The Trouble with Comebacks

Why are the findings of behavioural science so easily subsumed in popular culture? The use of jargon marks a discipline for revulsion, more so in a political environment that scoffs at expertise. For instance, there's so much said and written by experts about the time it takes to develop a habit, and also the time it takes to get rid of one; how does this make the leap to an easy dinner table conversation, even in conservative families? This question is of immediate relevance to my post, since I have resumed writing after seven long years; I am returning to a creative enterprise, and it is hard to tell if the hiatus is fatal. I can't intuit wisdom in these matters. There’s more dignity in simplifying worries to a friend, than resolving them in credible, but impersonal crannies online- say, a podcast by a noted behavioural expert, or a journal article. Life has changed a lot over these years, and the heft of this transition cannot be articulated in writing- but an authentic resumption accounts for the past; I could begin unspooling my thoughts with a post on my reading habits, but my preferences are so seismically different now, that it would disorient anyone reading this post. I visualise my audience landing on this page to seek respite from the walls that have been closing in on them in the last three weeks. To first walk them through my discovery of Nirmal Shekar, and explain how this has culminated in a tolerance for sterile academic prose… would be an ode to tyranny. I should abandon the effort- for now. The performance of evolution needs a better stage.  

Notes from a Worried Indian

Note: This post was written seven years ago, right after the Delhi rape incident. 

I was waiting for answers. The questions had been put forth by rapists, long ago - they were troubled whispers in the dark, repeated with each passing instance of sexist behavior. At first, I ignored them - emotion is often foiled by the demands of cordiality. The voice, however, grew louder, and morphed into a blood curdling scream, amplified by the media's attention - and this time, everybody heard it. 

Were people awakened to the ghoul in our midst? It has been feeding on the corpse of womanhood for years, and feminism, the resident exorcist, sensing its presence, has tried hard to drive it away - to no avail. The ghoul has a robust appetite, and salivates at the prospect of devouring civilization - it is pointedly insatiable when hungered by the aroma of  mutilated confidence, and the succulence of dismembered lives. The outpouring of polemic rage on television, in print and on the streets of cities ought to augur well for India and her women - the ghoul, having eluded capture for so many years, will now be vanquished. Not. 

As I watch our literati profess their punditry everywhere, my thoughts drift to the people who are led by them - the aam junta; left on their own after a certain point, with a sketchy idea of the problem, and borrowed ideas of the solution, they fall prey to an insidious form of subversion - herd behaviour. I'm not blaming the pundits for creating an opinion - but the common man has to pause and think before he accepts it. Rabid concurrence can be dangerous, because it affords opportunities for people with perverse interests to poison our  minds - if we don't dwell.

Take, for instance, a widely circulated Facebook post :  two pictures - one, of a bloodied corpse being dragged through the streets, and the second, of the same body being hung on a pole, watched by a frenzied mob. The caption? " This is what officials do to rapists in Lebanon. Where does India stand?"

I was nauseated, not only by the gore, but also by the idea. Lebanon, for starters, is in the Middle-East, a region known for its chauvinist inclination in all matters. Why then, would a rapist be punished this way? I decided to find out. Guess what? Section 522 of  the Lebanese Criminal Code, as of late December(when the post was in circulation), far from prescribing such punishment, exonerates the rapist of all charges if he marries the victim - and, hold your breath - this rule applies to mentally and physically challenged women too. If the United Nations Country Team's report to the Human Rights Council is to be believed, then Lebanese women suffer just much as their Indian counterparts.

Doesn't it follow that the veracity of the caption to the post can safely be questioned? If yes, then why did the person who first created this post lie to incite a virtual mob? I use the word incite because the post was shared by nearly 5000 people in a few hours. 

 That is not all. Yet another post circulated fake photos of the victim - the girl in the photo turned out to be an engineering student from Kerala, and the Cyber Cell has  initiated a probe, but is yet to nab the offender. Reports of  sensationalist profiles, revealing the name and identity  of the victim started trickling in. Isn't it a crying shame on us that we allow these knaves to thrive?

