"In search of memory this Memorial Day."

In search of memory this Memorial Day

Is a line I heard on NPR

While I struggle to experiment with appam batter

-- A culinary art I never had a chance to learn

Nor miss

While still a child at home,
Co-existing with the Lost Generation.

This Memorial Day
I don't need to search my memory
To remember my grandmother
Who neither fought in a man's war
Nor has passed away,
But merely, enormously
Hovers
Between life and blessed death.

But this battle

For breath,

Neither old nor new for her,

Is a struggle she'd consider

Much less tortuous

And more welcome

Than the fight for dignity

That she has been losing

For more than half of her life.

Malathi, 5/30/2016

Say no to the idea of Rohith's depression -- until further evidence

A prominent columnist claimed that Rohith Vemula's suicide was not caused by oppression but by depression. After circuitous arguments, he arrived at the confident conclusion that Rohith was clinically depressed. Furthermore, if Rohith had been depressed, then how could the cultural cartel have oppressed him? Impossible!, he declared. According to him, the two conditions are mutually exclusive.

But it makes no sense, you say? Gentle reader, it didn't make much sense to me or a number of other friends, acquaintances, and well-wishers, either.

So to counter his 'either/or' verdict that came down heavily on the side of "clinical depression" driving Rohith to suicide, I wrote the following:

[Rohith's death] is a multi-factorial story with several predisposing factors (examples: his neuropsychology; class; caste; awareness of self; personal perception of limited possibilities for his dreams and abilities; social connectedness or lack thereof; perception of limits to his upward mobility or at least social mobility) and one or two precipitating factors (examples: the latest events such as his expulsion from university; his likely sleep deprivation given he was out on the streets; his perception that he may never recover from this setback; his debts). I am not claiming that I know his personal, unique story precisely, but I am aware, from population studies in different countries/professional groups/subcultures, that just a single variable change could have potentially given him an opportunity to rewrite his life-story (example: if he hadn't been alone that night or, in the Indian context, if he felt like he had something yet to live for, or if he knew he could fly to another country and start a new PhD program, or get a science writing job without a degree but just with 'English with a capital E' and connections, or an uncle in business who will have given him a managerial job). In other words, inequities in life follows you into your preparation for death.

I know no clinician who will isolate one factor from the other in an individual case, but you've managed to declare precisely that from just sitting at your desk and typing a few words. You didn't even consult with somebody who studies depression or suicides in mainstream populations and in socioeconomic subgroups.

But this was three days ago. I've had some time to think and I now wonder why, in my eagerness to emhasize the socioeconomic effect, I failed to completely dismiss the idea of his depression. Yes, American statistics dictate that about 90% of suicides can be attributed to depression and/or substance abuse. But this proportion can vary in different cultural groups. But even that high number leaves at least 10% of suicides unexplained by depression. Had there been a history for Rohith? Nobody who is following his story from a distance, after his death, knows. If we know nothing about his medical history, then why assume depression? Is it because he killed himself? (Does that mean, the four friends who were expelled along with him are not depressed, because they are with us still?) Is it because Rohith was Dalit? Studies have shown that marginalized communities and people with lower socioeconomic status are depressed at higher rates than their mainstream and better-off counterparts. Even P. Sainath, who is reminding people to look at the suicide note in the context of Rohith's suicide, noted that some castes and classes in India experience depression at higher rates than others'. 

Still, no amount of population-based numbers will help one understand definitively whether a particular individual with all the risk factors was depressed. Clinicians use risk factors to guide them in screening their patients, but definitive diagnosis can be made only by collecting and integrating the individual's information.  

So when I saw another prominent writer, one that I respect, acknowledge that social and political matters can lead to or aggravate depression which in turn can push a person to take his own life, I wrote the following:

I want to understand why we assume [Rohith] was "depressed." Why do we not assume that he was stifled, made to or chose to extinguish himself; the social and the political directly acting on him, without any comodifying (i.e., encouraging) effects from depression? Because as far as I know (from public reports of his lifestory) no healthcare professional has ever counseled him; he didn't seek medical help; nobody who knew him personally suggested mental health issues while he was alive. One journalist qualified to write well (but without the necessary health professional background) has made a suggestion of depression, nay, declared a verdict of depression, and none among us has dared to wonder why this may NOT be true in Vemula's case at all.

It is true that epidemiological studies suggest that socioeconomic deprivations play a role in depression manifestations and that societies should work on removing inequities to reduce the proportion of deaths due to *suicidal depression* tendencies occurring along with low SES. But this does not necessarily always translate into one individual's life in any of the many possible directions. For example, suicide is not always preceded by depression (there are a few times when the motivations leading to suicide are defined and varied, even culture-specific) and depression does not always lead to suicide (people even get over a depressive phase if they have the necessary resources and adequate help). And this emerging picture of Vemula suggests that he was a highly resilient individual tapping into as many inner and external resources as was possible for him, until his last few days.

