Secession of the Successful
PAVAN K. VARMA
THE absence of a moral code, binding on all, reinforced the doctrinal bias in
Hinduism for the individual over the community. There were, of course, the
loyalties of kin, clan and caste. At first glance it would appear that these could
provide a transcending framework for the individual to acquire a wider and
collective vision. But, paradoxically, these were too narrow categories, while
blurring a sense of obligation to the community as a whole. The fact of the matter
is that whether as a result of his religious inheritance, or the rigidities of the social
structure to which he belonged, or the absence of a moral imperative which
stressed collective values, the average Hindu middle-class person had a very
undeveloped sense of social sensitivity to the overall good of his community. He
attached little priority to an altruistic interface with society. His motivation to
contribute to its betterment, without the notion of personal gain, was weak. He saw
no great reason why he should identify his personal welfare with the well-being of
even his immediate environment. His concerns were restricted to himself, his
family, and, at a lower scale, his clan or caste. His cosmic view held an individual
to be a microcosm unto himself. There was no need for his path to meander into
the needs of others, who, even if they were obviously in need of succour, were
only suffering the consequences of their own karmas.
...The issue here is not of poverty alone. Obviously, India is a poor country, and
poverty cannot be pushed under the carpet. The issue here is the approach of the
more well-to-do citizens of Indian society to this all-pervasive poverty. For the
burgeoning and upwardly mobile middle class of India, such poverty has ceased to
exist. It has ceased to exist because it does not create in most of its members the
slightest motivation to do something about it. Its existence is taken for granted. Its
symptoms, which would revolt even the most sympathetic foreign observer, do not
even register any more. The general approach is to get on with one's life, to carve
out a tiny island of well-being in a sea of deprivation. The utter obsession with
individual survival and betterment and the complete absence of a sense of social
obligation is not unlike a system of apartheid, rendered more insidious because the
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perpetuators no longer even notice the conditions of those they have banished. The
concern with personal salvation at the spiritual plane had assumed, at the temporal
level, a Frankenstein form: the almost complete inability to see or identify with
anything beyond the narrowest definition of self-interest. The absence of a strong
moral imperative for social altruism had resulted, under the tutelage of unethical
leaders and opportunistic politics, in a horribly bloated unconcern for society itself.
The end product was the acceptance of a certain kind of lifestyle: insular,
aggressive, selfish, obsessed with material gain and socially callous.
...The attempt to escape the external milieu, to build fences as a substitute for civic
responsibility, nurtured its own sense of a siege mentality; if the unwashed masses
seem to be climbing up the garden wall, raise the height of the wall; if there is not
enough supply of water, dig a tube well, or add a water tank, or, best of all, siphon
off the supply with a pump on the municipal line itself, irrespective of the
consequences to the others; if the electricity is deficient, instal a general, or
illegally increase the sanctioned load by bribing the electrical sub-station. The
emphasis was on finding a short-cut, a quick-fix solution, which had to be
efficacious even if unethical. In fact the siege mentality had little of the innocence
or valour of those wrongfully besieged. Its origins lay in a cynical and deliberate
withdrawal from a constructive interface with society; its motivations were based
on an unyielding conviction that there could be no interest higher than one's own.
Such a conviction was not restricted to a theoretical narcissism; it was easily
identifiable in action. Contrary to the popular notion, most popular with the middle
class itself, that it is the urban poor who are the least concerned about municipal
rectitudes, the biggest offenders in the massive theft of electricity all over urban
India belong to the 'affluent yuppie middle-class'. Vehicles owned by the middle
class are the largest cause of pollution in metropolitan India. If Delhi has 1,500
tons of uncollected garbage every day, much of it is not generated in the squatters'
colonies: a low-income-group colony produces only 0.3 kg waste per head,
whereas a middle-class or rich colony produces upward of 1.5 kg per head.
