A million wars now

One of the problems of living in my neighbourhood — a quiet, anonymous deadend lane that one could pass several times without ever suspecting its existence — is its propensity to burst into sound on Ganesh Chaturthi and Republic Day every year. I have often wondered at the odd conjunction of events that has my somnolent co-residents tripping over wires as I have marvelled at their unwavering loyalty year after year to the same premixed sets of songs (one set for each occasion). So this January 26, as on all others, my early morning calm was shattered by the familiar high-pitched strain of ‘‘Ay Mere Watan Ke Logon’’.

I will not bother to list here the Republic Day hits favoured in my nook of the world — the same probably resounding from street corners all over the country. Suffice it to say that by the afternoon my mind was reeling with images of Indian soldiers on snow-capped peaks, soldiers confronting the enemy, soldiers dying, soldiers killing, soldiers holding their heads high. Soldiers. Brave, brave soldiers. And it set me wondering about why our definition of patriotism is so closely linked to military might. Why is it that it is in death and destruction alone that we seem to find an affirmation of patriotism?

The question is not new. In fact, it has been increasingly asked in recent times. Particularly with regard to the archaic display of weaponry at our Republic Day parade for instance. Or in the area of science and technology. In his essay ‘‘Jai Vigyan, Jai Vinash: Bombast, Bomb-Blasts and Certain Indian Scientists’’, Ramchandra Guha protests against the ‘‘militarisation of Indian science’’. The excessive attention focused on the bomb makers, he claims, has not only resulted in an imbalance in budgeting ‘‘with a major chunk of the country’s science budget being diverted to the nuclear estate’’, but also in a disregard for people and projects involved in improving peoples’ lives in smaller and more effective ways. People like Pushkaran Sethi, the inventor of the Jaipur foot, for instance, or those associated with small dams and solar energy projects.

It would seem an obvious argument. Yet it is not, so used have we become to the idea of nationalism being tied up with the need to vanquish an external aggressor and our desire to prove our superiority to the world. And even though the connection is being questioned, it is also a fact that today, in the post-Kargil scenario, it is a connection that is increasingly being made.

Not always in an apparent way. One can argue, for instance, that there are ‘‘positive’’ messages like the Mile Sur Mera Tumhara series on television or the recent Bharatbala-A.R. Rahman spot using musicians — all focusing on national integration. The fact that somebody went to court recently to procure permission to fly the Tricolour could also be perceived as evidence of pride in one’s national identity. The fact is that all these purportedly ‘‘positive’’ messages — of our rich heritage, of our heterogeneity and so on — all have a defensive implication in the sense that they suggest that all is well and in harmony within the country. If at all we have a problem, it is about protecting these wonders from the dangers outside. And so far the only forces we seem to have been able to summon up to do battle on our behalf with the world are the cricket team — before the game was mired in scandal — and our brave jawans.

There is a price we pay for our blinkered vision. By making death and aggression such central themes of patriotism we ignore and discourage the people and processes that make life in India far more bearable. We ignore, for instance, the armies of quiet unsung people fighting against illiteracy, violence, addictions and prejudice. We do not see patriotism or glamour, for instance, in a forest ranger trying to save wildlife from poachers (though the ingredients are all present if one wants them: the risk, the dangerous enemy, the prize animal). Or in a Bhanwari Devi protesting against a social evil like child marriage. Or even in the man from Kolkata I recently read about who is said to have run up and down a newly installed escalator to escort women who were unfamiliar with the new contraption and concerned about getting their saris caught in the gaps.

These are wars of a different kind. This is bravery and community spirit of a different kind. But it is a sort of nationalism. And, on a regular basis, a more necessary sort of nationism.

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