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.

Lost in translation

Can you realize how difficult for me if even Indians is not able to understand each other [sic]. His head in a whirl, the guy’s exasperation with life itself is palpable. On his own in a new country, he cannot fathom what is going on! For the first time ever, I suppose, he really is up against India’s formidable diversity! 

Lenny, as I shall call him, is a member of the global workforce, a foreigner in India, and here on assignment.  Blessed with the characteristic zeal and drive of generation next, he is able with technology, and unafraid of diversity. He hasn’t the comfort of a compatriot group at his back, but surely, with his skills and temperament, he can take on anything!

He is the new tenant in the building. But he insists he is not new to India – he has lived in Gurgaon off-and-on for about a year for his last assignment. Now, that is an affluent complex outside Delhi that caters to non-residents Indians accustomed to the lands of plenty. It is a home away from home for expats too, with exclusive highrise buildings, and airtight windows that preserve interiors. If you live in Gurgaon, you live in a bubble. Like at an idyllic oasis in the desert, there’s no need to get down and dirty! I think I should warn him, now that he has transferred to an ordinary metropolitan city, that Gurgaon is very atypical India. Of course, of course, he agrees at once that every place will be different.

  

I ask the most pertinent question, do you have Hindi? No, he smiles. Well then, I think wryly, the culture shock awaits! Lenny may manage fine at a hotel, but running his own household may be a different proposition altogether.  I hope somebody mentioned to him before that English is only one of the 22 official languages spoken here, not to mention some six thousand dialects. These may differ widely in grammar and syntax, and hence, so do the thinking processes their people learn growing up. Even in a “common” spoken language, what is said, and what is understood, may be two very different things. Simple matters may then become complicated.

Lenny has an impressive work ethic and puts mind and heart into whatever he does. Within a day, however, he looks drawn. He tells me he was up all night cleaning the flat he thought was left dirty. It was cleaned before you came, I tell him. This is everyday dust, and it collects all time. Cleaning has to be done once or twice daily. Even locked flats soon cake with dust in this region, as you will see. He stares, and I see the wheels turning in his brain – when will he get to work then? I advise hiring help, but without a translator to back him, how can he?   

The problems pile up - there is no water in the flat. In the heat of the Indian summer, Lenny is wilting. I call the plumber, and stay to translate. I notice the flat has almost no furniture at all. I wonder if he expected to be moving into a furnished home. If so, the letdown of bare walls must be immense! It begins to dawn on Lenny that managing work and home alonein this country is daunting. He comes from a wintry country, so the weather here must really saps out his energy. And by not having the language he is lost, like never before! 

His driver arrives to transport him to work, and is instead drafted into the water project alongside the plumber. He has Hindi and passable English picked up in his line of work, and seems to relish the new role of go-between. Lenny quickly delegates the home issues to his new Man Friday. I’m relieved! It had became clear that Lenny, a fit young man who bounds up and down the stairways hardly losing breath, was quite unaware that other age-groups might struggle to do the same. In politely trying to keep up with his pace, my knees are killing me!

Some pipes and valves are changed and eventually, there is running water in the taps of the flat, everybody is happy! By the evening, however, it is all gone again. The plumber is surprised at the news. He had filled the tank to last a day or two and can’t imagine what they did with all the water. Well, I say, the sahib couldn’t shower properly for a couple of days, so he must be making up for it! 500 litres, the man mutters incredulously! But actually it is a new issue - the tank is unable to retain water, and they would have to map the entire pipeline to locate the problem points. 

That would take quite a while, and Lenny has to be at home for it to happen. Schedules would then need to be coordinated. The driver in his enhanced role, wants to protect his boss from these small matters, and tells me all communications should pass through him instead! I hand over the relevant telephone numbers, and decide that now they can help themselves, I am done. But by next evening, their octogenarian landlady is in a tizzy over another plumber on the scene! She cannot reach the tenant or his driver, so she frantically calls me to intervene. I’m mystified as to how she has suddenly become involved.

She tells me the first plumber was working elsewhere in the morning and was unresponsive to phonecalls. New Man Friday then decided to exercise initiative. He phoned her to point out the persistent problem and the plumber’s failure to respond, and asked for a replacement. Late in the evening, when they will be back from office, would be the best time for the work to be done. Too helpfully, she engaged an alternative person to work on the water system that same evening. Notably, there is no further communication between her and the driver thereafter. This second plumber arrives in time to find the flat locked, and complains. She feels left holding the bag - and the second plumber’s bill! 

Lenny, happy to have delegated, is still at work miles away, and blissfully unaware of these new developments. Immersed in a totally different world, he falls from the skies when I call to ask him what is going on. He has no knowledge whatsoever of a second plumber being engaged. He cannot understand how the issue arose, because his information is that the first plumber has been reached and his time booked for the next day. Bewildered, he points me to his driver for answers.  I accost Man Friday next to explain the mess-up. He distances from it forthwith, denies any such conversation with the landlady, and sticks to the information of the first plumber’s next visit.

I begin to get the classic picture of blocked communications. The first plumber resurfaced at the end of the day. At that time, the work schedule was re-fixed with him. Caught up in his regular duties through the day, the driver clean forgot about the other plumber being engaged by the landlady at his (Man Friday) word. His own initiative taking exercise of the morning had slipped his mind, and since then it has turned too embarrassing! Lenny, in being ‘protected’, was kept out of the loop altogether, as was I until it snowballed. 

I suggest to the old lady she involve no further for her own wellbeing, and send Lenny a cryptic text message: Lost in translation. He responds in utter confusion: Can you realize how difficult for me…