By
Amar
Nath Wadehra & Randeep Wadehra
Consider these two episodes from
two different villages in the pre-Partition Punjab circa early 1930s:
Episode1: A huge baraat
reaches a village with scores of bullock-carts, horse-carts and raths
(decorated bullock-carts) loaded with baraatis. In the absence of
marriage palaces and five star hotels the guests were accommodated in the local
Gurudwara and Dharamshala. But, the number of guests was too large. Therefore,
those left out were taken into their homes by the villagers. Every family in
the village was involved in extending hospitality to the guests, who would be
staying for the wedding ceremony that used to last about a week. There was no
panic or muttering. The animals were well looked after too. Today it may be
difficult to believe but the farmers – not just from the host village but also
the surrounding ones – removed whatever fences marked their farms and allowed
the horses and bullocks to graze freely.
Episode2: Another
wedding. The bride’s family is not well off. The rest of the villagers
contribute generously whatever they can towards her trousseau and dowry, apart
from doing whatever is needed towards extending hospitality to the visiting baraat.
The bride goes to her in-laws’ home laden with ornaments and household goods
that would have rivaled a landlord’s daughter’s.
The word ‘technology’ was
unknown then. Modern amenities like electricity and tap water were absent.
Since even kerosene was not freely available, people used mustard oil to light
lamps, and wood as fuel for their chulha. Water had to be drawn from
wells. And yet, a guest was treated as deity. Life might have been a constant
toil, demanding physical labour for every chore, and poor lighting might have
resulted in dim-lit surroundings but the Punjabi’s heart was effulgent and the
outlook sunny.
Those were the days when the
girl-child was looked upon as daughter of the entire village. A marriage might
have been between two individuals or two families but its success was a matter
of the pind di izzat. These traditions ensured relatively healthy
relationships. And, it needs to be emphasized here, the traditions were
inclusive, and were honored and practiced by people belonging to all castes and
creeds in a village. If and when a marital discord cropped up it was considered
a duty of the village elders to ensure its smooth resolution. Today, when
divorce suits have become endemic, such traditions may be dismissed as too
idealistic, if not idle talk, to be true. But, these were certainly the norm in
the Punjabi society of yore, when mercantilism had not yet warped the
worldview; when an individual was more valuable than a hi-tech gizmo.
Many experts in social
behavior/psychology often remark that those traditions were offshoots of the
agrarian economy wherein mutual cooperation was a must for survival. With the
march of civilization the need for such collectivism is not required any more,
they argue. But, what is being overlooked is the collateral damage done to the
entire fabric of Punjabi society and values by this march of civilization,
which has taken individualism to a level that spells danger to the society as
we have known it.
Today, we look upon ourselves as
better informed and civilized but, somehow, have lost sight of many a healthy
tradition that used to govern our way of life in none too distant past. We have
forgotten to respect fellow human beings and, in the process, ourselves. The
march of civilization has snatched away much else that is precious to us as
Punjabis. The concept of Punjabiat has become more a shibboleth than an article
of faith. Values and traditions form vital ingredients of our cultural
identity; but, we err in assuming that these don’t need looking after. Certain
values like honesty, integrity, respect for elders etc, require constant vigil
and nurturing. For example, respect for elders need not imply unquestioning
acceptance of whatever is said and done. But it does require deference to their
point of view – however anachronistic it might appear to today’s youth –
because wisdom-rooted-in-experience has fashioned that view.
The march of civilization has made
traditional social structures redundant, but has failed to come up with viable
alternatives. For example, the joint family system – with all its faults – was
a powerful institution that inculcated certain healthy values. You acquired
various social skills like interpersonal interaction within the family, which
stood you in great stead in your dealings with the world outside. The emotional
and material security offered by the now defunct institution has not been
replicated by any other – and certainly not by those of law and governance.
The moral authority of village
elders used to be such that nobody dared stare at, leave alone tease, a girl.
