Social attitude and family reality

Children in traditional India lead more sheltered lives than their counterparts elsewhere. Helicopter parents control the purse strings and their lives. It is social duty to do so, because they are judged by their children’s achievements. But family structure is rapidly changing in today’s India, and so must the social attitudes.

Education is priority over everything else. The family’s social recognition depends upon results - how the children do in the high school Board Exams, in college, in university and so on. The parents want their children to go up in the world, hence, the proper exposure is of paramount important. From middle school itself, extracurricular activities or vacations are sacrificed for coaching classes to prepare the children for the next step in life. There is no let up to keeping noses to the grindstone. It is for their good they are told, for their future.

The transition from high school to college is most stressful, especially for the parents. Adolescents beginning to explore the world outside without supervision is concerning, because who knows what influences will be picked up to alienate them from cultural family values! 

A teenager, Runu, stands on this threshold. Much time is spent in weighing the pros and cons of the different institutions. On the one hand, there is a far-away governmental institution, where costs are subsidized. For the adolescent, it is opportunity to be free of parental supervisions. On the other hand, staying in the city brings down establishment costs, but extends the parental watch. And it means attendance at a more expensive private institution; hence more strain on parental resources, because the children are still economically dependent. 

The immediate family and the social circle of involved relatives and friends agonize over the course of action for college admissions, reminiscent of the joint family structure of days gone by in India. Where siblings and cousins were brought up together, with several generations living under the same roof, it was not customary for the individual to think or act independently. 

 

Westernization and the partition of the country destroyed the joint family social unit, and instead, small, independent nuclear units became standard. The circle of people involved in decision-making became smaller, restricted to parents and their children. However, older age groups sometimes behave as though the traditional collectivism continues, whereby somebody’s business is everybody’s business.

In my opinion, young people need to make their own choice in the matter of their future. Runu should not feel pushed to live out somebody else’s dream, and later blame them for it. He needs to discover what his aptitude and interest pointed to, and state them clearly. I insist to his parents that they let him do so and support him to their best ability, and not the other way around. My input bases on the experience of another family, traumatized by change.

Fact is the social unit is again in transition. The education and employment of women has put them in touch with their own identity, as distinct from husband or family. There is power struggle in the home. Men may want to continue with things as they were, but women are less tolerant of second-class citizenship within the home. Consequently, separations and divorce have risen sharply.

The new family unit then is becoming parent-and-child/children, and the parent mostly, is the mother. A matrimonial bond is traditionally supposed to last seven lifetimes; hence a fragmentary family is an affront to social attitudes, and bias is clear. Social sympathy sides with the man, and the social circle is more concerned with his needs. The woman is generally blamed for the failure; kinship support deserts her. The responsibility of child upbringing remains hers, nevertheless.

Shibani is such a single mother and Santanu, her only son. Since she is also the breadwinner now, she opts to send the boy to a military boarding school. In the absence of the father as a role model, she reasons, the school training would instill discipline in his life. His mother doesn’t have the time to hover, and all she can do was to keep track of academic results.

She dreams of a far better future for them, expects him to achieve certain targets, and he consistently delivers. But her goals are those that society values. She looked forward to him becoming a doctor, or an engineer. Only his success in life will assuage the pain and guilt she is burdened with over the breakup of her marriage and the family unit.

Unfortunately, Shantanu dreams different from his mother. Neither medicine nor engineering interest him. That his aspirations are quite in another direction, he doesn’t share. Shantanu had learned early to look after himself and appears quite self-sufficient. However, he has withdrawn into himself and shares little of his thoughts and aspirations with others. He also trusts none - least of all, the adults in his life.

His mother pushes him to appear in all the relevant entrance exams, and dutifully he does so. He passes them all with flying colours and top institutions in the state offer admissions. But on the very day they are scheduled to complete the admissions process at a top college, Shantanu is untraceable. His mother waits in vain at the admissions office, devastated as her dreams for their future slip out of her grasp. 

Caught between his own aspirations and social expectations, Shantanu meanwhile, has fled from home. He takes up residence in a district across the river, and a job as a delivery boy to support himself. He stays put for a few weeks while he thinks out the direction of his future. Mother and son thus live in the same state, with no contact whatsoever between them.

Fortunately, Shantanu finds his course in life, and returns a few weeks later. The absence of a father figure and role model in his life to provide seasoned counsel is stark. His choices clearly lack the experience of life. He enrolls in his favourite subject at a very ordinary college nearby. One college is as good as another, it is the subject that matters, he reasons in his inexperience. No quite, I say when I meet him. The equation is small pond versus big pond. A small place doesn't hold out too many opportunities for the future. In the work world, the value to a potential employer is the institution he graduates from, and bigger is better.

Children of fragmentary homes are alienated from society itself for no fault of their own. While unable to comprehend the trauma they have to go through, they internalize it. They feel the outsider, compelled to reinvent the wheel, to relearn things by trial and error. Society needs to be aware that many of its traditional practices are fast becoming obsolete. A change in social attitude to family reality is necessary eschewing the entrenchment in social inequality.

Bad places and good people

How often do we hear tell that women should stay at home because the outside world is bad? Any place at all may be labelled bad, and hence, they shouldn’t set foot there. I think men in India sprout these value judgements only to control women’s movements, like putting them up on a pedestal they can’t get off of.