"Depression" has become part of the common lexicon in a facile manner, while the label/diagnosis should actually be given only by a qualified professional. I think the reason we all accept the possibility of "depression" is because it is still seen as this mysterious personal responsibility, a personal crisis -- something an individual has to take care of in the privacy of his/her mind (and with a doctor, if one is lucky enough to have one). But socioeconomic and political conditions, all reasonable, compassionate people will agree, are society's collective responsibilities. By speculating "depression," we just hand society and ourselves yet another assurance that we can all turn our backs and walk away when a struggling youngster (with or without a history of depression) feels he has come to the end of his rope.

My point was that it is possible even for individuals from marginalized communities to never experience chronic depression or suicidal depression. Each one of us may know such exceptional people from our own personal lives. Then why is it not possible for Rohith to have been one such person? In the absence of evidence of a history of depression, why are we stripping Rohith of yet another layer of his truth when he is not here to explain for himself?  Already, his merit achievements have been questioned or ignored under the shaming attitudes towards "quota students"; his Dalit status was suspected and scrutinized after his death; his scholarship was assumed to have been awarded due to nothing more than his "Dalit" credentials? Now his resilience despite his rise from his difficult background, so well described by Sudipto Mondal here, is also questioned? The odds were stacked so steeply against him even before he was born. Yet, he persevered. And by sheer hard-work and temerity, he arrived at the one place, a place of higher learning and intellectualism, where he hoped he would come to belong. From all public accounts, he was exceptional, extraordinary -- he was the one who aimed for Carl Sagan's stars -- and he accomplished this journey mostly on his own. Does he sound like he was prone to depression to you? Whether you answer, 'Yes', 'No', or 'Don't know', let me tell you: none of us know the correct answer.  

So why do we as a society insist on seeing past visible acts of exclusionary politics, tangible discrimination, and systemic indifference meted out to students of marginalized communities, only to search for excuses and latch onto explanations about a little-understood, invisible-to-the-naked-eye, intangible mental health issue that may or may not have existed in one who was not examined for it?

Until, a healthcare professional who examined him in his worldly life comes forward with a diagnosis that was made previously, say no to any speculation of 'Rohith's depression'. Emphatically.

                                                                     *****

Here are two examples of people from different walks of life who appear to not be afflicted with depression. Their approach to life is very different from that of the average middle-class person.
Stephen Batchelor, a secular Buddhist, has said:  
Death is certain, its time is uncertain. So let me live this day as if it is the last day of my life.

The portrait of this young lady from New Delhi, India, on Humans of New York has received 249,779 'likes' as of this day. She says: 
I don't have any dreams. What's the point? I'm poor. I don't have any skills. I wash the utensils in the kitchen-- that's what I do. But I like the girls I work with. We make fun together. I tell jokes. They tell jokes. I'm happy-- it's in my nature.

Who is to say Rohith could not have been like them -- adopting a pragmatic, forgiving, and no-unnecessary-sweat approach to life? A Carl Sagan admirer, he must have cherished this saying, 'Aim for the moon, even if you miss, you will fall among the stars'. I join Pratap Bhanu Mehta in concluding that at the time of his death Rohith Vemula was 'yearning for a space beyond power and rancour.' And maybe even beyond depression.

                                                                        *****

My mother's extension

My mother and I,
We grew up together;
We wish to conquer the world together;
We learn to live for one another,
So as to fill the gaps in each other's lives,
Such that the whole of our universe has fewer holes.

My mother is mostly left behind by the swiftly changing outside world,
And so I choose to be the colorful rainbow above her unpaved road.
While she has lived in one city all her life,
I've flown across countries and moved from one city to another.
Since she cautiously diversifies her mainly homemaker life
I recklessly concoct unusual career paths and hope that she too can enjoy the view.

She was relegated to being under-educated,
I make up for it by striving to be over-educated.
For every year of education that she didn't have,
Her value in the marriage market soared.
For every year of education that I do add,
My value in the marriage market drops.
The age at which she wanted to add a missing career slot to her family life,
Is now the same age that I want to add a missing family slot to my career life.

With her effortless air of charming sociability she attracts helping hands to her side;
With my contrived air of proud self-sufficiency I drive away annoyingly poking noses.
But sometimes she confides in me that she could do without some meddling folks;
At those times I confide in her that I could do with some more caring souls.
There are days when I watch, wait, and get exasperated at how crowded her life is;
In turn, somedays she watches, waits, and gets her heart broken at how lonely my life is.
And then we cry.
Together we cleanse our knotted souls;
And through the tears, we smile.
Then we remind each other
To be strong,
To be confident,
To believe in our own lives,
To trust in our own fates,
To practice patience while we wait for what's missing in our own different ways.
But alone and separate, we are not;
We each are assured by one another.
The cord, it seems, was never ripped.

As in a circle, we know not
Who begins, who ends;
Who asks, who receives;
Who sows, who reaps.
We merely strive to keep that circle unbroken.
Her dreams, I live;
My dreams, she lives.
We live both our truths and our lies.
Both half-happy, half-sad.

If two happy-halves make one happy,
Where do the two sad halves go?
"Modern math and logic are beyond my comprehension," is all she can offer.
Then I get angry in that special way reserved only for a daughter.
I complain that once again I am left alone with the puzzles and the fears.
Without moving in space, I manage to trample the maternal heart.

