Debating differences

By Harsh Sethi

WHY IS it that we are so predictable? The current brouhaha over Ms. Deepa Mehta's Water seems to follow a tired and well-trod script. The script, though formally cleared by the Information and Broadcasting Ministry, is being objected to, and on the streets of Varanasi, for ostensibly calumnising Hindu tradition and culture and besmirching the fair name of what many regard as the most ancient and holiest of Indian cities. One wonders whether members of the protesting hordes have ever read the delightfully wicked ``Bana Rahe Benaras'' by Vishwanath Mukherjee, a founder-member of the Thalua Club, a fascinating cultural forum floated by some of the most creative and idiosyncratic citizens of Varanasi. And that too in the 1930s, when the Hindu Mahasabha was quite powerful.

Even though no one quite comes out with details of the ``objectionable'' dialogues - reportedly they centre around the status of widows in the city (that younger widows provide fair game while older ones are dispensable); the degree of ritual flexibility permissible to Brahmins, of course male (the context being the ``relationship'' between a young Brahmin widow and a lower caste/untouchable Gandhian nationalist); and the characterisation of the holy city as more than a site for cleaning oneself of all one's sins but as one providing an opportunity to witness half-burnt bodies floating in the river.

The above are but details. And though the revised script now stands suitably sanitised after deletion of the offending sentences/words, there is no guarantee that the genie, now out of the bottle, will subside. For more than specific instances and conjunctures, what governs the protest is a perception that Water represents another milestone in the continuing contempt/mocking of anything Hindu.

For a moment revert to the outcry over Mr. M. F. Husain's representation of Saraswati and Sita. The objection then was not just to the iconography, or that the painter was a Muslim, but over the fact that he could dare to so paint revered Hindu figures. ``Would he ever even think of taking such liberties with the Prophet or any of his family or even any figure held in theological reverence in Islam?'' The refrain now is no different. ``Would anyone try and depict the holy cities of other religions in the manner Deepa Mehta has done with Varanasi?''

In all this, one is never quite sure what is being objected to. The actual representation, the mindset behind the representation, or an anger against what is described as double standards - the last a take-off from the debates on pseudo secularism. Or even worse, is the real ire not about Ms. Mehta, or Water, or Varanasi, but Hindu cowardice. After all, one strain of argumentation in the public discourse over Kargil and Kandahar has been about our pusillanimity as a people, that unlike the more ``martial'' races/cultures, we let people walk all over us. Incidentally, similar sentiments were echoed by Mr. Sunil Gavaskar when editorialising about the Indian team's debacle in the Australian tri-series. ``We are too keen to be seen as good guys.'' It is a moot point that such arguments end up valorising precisely what otherwise is the focus of attack - non-Hindu culture and personality.

There is little doubt that co-terminous with the growth of the BJP as a political force, we have witnessed a steady and dangerous tide of intolerance, more so when the issue in question can be given a religio-cultural twist. The controversy over Mr. Husain; Ms. Mehta's earlier film, Fire, with its graphic representation of a lesbian relationship between the two major protagonists, incidentally named, at least originally, Sita and Radha; or the slapping of criminal charges against the editor and publisher of The India Magazine for reproducing on its cover a miniature of Radha and Krishna making love - all these incidents, and many others, have resulted in a fierce battle over not just ``limits to representation'' but who enjoys the right (not just the power) to play cultural and moral censor.

It is not that at any stage of our history as a people, culture and civilisation, there has ever been a unanimity over cultural representation. Romila Thapar's masterly study of the Shakuntala narrative (Kali, 1999) explores how the epic text mutated from its Puranic version to that in the Mahabharata, in Kalidasa's ``Abhigyan Shakuntalam'', and finally in its translation by Max Mueller. So why this fight over ``true'' representation? Have we not survived, if not taken pride, in the dozens of versions of the Ramayana, some in which Ravana not Rama is the hero?

Equally, have we ever accorded legitimacy to a dispensation where only designated persons/institutions were permitted to define what is true? Is it that we are fighting an imaginary battle between ``natives'' and ``foreigners'' - the latter category including not just other races/cultures but equally NRIs or secularists - as people intrinsically incapable of approaching the ``real'' meaning of India? Just how often have we heard the argument that all such representations are deliberate distortions to feed an external market be it an Arundhati Roy or a Deepa Mehta.

Tragically, the situation is a little more complex than one of Hindu nationalists/saffronites seeking to acquire and exercise hegemony over cultural representation. Take, for instance, the latest case. Ms. Mehta now admits, albeit sheepishly, that there was some deviation from the approved English script in the Hindi version, and that some words/sentences could possibly be interpreted as giving offence - though of course there was no such intention. And though the revised script is clearly a reflection of political coercion, necessary since her primary objective is to make the film, the episode raises doubts about the authenticity of the confrontation.

This, however, is likely to be interpreted by all those who sought to rally to her cause as a retreat, if not betrayal, thereby irretrievably damaging the case against the sangh parivar. There will be talk of how Husain made up with Bal Thackeray and the Shiv Sena. In short, how cultural practitioners are at best shifty allies in the struggle to construct a liberal India. Such ``principled'' posturing, however, does not enjoy much credibility. Why on earth should one expect an artist to endanger his/her creation or vocation? And, is there much merit in seeking martyrs to advance one's favoured causes?

At times like these one remembers the furious wrangling over Salman Rushdie's ``Satanic Verses''. Members of our intelligentsia and political establishment who asked for the book to be proscribed took great pride in simultaneously announcing that they had not only not read the book, but that they had no intention of doing so.

The sangh parivar was at that stage all for freedom of expression. And just to reiterate the point that this narrow- mindedness is not the exclusive prerogative of this or that communal camp, it may be worthwhile to recollect the Bengali furore over Kushwant Singh's characterisation of Tagore as an over-rated poet.

Are we then doomed to live through such quasi-farcical contestations, more so since every high profile event seems to give rise to a group claiming hurt? It almost appears that this mode of street protest is shaping our emerging public culture. What about the constitutional guarantees about freedom of speech and expression, Article 19(1)(a)? And is the state not duty-bound to provide protection to an enterprise, more so after it has duly vetted and cleared it through the designated instrumentalities and process?

It is this arena, I believe, that we need to focus on. Interpretations of religious, social, cultural, even political events and personalities will always be contested. This is as it should be. Arguments about ostensible hurt should not be permitted to become impediments in the way of evolving procedures and conventions to resolve differences. It is here that we, both as a state and a society, seem to be failing.

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