The ugly Indian

By  Veena Venugopal

 http://www.thehindubusinessline.com/features/blink/talk/the-ugly-indian/article6835042.ece

         I spent Republic Day on a train, travelling from Amritsar to Delhi. Minutes after we boarded, perhaps not to be outdone by the show of arms and weaponry at the grand parade, four people started a loud argument. At issue was the space in the luggage racks. Since some people were travelling with more than one piece of luggage, and everybody absolutely has to be seated right below their suitcase, the resulting fireworks were inevitable. Much shoving and pushing ensued, first of the said baggage, then of each other. Since this was the executive coach, the arguments started in English but quickly moved to Hindi and many mothers, sisters and body parts were invoked, even as shirt buttons tried to withstand a stress test. It was, despite the flying spit, comforting to know that as far as territorial protection is concerned, the 67-year-old nation is in safe hands.
Meanwhile, in the same train, a friend was travelling in another coach. She too was witnessing a great battle, she whispered on the phone, this time it was a group of three adults who were allocated seats in different parts of the compartment but were absolutely insistent on sitting together. When more than two people refused to change seats to enable this, tempers flared, shirts were grabbed and language went down the toilet. A free-for-all looked imminent, but somehow someone managed to defuse the situation. (I am always intrigued by people who make such a fuss to sit together. Flying from Chennai to Delhi once, four strapping young men shuffled some 15 people around in order to ensure that they sat in the same row. I was expecting a big meeting to start, perhaps a discussion on an impending merger or an acquisition. As soon as the flight took off, all four promptly fell asleep and woke up only when we had touched down. It was the most puzzling two hours of my life.)

Truly speaking, none of this is surprising. It was just that this was less than a couple of hours after the magnificent ceremony in Delhi in which popular Prime Minister Narendra Modi did his best to showcase the glory of our country to US President Barack Obama, and so it seemed an appropriate day to passively observe the greatness of its citizens.While it must be said that Indians manage to bring in a modicum of ugliness to every public situation, it is particularly potent when we travel. Earlier that same morning, I happened to be talking to a person who runs a travel business. She was in Turkey in December, she said, and was visiting various hotels in order to arrange accommodation for her clients. As soon as they heard that she was representing groups of Indian tourists, the meeting ended. Some were rather rude, even. Groups of Indian tourists are notorious, she said, for the way they behave. They take everything from the room ­ not just the tiny bottles of shampoos and soaps, but kettles, hair dryers, coffee mugs and even bed linen. They order room service and check out without paying the bill. There are even instances of Indian tourists breaking the fire alarm in the room, misconstruing its blinking light to be a video camera surreptitiously recording them!

Back home, we trudge and trample, spit and pee without irony or apology. The train itself ­ a Shatabdi Express, used by the upper class ­ exhibited the failure of Modi’s Swachch Bharat campaign. Within minutes, the floor was littered with abandoned teabags and empty pouches of cashew nuts. The washrooms were a puke-inducing, smelly mess. Outside the window, where these things can conveniently be attributed to the great unwashed multitudes, piles of plastic garbage broke the vista of the green fields of Punjab. There was rubbish everywhere.

The lone kid in the coach kept everyone up with a recurring cycle of loud songs, whines and wails, while his parents focused relentlessly on unlocking achievement levels on Candy Crush on their fancy phones. Every once in a while, they would look up and bark at the maid to take the child outside. The maid, who didn’t look older than a teenager, struggled as the kid kicked and slapped her and refused to budge. None of this seemed to warrant an admonishment from his parents. They looked on, not as though this problem wasn’t theirs, but as though this wasn’t a problem at all. You could see this kid, 20 years later, rolling up his sleeves and taking on a fellow passenger who showed the audacity of touching his bag. At least as far as a behavioural and cultural continuity is concerned, we have nothing to worry about.

With 10 minutes to reach Delhi, the great race to be the first one out of the compartment began. Suitcases blocked passageways and finally after being trampled on and trod over for no reason other than a general disrespect for anyone who is not family, I managed to get out and go home. Even though it was past midnight, I couldn’t resist the urge to catch a repeat telecast of the Republic Day parade. It did look grand ­ the marching soldiers, the daredevil BSF men and the brave martyrs. Truly, India is a great country. Which makes it even more tragic that Indians are completely undeserving of it.