Moreover, the lower income dumps have ninety-six per cent bio-degradable matter,
whereas the garbage from the more affluent neighbourhoods have only forty per
cent bio-degradable refuse. A typical middle-class colony of one thousand homes
can generate an average of 5,200 plastic bags a day, and these do not include the
hundreds left scattered in public parks after a weekend of picnicking.
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One reason for the 'predatory prowess' was the perceived inefficiency of the
system: it could not deliver in accordance with expectations, not even such basics
as electricity and water, or such essential services as garbage removal. But this
resentment at the State's limitations led to no desire to address the root causes of
the problem. There was no introspection; it did not occur to the average middle-
class Indian that in a country where scores of millions did not have even enough to
eat, the State could, perhaps, have priorities other than only catering efficiently to
the increasing demands of a vocal minority. Middle-class criticism of the State for
its inefficiencies and rampant corruption was certainly valid. But this criticism was
flawed, emphatically limited only to "why can't the State do more for us?"; and it
provoked no desire for organised action to rectify this state of affairs. The demands
and the indignation displayed an acute sense of dependency: the State should
deliver; it should deliver more of what we want; and if it cannot do so, we have the
freedom to criticise, but no obligation to think or act beyond the articulation of our
requirements.
Mindless imitations: The seeking of approbation from the West may have
become a noticeable trait in Nehru, but it did not diminish him as an Indian. His
formidable intellect and his genuine pride in being an Indian combined to make
him more than an equal to those whose approbation he sought. But as a role model
for lesser mortals, such as the average middle-class Indian, this 'looking up to' the
West only strengthened the deep sense of racial inferiority bequeathed by the
colonial experience. This inferiority manifested itself in more ways than one. First,
it reinforced the tendency to seek solace in an idealised past whose achievements,
imagined or otherwise, could reduce the erosion of self-worth. Secondly, it fostered
an excessive sensitivity to any criticism or praise emanating from the West: the one
was countered with disproportionate aggression, the other projected with
unbecoming effusiveness. And thirdly, and this was by far its more debilitating
consequence, it spawned a vast imitativeness which dulled the pursuit of
excellence and creativity, and made most educated Indians—in their lifestyles and
aspirations and cultural idiom—persistent and unthinking apes of anything
Western.
There is hardly any area of achievement, aesthetics or lifestyle where this
imitativeness, and the accommodation with mediocrity which it legitimises, is not
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evident. The world of academia is littered with doctoral theses which have nothing
more to contribute than extensive quotations from 'foreign' experts. The best works
on India are still the monopoly of Western experts, or of Indians who have
suddenly discovered their brilliance in institutions abroad. Scientists are judged by
their 'foreign' degrees. The general impression of the middle class is that 'science
and technology in India is second rate'.
Institutions of excellence have been patterned on those of the West, with little
thought to curriculum and content as relevant to India. Some of the best and
brightest students study here but their dominant interest is to go West, to somehow
enhance their marketability by acquiring a Western degree. Most faculty members
in such premier institutions have the 'mandatory' doctorate from the US, but that is
probably the last time they did any worthwhile research.
...Lutyen's Delhi, even as a statement of imperial power, imaginatively
incorporated Indian motifs and construction materials. But since then architecture
in India has become a showcase of some of the most rootless—and ugly—
imitations of Western design and concepts, a pathetic, tasteless hybrid that has
prompted such clever appellations as "Chandni Chowk Chippendale, Tamil
Tiffany, Bania Gothic, Punjabi Baroque", etc. Incredibly enough, even today new
housing colonies in the capital of the country proudly give themselves names such
as Beverly Park, Regency Park, May Fair Gardens and Malibu Towne! The
melody and lilt of Indian film music, with its roots in the classical and folk
traditions, has gradually given place to the simplistic obsession with the fast-paced
beat of Western popular music. The beat can be catchy, but there is often a
soullessness that bespeaks a mechanical grafting and an unthinking neglect of the
possibilities and appeal of the indigenous tradition. If an earlier generation of
upper-middle-class children came of age on the entertaining stories of Enid Blyton
set in small-town England, ignorant of the extensive repertoire of folk tales and
mythological stories in their own country, a new generation is being weaned on
Barbie and Cindy dolls, completely clueless about the rich Indian doll-making
tradition.
