The Sickness of the State

The Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM), International Classification of Diseases (ICD) or any other classification system(s) for mental illness ought to consider a category for 'disorders of the State or government' for tyrannical regimes and so-called 'democracies' that oppress and harass people on a frequent basis.

I suspect the presentation will be an amalgamation of narcissistic & obsessive- compulsive personality disorder, delusional disorder, and paranoid disorder NOS (not otherwise specified).

Consider the following clinical features listed in DSM IV TR in relation to the arbitrary and authoritarian censorship practices of the Indian government

Narcissistic personality disorder:

- 'Has a grandiose sense of self-importance (e.g., exaggerates achievements and talents, expects to be recognized as superior without commensurate achievements)' We all know that the power of the state far exceeds its merit.

- 'Has a sense of entitlement, i.e., unreasonable expectations of especially favorable treatment or automatic compliance with his or her expectations.' Manifested as the illegitimate exercise of authority.

- 'Is interpersonally exploitative, i.e., takes advantage of others to achieve his or her own ends.' Suppresses freedom of speech and expression allegedly to safeguard the interests of the 'nation' where nation = sarkar.

- 'Shows arrogant, haughty behaviors or attitudes' reflected in the fact that the government assumes the ability and right to decide what is right or wrong for millions of people.

Obsessive compulsive personality disorder:

- 'A pervasive pattern of preoccupation with orderliness, perfectionism, and mental and interpersonal control, at the expense of flexibility, openness, and efficiency...', "control" being the operative word.

Delusional disorder

- 'Delusional disorder is a psychiatric diagnosis denoting a psychotic mental disorder that is characterized by holding one or more non-bizarre delusions... Non-bizarre delusions are fixed beliefs that are certainly and definitely false, but that could possibly be plausible.

Specifically, to be a "delusion," a belief must be sustained despite what almost everyone else believes, and not be one ordinarily accepted by other members of the person's culture or subculture'*

* Such as the general public who may not share the government's belief that certain blogs are offensive, or that FTV corrupts the moral fabric of Indian society.

As for paranoid disorder NOS- consider the following diagnostic criteria specified by ICD-10 for paranoid personality disorder (four out of seven are relevant)

- 'Excessive sensitivity to setbacks and rebuffs

- tendency to bear grudges persistently, i.e. refusal to forgive insults and injuries or slights;

- tendency to experience excessive self-importance, manifest in a persistent self-referential attitude

- preoccupation with unsubstantiated "conspiratorial" explanations of events both immediate to the patient and in the world at large'

I rest my case.

Na sahi wasl to hasrat hi sahi

A few mornings ago I was reading an article about one of those assistance dogs that do such amazing things. After sufficient ooh-ing and wow-ing I remarked that I should become a dog trainer. Seconds later I added that I would be a terrible dog trainer because I wouldn't be able to discipline the dog and would pretty much let it do whatever the hell it wanted. A digression here to inform readers that while friends and even colleagues know that I have the ability to be scarily strict and no-nonsense type, it is limited to members of the human species. With animals I melt like a slab of butter when Jerry soothes his burning bum on it (The fact that I couldn't think of a metaphor better than one involving Tom & Jerry is testimony to my borderline crazy adoration of animals).

So yeah, when I said I wouldn't last three days in a job as a dog trainer, my partner said "You should be a dog spoiler instead"

Friends, nomads and countrymen! The moment comes but rarely in history when you realise what your true calling is. That morning when my beloved told me what I should be, dear lectores, was one such moment.

Unfortunately, I don't think there is such a thing as a dog-spoiler. It got me thinking about additional employment opportunities that haven't yet seen the light of day, but which I would gladly apply for and probably never leave unless forced to do so.

Dog spoiler

Duties could include showing unabashed affection towards the dog, feeding, grooming and playing with it, defending its right to do almost anything, letting it sleep on £5000 mattresses, oh what the heck! letting it sleep on my head if it wants to, talking to it about existence, and receiving gyaan (pearls of wisdom) from it. The only problem is dogs are so easy going and unpretentious that they wouldn't care about many of these services. A cat would, but I don't want to be a cat spoiler. Yes, I like some animals more than others. I like all animals more than humans.