Were all the protesters in Delhi and elsewhere driven by conviction? Was it the thought that they could get away with venting their anger in such a protest that was driving them, or was it genuine concern? Are we sure that their integrity can't be questioned, that there is no molester in their ranks? We aren't. 

 I am also reminded of the reactions to the Guwahati molestation case. I regarded the frenzy with quizzical exasperation - outrage and bloodlust spilled onto Twitter updates and Facebook walls, there were calls for the molesters' heads,  and shared photos of the prime suspect, with profane captions to boot - varied expressions of violence, all of them. Surprisingly, appalling gaffes by Tarun Gogoi and Alka Lamba , again naming and revealing the victim's identity - were not even fractionally subjected to that kind of focus, while, in effect, such ineptitude starves the victim of respite for the rest of her life - and should have mattered just as much as the hunt for the molesters. One other queer aspect, was the distribution of the video of the incident by the very same people who claimed to've felt deeply for the victim - why was it being widely watched, shared and trending everywhere, for weeks after  people were made aware of its contents? Was the number of YouTube visits to the video a measure of empathy for the girl? Watching the molestation helps one commiserate with the victim - or so, it seems.

Quick on the heels of the Guwahati grope fest, was trouble from the North-East - places many hadn't even cared to hear about, made its presence felt in southern India, leading to a mass exodus. As if the extant prejudice against north-easterners wasn't enough, mischief mongers were at it again, moulding public thought.  

How does this reflect on the aam junta? Don't we owe it to every victim to think before we conclude, regardless of the sides we take?  I shudder to think of the consequences. We'd do well to remember that mobs, on the internet or otherwise, whatever the act, are always driven by collective empowerment, deriving from individual thoughtlessness. Please think before you form an opinion. It's a humble request from a worried Indian.

  

Civilians and the Army: Where's the Respect?

Note: This post is a personal opinion, and the reader is welcome to disagree. 

The desecration of the Amar Jawan memorial in Mumbai symbolizes not just the resentment that people harbour against the establishment - but also the lack of respect for our armed forces. Soldiers' lives are in a state of neglect. There is little that can be done if the very people who are protected don't spare time to understand the sacrifice of their uniformed brothers. The life of a jawan is often dismissed as lowly; why bother, after all, with a life that entails penury? An officer is respected in social circles, not because he contributes to nation-building, but because he holds a superior rank. What is common to both the jawan and the officer? Have you, as a civilian, ever bothered to find out?  

I am not preaching here - heroism is not a supernatural gift.  However, in contrast to the average youngsters' disposition in  matters that concern the country today, our soldiers' spirit of sacrifice is extraordinary. By and large, the people I speak to don't find the idea of serving their country in such a direct manner very appealing; materialism has become the new ideal, and selflessness is sacrificed everyday, at the altar of convenience. While it is unfair to expect the average civilian to serve in the army, it is not unreasonable to ask of him a little respect for our soldiers; attempts to inculcate a sense of oneness and conviction are met with mockery, and people go so far as to rubbish the service rendered by the armed forces. The National Military Memorial in Bengaluru is an example of our apathy as a people. The construction of the memorial was opposed on environmental grounds - a citizens' group filed a Public Interest Litigation petition in the High Court - which was dismissed. In expounding its reasons for the dismissal of the petition, the Court stated that the memorial was a matter of pride for the citizens. Isn't it sad that the judiciary has to remind the society of their duty towards the defence forces? That is not all. The group then moved the Supreme Court to stop the construction - the Court rapped them on the knuckles, and concurred with the High Court's verdict. The basis of the petition was a supposed environmental grievance due to the disappearance of a park. This is shameful, given the army's habit of preserving the environment wherever they go - what right do we have, to sully the memory of our Martyrs, and accuse the army of harming the environment, when there is only a perceived, and not an actual reason to do so? 

