communalism revisited

Like thousands of Indians, i too have been witnessing and anguishing on the Mumbai carnage and the outrage and outpourings that is flowing non stop.

much as i like to think of myself as a open minded, liberal, rational human being, to whom, communalism is associated only with the likes of fundamentalists of all kinds, the inner voice told some other tale.

This came up during a discussion with a dear friend who confronted me with the issue that one can not be anchored on one's own heritage and convictions unless one explores, understands and accepts both the primal and the socialised parts of the heritage, in its particularised context.

This pushed me to look at the number of communities that i emotionally connect to; and i came up with the following in order of psychological priority:

1. Bengali

2. Hindu

3. woman

4. middle class

and this list can go on and on. however, it is during the process of this discussion that i was rediscovering the communalism that i harbour inside.

Being a Bengali is a strongest identity for me - my connect with the culture, the language, literature, the ethos, food, etc, etc. But this is not all, for me, what comes along with these are the inherent biases and stereotyping of the regional identities. e.g. rural Biharis, UPites and Rajasthan are believers in "might is right", violent and irrational, Sikhs from Pujab are brave, straight, trustworthy and honourable, non-sikh punjabis are show-offs, braggarts, fun loving; people from parts of Rajasthan and from Gujrat are money oriented and are not intellectually oriented, people from down south are more religious, soft, less violent, measured and prudent, etc, etc. Similar stereotypes about Bengalis are intellectual or pseudo ones, artistic, lazy, rubble rousers, cowardly, physically weak, rebels without a cause, etc, etc.

The second one is about being a Hindu - here i am more pan-Indian than a Bengali. there is a sense of pride held with a distinctiveness. However, i have noticed that i withhold myself from talking about my spirituality or religiosity with urban Indians even if they are Hindus. Is there a shame? I don't know - probably yes.

Secondly, do i trust non-Hindus generally? a straight and simple answer is - No. Interesting, considering that I married a non-Hindu. what breeds this mistrust is a deep sense of "us" and "them" which resides in the deepers recesses of the psyche.

However, there are distinctions here; the non Hindu friends from the same social class are held with this delusion that somehow they are outside the untrustworthy circle and then there are very little difference between "us" and "them". However,the paranoia raises its huge head at the moment of encounter with non-hindus of lower socio economic strate.

the rational mind of course desperately wants to believe that these are not true and that there are other view points through one can look at the "other" differently and with "equality"; but the emotional part of me (specially in times of stress), summarily dismisses it.

the third one is about being a woman - this is trans-national and is held with ambivalence. If i were to look at the negative communal parts of my psyche vis-a-vis this part, then the part that exists here is more subtle and hence more dangerous. one part is holding men as "guilty" unless proved "innocent" - this at the unconscious level is extended to all men, at the conscious level, extended to men who are overtly "manly", "macho", "chauvinist", "loud", etc, etc.

the more shameful part as I hold it, is the way this part looks at women - part of it holds women as generally "weak", "victims", "stupid", "inefficient", "attention seeking", "dependent", "scheming", "shallow", etc, etc, unless of course they prove themselves. the other part looks at women as "powerful", "nurturing","critical", etc, etc. Do I see other positive qualities in women as well? yes, i do, otherwise, i would not have survived, but i see them in very few women and i carry a shame around it. I know rationally that what i see in these few women, exist in other women as well either as a potential or as explicit, but my primitive emotional response is the first kind.

the fourth one is about being middle class - this too is held with ambivalence - but the important thing to note here is that neither the upper class nor the lower class are trusted or welcomed into our midst. this most times is irrespective of the religious identity of the other (remember in childhood, there was strong indoctrination about mixing with the "chhoto lok" or "lower class" or not being too close the "rich" or the "baro lok".

