I often think of modernisation as a force that affects us much like an overzealous barbecue: it chars the exterior even as it leaves the interior undercooked. The other day, I heard a story that made me realise that this process of simultaneous charring and undercooking has created so many contradictions that today although people like us often say that ours is a multi-layered society, we don't really know how many layers there really are. No one does, as a matter of fact. Anyway, here's the story.
It all started when I asked Seema, the spare, stern cook from rural Bihar, if all had been well while I had been away, travelling for two weeks. "Everything was fine, she said. "Except that the dengue epidemic really scared us this time." In fact, she said, her neighbour's toddler died of it. So imagine their consternation when her daughter's father-in-law also contracted the disease. At first they thought it was just a viral fever. "By the time they had his blood tested, his 'plates' (she meant platelets, I surmised) were very low," narrated Seema. The family first tried alternative therapies, feeding him the juice of papaya leaves and radish greens. But nothing seemed to work. Eventually, the doctors said he would probably need a blood transfusion the next day. The man had O positive blood type, and the rush began to look for a suitable donor.
"Obviously, I kept quiet and my head low," said Seema. I asked her why. It turned out that her own blood type was O positive, but in the traditionally formal relationship between a woman's mother and father-in-law, the idea of donating blood was quite repugnant to her. Meanwhile, her son-in-law took to WhatsApp and social media to ask around for O positive blood, not realising that a potential donor was sitting right under his nose.
"He looked and looked, but no one came forward," said Seema. Apparently, the dengue epidemic had caused blood to become a scarce commodity in the capital. Didn't her husband or daughter intercede with her on her samdhi's (the Hindi term for the father of the son-in-law) behalf, I asked. She replied that neither of them knew her blood type. People normally just donated blood to a blood bank, I told her, without even knowing who would benefit by it. Blood was indeed the biggest leveller, for it coursed through the veins of all people, regardless of gender, caste and religion. She became defensive, saying this was different. "In my village, women barely ever interact with the father of their son-in-law! We aren't even supposed to go to our daughter's wedding. The men do everything - the women stay indoors and out of sight," she said. Even though they had shifted to Delhi about 15 years ago and she was working now, within the family, all these old traditions were still followed.
Eventually, the poor man recovered without a blood transfusion. Seema, meanwhile, breathed a sigh of relief. "It's good he recovered, for the well-being of my daughter's family is very important to us," she said. Also, it transpired during the conversation that the father-in-law was currently the only wage-earner in the family as her son-in-law was out of a job. Would she have, I asked out of curiosity, eventually donated her blood if he'd been dying? She replied in the negative. "Probably not. Somehow, to have my blood coursing through my daughter's husband's father's veins would just not have felt right," she said. What if, I persisted, the tables had been turned, and it was she who needed a blood transfusion to survive. Pat came the answer. "Whatever I'd do, I'd definitely not want blood from my samdhi," she said. "It's unthinkable."
Disclaimer: These are personal views of the writer. They do not necessarily reflect the opinion of www.business-standard.com or the Business Standard newspaper