Did I say we grew up together?
That we learnt lessons in the presence of one other?
But yes, I meant the lessons of life.
Unlike those that are taught to me inside four walls,
Unlike those that are printed in books,
Unlike those that are strictly formulaic,
The lessons of life, those we are allowed to learn without being separated.
So together, she and I, we are still searching for the answer
That we are sure is still out there, somewhere.

In the meanwhile, there is Mother's Day
To remind me of her selflessness and sacrifice;
To remind me that my mother sustained my life at a time when I most needed her.
At a time when without her there couldn't have been a me,
She did not wake me; she did not leave me alone; she did not send me on my own.
And so I sigh, a dark, heavy, guilty sigh.
Because when I look deep inside me, I know that even now she has not sent me off alone.
She has, in fact, bundled in me all of our ancestors' hopes.
And these as my badge of honor, I am blessed to wear.
Within my heart I am gifted with all their dreams
In loneliness, I gently unwrap them to soar high and fly.
In me she has collected the reservoir of all their tears
That I may, when I thirst, have a fountain to drink from.
In every vein of my body flows their blood;
So, when I hunger I am assured of my nourishment.
And from every pore of my body oozes their sweat.
It is in this way that I wrap myself with their fragrance.

So my mother, in her own wisdom, and love, chose me as her extension.
To carry with me to these far-off lands a part of our ancient self.
Do I spread my wings homeward or plant my roots downward? -- this I know not yet.
But today, I am content to merely think of my mother, who is far away,
And of all her own mothers.

(C) Copyright: Malathi Raghavan 2000

Speaking in silences

Ketaki Chowkhani reflects on her experiences teaching caste in an upper caste school on Round Table India.   An 18-year old, 12th grade student approached her to help him out with a project on caste.  According to Chowkhani, the student, who was from an upper caste community, went to a school with only upper caste, and mostly middle class, students and teachers. Chowkhani was familiar with the school and its politics since she had studied there herself. "No one ever talked to us about caste there," she says.  "There was a resounding silence around it."  Chowkhani explained to the student that no one talked about caste in the school spaces because everyone was upper caste.

"This was of course, because caste was believed to be ascribed to only lower castes and Dalits and not upper castes, and that they seemed strangely absolved of any caste identity. The middle class, upper caste idea of castelessness was the prevalent norm there."

While I like how she explains the upper castes' version of castelessness, I disagree that no one talks about caste in places where upper caste privilege dominates. I have a slightly different take, hearing as I do, unintended, ubiquitous caste talk on all sides. Such conversations, seemingly innocent, involve foods, culture, festivals, bhajans, favorite singers, beloved music genres, party invitations, temple matters, gods and goddesses, thread ceremonies, mantras, planet positions, auspicious days, saints, holy books, scriptures, modern pilgrimages, who's who, favorite colleges, cool schools, professorial uncles' experiences, mannerisms, dialects, writings, readings, love stories, marriage ceremonies, naming ceremonies, thread ceremonies, death ceremonies, ideas of humor, preferences in silk, taste in jewellery, concept of beauty, cousins with US visas, nieces with IIM degrees, aunts bringing marriage proposals, grandfathers earning PHDs -- all topics that simultaneously exclude me, my kind and many more.

So I assert that people engage in caste talk all the time without being aware that they engage in caste talk all the time.  "How?," you may ask.

I can explain but you have to promise to experience my world, to carry my baggage, whole-heartedly, in order to understand.

Let me put it this way:

Have you ever fasted?  When you are fasting, especially in the beginning when you are learning how to fast effectively, have you ever thought to yourself that there are too many references to foods, beverages, aromas, food rituals, eating practices and routines in a normal day? Have you ever wondered how it is that you did not pay attention earlier to how often food innocently confronts you in your everyday life?

Likewise,
If you are a vegan who obsessively tries to avoid animal products, do you not find animal-based ingredients in every food label, restaurant offering, and meat-eating culture's norms?

Caste is like that. 

Just as,

Atheists can tell that our societies rely on too many God-based cultural references;
People struggling economically can understand that middle-class lives are full of activities that are money-based and consumption-based; that middle-class worries revolve around issues that matter only for those with some money;
Orphans can see that too many stories are rooted in mother's love and father's care;
Rationalists notice the extent to which superstitions rule all our lives;
Girls recognize exactly when boys have it easy;
The homeless in the city see buildings galore and yet know which doorways are off-limits to them and which benches in which parks are safe to sleep in;
Street children of the perpetually hungry can find perfectly edible foods thrown into garbage bins, 

Only a person born not into upper caste can tell you how many cultural norms and expectations are unavailable to him or her.  

When you are lower caste but move in upper caste circles, caste tends to be talked about under the umbrella of culture.  Rarely do we seem to notice or pay attention to it, at least not until major life events such as college admissions, marriage, babies, in-law visits take over lives.  In fact, people seem to not even be aware of this social capital that they have been given, without asking. Yet caste culture is omnipresent to those on the outside, living in the margins, looking in from the fringes through walls that let you see, watch, observe. But not touch, mingle, blend.

Walls. Glass walls. Fragile glass walls.  Yet, walls.