Artistic talent has scandalously languished in India until recognition and acclaim
has come from abroad. Once recognised in the West, all discrimination is thrown
to the winds in lauding the new find. There is no balance, no equilibrium, that
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comes from a confidence in one's own worth irrespective of the certificates from
others. The fashion conscious adopt the fads or the labels of the West with
lightning speed. Women who still pronounce lingerie as 'linger here' flaunt
designer wear from the West as their most treasured possessions. "The Indian
woman whose individualism was such that it used to be said that no two women
wore a saree or a salwar- kameez the same way" can now be seen "squeezing,
squirming, pulling and punishing (her body) to fit into undergarments made with
the Western woman, with one and a half children and an active sex life, in mind".
If Victoria's Secrets is still spelt correctly in the marquees of the bigger cities, the
middle class in small-town India is not half that fussy: Western designer labels that
look like the original and roughly spell the same way will also do quite well.
Consumer neuroses: Driven by the twin engines of material desire and the
ceaseless competition to fulfil these wants, the Indian middle class appears to be
close to a collective neurosis. The symptoms of this neurosis are increasingly
discernible. Between 1984 and 1994 the number of people who committed suicide
in the country almost doubled. This statistic does not take into account those who
failed in their attempt, estimated to be ten times the number of those who
succeeded. Divorces have increased dramatically. Stress-related diseases have
become commonplace. And worst of all, children are showing signs of stress-
related symptoms that were till recently the exclusive preserve of adults.
What has gone wrong? There are visible signs of greater material success. The
average middle-class family today has, for instance, many more consumer durables
than that of a generation ago. But the possession of more seems to have fuelled the
desire for more, in an endless rat race of want multiplying want. The problem is
compounded because this race must be pursued amidst an avalanche of municipal
concerns—about housing, transport, education, and even such basic amenities as
adequate water and electricity supply. Moreover, the new ethos of acquisition and
competition does not seem to have obliterated a hankering for the easy-paced
securities and assurances of the past. In order to enhance the family income, more
and more men now seek out working brides; "and yet, after mar riage, (they) miss
their non-working mothers' single-minded dedication to the family. The
contradiction afflicts women too: much as they desire economic independence,
they long for the securities their mothers enjoyed within the confines of the home."
The institution which is under ceaseless pressure is the home. The demise of the
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joint family has given place to the nuclear family, where traditional family values
of support and a sense of belonging and togetherness have often given way to
individual pursuits and ambitions. Economic independence and education have
made women more assertive, mostly for the right reasons. But this has also meant
the destabilisation of the traditional equilibrium of middle-class homes. If the
mores of a male-dominated society are—ever so slowly—being eclipsed, so are the
virtues of compromise and adjustment long considered an intrinsic part of
marriage. Divorce has become a real middle-class alternative. Twenty divorce
petitions are filed in the courts of Delhi every day, and the trend is the same in all
the bigger cities; even in Bangalore, where the pace is less frenetic than in the big
four metropolises, the number of divorce cases has doubled in the last three years.
One of the reasons for the spectacular success of two recent films, Ham Aapke
Hain Kaun and Dilwale Dulhaniya Le Jayenge, was that they recreated an idealised
world of the happy joint family and the slightly aimless but settled pleasures of a
bourgeois existence, but without the strife and tension that have become their
adjuncts in real life.
Liberated from guilt: In mid-1991, the then Prime Minister, Narasimha
Rao, ably guided by his erudite Finance Minister, Dr Manmohan Singh, announced
a series of economic reforms which would help dismantle some of the inefficient
State controls on the Indian economy and facilitate its greater integration with the
world economy. This 'liberalisation' package, tailored to make India a player in the
'globalised' economy, suddenly put the spotlight on the middle class for an entirely
new reason: its ability to consume. If India was to open up to the world markets, it
was essential to know how much it could buy. The segment with the largest
concentration of purchasing power in India was the middle class. Its consumerist
prowess had therefore to be accurately gauged.