what i guess i am trying to work out here is that there are many many communal fencing that i have and it is not confined only to being a Hindu or a Muslim, and what i am hoping to do for myself is that unless i articulate and acknowledge them without guilt or shame, i don't have any space to take the next step that can lead me/us to building a proud and aware community/India and ultimately a world citizen.

encounters with identities

I had a very interesting day recently.  it started with a petty fight with A over a very petty thing but we brought out the worst in each other.  was not very pleasant way to start a day, but ..... :-(

i went out of the house, went to my work space, vowed to myself to be "absolutely and completely" self sufficient (as though there can exist a reality like that) but i think i gave it a good try!  i finished lots of odd things that were just pending.  i vowed to start driving again; i guess it was my way of putting myself in the driver's seat again!

then the strange things started happening - i started meeting various facets of my identity or shall i say, various facets of women's identities, all of them on the same day.  

came the first encounter.  some one who i did not know from before, came to meet me.  the more i listened to her, i told myself, it is amazing that i had to meet her this morning when i am so full with the same issues at least on a transient mode;  need to feel needed, feeling trapped, feeling intensely unhappy with self, yet, looking for way out, trying to make sense of things and not given up hope.  talking to her made me question "what is it that women look for"? i could not come up with any answer.  this was one facet of me/all women which is trapped in "being needed" mode and the only mode the being has known to express itself is to offer oneself like an infrastructure (non assertive, proper, obsessive, caring, efficient and competent) but keeping the righteous moralistic upper hand to whip the "wrong doers" who dare to refuse her offerings.

then came lunch with an old friend, who was in the city for a short while and was leaving soon after. After we caught up with each other, during the course of the conversation she started talking about not really knowing what would make her happy.  again i thought how similar the line of thinking was and yet it was not the same ... perhaps we were barking up the wrong tree.  perhaps the real question to ask was whether we were intrinsically happy or unhappy?  it was as though all of us have this invisible emotional switch that has either a off or a on button for having a positive self regard and a basic sense of contentment for who we are, and not desperately looking for affirmation of it outside of ourselves, or it is most times switched off for some of us.  It is that facet of me/all women (may be for men as well) which screams "i wish things were different, i was different, others were different, only then, oh, only then, would i feel at peace with myself and with the world"

anyway, the lunch session had to close abruptly as she had to catch her flight and i came back home with my lunch packed and had a TV lunch. 

After that as i was sinking into the peaceful slumber, the cell phone rang and at the opposite end, was the voice of some one who was completely drunk, feeling rather hopeless, self deprecating and condemning and was in need of help.  i went over to her place, spent some time with her, took care of her a little bit so that she could physically become better.  my encounter with this women put me in touch with this facet of me/all women (may be men too) which has the intense need to punish the self by bringing on shame, guilt and anger.  This facet keeps whispering in our ears how worthless and unlovable we are, makes us feel desperate and lonely and then as last resort, we scream for attention and simultaneously push people away by refusing to be helped, attended to and to be cared for.  This gives us the golden opportunity to reinforce the belief that we are completely unworthy while the real anger is with the world that it is vicious and uncaring and unloving and hence we need to constantly grab its attention, and thus completing the loop of convincing ourselves that the act of grabbing attention was shameful, feel guilty, to only repeat the act again and again.

my last encounter was with a very dear friend of mine, with who i was supposed to have dinner and spend the night over with.  as we sat and chatted, i was seeing the other in me and simultaneously the stark dissimilarities.  She was this facet of me/all women which is inherently melancholic, has a short handle on reactivity and anxiety, dynamic, assertive, caring, loving, wise, balanced, matured, open and accepting of others in more ways than one.This is the facet which is very rich and very beautiful and attractive and yet is utterly unconvinced and/or critical of its inherent richness and beauty but is totally convinced about  its competence and functionality.  This makes it into a great companion and a work horse but seldom gives it space to enjoy its own beauty in all its aliveness, be it scary, stormy, dark or welcoming, full of life and vivacious.

i went to bed with this thought that while the day started with a fight which made me feel quite empty, hopeless and futile, at the end of the day, with all those encounters of various identities i felt more real as though i had to meet each and every one of them today to feel the richness of life and what it has to offer and how every encounter is only a beginning of new direction and not an end in itself. 

