The Cultural Identity

The last few months, I have been coming to terms with the affinity that I have been developing for advocates of the Hindu civilizational identity. I was surprised to notice that some of their concerns resonated with me. The more I listened to some of these advocates, the more I found myself identifying with their sentiments. It is important for me to explore my own thoughts on cultural identity.

A secure identity is no doubt, a key component of psychological well-being. An identity is created through a journey in a socio-cultural context. It is therefore rooted in the soil of culture, and it cannot be alienated from its history. When I ask myself who I am and what my history has been, I can find within myself a cultural experience that was an eclectic mix of different values- some liberal, and some traditional. My liberal values allowed me to embrace diverse perspectives and relate to people whose beliefs were different from mine. They allowed me to be open-minded, and challenge my own beliefs. They allowed me to unlearn and retain a fresh outlook to life. But it was tradition that taught me to look at life as a moral and ethical dilemma, rather than as a logical dilemma. Very early in life, I empathized with fictional and real-life characters who found their way out of their moral dilemmas in the most ingenious ways. The conversation at home was also often about moral decisions. Morality was therefore a concept strongly ingrained in me. I started appreciating the merit of defining moral ideals in life. The concept of morality added a dimension to life that made it meaningful. It was morality that added character to our otherwise dull logical personalities. I learnt early in life that contexts introduced nuances into a dilemma, and these nuances demanded a moral outlook to life. Morality had the power to transform a defeat into a victory, deficiency into abundance. If you learnt to address the moral dilemma in your mind, then you could keep winning the battles in life.

I must say the books we read as children significantly influenced our moral development. They taught me to see the world as a beautiful place that was created with love and where every form of life was valuable. Stories invariably portrayed animals, birds, trees, and all the elements of nature as animated beings that were capable of feeling pain and joy. Their lives were not inferior or insignificant by any means. These stories brought them to visibility, and made them matter. Stories helped us identify with the nature of human interactions. We could see how an individual’s life was intimately linked to the family structure and to the larger universe represented by the village or town where he/she dwelt. Today, when I look back at the perceptions created by these books, I realize that they introduced to us at an early age the concept of morality, or dharma. They instilled in us a social consciousness and a sense of duty. These books were our earliest lessons in social psychology- they taught us to identify with the larger universe and perceive ourselves as integral components of this universe. They taught us that our freedom and rights demanded of us certain duties. This is perhaps the point of conflict in these times- we demand rights and freedom, without being conscious of our duties, roles and responsibilities.

Because people chose to see life from a moral perspective, my life was filled with ordinary people who were extraordinary in their choices. In those days, people led difficult lives, but they defined their roles in terms of values that transformed the perception of adversity, and made life not only bearable, but worthwhile. People may have been poor, but they were invincible. The competence that frail, pious grandmothers demonstrated, and the confidence that they instilled in us, can put modern young women to shame. People took their roles seriously, and made themselves indispensable to their families and communities. We knew everybody not by their job titles, but by what they stood for. In MT Vasudevan Nair’s Oru punchiri, we have a brilliant example of an elderly couple who choose to continue engaging with the roles that enable them to add value to the world, rather than settle into a life of comfort and dependence. Their physical limitations do not stop them from touching the lives of numerous people in the village. They see their roles as meaningful, and refuse to give them up. This is what we saw with our parents and grandparents. They never withdrew from their highly demanding roles because they believed that the integrity of the social structures they were serving, depended on their contributions. Today, we have switched from our social roles to our individual roles, and are therefore accountable for the collapse of the social structures that made our lives meaningful. We have destroyed the very culture that sustained us. We have no home to return to. Yet, we do not take responsibility.

The Hinduism that touched me, emphasized this delicate balance between our duties/responsibilities and our freedom/rights. The Hinduism that is in my memory, is not a religion, but a culture and a philosophy. It stood for simplicity, modesty, humility, honesty, integrity, and so much more. The Hinduism that I assimilated from my early life and from the beautiful Malayalam movies I watched, was my first textbook of psychology. It helped me understand why our modern identities are so fragile and confused, and why we are all anxious or depressed. Today, the Hinduism that I get to witness is far removed from what it truly stood for. Revival of temples as businesses cannot be the answer to revival of the Hindu principles of life. Unless these temples make a shift from merely being public places with social events, to being places that engage people in meaningful ways in their spiritual quest, I do not see any scope for transformation.

Why is it that we are so ashamed of our native identities? I am very proud of our native identity- of our culture, literature and works of art. It is this cultural wisdom that helped us build our identity as roles which added value to society. It is certainly heartening to witness a phenomenon where more young people are finally realizing the importance of engaging with their social environment. The depression and anxiety that we imported into this country, can only be warded off if we choose to build a social self, rather than a limited individual self.

The Return to Myself

The 22nd of March. My birthday. I am 45 today. A birthday at this age is a private event. It is a day when you create a space within yourself- to have an honest conversation with yourself. You dwell on your relationship with yourself- on how this relationship has changed over the years.