This exercise was important not only for the Indian government, which wished to
advertise the strength of the untapped Indian market to woo the economies of the
developed world, but also for the latter, always sensitive to newer pastures for the
sale of their goods and technologies. The logic of economic reform, therefore,
dictated that the middle class now be analysed, not for its lack of ideological
moorings, or its lack of commitment to anything but its own material well-being,
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or for its utter insensitivity to social and moral causes, but for its craving for and
ability to buy what the developed countries could sell to it.
In this process the size of the Indian middle class became, for the first time, a
matter of crucial importance. Several figures were bandied about, ranging from
200 million to 500 million. Overnight the consumerist thirst of the middle class
became an asset, a sign of the dynamism of the Indian market. Learned proponents
of the New Economic Policy (NEP) exulted in the revelation that "urban India
itself is the world's third largest country".Several systematic surveys were carried
out to reinforce perception with facts.
...The great Indian 'liberalised' economic machine was all set to roll with the
middle class as its engine, but, unfortunately, many of these very surveys revealed
that the power of the engine was hardly in conformity with the wishful thinking of
the enthusiasts. According to (an) NCAER survey, households with incomes
restricted to between Rs 12,500 and Rs 40,000 per year account for as many as 331
million people. Only 4.1 per cent of the population, or 37 million people, have an
income of over Rs 40,000 a year. And the rich, with an income of over five lakh
rupees a year, do not number more than 1.4 million. Other indices are equally
sobering...."People who wake up in the morning thinking that they have no history,
no ancestors, are simply uncultured." This was a comment made by a leading
Russian politician to Newsweek in March 1996, and should have been profoundly
sobering for those in his country who thought that post-communist Russia could at
one stroke forget the legacies of the past and, much in the nature of a quick-change
artist, emerge totally at ease in the new attire presented to it by its Western
benefactors. Some such perspective is perhaps of relevance in the Indian context as
well. The NEP may have put a new focus on the middle class, primarily as a
consumer, but the middle class was not suddenly conjured out of thin air the day
the policies were announced. The middle class had 'ancestors', and a 'history'
before policy makers began to carefully assess its buying capacity and size. Its
origins and evolution, its behavioral traits, and the nature of its interaction with
other elements in society, should have been as relevant to the architects of the
liberalisation policy as putting an accurate fix on its consumer choices or
purchasing power. Such an approach would have made immediately clear that in a
country where the destitute are numbered at over 200 million by the same surveys
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that mapped the predilections of the consuming classes, the middle class could not
be expected to achieve an economic miracle in isolation; the Indian middle class
could not be an entity unto itself, defined solely by its material desires, and
autonomous to the economic realities of the country as a whole.
The error, born out of historical myopia, was two-fold: first, it gave to the middle
class an economic clout that it could not possibly possess in a country as poor as
India; and second, and with far more serious consequences, it failed to take into
account what the policies of liberalisation would do to a class which was already
morally rudderless, obsessively materialistic, socially insensitive to the point of
being unconcerned with anything but its own narrow self-interest.
...Its economic prowess may have been limited, but there was no ceiling now on
the middle class' aspiration to the good life. "The lifestyle of the Indian elite is
amazing," commented Noam Chomsky during a visit to India in 1996. "I've never
seen such opulence even in America." It was this lifestyle, replete with expensive
cars, the latest consumer gadgets, designer clothes and accessories, and five-star
living, which became the role model for the middle class in the heady hedonism
unleashed by the liberalisation process. The urge to move up the consumption
ladder, to somehow put an unbridgeable gap between the squalor of the poor and
the plush material insularities of the rich, was always there. But now this urge had
the stamp of 'official' acceptance, the justification of an ideology. "We should all
get this clear," wrote an ideologue of the new school of thought on the editorial
page of a national newspaper, "that a country of the size and importance of India
has no choice but to clamber to its new tryst with destiny inside shiny buildings of
chrome and glass at the free market. There is no mileage in looking wistfully at
quaint mud huts rushing by the car windows because they, and their ilk, cannot
meet our burgeoning needs, and if truth be told never have." ...Is the middle class
capable of pausing to think, of seeing what is good for its own enduring interests?