Thank you life! 

anima and animus

well, i am not going to write about them, for i don't know much.  i have been intrigued by my dreams of the last one week.  most of them are angst ridden, full of rage, angry dreams about people and houses.  either i am not getting full control of my own house, or i am being disapproved by some other or both.

this led me to look at the main characters of my dreams. in most cases, there is this middle to oldish man, who seems to be mocking at me and suggesting all kinds of insinuations.  there is this youngish woman who seems to be a party to this man, more silent but cunning and manipulative, and one or two hangers on, who are not saying anything but not supporting me either.  i am filled with rage in my dreams and feeling quite helpless that there is not anyone who will help.

this brought me to the anima and animus and i might be killed by others for writing this.  but then, lets take a chance..... 

In one of the discussions with a Jungian analyst, we were looking at how Indian women have learnt to be women, but finds it difficult to integrate the positive male internally,  i.e. positive, encouraging, contained, protective, confident, spirited, wise and free.  this inner male seems to be a problem for most women that i know.  

it is not that the women do not know how to be all those things above, but they are never there together for the self.  it is more often than not, offered to the other, to the loved ones, to the subordinates, to people who need to be looked after.  Rarely for the self. 

the moment it comes to the self, choice making becomes difficult, guilt rises to the fore, and often defiance takes the front seat. women are rarely approaching their right place without feeling like a victim who now has enough power to claim victory over it.

women in my experience, find it easier to be macho but not a positive male.  or they relegate themselves to be a patriarchal male, with all taboos intact, with a little bit of polish to make it more acceptable.  

anyway, let me come to the anima and the animus.  one definition of the anima and animus as has been given by Erich Neumann, in The Origins and History of 

Consciousness (Princeton University Press, 1954) xxii n.7.is  

"The Anima is the personification of all feminine psychological tendencies within a man, the archetypal feminine symbolism within a man's unconscious. TheAnimus is the personification of all masculine psychological tendencies within a woman, the archetypal masculine symbolism within a woman's unconscious" 

now for me, this archetypal masculine symbolism has become very important.  As i often use myself as a case study, i am discovering that the first imprint or one of the important imprints of animus comes from the first encounters with the significant male figures in one's life.  and if i look at mine and the significant encounters, then one of the sources of this animus formation would be male psyche who had passed on this message to me: "women should be gentle, obedient, well behaved, soft, feminine, attractive and demure"  with a rider "however, without intelligence, aliveness and seduction" she will lose my attention.  this got me.  because there was no way i could be both.  one had to be a manipulator to be the other.  

and it is only now, that i realise that how the internal male psyche holds the internal feminine in such a vice like grip, never letting her to be free and is always taunting and disrespectful.

there is so much more to write.  

i am sure for men too, their first significant encounters with females, would have helped shaped the anima for themselves.

are there others who think like i do?  i would love to hear.

Death and Dying

It is approximately 26 days that my father has passed away. His passing away was sudden and hopefully not too painful for him.

I last met my father at home nearly one and a half years ago ... when i was leaving Calcutta and that home for good .... in January 2007. I was so caught with anger and disappointment, that i did not even say good bye to him on my departure.

No, i am not going to talk about my regret about that, for i have none. over the last year and a half, my anger and my disappointment about his behaviour and his lack of "self respect" (at least in my perception) had given way to my understanding and compassion for a person who was pre-occupied in his need for safety and familiarity and it was OK for me that he chose his path the way he did. Just because he was my father, he did not have to be "my father", the way i wanted him to be. He was no hero, he was just a person, as ordinary and as special as i am.

