Skip to main content

The Age of Kali

The recent events in India finally got me around to reading William Dalrymple for the first time - an omission that I sorely needed to correct. I cannot count the number of times people I respect have recommended reading Dalrymple. The book I started with is The Age of Kali. His opening chapter is about his time in the bowels of Bihar - a state where I have spent a lot of years of my life. The PTSD inducing qualities for his prose for one such as myself cannot be overstated. 

I was fortunate enough not to live in places like Gomoh during my time there, but the level of fear and anxiety that formed the background noise of my life back then is incomparable to anything I have experienced since then. Having spent my formative years in Bihar created a baseline for what I was able and willing to tolerate in life -  a level not everyone can measure up to. I have friends from my childhood scattered around the world now, who like me are the product of their time in Bihar. We are fundamentally different and reading Dalrymple helps explains why. 

A lot of the background and context Dalrymple provides throughout the book is meant for readers unfamiliar with India. He does a great job of summarizing the information in a way that helps the reader understand the experiences he goes on to describe. However, there are some oversimplifications:

The lower castes are no longer content to remain at the bottom of the pile and be shoved around by the Brahmins. Laloo has given them a stake in power and made them politically conscious: exactly as the Civil Rights Movement did for American blacks in the 1960s.

There are some parallels certainly to the civil rights movement on the surface. However, political leaders like Laloo driving the charge of lower caste "empowerment" cannot be compared even remotely to those of the Civil Rights Movement and that makes all the difference in the outcomes for those that are being purportedly "liberated" in India. They have gone from being exploited by one set of overlords to another.

His insight into Bihar and its place in the fate of India is undeniable when he says:

In a very real sense, Bihar may be a kind of Heart of Darkness, pumping violence and corruption, pulse after pulse, out in to the rest of the subcontinent. The first ballot-rigging recorded in India took place in Bihar in the 1962 general election. Thirty years later, it is common across the country. The first example of major criminals winning parliamentary seats took place in Bihar in the 1980 election. Again, it is now quite normal all over India.

He moves on to other parts of India, some of which are more familiar to me than others. The Rajasthan section was particularly hard to read - the Roop Kanwar reference brought back memories of reading about this tragedy in the news. The blur of reading about the custom of Sati in history and this event in the news had us confused as kids. I don't recall anyone making an effort to clarify any of this to us. The news cycle moved on to other topics and no one talked about it anymore. 

Having also spent several years in Bangalore at different points in my life, I struggled with this observation, Dalrymple makes:

In conversations about India’s future, just as Bihar is sometimes presented as a vision of where India could be heading if everything went wrong, so Karnataka, and particularly the area around Bangalore, is held up as what the country could be like in twenty years’ time if everything went right.

Bangalore is no longer that icon of perfection and has not been for a long time. But context, perspective, and scale do matter here. In Bangalore, a person may struggle with very long commutes and limited access to running water. Juxtaposed against Bihar, these are silly problems to complain about and so his statement is true; a sad acknowledgment of how dire things are.

In summary, I am very glad I finally got around to reading Dalrymple. There is almost a therapeutic quality in this book for me. An outsider to India and Bihar was able to diagnose the pain much like a doctor treating a patient who struggles even to describe the symptoms of their terrible malady. 

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Cheese Making

I never fail to remind J that there is a time and place for everything. It is possibly the line she will remember me by when I am dead and gone given how frequently she hears it. Instead of having her breakfast she will break into a song and dance number from High School Musical well past eight on Monday morning. She will insist that I watch and applaud the performance instead of screaming at her to finish her milk and cereal. Her sense of occasion is seriously lacking but then so is mine. Consider for example, a person walks into the grocery store with the express purpose of buying detergent because they are fresh out of it and laundry is only half way done. However instead of heading straight for detergent, they wander over to the natural foods aisle and go berserk upon finding goat milk on sale for a dollar a gallon. They at once proceed to stock pile so they can turn it to huge quantities home-made feta cheese. That person would be me. It would not concern me in the least that I ha...

Part Liberated Woman

An expat desi friend and I were discussing what it means to return to India when you have cobbled together a life in a foreign country no matter how flawed and imperfect. We have both spent over a decade outside India and have kids who were born abroad and have spent very little time back home. Returning "home" is something a lot of new immigrants like L and myself think about. We want very much for that to be an option because a full assimilation into our country of domicile is likely never going to happen. L has visited India more often than I have and has a much better pulse on what's going on there. For me the strongest drag force working against my desire to return home is my experience of life as a woman in India. I neither want to live that suffocatingly sheltered existence myself nor subject J to it. The freedom, independence and safety I have had in here in suburban America was not even something I knew I could expect to have in India. I never knew what it felt t...

Under Advisement

Recently a desi dude who is more acquaintance less friend called to check in on me. Those who have read this blog before might know that such calls tend to make me anxious. Depending on how far back we go, there are sets of FAQs that I brace myself to answer. The trick is to be sufficiently evasive without being downright offensive - a fine balancing act given the provocative nature of questions involved. I look at these calls as opportunities for building patience and tolerance both of which I seriously lack. Basically, they are very desirous of finding out how I am doing in my personal and professional life to be sure that they have me correctly categorized and filed for future reference. The major buckets appear to be loser, struggling, average, arrived, superstar and uncategorizable. My goal needless to say, is to be in the last bucket - the unknown, unquantifiable and therefore uninteresting entity. Their aim is to pull me into something more tangible. So anyways, the dude in ques...