My relationship with myself has changed considerably over the years. I once lived a life where my physical reality was a happy place, but my internal reality was clouded with feelings of worthlessness and inferiority. In those days, I depended on my physical reality to feel happy. I thrived on the affection showered by my family, friends, and teachers. I thrived on the happiness ingredients of my external world which were plentiful- adventure, fun, companionship, appreciation, and achievement. However, I was not ready to face myself. On the days when I was home and did not step out, I felt lonely and frightened as I faced my own darkness. Then there came a time when my physical reality turned dark. The happiness ingredients vanished, and were replaced by struggle and suffering. Ironically, it was in this darkness that I discovered the light within. Something of my spirit shined through this darkness. Life held up a mirror for me to look into, and in that mirror, I saw my love for learning; my love for humanity; my persistence and perseverance for the causes I cared about; my honesty and truth; my humility and my ability to accept my imperfections; my courage and resilience. Of course, I would have been lost without the right resources to lead me- the books I read, the movies I watched, and the people I modeled.

Every journey of suffering eventually led me to myself; I was beginning to love the person that was the real me. Until that point, I had been a drop in the ocean, unaware of the ocean of which I was a part. But my life experiences helped me connect with the larger consciousness of which I was a part. This changed my perception of myself. When you perceive yourself as an isolated drop that is not connected to the ocean, you feel your weakness because your identity is limited and narrow. But when you perceive yourself as a drop belonging to the ocean, you feel your strength because your identity is now broad. When I learnt to identify with the larger consciousness, my identity expanded. This larger consciousness had infinite reserves of wisdom, and it instilled in me a powerful sense of purpose. I learnt to depend on it to live my life. My relationship with myself changed. I loved being me because my mind was always educating me and unveiling the miracles in life. My mind became a very interesting place, and I was never bored.

But this birthday, there is a desire of which I recently became aware- the desire to go back to the sociocultural context that I am familiar with. The desire to go back to urban life. In my life in Kerala, the drop that is me, has ceased to exist. Only the ocean exists. I am always in self-transcendence mode because that is the only way you can survive here. I can afford to be the drop with nature, but not with people. In my relationship with the people here, I have to always be the ocean. I can never lean on them; I will always have to let them lean on me. I have to prepare myself for the fact that people will not acknowledge my needs, simply because they themselves are so needy. I have never met a population that operates out of unfulfilled psychological needs, as much as the people of contemporary Kerala. Most people that I meet, are looking for validation. In conversations, the need for validation dominates to the point that the responses are often misplaced. I think I am so exhausted from always being the ocean that I look forward to moving out of this state. Sometimes, I have to try hard to recall the life that I once lived; my past is completely disconnected from the life I have lived in Kerala. I feel the desire to go back to the world where I am showered with affection, where the climate is milder, and where I can afford to be a child looking for some adventure, fun and companionship. I also miss the professional world and the intellectual climate where authentic work has some value. Coincidentally, I spoke to my old friends today. Whenever I connect with people from my old life, I cry because it reminds me of all that I miss. So I am spreading my wings and preparing for the next leg of my journey, which I hope is not too far away.

Whose desire and will are we? On the trails of Shekhar Kapur

I have indulged in many experiences that qualify as eccentric, unconventional or crazy. My choices were often unconventional. When I look back at the things I did, the choices I made, and the decisions I took, I often wonder why things took the route that they did. I ask the questions that Shekhar Kapur asks of himself in a podcast. Was it my desire, my will? Or was it the desire and will of the situation that I found myself in? Was it the desire and will of the universe, the life force? Or was it the desire of desire in itself…the will of will in itself? That makes me imagine myself as a desire, a will, a figment. A soul with a body, and not a body with a soul. A soul that is desire and will. A soul that is motivation. A motivation that has the inherent power to move us towards something.

When I was in kindergarten, I would sneak out from my classroom to catch a glimpse of the train chugging along majestically through the tunnel in the woods, its metallic wheels clanking against the tracks, echoing in my ears. I do not know why I was overpowered by the desire to witness this sight day after day. In my young mind, the train was an enigma- a magical creature that moved like a giant serpent through the tracks nestled in the hills, taking people to some faraway land. The train had made the impossible, possible. This indulgence was put to an end by my teachers who caught me on this escapade, and reported it to my parents. But I had already executed my will.

When I was about twelve, I remember how I wrote to kids in countries I had only heard about, merely because the idea of pen friends fascinated me. I loved the idea of writing to people different from me, living in places different from mine, and communicating across the barriers of space and culture. To me, that was magical. For a brief span of time, children from Bhutan, Finland, and Africa, who had never met each other in person, were frantically writing letters to each other. I wonder whose will that was.

When I was in class 12, an unprecedented thought came to my mind- I did not want to take the exams that year. Instead, I decided to take an year off, study hard, and then take the exams. However, it was my chemistry teacher who talked me out of it. I relented, and took the exams on time. Whose will was that? It was not mine. But was it my teacher’s will? Or was it the will of the universe?

When I wrote the entrance exams, I was eager to follow my brother’s footsteps. I preferred a career in engineering to a career in Medicine. However, I messed up the Math paper. When I was taking the Biology exam, I realized that I would score well. I started to deliberately mess up my paper, simply because I couldn’t see myself getting into Medicine. However, I had a sudden surge of guilt. I decided to be authentic, and leave the outcome to destiny. I was surprised when the results came out and I found out that I had made it into MBBS. Whose will was it?

