So many bugs

If you were a visiting Martian, belonging moreover to an obscure, insular tribe, who was somehow deposited in front of a television screen in India, what do you suppose you would make of this country's predominant preoccupations — going by its advertising images?

Within a couple of days you would be convinced that Earth was infested by these rabid, lethal creatures known as ‘keetanu’. You would note with trepidation that these lurk everywhere on the human person — in their teeth, on their skin, clothes and everything they touch. By and by you would realise that these are impossible to destroy, but you would understand also that this was one entity Earthlings must combat at all costs, or die. If you were a suggestible sort of Martian, you would soon find yourself avoiding contact with anything — doorknobs, newspapers, currency notes — for fear that you too could die from such deadly infection. You would have growing regard for a range of products: soap, toothpaste, deodorant, and a range of domestic cleaning liquid. You would see again and again the image of a magnifying glass that would show you precisely how well these products were working: a circle full of germs magically wiped clean leaving only one or two insignificant crawlies, one perhaps skulking so close to the edge as to appear practically invisible.

I, of course, am an Earthling. As children, we held these ‘keetanu’ in contempt. During a growing up phase when I fancied myself particularly hardy, I remember telling my sister that the best way to deal with a bleeding scraped knee was to rub a little mud on it to stem the flow. She did, and she lives, I assure you, to tell the tale to any sympathetic audience likely to cast dark looks at her heartless older sister. But the point is: Indians didn’t use to be this afraid of germs and bacteria. We knew that resistance was superior to non-contamination. That bacteria aren’t vile creatures that need to be warded off with vats of antiseptic. We learnt that the human body is an assemblage of microbiota in numbers that outstrip human cells ten times over. And this, we must now remind ourselves, is normal. Normal.

A few years ago, during the annual year-end NRI season, we had a few kids over. They went out to explore the garden and the adults sat down to conversation — only to have the kids rush in again in a flurry of alarm and disgust. Eeeks and ewwws were uttered and we heard complaints of “so many bugs”. An investigation revealed ants, grasshoppers and other innocuous fauna. First-world kids! We shook our heads then, but is the attitude so different from ours now? By and large, this fear of old-fashioned dirt has percolated to us. Children even two decades ago roamed more than they do now, played more robustly than they tend to do today. Parents are more protective — leashes are tighter and yes, there’s a keener eye kept on fingernails. Do children these days still collect ladybugs in matchboxes or examine frogs?

And all these arguments against the contaminants of the world would all be a little more sympathy inducing if the concern were motivated by pure love. A parent’s job is by necessity prone to anxiety and mothers are notoriously easy to guilt-trip. But you have to think — because soon after an advertisement has told you your child could fall ill if he didn’t wash his hands obsessively, it’ll usually let drop a more deadly fear: perhaps he will have to miss school. Oh the horror! Fall behind on lessons, slip down the ranks and be less of a success in standard four? Unthinkable. And so it comes about that your average mother is stepping out this minute to stock up on antiseptics, handwashes and bacteria-repelling toothpastes. While she’s at it, she should pick up a consignment of energy drinks that aid memory, keep up energy for school, athletics, violin lessons as well as keep the lad peppy through the extra tuition.

Yours faithfully

Of all India’s traits, there cannot be one more fascinating than its tendency to harness everything to serve the interests of religion. Technology is pounced upon with alacrity, gadgets are pressed into the service of gods and faith — there are e-prayer packages, live darshans streaming into millions of households through rudimentary surveillance cameras, and temple trusts manage fairly complex transactions over the Internet.

All the technological advances of recent years have not, as we might have imagined two decades ago, pushed our faith into the background. If anything, there has been even more of an upsurge. Bhakti and faith channels abound; they may be relegated to the end of viewing lists but they have their own devoted following that won’t permit cable operators to skimp on the bouquet.
But must this spill over into mainstream television? “Aa rahe hain Shani Dev!” booms the anchor in varying pitches and tenor, and then goes on to interview a severe-looking astrologer, who tells us in exacting detail how this difficult god must be appeased. This, in case you didn’t know, was on a news channel.

Hand in hand with fresh blasts of religious messages, we are also witnessing the ascendency of superstition, or more accurately, the superstition market as carved out by teleshopping networks such as GTM Teleshopping. But these are hilarious, and my particular favourites are the advertisements for the ‘nazar suraksha kavach’. There are many ‘docu-dramas’ that you could stumble upon but the essence is this: our protagonists enjoy some success till someone in their circle of family or friends casts an ‘evil eye’ — the envious eye that Indians so dread — on their good fortune. This is usually depicted by two red rays emanating from their eyes and reaching our unsuspecting hero or heroine. Misfortunes pile up, alas, and the trend is traced to its insidious root. A ‘nazar suraksha kavach’ is duly ordered and natural order is restored. The next time, the red lines make a beeline for our man or woman, a blue shield circle rises to counter the infection, demolishing them on impact. This ghastly looking pendant with a beady eye can be yours, for the modest sum of Rs 2,325!

Star One has recently brought their non-fiction series Mano Ya Na Mano back for a second season. This comes after a gap of three to four years — the first season was tooled around by the persuasive Irrfan Khan and this one is anchored by Mishal Raheja. Mano Ya Na Mano deals with paranormal occurrences, bringing some inexplicable incident to the fore. In fact, I was rather intrigued by the choice of subjects the second series has picked to highlight — the necro-cannibalistic Aghoris of North India, Bhoota Aradhana in Tulu Nadu, the shrine of Bullet Devta in Rajasthan. These are all extreme forms of religion found in limited pockets, fascinating subjects of study that would have made, given the right treatment, highly absorbing episodes. William Dalrymple — that celebrated observer of Indian spirituality — has, in fact, examined the curious case of the motorcycle shrine in his recent book Nine Lives. But the series wastes the opportunity and falls short of accomplishing anything halfway decent. The tone is sensational, the re-enactments embarrassing in their melodrama and the production quality poor. The idea here is not to bring up interesting aspects but to confound and befuddle the audience, which they must think comprises entirely of open-mouthed yokels.

There is more paranormal/new age material to come — NDTV Imagine is coming back soon with its new season of Raaz Pichle Janam Ka. This delves into the past lives of participants with the help of regression therapy and has a juicy list of celebrities lined up. I was absorbed by the first season and can hardly wait for the second.