Why is this happening? Examples set by our inept political cadre, for decades, have shaped the attitude of our youth. That said, initiatives such as awareness lectures held by the army at St.Edmund's College, Shillong, can help mitigate this problem - if only there were more of them. We would then be able to tell a guerrilla from a gorilla (as Field Marshal Manekshaw so delightfully put it). Sensitizing children at school could also address this problem. We could do with the inclusion of famous battles that instill a sense of pride in our military culture - not necessarily post-independence battles, but inspiring stories, which help them understand what the term "esprit de corps" really means. The Battle of Saragarhi is an excellent illustration. The army had been pushing for its inclusion in the school curriculum; apparently, it has been taught in French schools - this sparked a political debate, and it has been taught in schools in Punjab since. What I understand from this incident, is that change at the grassroots level is difficult, unless the political class desires it. The average citizen, on his part, can engage in debate and healthy conversation on all things military with people who are willing to listen.  

There is hope. There are examples of gratitude - but they are few and far between. The National War Memorial in Pune, located near the Souhtren Command Headquarters is one such example - it remains the only war memorial in South Asia to be erected by citizens' contributions. However, fleeting remembrance does not equal respect - it brings to light an acute lack of conviction. Ceremonial and scattered recollections aren't enough - the remembrance has to be consistent - only then will it leave a lasting impression. This will happen when we, as a nation, spread ideas, debate, and when lessons in bravery are nationalized. 

This won't blight my hope for a better outlook. I might be a civilian, but I relate to the creed of our defence forces, and hold our soldiers in high esteem. Jai Hind. 

Of Ballads and Bayonets.

Every morning, on my way to college, I am reminded of a discomforting truth; a woman, aged about twenty one, with a baby in one arm, and a bowl in the other, stares longingly at passers-by, wanting money to feed her child. Part of me wants to help her; the other part gropes for a sordid excuse to ignore her plight and keep walking; I don't look her in the eye as I do this; her eyes are a reminder of the grim reality of our daily lives that I so desperately want to avoid, and also of my utter selfishness and insensitivity. The first time I saw her, I tried to reason for and against my refusal to help. She looked quite capable of fending for herself; was this just an easy way out? Or was she a victim of domestic abuse?- was her husband an irresponsible man? Was he even alive? What if I don't help her? My act could be a significant cog in a wheel of refusals, and rid a young mother of hope and faith.  To the contrary, why do I need to feed such hope? Am I not perpetuating an illusion of mankind's "goodness"?

Rationalizing doesn't help. You can't reason against the instinct and want of a mother. I was being a coward. Isn't time a poetess? She thrills you with the poetic rhythm of highs and lows; your life is a tragic ballad one moment, a romantic sonnet the next. What keeps you from enjoying such artistry? It's the conscience. Your memory is like a bayonet; your conscience will use it to stab you, over and over again, reminding you of your misdoings; the greater the guilt, the more recurrent such memories are. Sigh! I wish the world were a simpler place. 

"Does the Counsel Need White Skin to Serve Black Tea?"

A year into law school, I was surprised - surprised at how a random choice could infuse hope into an ill-fated life and a wandering mind. There was now a sense of purpose and being. My vocation was the brush, and my life, the canvas. I read, wrote and pled with passion and poise. I was particularly drawn to moot court activity; the thrill and enchantment of a conversation with the Bench was unlike anything I had ever experienced; the dialogue was not always civil; on one occasion, even as I was trying to convince His Lordship of the need for pretty attendants in my imaginary client's airline, he balked with the air of a skeptic, and was quick to retort: "Does the counsel need white skin to serve black tea?" I was at a loss for words, and was asked to rest my case. With the passage of time, the love of argument wore out, and gave way to resentment; my dislike for our legal system grew with every passing day, and this had a lot to do with the manner in which our laws were drafted.

Law, I believe, is a confluence of reason and instinct, art and science; here in India, elegance in the written and spoken word is scoffed upon at all levels; class is confused with verbiage, and the study of any legal document invariably requires one to hack one's way through a corpus of verbal deadwood. Isn't brevity the proverbial soul of wit? Why then, do I have to wade through an unintelligible river of words every time I seek an answer to a simple legal problem? Jurists of the old school ascribe such verbosity to the British and take pride in the Englishness of our laws; in doing this, they conveniently cloak their apathy towards the ailment. Can we ever dispense with the sanctity attached to relics of the Raj? I think not. I could rant for hours on end; as a concerned student, I've always longed for changes in content and pedagogy. Experiences, many of them bitter, have quelled all hope . I'm resigned to my fate, and that of our archaic system.