The Idea Of India

Out of the many words that unwittingly tumble out of closet when one mentions ‘India’, this one, by far takes the cake. Seldom does one come across a term that envelops the singularly eccentric and diversely indifferent moods, mellifluous melodies and maudlin maladies of a billion plus populace. Seldom does one come across a term, that by destiny or design, chance or choice, luck or pluck and purposefully or phlegmatically ensconces in itself, the myriad moods of fun effervescence and melancholy of a pulsating, throbbing terra firma of 33000 Gods and countless Godmen.Seldom does one come across a one stop shop for all the ailments that plague the mankind. Call it the lust to bust the licentious, the proclivity to punch the paradigm or simply the innate inventive and innovative innuendo; it’s the single largest determinant to our successes and failures alike. People on the other side of the hemisphere call it make-shift, stop-gap, quick fix et al. For us, the jack of all trades, literally and figuratively will be our very own patent-Jugaad.Its our gift to the world obsessed with zero sizes and zero errors.

                                  Run out of petrol in your mobike on a highway? Blow some air in the tank and swirl it like you do a brandy balloon and off you go. Got an important college assignment to make when the world is out partying? Shell out those bucks to the shabby little stationer across the subway and lo and behold, the assignment is ready. The TV remote doesn’t work? The mobile signals are weak? The tap leaks? That dress too tight? Your girlfriend fights? Pestering perennial problems with simple perennial solution-Jugaad.

                     It’s something that has been fostered diligently and intelligently in our feeble-fickle minds since long, so much so that while we may not be equipped to cut short our imploding and exploding issues, we are at the same time, ever equipped to find a short cut to everything that comes at a premium.

It’s a common thread that runs across our deafening dichotomy and painful paradoxes. It binds us, bonds us and also pushes us back, even as the world decides to mock and march on.

                           My earliest memories of encountering this enigma dates back to my

 Standard II days, when like all Convent schools who prefer to keep kids away from sports lest it leaves their academics and hence future of mankind in jeopardy ,mine too didn’t allow us to carry our cricket kits to school(sorry other sports, we are fed on Sachin’s ‘boost’, can’t help it. We are like that only).Suppressed desire and unrequited love finally gave birth to the big ‘J’ , and out came our lunch boxes as cricket bats an handkerchiefs rolled tenaciously into balls. The old banyan tree made for the stumps, the 10 feet long dusty passage was the pitch, the giggling girls the cheerleaders. Every day was perfect for cricket, for pitch and ground conditions ceased to exist ,more so when the hapless bowler didn’t have the option to roll his arm over, since the ‘ball’ won’t bounce anyway. All he could do was to hurl the ball underarm with whatever changes in pace he could an the lunch box wielder would look to hoist him out of sight, with three slips and a gully trying their best to sledge. In hindsight, it was more a Jugaadu baseball than cricket. Whatever it was, it still lingers on, its memory still brimming with vitality, its mention still capable of bringing the odd smile. As if that wasn’t enough, there were challenges thrown at other classes too, to beat us at our game. Gradually it was one more reason to go to school. Oh yes, there would be umpires too, often the outcast studious types who never really wanted to get their hands dirty and meek enough to change their decisions at the slightest of vociferous dissonance would be perfect umpires. The game continued till we moved to our secondary section, when hair and hormones began running wild and cricket bats replaced the lunch boxes, finally. More than a decade later as I sit down to retrospect, I realize the game not only made me a sharp close-in catcher ,but good enough to close in and catch every opportunity to excel with the ersatz.

                           Try deconstructing this phenomenon and one finds the big ‘J’ is no longer an alternative; it’s our alter-ego. We are to the manner born. From our examinations to marriages, everything comes through at the last moment, and more often than not, it’s the big J that completes the jigsaw. From the Governments we elect to the Games we select, its ‘common wealth’ to all, thanks to the big J.

We are a nation that believes that the only way to move ahead is to push and shove and break the que,that the only way to keep our houses clean is to empty our trash bags on the roads, the only way to get heard is to shout and abuse and the only obvious way to catch a anew movie is to get its pirated copy. We are also a nation where 42% of our people live below the Poverty Line and even as you read this, it would be worthy to know that more than 300 million Indians still can’t read their names. We are a nation where millions die every year for the lack of medical care, even as we pride ourselves as the rightful owners of Yoga and Ayurveda, where reality checks are dismissed as depressing statistics and labeled cynical even as reality shows flourish.

                     We are indeed a nation of paradoxes, actually a notion of paradoxes. We are not contradictions in terms; we are a term for contradiction. Wish the big J solve this jigsaw too, once for all.

                     Until that happens ,lets travel ticket less, sleep in our classrooms, bicker in our boardrooms and enjoy are daily diet of ‘reality’ shows that are of course anything but real and enlighten us to the latest ‘breaking news’ that incidentally has nothing path breaking about itself. Time to get the lunch boxes out and set the handkerchief rolling. It happens only in India.