Culturally and intellectually engaged alter-ego of a rich person

A rich man, or woman, wants to keep abreast with the best of literature, poetry and music but doesn't have the time to indulge these cultural pursuits. He/she would pay me to read great books and poetry, attend lectures and talks on a variety of interesting subjects, and listen to beautiful music. I would then take out an hour or two each day to succinctly summarise the plot, philosophy, underlying themes, meanings- both apparent and symbolic, and essence of those books, talks, poems and songs for the benefit of my employer. This combines several of my favourite activities with another- teaching. Hmmm...maybe this could include a travel component also. Since I am making it up as I go along, it shall.

Feedback- giver

Based on comments by recipients and my own gut instinct, I believe I would make a good feedback-er. Good feedback should be useful. Something that the feedback-ee should be able to do something with. Comments like "This was awful" are pointless. So is being too nice. I am not in favour of sugar coated critique. I dislike sugar. Especially when it coats things. Apart from those German mini-doughnut type things, which I could quite easily do with right about now.

Firer

Not guns, though we can come to that later perhaps. I mean the kind person who gets to say "You're fired!". Inspired by cinema, I think companies should outsource firing people. These are tough times, and everyone knows that letting a faithful employee go isn't easy. I would like to be the one who takes that burden of duty off them. Outsource the hatred directed towards the messenger! What a great idea! I will happily take on the part of said messenger. I'm actually surprised this isn't already a bonafide source of income.

Defender of personal autonomy and human rights

In a society afflicted with "fear of offending" I can be hired to tell people off if they interfere with my prospective employer's personal freedom on ridiculous grounds including appeals to religion, class, caste, or the wider social community ("Log kya kahenge"). To tell someone to %$@* off and take their personal opinion with them would feel so much better if it were part of my job description. For two reasons. First, I'd get paid for it. Second, and perhaps more importantly, there would be no dithering or discomfort about meddling in the private affairs of another person. The (somewhat overbearing) presence of my nose and foot in matters concerning a third party would be legitimised by my employment contract.

Before signing anything, I would master some form of deadly combat like Krav Maga to be better equipped to do my job and deal with...ahem....impediments effectively.

Food taster (Vegetarian :-p)

The job title is self explanatory. A dream job list that doesn't involve delicious food is proof that the person making the list is either sadly misinformed about the pleasures of existence, or keeled over in the middle of the exercise, thereby leaving the list incomplete.

Of the above-mentioned, I believe the professional firer, feedback-giver and alter-ego are real possibilities. Do millionaires with no time on their hands read this blog?

One lives in eternal hope, doesn't one?

Elevator etiquette

There are many circumstances in which one may find oneself pushed against or packed into confined spaces with strangers. Crowded buses, trains, tram et cetera, to name a few. Elevators are mysteriously different. To elucidate, let us consider the example of a crowded Delhi- Gurgaon Haryana roadways bus, or the London underground for that matter (not that the two are alike in any way, other than acute-onset claustrophobia and a burning desire for fresh air and freedom).

People may be sharing breathing space with one another but the sense is one of individual collectivity. The presence of the other may be acknowledged, or if particularly offensive, scorned, but what is not discernible is the effect of person A on person B. Laughter continues, gossip flows freely, serious conversations carry on in murmurs and silence…well…silence remains silent. Entering a train or bus, one would not immediately perceive that one’s presence has, in Lewin’s words, changed the ‘field’ significantly.

By contrast, in elevators, the perception that one has interrupted something by walking in is overwhelming. Even while walking into a quiet elevator, one notices a shift to the left or right, straightening of slumped shoulders, and cessation of any activity involving body to body contact – including self to self contact. Conversations either stop, or if unstoppable, mellow down rapidly to a whisper. Giggling or guffawing of any kind almost always ceases, often with a cough or clearing-of-the-throat to aid the smooth transition from a state of laughter to non-laughter.