In the first year of my MBBS, I discovered that I was failing miserably in most of my exams. I started believing that Medicine was not for me. I talked to my parents about dropping out of the course. My parents agreed, but they encouraged me to quit the course after my foundation year exams. It didn’t matter if I passed or failed. That put me at ease, and I prepared to fail. However, we had a new Physiology professor step in, and I had a major perspective shift. He inspired me and taught me how to think. He introduced us to Guyton, and I fell in love with Physiology. He also asked us to read Erich Segal’s ‘Doctors‘ and watch the movie ‘Patch Adams‘. All of this had a life-changing impact on me. I transformed as a person, and by the end of that year, I was a medical student who was in love with Medicine. Whose desire, whose will was it? Who was it who steered me back into Medicine when I had almost given up?

After the passionate years as a medical student in an institution where there were many role models, I was disappointed by what awaited me in the world of work. Perhaps, if I had worked under one of my professors for some time, I might have tapped into their experience and wisdom, and learnt to derive satisfaction from the practice of Medicine. However, I decided to follow my peers and move to the UK.

Clinical experience in the UK did not nurture my love for medical practice, but it provided me valuable insights into certain aspects of my personality that I wanted to develop. I discovered that I had an inclination and aptitude for teaching, discourse, critical thinking and writing. At a time when I did not know if I ought to continue my career in the UK or return home to my parents who were now struggling with health concerns, I returned, feeling very empowered, simply because travel had broadened the horizons of my mind. Whose will was that?

I returned not to Bangalore, but to Kerala. Life in Bangalore and in the UK had given me exposure to diverse experiences, but had not prepared me for life in Kerala. Also, I had no career goal because this part of Kerala had nothing to offer. Fortunately, there was a new medical college coming up, and I started working. It was here that one of my colleagues advised me to pursue a Master’s in Physiology because she had witnessed my passion for teaching. That is exactly what I did, even though I had to take a long journey to get to that.

But my story does not end there. I wandered from teaching to medical writing, and finally to psychology, where I have decided to spend time. At every juncture, there was somebody to instill a thought into my mind and seed a desire. Sometimes, real people. Sometimes, the work of people I had never met. Cinema, for instance, was the first inspiration that steered me toward psychology. Psychology, for some strange reason, feels like my natural destiny. To be a psychologist, is to be in my own skin. And yet, I can say with conviction that I would not become this version of a psychologist if any of my experiences had been taken away from this journey. Every experience added to the journey; every experience was relevant to the subsequent journey.

What I have narrated so far is the story of my professional journey. My personal life has also been unconventional. I loved and cherished people. I valued intimacy over and above ambition or success. When I was in my teens, there was nothing that I wanted more than to settle down to the ordinary pattern of a family life. I did not want to be burdened with the business of life. Just as Shekhar Kapur elaborates, all I wanted was somebody who would hold my hand, and somebody who would worry about me. I liked being parented, and as long as I could feel the love and affection, I did not mind the squabbles. But it turned out that I am single. It wasn’t that I did not try getting married, but every time I tried, my natural destiny led me away from it. Whose will was that?

I learnt to accept my destiny, and I learnt to fill up my loneliness with meaning. Meaning that I created by consuming knowledge, treating myself to experiences, interpreting my experiences in my writings, being valuable in my relationships with people, facilitating people in their own journeys, engaging with nature, and so much more. Yet, I must admit that there are aspects that remain unresolved. On some days, when I drive back home, I am grateful that I have my mother waiting for me. I am grateful that there is somebody who worries about me, and who checks on me. It is certainly not easy when such a person does not exist in your life. Also, freedom comes with responsibility. You have to always walk a step ahead of life, in order to be prepared for the worst. You have to build skills that you otherwise wouldn’t worry about. For instance, when you are ill, instead of just submitting to the illness, you have to motivate yourself to make decisions, you have to figure out what you can still do in order to pull through the crisis, and you have to accept the fact that you are alone in your illness. My only consolation is that the greater will that has driven my life so far, will continue to propel me forward.

As for writing, should I consider it a part of my personal journey or a part of my professional journey? Writing, to me, is a very personal affair. Writing is perhaps my strongest desire. But the truth is that I never aspired to be a writer; I had no clue that my personality was that of a writer. I was a shy and self-conscious writer when I started, but my fellow-bloggers gave me enough confidence to write in the early days of blogging. It took me many years to come out of hiding and own my love for writing. When I published my first book, I had no clue what it meant to be an author. Whose desire was it that made me an author? To this day, I do not know if I am a good author. All I know is that I cannot live without writing.

If our lives are the outcome of a collective will, then as Shekhar Kapur rightly said, the only way to live life is to live with passion and do things with devotion. To stay true to our intrinsic motivation– that is the only rule that we must abide by. The motto of life is not to become successful, but to become a work of art. We must learn to cultivate a reverence for the life that throbs within us. The only proof that we have lived, is the imprint we leave behind- in our conversations, our writings, our work, our impact on people’s minds and lives.