The
teenager I started to speak with, turned his head to stare at me. You’re too loud, he said, I
don’t like loudness. Fair enough, I responded, dropping my
voice to a stage whisper, does this work better for you? This was a
family counselling session, and it seemed to me that the boy was habituated to
pushing buttons. His intent may have been only to embarrass the adults, but his
statement gave me food for thought. Perhaps, culturally we are indeed rather
loud in this country. ‘Privacy’ hardly exists; even personal conversations tend
to be broadcast to all and sundry.
It must be the result of social learning. But surely it
didn’t happen in a day, and has been ingrained in us over generations. It shows up
our cultural roots - the agrarian background, the traditional collectivism, and
the societal divisions based on birth that has been the practice of our
ancestors. Sharing everything within the biraderie (one’s own kind,
family or caste) was common within these social groups. Their information pool
grew as a result; it nurtured interpersonal ties, and gave the group the
strength of unity. Social allegiances were inward, and the wellbeing of the
community trumped that of individuals.
These bonds were routinely reinforced through various
activities, especially those of religious festivals, whereby the entire
community was able to come together. To be loud was to feel at home, included
in the crowd. Entire villages grew around this biraderie of strong
intra-group ties. People didn’t need to whisper; it was safe to holler across
cultivation fields and large ponds. Where everybody was somehow related to
everybody else, there were no secrets.
Mostly for economic reasons, this scenario has changed
today. Many village people migrate to the towns in search of work, and their
own kind therein is minority, like small fish in big ponds. Still, the loud
communicative patterns are carried forward from village to city. They may now
own mobile phones, but they still holler in answer to phone-calls,
unconsciously attempting to bridge distance between members, as in the past.
Loudness many also be a technique meant to establish some
level of interpersonal positional authority. Parents and teachers do it to
ensure compliance in children. Age, in
Indian traditions, is hugely respected, even if the difference is only of a few
years. The form of address tends to change, in response to social perceptions. For instance, in Hindi, there are three distinct forms of address. Anybody a
little older assumes the right to address younger people as ‘tum’ rather than
‘aap’. Amongst peers, the form is generally ‘tu’, which testifies to
their mutual familiarity.
Although in cities, many diverse families house in close
proximity, the loudness continues - albeit here, it is for a different reason.
More people, more establishments and more vehicles lead to rising levels of
white noise. As a matter of course,
people go up the scale to compensate for the hustle and bustle of everyday
living. The loud to drown out ubiquitous external sounds. And, because we
forget to adjust in more confined spaces, raised voices in ordinary
conversations become normal, not an obvious sign of conflict.
Thus, loudness must be embedded in our genes. For women in
a patriarchal society, however, loudness is new learned behaviour of social
assertiveness, a measure to protect their comparatively new self-dependence.
Through generations, men have had tacit social sanction to shout at their
mothers, wives, sisters and daughters. Women,
perceived as second-class citizens, are thus dominated verbally, and sometimes much more. Any man on the
street, unwilling to change with the times, and considering himself superior to
women, would expect similar subservience from them. Women now need to be
loud to ensure that boundaries are kept, and they are not aggressed upon. Being
shouted at by a woman in public is extremely shaming for the Indian male!
Culturally,
we are loud, but our communications are faulty, since the collectivistic element of our heritage is almost lost. A new togetherness has not been built with the
diverse city elements; rather the traditional concept of the biraderie
diminishes. The extended ‘family’ of yore has been left by the wayside. The
social universe grows smaller, and we hardly know who lives next door. We
routinely become members of various social groups, but our allegiances to them
are tenuous.
The outcomes of public arguments may depend on the vocal strength
of each side, as is often clearly proved with our state and union parliament representatives - members
rush into the well of the House, shout slogans, and so on, to crank up the
decibels. They need to understand that mere loudness is hardly the substance of good, communicative governance! Similarly, our inherited speech patterns need reexamination too, if we want others to actively listen to our words of wisdom.