Any delinquency on this score used to be dealt with swiftly and severely. Once
the youth stop respecting their teachers and elders they begin to trivialize
the core of all social cohesion, viz., the moral authority. There was a time
when policeman was almost an unknown entity in the countryside. A village chowkidar,
wielding a mere daang, used to be enough guarantee against crime – rare
though it used to be. Today, even armed policemen in PCRs are unable to strike
fear in criminals’ hearts. The result is there for all to see. Women, children
and the elderly have become most vulnerable to the spiraling crime rate. Drug
addiction is fast turning the flower of Punjab’s youth into drooping junkies.
The
march of civilization has consumed other aspects of our culture too, viz., our
cuisine. Punjabi cuisine is an important cultural heritage because it is an
accumulation of traditional wisdom regarding health and happiness. It is being
overwhelmed by the junk food culture that has turned even pre-teen kids into
diabetics and patients of high blood pressure.
But the march of civilization
has vandalized other Punjabi traditions and institutions too. Our traditional
festivals are getting commercialized. What used to be a collective affair has
now turned individualistic. Earlier the entire village used to assemble around
the Lohri bonfire and share lighthearted banter, sing folk songs and
even perform giddha. No more is a festival an occasion for people to get
together and share greetings and joys. Now, it is more an opportunity for display
of power and pelf. Be it Diwali or Lohri – exchange of gifts is more an ego
trip than gestures of goodwill – worse, now these have also been turned into
instruments of self-promotion. Holi has already turned into the fest of the
hooligan. Festivals’ sanctity has been violated by crass commercialism.
Monsoons in Punjab are
traditionally associated with Teej or Teeyan celebrations and feasts of kheer
etc while lasses on swings sing paeans to sawan. It is one of the most
romanticized festivals for girls in Punjab and the surrounding region. Girls
would deck themselves up in the best traditional finery and enjoy swings under
a mango tree, while humming some lovelorn lyrics. There used to be spontaneity in
these participations, which has disappeared since. Now, only government
sponsored Teej festivals are observed at pre-selected sites, since
neither our natural nor social environment permits an average Punjabi girl to
celebrate it – a tradition that is dying if not already dead.
How we look at our history and
heritage decides the cultural aspects of our society. Heritage, after all, does
not merely tells us of our past. It defines our present even as it impacts our
future evolution. A society that doesn’t respect its heritage loses its
identity and, eventually, goes to seed. Unfortunately, some such thing has been
happening to the Punjabi society for quite some time now.
Oral literature is a tradition
of ancient, pre-Vedic vintage. In the absence of writing material for use by
common folks, it developed as much as a means for memorizing various
family/professional secrets as an egalitarian form of entertainment. Before the
advent of more sophisticated infotainment media oral literature in the form of
stories and poetry was used as medium of entertainment. Kavishars and dhadis
would be invited to villages by the well-off on formal occasions like
marriages, festivals etc when they would render songs, poetry and folklore on
demand. Traditionally, dhadis’ renderings are accompanied with
time-honored musical instruments, viz., dhad – a percussion instrument,
and sarangi – a violin-like string instrument. One could also see them
performing at various melas, reciting martial or love songs that fused
fantasy with facts. Listening to them you would think that the singers had
actually witnessed the events and verbal exchanges among diverse characters
from history and mythology. Although Heer, Jugni and Challa folksongs
still reverberate throughout the Punjab countryside the march of civilization
has consumed this fine tradition, too. Yes, technology has enabled the likes of
Gurdas Maan, Rabbi Shergill, Hans Raj Hans et al to deliver folk music into our
living rooms – but the experience remains too individualistic. We miss the
warmth and colour of melas.
Punjabis have a rich tradition
of poetry and music. Some of them transcended geographical barriers and became
legends, viz., KL Sehgal, Mohd. Rafi, Mahendra Kapoor and Jagjit Singh – to
name a few. But many Punjabi lyricists and artistes are living in penury.
Sometime back media had highlighted the plight of Ajaib Singh, who wrote more
than 250 poems and songs – some of which, like Baba vay kalaan marod,
have become enduring classics. Today he is languishing in an orphanage.
Identical has been the fate of the centurion kavishar Karnail Singh,
whose kin left him to fend for himself. If we don’t respect our poets and
artists we are doomed to remain culturally challenged.
