We are a bunch of confused Indians in the throes of an identity crisis. It is a long haul before we have a generation when the world can say this, then, is an Indian.
My grandfather, of Andhra descent, fought for the British in World War I and II. When he had a drink, the toast was to the King of England. The British hangover continued in peculiar forms. Learning impeccable English, wearing a Saville Row typesuit, behaving like a pucca saab, joining the right club. It did not stick to just the exterior. Adopting Oxford-Cambridge norms (later Harvard) for perceptions of history or literature was also part of this borrowed identity.
Somewhere, Marx and Lenin crept up on the scene. The Leftist intellectual became the most sought after identity. It completed the cycle of denouncing everything that was innately Indian, looking down upon everything that was part of intuitive—and civilisational—rural or middle-class India…be it culture, ritual, whatever.
The subtext to all this has been amazing. The traditional, elaborate marriages continued. As did the ritualistic funeral rites and the obsession with traditional food. The staunch Brahmin in a suit and tie could continue to put people in a spin for the even stauncher vegetarian insistence.
The unholy mix of the exterior and inner self exhibits itself in unusual ways. An aggressive news anchor flaunts a red ruby ring. Did mamaa advise it for the sun-god affliction suryamahaadosh? A Bollywood icon flaunts rings of various hues at various times. Gossip has it that it is to ensure he remains a superstar. The savvy psephologist-turned mother-of-all-anchors is often seen with layers of the red religious thread, kalaavaa, on the wrist. Rumour has it that tantric rituals are very much part of life in eastern India…as elsewhere. The chief of a much-touted secular party—and her son—are also seen with layers of kalaavaa. No one knows what rituals they are up to or who performs them. Like their other secrets, this too is a best-kept one.
Clearly, astrologers and Brahmin priests remained in business through the identity crisis. In recent times, those of this ilk are easily clubbed with the “Hindu” identity. It puts a lot of us in a dangerous territory. What, as practising Hindus, do we declare openly as acceptable and part of our “Indian” identity?
Scroll down to Gen X and it gets even more confused. There’s this whole lot fully branded with Levis, Gucci and Audi. Every icon and “custom” of western consumerism and laissez faire is an intrinsic part of their lives. The malls and drinking joints are their havens, providing nourishment for acquired identities. Movies and music provide the mental identity. There’s another lot immersed in replicating the big and small screen—haircuts, clothes, sunglasses, mobike, shoes. It gets pathetic when those who mimic are, in fact, living a hand-to-mouth existence and can ill afford the mimicry.
The civilisational identity of the grand Indian—and I don’t mean the Hindutva identity—has been gobbled up over and over again. When and where the struggle will stop and stabilise to a proud Indian identity is an unfathomable question. I anxiously await the true Indian Renaissance.