Sunday Sentiments
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By The wonder that’s India
There was a time when cartoons were titled Just like that or This is India. The caption reflected a fact few would deny : ours is an amazing country – surprising, perplexing, contradictory, paradoxical, inexplicable or, simply, dumbfounding. In my teens this was a source of innocent fun. Since then, sadly, we’ve lost our humour or, at least, our sense of wonder. We’ve become prosaic. But three recent newspaper stories have recaptured ‘the wonder that is India’.
First, the fatwa from Deoband requiring women who stand for elections to campaign in purdah. Whilst I freely admit this is not funny the outcome could be ridiculous. Consider for a moment the following scenario. You are a voter in a constituency where a Muslim woman in purdah is a candidate. She comes knocking on your door. You open it to find a shrouded figure asking for your support. You could jump to any of the following conclusions – (a) she’s hiding her face because it’s so awful it might put you off; (b) she’s hiding her face because it’s so beautiful she can’t be sure you won’t pounce on her; (c) it’s a trick or, worse, a trap, and you should bang the door shut. But the one thing you are least likely to do is vote for the woman if, of course, a woman it is.
Now imagine if all politicians were to come knocking in purdah, regardless of their sex. Better still, picture them on the hustings, in TV studios, even in Parliament covered from top to toe. From CPM to BJP, Congress to Telugu Desam, Sonia to Vajpayee, Laloo to Jayalalithaa, only their shrill discordant voices would distinguish them. On the surface they would look alike. Like ghouls we could shun them yet pretend we don’t know who they are. What a joy that might be!
The second is Sharad Pawar’s idea that wine should be treated like Coca Cola. He also wants the tax reduced. As he put it : “There is a lot of misunderstanding about wine, which is different from liquor.” I’m not sure how right he is, but who cares? As they say, in vino veritas.
Now imagine the following scenario. You ring your local lala to order the groceries. After telling him about the aata, dal, sabun and tel you require, you ask about the wines he has to offer. He rattles off the desi names with aplomb and then pauses as he struggles over the foreign ones. “Yes?”, you impatiently prod him. “Ek-do aur bhi hain. Zara ajab jaise naam hein. Lekin hein France ke.” And you’re left wondering if one of the unpronounceables is Mouton Rothschild!
But it’s the third news item that really lifted my spirits. If you’re getting married in Jodhpur and don’t have enough friends to add to the occasion you can hire a baraat! A certain Mr. M.R. Saeed has thought of everything. He will even ensure that the rented baraat is suitably dressed. As he succinctly puts it : “No one is able to tell them out.” Of course, he does charge accordingly. Baraatis in suits cost 300 per person. But if you will accept one in dhoti-kurta it could be as cheap as 100. However, if you’re really fussy and insist on fluency in english the charge could jump to a whopping 500!
Mr. Saeed’s catchment is equally thoughtfully chosen. He only trades in students from outside the city. In fact, he shuns the locals of Jodhpur altogether. Again, as he explains : “Hiring locals is risky as people identify them easily. That is not good for business.”
Now imagine what might happen if this practice spreads to Delhi. You’re sneaking out of office a couple of hours early and are accosted by an irritating colleague who keeps a beady eye on you. “Hey! Where do you think you’re off to?” You blush. Then you stammer : “I’ve got a wedding at the other end of town. I’m slipping away a little early.” “Oh!” comes the swift reply. “How much are you getting paid?”
Of course, all of this is make belief but the wonder of India is that so often there’s no sharp distinction between fantasy and reality. The impossible or the incredible can easily come to pass just as the probable or inevitable often don’t. That’s why our lives oscillate between deep disappointment and utter amazement. Quite frankly, I wouldn’t want it otherwise. But we need to remember both extremes to stay in the middle.