In the Indian social context, ‘bad’ is something the respectable and dignified should not associate with. Women brought up to hold ‘respectable’ and ‘dignified’ as high ideals must be, in other words, trusting and obedient to the controls set upon them. Few of these women ever question the word of their men folk, or cross the lakshmanrekha (invisible boundary) drawn for them. What can we do, we are only women, is the common refrain of their life-long dependency. 

One such bad place is the office of the Licencing Authority. And who inhabits these “bad places”? They are members of the bureaucracy, not rapists, paedophiles, and other criminal elements! Many women keep the driving licences they issue merely as trophies. These are never used, because the people on the roads in India are also bad. Neither have the women ever set foot on the office premises to get the licences. There are male ‘representatives’ to do that dirty work for them!

Well, I need to renew my licence, and so I head over to the office. On my way into the building, at least half a dozen touts clamour to “represent” me. Why, I ask each of them, do I look illiterate? I hardly need to hire somebody to buy the forms from a vendor and then to fill in my details! 

I complete the required medical formalities, and a few days later, I am ready to submit my application. I expect the process to get arduous here on. It is common knowledge that governmental institutions tend to be arbitrary in their dealings with the public, and their departments can shut down at any time before transactions complete. I am likely to have to make several visits to get it done, but so be it. It still seems worth doing for myself.

 

Back in front of the building, I see several young men approaching me, and wave them off. A few mutter that they have been unable yet to make boni (first catch), but I am certainly not feeling charitable. I march into the building and there seems to be a lot of people hurrying in different directions. I’m reminded that time is of essence.

I ask a policeman on duty where the papers will be received. He doesn’t quite know the process. But, Wait, he says, let us find out. Several young men around are eager to show off their knowledge, perhaps hoping to be called up for representation. He tells them sternly they had better be right or else! They indicate a certain window and I have to go around the building to get to it.

The man on the other side of this open window seems busy. As I wait for him to finish with what he already has on his hands, another scruffy young man walks up and pushes ahead of me to thrust a fresh bunch of applications through the window. I tap him on the shoulder. Am I really invisible to you? I enquire loudly. He grins a little sheepishly, and backs off.

But it turns out I am actually at the wrong window; this one is for payments only. My application details need to be checked first at another window open further along. A young man sits to one side at the counter desk in there. He looks up as I speak, and recites a list of supportive documents that must also be submitted in photocopy. I find I don’t have the appropriate address proof document with me, like passport, voter’s id, Bank passbook or statement.

I have a chequebook though, with my full address on it - will that serve purpose? The young man shakes his head, no. Ah well, I think resignedly, I’ll just have to come back tomorrow.  Just then, his senior arrives. What’s the problem, he asks. He listens and then says decisively, OK, just submit the first page in photocopy. His young assistant is surprised, but takes it in stride. Take care; don’t drop anything, he calls out as I hurry away to get the relevant copies before they change their minds!

The young man at the copiers frowns at the chequebook, and says that it won’t be accepted. They said so, I insist. Who said that, he asks, was it the man in the window? I nod. Very strange, he comments. It’s not the norm and they usually are very particular, he explains. But logically, why should it not be accepted? It is a legitimate document, after all! He shrugs, Sign the photocopy and submit it, see if it works. He photocopies all the documents I need and pins them together. Put the licence in a polythene cover and attach it at the top, so it won’t get lost, he advises. He points where the cover may be obtained.

The man in the window is a perfectionist. He doesn’t like the way I attached the licence to the application. He calls out to somebody and a small man appears beside me to do it right. My documents are then accepted without fuss. I’m told to make the payments. That means the other window for one payment quickly completed there. I am then directed to a third place for another payment.  I see a big crowd milling about outside, and only one window in operation. It looks to me my luck is running out, and I’m sure I won’t reach the counter before it closes today. Still, I join the queue and several people look around in surprise. I ask if that queue is for the payment I am supposed to make. Several heads shake in unison and several hands point to a room inside the building. 

Thankfully there are no crowds at the window inside.  I pay up and am handed the receipt. I head back to the receiving window, and submit all the various papers I have collected. The small man materializes again, and makes two sets of my papers  – one, to be received at the counter, and the other, my takeaways of receipts. These are now stamped on the reverse with the official seal of the Authority. Come back in 25 days, the young assistant says from the other side of the window. 

25 days? My question is how I am to manage without licence meanwhile. The senior smiles slightly, and points to the stamped paper he has just signed.  That’s enough to cover it, he says, but if you like you can put your photograph on it, and have it attested. That makes perfect sense to me, and accordingly, it happens. 25 days, I ask again to reconfirm. 15 days should do it, he replies, Come back then and check.

I am elated that I’m done in less than an hour. As I walk away, I wonder what is so bad here? Government offices may look seedy and run down, but the bureaucracy functions all right. They keep the country going. In fact, good people may be found at these socially condemned bad places that are really helpful to the public.

Seems to me that it is not they, but the ubiquitous representative culture of touts that overrun the place that are the problem. They are poorly educated young men socialized into speed money by the more privileged sections, and now it is their livelihood they protect. Indeed, it is their accosting anybody and everybody as a matter of course that gives the places the bad name. 

For too long, women have swallowed the value judgements men throw at them as gospel truth. They need to realize the truth, to be out and about, doing their own thing themselves. That does not take away from being respectable and dignified, rather it actually facilitates independence - and self-worth. It may be better for societal advancement for them to be less trusting of judgements, and less unquestioningly obedient!