Totally Indian only

In the mid-1980s, in New York, I met an American who had recently returned from India. “Man, the place was a trip,” he told me, rolling his eyes. “I got off the plane and found everyone was working with their hands. No machines! What a place, man! What a trip!”

If I’d had a copy of Indian Essentials with me at the time, I would have given it to him as an introduction to what makes India the strange, bizarre, mind-blowing, outrageous place it is.
 
To celebrate 60 years of the Indian Republic, Penguin has published what the blurb describes as “a light-hearted, tongue-in-cheek ode to India.” Twenty writers, columnists, and social commentators dissect the Indian mindset and psyche, seeking to identify and unravel the “one trait, phenomenon or cultural value that is quintessentially Indian.”

Like antakshri, making a list of quintessentially Indian traits can be a diverting and entertaining party game. Hindi films, cricket, elections, train journeys, street food, melas, babu English, the sari, matrimonial advertisements, corruption, the extended family, love of gold, pilgrimages, religion and superstition, coyness about sex, the Indian male’s penchant for public urination, baba log among other topics are analysed, scrutinised and explained.

Included with the book is Jerry Pinto’s handy-dandy vade mecum, “a short dictionary of (other) things Indian,” for those who might find it too taxing to read the full-length articles. There are entries on, among other topics, agarbatti, Bengali tourists, Doordarshan, ghar jamai, Hawaii chappal, lota, metal trunks, and tongue cleaner.

Not surprisingly, what unites the essays of the various contributors, each with his or her own peculiar perspective, is a strong, celebratory, unabashed assertion of Indianness as a unique and special thing. Reminding us that “one person’s faith is another person’s superstition”, Pratik Kanjilal argues that the idea of superstition is culturally relativistic and that India looks excessively superstitious when seen through western or westernised eyes.

Punita Singh notes that far from being apologetic about using incorrect grammar, non-standard pronunciation, and committing syntactical sins, Indians are increasingly using Indian English in inventive, creative, and unique ways, reflecting an assertive self-confidence. Today, Indian English is recognised not only as a valid form of communication but also as a major member of the family of Englishes spoken around the world.

Jerry Pinto examines how an “illicit passion” for Bollywood (his preferred word choice) is acceptable now that kitsch is cool. As a pan-Indian pop culture and art form, Bollywood is “an entire system of shared references that needs no references”, which “supplies us with every emotion” and is “our national metaphor”.

Similarly, the sari in India will never be a party costume or an outfit for show as the kimono or cheongsam have become in their respective countries. Explaining why foreign women like Elizabeth Hurley and Cherie Blaire can’t carry off the sari, but Annie Besant, Mother Teresa and Sonia Gandhi can, Seema Goswami writes, “Before you can make the sari your own, you have to make India your own.”

Whether it’s Ira Pande on the symbiotic relationship between the bureaucrat, the politician, and chai-pani, Srividya Natarajan on the gold fever that afflicts Indians, Vikram Doctor on the allure of street food, Manjula Padmanabhan on her “deranged agenda” of reliving the specificity of the Indian Railway Experience by disguising herself as a bald, middle-aged, lower-class woman (and concluding “So the journey is all, the journey is everything”), Arvind Krishna Mehrotra on melas in Allahabad, Vidya Subrahmaniam on Indian elections, Sanjay Suri on NRIs, Bachi Karkaria on our chalta hai attitude, Geeta Doctor on the family ties that bind (and sometimes strangle) us, Renuka Narayanan and Devdutt Pattanaik on religion — the essays are entertaining, insightful, and enlightening. Indian Essentials deconstructs the country not only for the edification of befuddled foreigners but also for the amusement of desis.
Malini Sood is a Delhi-based editor and writer