Can it for a moment see beyond immediate self-interest, and think seriously about
what the problem is and how best it can achieve on a more secure basis its goals
for a better life, not just for tomorrow but for the next generation and the
foreseeable future? Can middle-class Indians transcend the sound and fury of their
myriad little worlds of desires and pursuits to forge a vision that is sustainable in
the long run?
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Can they somehow escape the clutches of the illusion that their upwardly mobile
aspirations can remain insulated from the basic deprivations that are the lot of most
of their countrymen? The odds certainly appear to be stacked against their
undertaking such a fundamental reappraisal. There is a total absence of any
credible appeal to social commitment or a moral imperative that can counter the
obsession with personal gain and promotion. The shrinking of the moral domain in
national life cannot but destroy the resolve of even the most well intentioned.
"Moral losses are like radiation, colourless and odourless and the more terrifying
for that." Greed—the desire to possess more and more irrespective of the means or
the consequences—is a fertilizer that accelerates the growth of particularities; it
can hardly be expected to produce a harvest of restraint or re-evaluation. The
buoyant media messages of consumer nirvana crowd out the need for sobering
introspection. The removal of any stigma associated with making money has ended
hypocrisy but also the need to be concerned about anything else. "When a long-
suppressed desire becomes realisable, it drives the fortunate few unscrupulous."
Unscrupulous in the single-minded pursuit of their own betterment to the exclusion
of any other cause or concern. In such a milieu, the loss of one kind of restraint
quickly leads to the unravelling of the whole system. A young fashion designer
holds a 'loo' theme party at a disco in the countryside on the outskirts of Delhi. All
the guests have to come dressed in apparel worn normally in the loo, and the decor
is done up to resemble a loo. Is this great party idea just a frivolous, juvenile ripple
of the affluent class? Or is there just the hint of the vulgar and the perverse? Not in
moral terms at the choice of the theme, but in what the evening demonstrates: the
unthinking acceptance of the enormous gulf that separates the tiny group of people
living out in the middle of a semi-rural setting from the thousands of people only a
few yards away who still use the fields to defecate and walk a kilometre or more to
obtain something as basic as drinking water. The comment is not on the event per
se: that is of no consequence. It is on the sensibilities of a westernised affluent
fringe, increasingly a role model for many in the middle class, that can find such
ingenious, flamboyant ways to party, oblivious to the revulsion such a lifestyle
creates when juxtaposed to the backdrop for its shenanigans.
Judgement hour: For the Indian middle class, the moment has come for
some very critical decisions. Either it must pause, in its own interest, and take a
hard look at what needs to be done to ensure its well-being in the long run, or
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persist with its current short-sighted obsession only with what can be had, by any
and all means, in the here and now. Either it must curb its frenetic preoccupation
with immediate material gain, or contribute to enduring material progress by
preoccupying itself a little more with the good of the nation as a whole. Either it
must inculcate in itself a greater social sensitivity, or accept the fact that all that it
is seeking to acquire can be set aside by forces beyond its control. India may not
see, for a variety of reasons, a violent revolution by the dispossessed. But if their
needs are not addressed in a more concerned and interventionist manner by those
who are in a better position to do so, there is likely to be great political instability,
which could be as inimical to economic growth and prosperity as violent upheaval.
A functioning democracy—and there is no reason to assume that India will not
remain one—renders illusory the prospect of the secession of the successful. The
time has come to definitively bury that illusion.
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