The Whims Of An Indian Mind

This is a post I wrote a few years back and was published by Sulekha.com.

A vacillating pendulum…
An incongruous mélange of distinct and disparate ideas…
A cauldron full of vigorously stirred gravy…

All these similes are different ways to address the Indian minds of the Pepsi-Generation -- Each a wavering mind with googols of unwavering ideas… So tortured, abused and confused the Indian minds are, it's like standing on a crossroad, bewildered as to which road to take -- some roads less traveled, some so frequently trudged by the peripatetic Indian middle-class that it seems a hackneyed theme of Bollywood movies. It's like a baby in a topless bar amazed by the meretricious melodrama and the histrionics of the role players. Sucked in the vortex of the “Chutney Culture”, Indian minds are baffled as to which culture to ape, what decisions to make and what goals to fulfill. The offshoots of this generation find it very difficult to balance their life on an even keel, when the juggernaut of the western culture is running over them, the goblin of parental and peer pressure haunts them, and the constant urge to deny the run-of-the-mill careers prods them.

This is the generation I belong to, and I proudly proclaim that I am an integral part of this culture which has forcibly reposed on us a generation whose mere existence and integrity is questionable.

When I was an infant just becoming familiar with the rudiments of day-to-day life, I was attracted to the game of football. It was a very conventional dream as I was born in the Mecca of Indian football -- Kolkata. I consider myself an offshoot of a typical passionate Bengali mindset which sleeps, eats and thinks football (though there might be a slight digression now due to the advent of Saurav Ganguly). Then came the 1983 World Cup triumph of the Indian team -- the best ever gift the Indian team has so far given to the cricket fanatics and aficionados. We witnessed the peroxide debut of Demigod Sachin in the realms of Indian Cricket, a valid raison d'etre for the Indian enthusiasts to get back to the usual business of showing more inclination towards cricket. And the sub-continental inclination of the junta towards cricket also ensnared me… There was a major focus shift… from football to cricket… The person remains the same. Aspirations changed. Still I was an Iconoclast.

So a new chapter of my life was unveiled. A new beginning. A new epoch. An invasion in the world of cricket. At that time, my mind was always occupied with different facets of the game. The “straight drive” of Sachin, the “square cut” of Dravid, the “off drive” of the Prince of Kolkata, and the wristy “flicks” of Azhar: These were the shots which I used to rehearse in my dreams, mustering and earning hearty accolades from the spectators.

When I used to wake up, I would again be absorbed in the humdrum existence of my life. The same boring school, the same monotonous lectures. Gradually I was being sucked more and more into a mechanical life -- a prosaic life that my parents etched for me. The dream was still a dream -- unfulfilled and unrealized. The relentless desire continued sans sense of implementation.

The failure to cling to my goal drove me crazy. I was frequently haunted by nightmares. I lost confidence not because I was not able to make it, but because of surmounted pressures from many directions that prevented me from taking the plunge. But I was high on self-confidence. I used to boast on the apothegm that: “Had I been given a chance I would have made it.” A malicious satisfaction and gratification I enjoyed.

During my IIT days, a sudden brush with a literary genius, the king of satire and subtle humor changed my outlook. A consummate metamorphosis. I realized the depth, passion, sensation, emotion and the sapidity of Literature. The genius was none other than P. G. Wodehouse. How vapid can one's life be without the nuances and sumptuousness of literature!

I was very much into literature, but definitely not at the cost of my engineering studies. It was a nice blend of fiction and non-fiction, naturalism and surrealism. I wanted to be a writer. But who knew what destiny had coined for me. History repeated itself. I again succumbed under parental pressure. Again back to engineering studies. The voluminous Mass Transfer equations and the complex Iron Carbon diagrams slowly annihilated the creative genius. A desire was nipped at the bud .A gleam of hope cauterized.

This is what an Indian mind of the “Information Overload” generation is. A mind so completely unorganized and chaotic.

On the contrary, the mind is potent; hardly wilts under pressure and has the necessary forte to adhere to one's aspirations.

Parental and peer pressure bulldozes and influences one's decision to choose a career of his/her choice.

Is this the reason why an Indian mind is so turbulent?
Is this the reason why an Indian mind is so vulnerable?
Is this the reason why an Indian mind is so precarious?

No, certainly not.

Is it justified to single out a reason for the fluidity of an Indian mind?
Is it justified to ghettoize and incriminate the parent community?

It's their peer pressure and social status which eventually translates into parental pressure. It's their unrealized dreams that they want to realize. Who else can realize that better than their own progenies? A realization which yields vicarious pleasure.

So what can be the reason of such Instability?

Reasons are manifold. Some tangible, some intangible. Some self-created and some reposed by a generation.

But there is no point seeking the answer for an unanswerable and subjective question.

What is answerable is: “How to subjugate the state of instability lurking in the minds?”

The answer is simple and succinct. Stick to the dreams. Dreams are unlimited. What matters is the audacity to fulfill those.