counter behind which sits a stern and serious manager, inspecting, collating and stamping various pieces of paper.

The waiters observe us and other customers without any hostility or the standard superficial and overbearing greeting - “hello, how are you today”? They are all clad in immaculately ironed jet-black trousers and almost neon white shirts. They appear to be wearing black helmets, but it’s only their freshly dyed jet-black hair that matches their trousers. For the uninitiated, they may appear to be stand-offish, perhaps even rude. Yet, they are neither indifferent nor unresponsive to the customers’ needs.

This is simply their style and the culture of some established restaurants in India. A slight eye contact and a mild gesture is enough to bring one of them to our table. Only then do I realize that his dyed helmet-haired was a great camouflage for his advanced age. His fingers quiver gently as he hands out the menu, and later, as he opens the bottles of Kingfisher beer. The food menu is not too extensive – at least when compared to the many restaurants that have gone “disco”. However, all the staples of Mughlai and Punjabi, and some hybrids of both, are represented.

The food, just as I remembered from my student days when we could barely afford to eat at Volga once a year or so is quite unremarkable, but utterly delicious.[editor's note: how can it be both?] The tables are huge with plenty of space between them to facilitate uninhibited conversation. There’s an anachronistic and deserted “ladies and family section” on the second floor, visible from where we are seated.

No effort is wasted on any décor - not even a stereotypical painting of India on the bare walls. But the atmosphere is pleasant and conducive to relaxed dining. No music at all to compete with the conversation. Except for the faint strains emanating from the flute seller selling CD’s just outside the restaurant. Within minutes, the restaurant is full customers, including a contingent of noisy Fulbright scholars, some with their bitter halves in tow. A small sign placed on one of the table indicates that they are having a reunion of sorts. Almost everyone, the Fulbrights as well as the half-brights like us are engaged in animated conversation lubricated by Kingfisher and the down-to-earth delicious food.

Social change is of course permanent and unstoppable. As the cliché goes, change is inevitable, except from a slot machine. I have nothing against restaurants or individuals going totally “disco”. Except for the fanatical fundamentalists thekedaars (self-appointed contractors of culture and religion) who yearn for a mythical purity or for the way we never were, most of us with a modicum of commonsense realize that diversity and continuous social change is the very essence of the human condition. However, for the sake of this very vibrant diversity, I do hope restaurants such as Volga and Embassy among others in Delhi, will not change or go “disco”.

The New Thekedaars of Culture

commonsense — Sun, 9 Mar 2008 00:14:05 EST

Thekedaari, as the term is usually understood, and as all desis well know, refers to a contract for a particular undertaking. It could be a thekedaari for a public or a private such as a school, hospital or house. Until now, thekedaari has been usually reserved for a particular, discreet project that has a beginning and an end.

However, this concept of thekedaari has been recently expanded by some very wily contractors who seek to claim exclusive control of genuinely public products that no particular individual has ever created all by himself or herself. Thus who would have ever imagined that a manifestly social institution such as “culture” would one day be treated as the private property of some self-appointed contractors who seek to “defend”, “protect” and “guard” it from what they perceive to be “polluting” influences?

Not only is such thekedaari a reality these days, but it is also one of the fastest growing industries/rackets. There is no shortage of culture vultures who vie to be the self-appointed custodians of this culture or that. Regardless of which culture it might be, the strategy of cultural thekedaari is pretty much the same. Declare a culture to be under siege and then rally some troops to defend it, regardless of the cost, either in bad blood or actual bloodshed.

Culture, a general human capacity that allows us all humans to deal with specific social contexts in a diversity of ways, is suddenly elevated by these thekedaars into a fetish that, according to them, needs to be preserved as if it were a piece of achhaar or pickle.

One would be naïve to think that these thekedaars are doing it simply because they are emotionally attached to a particular culture. Or that they are genuinely incensed at the thought of a particular cultural pattern being transformed. Many non-thekedaars do have these feelings to and these feelings are entirely legitimate and understandable. But the non-thekedaars do not go out of their way to become the self-appointed custodians of “culture”. And if they do, the do so in innocuous ways, while recognizing that culture is always hybrid, infinitely pliable, always open to fresh inputs, to revision, to change and even dramatic transformations, depending on a host of social factors.

Of course these thekedaars of culture also know this, but persist in their thekedaari because a lot of capital - financial and symbolic - is generated out of their self-righteous actions. Thus they persevere, attract a lot of hangers-on who also derive their livelihood from this so-called defense of “culture.

These thekedaars are of course fully aware that culture is not set in stone (unless one talks of the culture of architecture). They are also fully aware, like regular folk, that culture, like all other humanly created institutions, changes over time.

These thekedaars are not fools. However, they have indeed hit upon an issue that grabs most people by their groins. Most of us are not totally immune to nostalgia. The pining for a world, through rose-tinted spectacles, that was supposedly always better and is now going to the dogs. There are many industries dedicated to manufacturing and marketing nostalgia or “the way we never were”.

These thekedaars are smart enough to hit on these very emotional hot-buttons that even the most rational person cannot be totally immune to. Hence they embark on their crusade of defending this or that culture, apparently under attack from this or that insidious enemy. Such crusades could be labeled quixotic and harmless, except for the fact that they usually leave a trail of blood, misery, mistrust, bitterness in their wake.

They claim that the mayhem must be blamed on the many “enemies” of their culture. In addition to usual cultural industries that produce and sell culture - Hollywood, Bollywood, music, fiction, poetry, Descicritics – one of the biggest growth industries is the “defense of culture”. Regardless of the geographical provenance of this cultural thekedaari, the deep syntactical structure, to invoke Noam Chomsky, of this activity is the same, the world over. Despite the cultural diversity that separates, divides and pits these self-appointed thekedaars against each other, they literally are, to use the cliché, birds of the same feather.

The various jihadi groups, the neo-nazis, the Shiv Sainiks, the Bajrang Dal(iddars), the Ku Klux Clan, the Nihonjinron in Japan etc. etc. all naturally stress their cultural uniqueness, but are ironically cut from the same cloth despite the variety of cultural textures. They all claim to be holier than thou, all naturally claim to be doing nothing more than standing up for the “greater common good” even as they try their best to destroy what it is intrinsically to be human – the capacity to selectively borrow, share and transmit culture in its infinitely diverse, manifestations through history and across geographical divides.

They pointlessly rail against the fact that we are always polycultural and will always be. Mistaking a particular point in human history as the end of history, they tilt at cultural windmills, leaving a trail of wanton destruction behind.