The condition of more modern
performing arts is no better in Punjab. The current state of Punjabi theatre is
a cogent example. Although it never was a vibrant social institution, Punjabi
theatre did experience a meteoric rise and fall during the period spanning early
1970s to late 1980s. Admittedly, the contributions of such stalwarts as
Gursharan Singh, IC Nanda etc have facilitated the development of this genre of
performing arts, but it cannot be said to be in good health. Traditional
audiences have deserted it after getting put off by repeats and adaptations,
probably because they could not relate to such productions; there has been very
little relevance to the present socio-cultural and economic realities. Theatre
in India in general and Punjab in particular has been tied to ideological
apron-strings of leftist political parties, no wonder it is experiencing
disconnect with even its diehard patrons; dogmatic/propagandist content always
has had a limited appeal. Obviously, if it does not reinvent itself to cater to
contemporary sensibilities and needs, the chances of Punjabi theatre’s survival
are bleak indeed.
Punjabi cinema, too, is not
exactly in the pink of its health. Unlike Bengali, Malayalam or Marathi cinema
that draw on their respective contemporary and classic literary works, Punjabi
cinema has been mindlessly plagiarizing the Bollywood formulae. Consequently,
it has yet to develop an identity of its own and contribute to Punjab’s
cultural ethos. True, movies like Anne Ghode Da Daan and Madhi Da
Deeva etc have earned accolades at the national and international forums
for their powerful subaltern narratives, offering trenchant critiques of the
contemporary Punjabi society; but these are exceptions. We have been mostly
watching the stereotypical vendetta movies that cater to the lowest common
denominator. The benchmark was raised significantly with Manmohan Singh’s NRI
narratives. But the emphasis remained on the upper-caste/middleclass milieu.
These do not investigate the current dynamics of Punjabi society. The youths’
problems, their angst and anger, struggles and triumphs remain untouched. It
would appear that Dalits simply do not exist in Punjabi society. This skewed
perception was somewhat corrected by another Punjabi flick, Mitti.
However, the movie is not purely a Dalit story, but of the Punjabi youth gone
astray. If its maker had shown the courage of making a truly Dalit-centric
movie he would have configured a new paradigm in Punjabi cinema. Nonetheless,
the number of good and socially relevant movies is too small to trigger off
renaissance in Punjabi cinema. It is not that there is a dearth of good
literature. For example lives and works of such poets of universal appeal as
Bhai Vir Singh, Shiv Batalvi, Dhani Ram Chatrik, Amrita Pritam, Mohan Singh,
Balwant Bawa, Preetam Singh Safeer, Avtar Singh Azad and Prabhjot Kaur offer
great cinematic scope, as do plays, novels and short stories of Gurdit Singh,
I.C. Nanda, Nanak Singh, Gurbax Singh, Balwant Gargi, Sheela Bhatia, Gurdial
Singh Khosla, Harcharan Singh, Sant Singh Sekhon, Kartar Singh Duggal, Kulwant
Singh, Navtej and others. Let us not forget that cinema is a vital ingredient
of a society’s cultural construction, and not some frivolity to be indulged in
by quick money seekers.
It is not that Punjabis are not
making any effort to preserve certain aspects of our culture and heritage. Sometime
back there were media reports regarding Amritsar’s Manpreet Singh, who has
built a medieval looking house in the Verka village. It contains utensils,
hand-pumps, kerosene lamps, spinning wheels, looms and various utensils that
used to be part and parcel of quotidian Punjabi lifestyle several decades (even
a century) ago. Of particular interest is a bed, said to have been gifted to
Maharaja Ranjit Singh on the occasion of his marriage to Rani Jindan. A lot of
time, effort and money must have gone into building the house and collecting
the artifacts etc from different parts of the world. Such efforts might be
symbolic and inadequate to trigger cultural renaissance, but are precious as
inspiration for others.
It is true that the march of
civilization has taken away some of our traditions, but must we use that as
excuse for shedding time-tested and healthy value systems too? Traditions need
to adapt to changing times but certain values are irreplaceable – be it
honesty, hard work, an effulgent heart with unadulterated love for fellow human
beings – the essence of Punjabiat.
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