This time, when I landed in the ICU, he looked at me surprised and perhaps even relieved that I had arrived? he even said that he was feeling "Lucky that he met me?" I found that sentence weird in retrospect but at that time I was too caught in giving him some relief and reassurance that things were going to be alright .... that I was there to take care... and that he will be OK.

And three hours later, when i went back again, his eyes were not seeing anything, although he was alive and within half an hour, it was all over.

I had a strange sense of calmness, all i could remember doing then was to inform the people i thought should be informed and chant "Asato Ma Sadgamoyo" in his ears and message his hands and feet and stroke his hair, like he needed reassurance and soothing in his last journey. I did not cry one bit, i did not feel like.

and then the funeral. strange it was that the crematorium had no other dead body waiting there, very unusual .... and that there were a Muslim, a Parsee, a Sikh, a Hindu and Christians around ... unrelated and unplanned. some were there to help and some were there to just watch. But all of these people had assembled together just at that moment and no one else. the entire place was empty otherwise. it was strange, very strange. And it remained empty till we were absolutely finished.

the shraddha ceremony went off very smoothly, rain came and went that day almost orchestrated, as though it knew when to stop and when to start. all people who i called, came.

i did the whole kriya with as much focus and concentration as i could. i felt that my father would have liked the way it was done, although he told me many times earlier that he really did not believe in all these rituals. i still did them because i believed despite what he may have said, internally he was this very traditional, patriarchal male who also hungry for affection and attention and who never knew how to grow up and be responsible, for oneself and for others.

yet, in his death, he seems to have done what he could not do in his life time, he left me with a huge sense of peace and harmony. The anxiety that I had held towards Lawrence and his family (well, most of them) melted away as they came forward and supported without any hesitation. My own family, both from fathers and mothers sides came together almost by design. Rusha suddenly turned into this very adult, anchored, supporting person who was also very caring, compassionate and sensible.

I was quite amazed at the turn of events. like i said, as though what he could not do in his lifetime, he did it through his death. He gave me opportunities for healing and for closure, with him, with Lawrence, with some of past and even some of my present.

Today as i sit here and write this, there are many new ways of looking at this person who was also my biological father. He was this smart, intelligent person who felt completely unloved by his mother and was semi adopted by someone else who was herself a victim. I guess my father never came out of it and remained a unfulfilled promise unto himself all his life. all his potential of sports, magic, acting, good looks and charm just went astray and he spent his life away squandering. He never saved money, was always in debt, could not manage responsibility and just did not know how to be an adult. And he was loving, witty, temperamental, sentimental and very very sharp. He was the proverbial romantic for who life had to be perfect, and if it was not, he would have none of it and while it away.

Having me as a three year old half orphan kid, must have made him sick in the stomach. While he loved his 3 year old daughter, he also did not know what to do with her. His anxiety about her well being never allowed him to remarry and settle down and yet her "enormous" responsibility weighed him down to a helpless victim to others.

It is strange that sometimes we are able to look at the "whole" person only after the person is gone; it is as though a curtain has been lifted from in front of our eyes and we are able to see clearly what is there to see.

Does that mean that in order to "see" the other person in full, we may have to imagine him or her as dead? not in a morbid way, but do the person's physical form, antecedents, habits, and history bar us from experiencing the person in full? Are we all looking at relationships through some kind of curtains that we don't know exist?

I dont know the answer to any of the above. What i am in touch with now, is that in his death, he has perhaps offered me to live my life the way i want to, without the lament that was so associated with him and without the victimhood that engulfed me everytime i looked at myself as his daughter.

civility and me

Rush reached Jammu this morning for a holiday with her friends. She will be going to Jammu, Leh, Srinagar and other places for about 10 to 12 days. Her hosts are her friends parents.

