Inventing India—Again and Again

I have never seen a brighter or clearer night sky than the one over Arambol beach in North Goa. As I walk on the hard, packed sand, craning my neck to get a better view of this stunning configuration of constellations and planets, my head spins and I nearly fall down…perhaps lying prone on the beach would have been the more intelligent thing to do for the purpose of star-gazing. I am not exactly Goa-familiar, having made brief touristy trips over the years, but this time visiting my son who has opened a tiny restaurant on the beach, I feel at last that I have visiting rights. Sure enough, by the second morning, I am acknowledged as Mr. Sandman’s mother, and regulars give me benevolent nods as I pass by in the bazaar.

I fall quite naturally into the pattern of staying up late as people drift into the Sandman till two in the morning, helping out at the bar or in the kitchen as the cook and waiter have taken time off to celebrate the Mount Carmel festival. It’s hard work, running a restaurant that has the most basic kitchen facilities; soon we find Kees from the Netherlands and Deborah from Israel are lending a hand, dishing up delicious salads and broccoli soup, being successful chefs in their own right.

Conversational ice being broken, intense discussions follow over the state of the world, with other guests from Germany, Ireland, the UK joining in, broken only by the boring need to sleep and continued over the next few nights. Starlight pours in, and chill night winds and the music varies from trance to Coldplay to Susheela Raman’s strong vocals in praise of Shiva. Other people drift in as conversation moves from European politics, corruption in Israel, falling birth-rates in the West, falling away from religious practice, the vow never to visit the US ever again; what emerges is a real pot-pourri of attitudes and choices illuminated by strong individualism, and a marked dislike of being told how one ought to live one’s life.

Kees recounts an incident when he was collared by a pastor from his small-town home in Holland, told to repent or be damned for ever… “How can any one swallow such rubbish? I don’t lie, cheat, don’t harm anyone, just live my life the way I wish to…Is there any one truth?” he asks. I hear frequent references to the Scandinavian countries as models of the most tolerant societies: “no pointing of fingers,” as someone puts it. There are questions about India, as well, about the effects the religious right is having on society at large. I try to answer as honestly as possible.

They love easy-going Goa and keep coming back. Some make quick trips down the coast to Hampi and Badami, an occasional detour to Belur and Halebid, but I do not notice any strong desire to “see” the rest of India for themselves. The Goans are indulgent lookers-on as these people sun themselves, smoke pot, paraglide, sky dive, practise yoga and t’ai-chi on the beach, strip to the barest essentials, beautiful Nordic and Teutonic specimens, most of them. The ones who have stayed longer are easy to spot. Their skins are bleached of all colour, indeed they become a peculiar yellowish-grey, and they have exercised and dieted to extremes. These are the ones who run the most successful restaurants, (Double Dutch in Arambol), or teach power yoga and meditation or even as I noticed two British women doing, sat-sang. (pronounced exactly as spelt).

Kees asks me how I feel about this re-packaging of Hindu spiritual wisdom. I have already expressed my views on this, with some force within my family, which incidentally disagrees with me, saying that Westerners are accustomed to going deep into the study of things till they have achieved real expertise before they regurgitate aforesaid wisdom. But I find myself searching deeper within myself, not precisely for answers, (are there ever any answers?), but for clarity and charity. What I feel I am really being asked is what I feel about my own country, and therein lies the rub. In response to Kees, I shrug and say that India does not have any monopoly on these practices, but neither does it have the answers that people seem to think it has. “We are as confused as anyone else, Kees.” And my son adds in comic mode, “We may not even know what the questions are!”

Later, the thought strikes me that if these people, the white teachers of yoga, meditation, satsang etc. think of themselves as honorary Hindus, where in the caste system do they fit in? Is there or should there be a special category for them? Are they super-Brahmins, (not a clear advantage these days), or OBC’s-extraordinaires or would they be regarded as mlechhas, beyond the pale? Is it even possible for people to be ‘converted’ to Hinduism, as certain right-wing parties are affirming their right to do. One is born a Hindu, and (going by that frequently quoted statement that it is a way of life, not a religion), by virtue of that, one is born into the caste system as well; one belongs to the caste of one’s fathers.

The oddest thing in recent times is the attempt by the RSS to convert tribals to Hinduism. How would they be categorized? If one acknowledges that tribals are the First Nation of India, the original inhabitants, it seems odious for anyone to try to ‘legitimise’ them for whatever reason.

To continue with that logic, one cannot then, however desperately one may try, ever become not-Hindu, even if one were to accept conversion to Christianity or to Islam. The ramifications of that ‘way of life’ will continue, as well as those of caste as some converts have found to their cost. And quite frankly, there is not much point being or ‘becoming’ Hindu, if one were to be relegated to being a BC or OBC or, loathsome word, ‘sudra’.

If one were a spin-doctor in the present rancorous climate of Indian politics, dealing in Resurgent Religion, how would one go about manufacturing a mythology that would win votes? The new password, ‘Development’, clearly did not occur to the strategists or grey eminences sitting in the conclaves or board-rooms of the VHP or RSS, when the rath-yatra was being planned. Indeed, they seem to have stumbled upon it by accident, for the coming elections, if what one hears is true. So if Rama has outlived his use, which god in the magnificent Hindu pantheon would fit the bill?

Let’s take Krishna, so accessible, so charming, so interesting. Women voters would love him.(I believe a great proportion of women found Rama too boring in his self-righteous adherence to principle. What was all this foolish insistence on going to the forests to fulfill not even his own but his father’s vow, even though his father begged him not to? Then again, the stubborn sacking of Sita on the say-so of one dhobi…I’ve always thought the readiness of Rama to have his wife undergo a trial by fire is responsible for so many women being churlishly set on fire by husbands and in-laws. They are only being true to what they have been taught.

To get back to Krishna, he is endearing as long as he remains a mischievous child. But then he starts all this fooling around with women. Not a good example to virtuous, patriarchal Hindu families. His ambivalent game- playing when he becomes the diplomat-king par excellence, is slightly better. But there is still something about Krishna which one cannot quite define, something that escapes in a gust of laughter.

Next, let us consider the Shiva-Shakti duo, with Ganesha thrown in as a bonus. Think of the slogan---India-the land of Dharma, Karma and Kama. Shiva whose power is part of a tradition so ancient that it transcends all the Aryan latecomers. And the Shakti part, the Mother Principle which some would consider the predominant selling point.

Ganesha’s rotund little body and his prediliction for food, poetry, and music all of which we excel at. He could be the symbol of our new prosperity, the god for all seasons, and for the environment, with his elephant head and the mouse at his feet. Wouldn’t that give our wired community a thrill?

And his father, the austere lord of the forests and of the hunt, with his fidelity to Parvathi for whom he was prepared to destroy the three worlds at a perceived insult by her own father. And let us not forget his thousand –year orgasms. Sex could make its great comeback and Indian men and women could learn to please one another rather than confront each other in bitterness and despair.

There’s another aspect to him. Let’s not forget the chillum which Shiva wielded in ganja- heaven. The chillum is a democratic instrument, a veritable pipe of peace. Peace and Love as all the Ms Universe use as their anthem. It does not matter who passes it to you and to whom you hand it after that serene puff… Pot is the answer to all those stupid enough to want to make war. Class and caste barriers would go for a toss. Perhaps even politicians would lose their repellent hue.

Tourists would flock in even greater numbers, the economy would boom to even greater heights and everyone would be happy, even the hungry millions.