Is there not a case for granting some sort of a ‘Sanskriti-veer’ award or something for the ‘Sri Ram Sene’ hitman Muthalik, who upheld the glory of Indian culture by bashing up pub-crawling girls in Mangalore?
It’s not too late. Actually, they should start a movement for the abolition of all words that carry an association with the pub — including ‘pub-lic’, ‘re-pub-lic’, ‘pub-lish’ and so on.
My anger really is with, what for the want of a better word, passes for the ‘media’ in India, which is ever present (upon prior invitation, of course, and not due to any intrepid investigation of their own) to give some free pub-licity to blatant criminality.
Anyway, it’s news that to be seen beating up women is still high on the list of the achievements of ‘Indian culture’.
The culture of alcohol is not alien to India. It is one of the markers of its civilisational achievement, that the sub-continent boasts of a wide variety of ancient and contemporary brews to assuage the soul.
Soma, madhyapana, sharaab, mahua, feni, tadi are various names by which it is known. And, when not restricted to hedonism, drinking was invested with the dignity of a philosophical quest for ‘othering’ the self. It was tantamount to a spiritual act.
However, as in all post-colonial societies, drinking has turned into a curse — a curse of modernity. Alcohol is synonymous with contemporary alienation and seems to have become a handmaiden of development.
States like Kerala, Goa and New Delhi, which boast the highest human development index ratios, also boast the highest rates of alcoholism.
Women’s movements across several states have identified alcohol as their enemy number one, which siphons off family incomes, instigates domestic violence and delivers staggering medical bills at the end of the month.
However, after my recent trips to Nepal, Mahe and Goa, I have begun rating these as the most democratic geographies I have been to, if one were to apply the yardstick of the democracy of drinking spaces. These are evolved zones where you can virtually walk in anywhere and buy a drink without moral opprobrium or guilt. There is a large variety of decent choices, no crowding, no obvious signs of dissipation, no brawls and none of the seedy, perverted atmosphere one has come to associate with liquor shops, say in Tamil Nadu.
In Chennai, going to buy liquor from the government controlled TASMAC shops is an utterly anti-civilisational, self-demeaning act. The atmosphere around these shops is filthy beyond description. You have to gingerly manoeuvre your steps between dollops of spit and phlegm, remains of old and fresh vomit, broken bottles, remains of the plastic pouches in which vendors sell kadalai (boiled gram) and pickles, puddles of piss in the corners, drunks lying sprawled in the muck and a general air of depravity and squalor which beggars imagination.
From such a scene of apostasy, which even a Victor Hugo would have been hard put to capture in Les Miserables, to reach say Kathmandu, is a culture shock. Here you can walk into a vegetable or provision store and buy Khukhri Rum at a price that can wean you off water for ever. Or in Panjim, where everything is bright, clean, transparent, open and civilised. Mahe has some of the most stylish and well-designed wine shops.
Not like, say in Gujarat, where drinking is totally criminalised. Of course, everyone drinks. The safe way is to acquire a medical permit which certifies you an ‘alcoholic’. Any simple audit today will show up Gujarat as having the largest number of alcoholics in the country — if one goes by the number of permits issued.
Most interesting is the form you need to fill here to get your medical clearance. The late Bhupen Khakkhar, used to cheekily display the licence form framed on the wall of his studio house in Vadodara. The first line in the form is, ‘Daarudiyo noh naam’ (‘Drunkards name’?).
Next it asks, ‘Daarudiyo noh baap nu naam’ (Drunkard’s father’s name’?) and so on, confirming your status as a wretched scum on the edge of humanity.
The regime of controls, bans, prohibitions and state monopolies, besides being anti-democratic, never achieves its purpose. It only produces a sort of moral cramping, an aesthetic stunting. Alcohol consumption must be re-invested with the dignity and decency of democratic choice where the State, instead of treating alcohol merely as a source for revenue generation, also acknowledges its potential for mature socialising, conviviality and celebration.
There must also be a parallel movement to offer a peg and a toast to the moral police, which needs to recover the best of Indian civilisation. The dehumanising effects of alcohol (as well as its grotesque retailing) can be offset by the humanising power of freedom and choice and creativity. After all, as Omar Khayyam said, ‘What can a vintner buy, half as precious as what he sells’?