I called the hostess this morning to talk to Rusha and give her some more contact details in Srinagar. During the conversation with the hostess, it occurred to me that i am really not very civil by the given standards of civility in the civilised society. Not that i have never really been cognizant about it, but sometimes it becomes a little too obvious. for instance, i think I should have called up the hostess in advance and thanked them for hosting my daughter and for taking the trouble, etc, etc. However, in my mind, my daughter is 23 plus years old and is an adult and so is her friend. So if between them they have decided to go for a holiday, it is perfectly fine and calling up her friends parents meant, being extra cautious, which i did not see any need for. however, it is Rusha who reminded me to do the thanking and so i did, profusely, a little late in the day, nonetheless!

however, i guess that is not the way everyone will see it. as for me, i keep missing these finer points of civility and propriety from time to time in almost all settings. For instance, saying "thank you" does not come to me very easily, especially if i experience someone doing something very earnestly and sincerely. i think saying "thank you" would be demeaning that gesture, that heartfelt emotion. Saying nothing and accepting what has been offered feels far more gracious to me but i see the point that others may hold; that without articulation, people may not know how one is receiving what is being offered.

my upbringing was in utterly chaotic condition and a fairly mixed culture. one of the households where i spent most of my time during holidays, had this culture of "we are the first among equals" and hence whoever came across to their household, was expected to feel obliged as they were allowed inside and spoken to. No individuation was allowed there, only homage.

the next household where i spent some time, had a laissez faire environment. anyone was welcome and was expected to stay longer, eat, rest, etc. however, neither the guest nor the hosts were allowed any private/public boundaries as everyone was treated with the same overt bonhomie and freedom, which i guess, could trigger off paranoia and claustrophobia in highly private individuals.

the hostel had its strict rules and boundaries but then it was hostel and one was supposed to break rules. so rules and boundaries in hostel were taken in as something that was imposed upon us free beings, and was meant to be broken. Certainly by me as i see in hindsight, not all of the brethren (or sisters as the case may be) shared the same ideology with me.

hostel was fun as it continuously threw up options for defiance and conformity and one had to balance between the two and one could (i guess i certainly did) feel content in the ideation that one was taking that "highly autocratic world" with a pinch of salt in one's stride as independence was just a step away, if only one had wished harder for it!!!

Those were days of freedom of the mind and not of the body. I remember saying to myself (and sometimes to my tormentors both at home and at hostel) " what best will you do? you can kill me, that is all, but you can not imprison my mind"!!! lofty words for a sprightly 11 years old those days.

to come back to what i started this blog with, civility and me are not really a cosy twosome. I am often lost and little in the face of proper civility of the world (and i think i still hold it away from me with a barge pole). My sense of being civil with people is to be familiar, direct and honest, which is not the best route taken, if not the least. Most people in this world would like a bit of cover up, a bit of smile and just a hint of familiarity so that they do not have to wonder what to do next. In this way, the rules of the game is familiar, everyone plays them the same way, no chance of a same side, no chance of a penalty or a free kick, just a little dribbling here and there, no body blows. No sir, there is no place for contact football here.

The world of civility alludes me. I am learning from A, a little bit of it. He has his own idea of civility, which calms people, makes them comfortable and yet not too familiar at the same time. When i watch him in action, i admire the ease with which he makes his moves (no pun intended here) and everything seems to just fall in place.

I, in contrast, is often like a bull in a china shop, or more like a overbearing family dog which is waiting for the guest to come in.

ha, ha, i like that analogy. I find many a similarities between me and dogs. the strongest similarity is dogs need to be trained in manners and so do human lets, and i was not trained in any of the above places i mentioned. they did not even know that i existed as a part of the household, i was always an addendum, an extra, watching the play from the sidelines, who, at best, could have been utilised to take the water into the field during breaks. the coach of the Sansara never really had time for me.

Today as i await entering the half century of my life, i look back in amazement and in gratefulness of what all life has offered me, in all its splendours and glory and in its utter ugliness and horror. All of them contributed to making the me of today, someone who is still a little lost, different and of course, still gloriously, uncivilised!