Once the tumult caused by arrival of new member onto the scene subsides, there is the awkward and slow ascent or descent. Eye contact with fellow travellers is to be avoided at all cost, and as far as possible restricted either to the dull grey elevator floor, or the flashing numbers above. Talking is a strict no-no (maybe that’s why they have elevator music). There are always exceptions of course, as discussed below.

Scenario I- It is an old apartment complex in India, and the neighbouring aunty or uncle saunter in. ‘Neighbouring’, of course, used rather loosely to imply anyone in the same building (or blocks of buildings) as opposed to neighbours from the same floor. In such cases customary greetings are exchanged, and there is necessarily some talk about one’s studies or career depending on age. Some polite enquiry about one’s family or comment about extreme weather may follow. Strangely, in such cases a lot manages to get said and heard in a short journey of five or six storeys. If you’re particularly lucky, you may get a herd of seventeen children cramming into the elevator with you, intent on pushing all the buttons, thereby giving you the chance to be all grown-up and say ‘tsk tsk’ with a shake of the head while they smile sheepishly and proceed to ignore your protests.

Scenario II- It is England, and no one really talks to anyone unless something is out of the ordinary. Elevator wise, this would mean it being especially crowded, inviting a comment such as –“We’re packed in here a bit like sardines aren’t we”, followed by gentle laughter- or if something goes wrong. Say the lights go out and the elevator comes to an unexpected halt. Then all of a sudden we are all brothers and sisters, fighting for survival, eager for answers, searching for suggestions and a whole lot of “Oh dear, what’ve they gone and done now?” ensues.

Scenario III- It is anywhere in the world, I am in the elevator and someone brings a dog in. Any tentativeness is motivated not by social norms, but by self-preservation, manifested in the form of the question “Is he friendly?”. If the unsuspecting ‘person’ responds in the affirmative, all rules are broken and the only etiquette I am even remotely aware of at this point in time is the golden rule- thou shalt not crush a dog to a pulp out of affection.

Then there is the end of the journey. There are the obvious rules about letting people alight etc. which I don’t find particularly interesting. I don’t know about others, but I feel a sense of relief once I have left the elevator, or if I am left alone for the remainder of the journey. There may not be something I have been dying to do which the presence of others has deterred me from doing, no visible change in my demeanor, but a sense of psychological freedom comes rushing in because now, at least I have the option.

Sometimes I almost feel there must be a perverse pleasure in getting into an empty elevator from one of the middle floors. It’s like a present you weren’t expecting.

Earlier today, I was on the eighth floor, waiting with some colleagues to catch the elevator down, when I was struck by their reluctance to get into the elevator on the left side, because even though the doors opened in front of us, someone else got in first. We waited, and waited, and then finally had to give up being fussy and get in after twelve other people. What is interesting about this whole incident is that it’s not really about being alone in the elevator. It’s not like we would have deliberately pressed the doors shut in someone’s face if we saw them running to catch a ride down. It seems to be more about a prior claim. We went in first, and then let the others in.

Ah yes, the simple pleasures of life.

Sowing seeds of ugly weeds

You are constantly making exchanges. This for that. Giving up what you want for the need of the hour. Freedom sacrificed for the sake of livelihood. Love gives way to invisible pressures. Heat, dust and colour exchanged for a cool, clean greyness. Life given up for the sake of survival.

The question remains at the back of your mind, refusing to go away despite your efforts to deny its increasingly overbearing presence. There comes a time when facing up to it is inevitable. You grit your teeth and look at the question straight in the eye. You hope that the answer is different from what every instinct in your gut tells you.

Was what I traded in, worth more than what I got?

You wait, vulnerable and exposed, and you are met with nothing but silence.

No answer is forthcoming. Neither affirmation nor reassurance.

It is as you had expected after all.

The question wasn't really a question at all.

Rhetorical questions have a remarkable talent for making a frightening reality more palatable.

I know where to go if I ever need to find myself

Bad news is I have to go to an obscure fishing village in the Scottish highlands in order to do so.