As we see in the three recent instances — in-laws making demands of their fellow in-laws, the brother killing his sister’s husband and parents suing their son — the Indian sack race continues
I have always felt that we Indians tend to make life unnecessarily hard for ourselves. Life is hard as it is, but do we need to make it harder? In other words, life is a marathon; do we have to wrap sacks around our legs and make the race even more difficult? We are readied for this from a young age; the sack race is a staple of junior school sports across the country. Even the sack race is complicated further. Obstacles are placed on the course. We try and jump over the hurdles while trying to hold on to our sacks. Eventually, most will fall flat on their faces, while the country fails to win an Olympic medal.
Take the sedition law, misused over the years by governments of all persuasion, and recently put on hold by the Supreme Court. We inherited it from the British and clung to it as if it had come down to us from Vedic times. The British stopped using it around the 1960s; it was legally abolished in 2009. We turned it into a weapon to mess with our people in contemporary times.
The same holds true for the decriminalisation of homosexuality. Again, we clung to a law drafted by our colonial masters, in accordance with their morality, of their age. We unnecessarily took a long way home in trying to get rid of it. We are going to take even longer to legalise same-sex marriage and give same-sex couples the same legal rights as heterosexual couples. The sack race continues.
If it’s not the Brits, it’s the Americans. Cannabis Indica, a traditional Indian herb, was criminalised under American pressure. We throw our own in jail for possession and wring our hands in despair at Bollywood stars going up in smoke.
What about marriage? This is where we bung the most obstacles on the course. In a middle class Indian wedding, the boys’ side always holds the upper hand. They will hum and haw and make last-minute demands: “Transfer X amount into an FD” (dowry in disguise); move the wedding venue to a grander place; demand changes in the menu. It’s standard operating procedure, illustrated in that classic Pan Parag TV commercial when Shammi Kapoor (groom’s father) tells Ashok Kumar (bride’s father): “Par hum aapse ek baat kehna to bhool hi gaye”. The bride’s side looks alarmed; the groom’s father clarifies: “Ghabraiye nahin, hamein kuch nahin chahiye. Hum bas itna chahte hain ki aap baratiyo ka swagat Pan Parag se kijiye.” Ashok Kumar breathes a sigh of relief.
In real life, even in 2022, the groom’s side keeps making absurd demands till the very end. Of course, the groom’s father also has daughters, while the bride’s father has sons to marry off. When his turn comes, the groom’s father will become the bride’s father; the tables will turn. Similarly, the bride’s father will have his ‘revenge’ when it’s time for his son’s marriage. Wouldn’t it be simpler if both sides decided not to make any demands (as also the law demands), but then we like to make it hard for ourselves. It’s more fun that way.
Recently, in Hyderabad, a Muslim youth killed his sister’s husband, a Dalit Hindu. The latter was clubbed to death with iron rods in full public view. Most “honour killings” in India are committed in “full public view” and in “broad daylight”. The killer and his accomplice were later arrested. Now, they will most likely spend the rest of their lives in prison. Now, no one has a life to live anymore, neither the dead man, nor the murderer’s sister, nor the murderer himself. Yet another pointless obstacle race that we like to run, no matter which caste or religion the Indian might belong to.
In a third instance, this from Uttarakhand, the parents of a pilot son have sued him and his wife for Rs 5 crore for not having produced a child even after six years of marriage. The demand of the boy’s parents is logical: give us a grandson within a year or pay up. Some hard arithmetic has gone into this amount of Rs 5 crore: “upbringing and education”, plus expenses of a wedding at a five-star hotel and a gift of a car worth Rs 60 lakh, plus honeymoon expenses. What if the sued couple decides to adopt a girl child? The Indian sack race continues.
In all the three instances — in-laws making demands of their fellow in-laws, the brother killing his sister’s husband and parents suing their son, we see the title of that famous Hindi wedding blockbuster come to life: Hum Aapke Hain Kaun?
Till this point, I’ve been talking about the big issues, the Great Tradition of the Indian Sack Race. There is also the Little Tradition.
Topping the list here is the clothes bat or the washing paddle used to beat clothes (and husbands and children). This too, like the laws to do with sedition and homosexuality, has descended to us from the British, who called it the beetle or the battledore. Ok, they were also used in ancient Egypt but it still doesn’t explain why we used to use it till yesterday. Every t-shirt and underwear was beaten to pulp by Mumbai bais; I could never understand this colossal waste of energy. It looked like it had more to do with venting frustration at the Great Indian Sack Race than to do with actual cleaning. As if the bat wasn’t enough, a brush would be applied vigorously to the item of clothing, pretty much rendering it threadbare. Having been a hand-washer of clothes all my life, I can vouch for the fact that soaking, gentle rubbing, rinsing and wringing, work just fine.
What about India’s rejection of the fuel-efficient Tata Nano? In a country where the weather swings from one extreme to another: loo, hot and humid, incessant rain, foggy winter, even snow, we have still chosen the open-to-the-skies two-wheeler over a covered vehicle. There is also the small matter of balance: four wheels are always better than two. The ignominy of status was the sack we had on when we stumbled over this obstacle. We’d rather be in a road accident than lose face.
Adding to our transport woes are Nitin Gadkari’s repeated threats to retire old Maruti 800s. I drive my dead grandmother’s 800 and live in mortal fear of it being banned by law. Gadkari, if I could buy another car, I would have done so. Besides, there is an emotional link. Please don’t barricade the road with a fallen tree.
How about boundary walls? Before we build the house, we build the boundary wall. Then we fight with our neighbours over inches and centimetres. There are countries that have done away with boundary walls altogether. It’s another obstacle we have willingly placed in our garden path.
As the Pet Shop Boys song goes: “Why don’t we try/ Not to break our hearts/ And to make it so hard for ourselves.”
The writer is the author of ‘The Butterfly Generation’ and the editor of ‘House Spirit: Drinking in India’. Views expressed are personal.
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