In the midst of battling Delhi’s Air Quality Index, one of the worst in the world, I have been thinking of the hold traditions have on our lives.
Let me begin by sharing that one of my favourite musicals is “Fiddler on the Roof”, set in rural Russia in the early 20th century. With its timeless melodies, it is possibly one of the greatest Broadway musicals ever produced. The play, as well as the movie that followed, celebrates tradition – and the challenges of holding on to it in the midst of change. The tiny Jewish settlement in the play wants to hold on to their traditions at all costs, although the moorings are slipping away. The country is on the threshold of the Russian revolution, the clouds are already visible on the horizon, and the younger generation is not so enamoured by what they see as antiquated customs. But the older generation will not yield. As the play ends, the villagers are leaving the place where they have lived for generations and moving to a new settlement where they can preserve their traditions and live life on their own terms.
That raises the question of when and how traditions should be kept, where and how they might be modified, and whether and when they might best be discarded. We in India have already discarded many traditions that were totally inhumane, for example hook-swinging, sati, and female infanticide. Other traditions of course, we are in the midst of modifying – e.g. our mistreatment of widows. However, with yet other traditions, which are not clearly inhumane, and especially with those which are particularly beloved, the question of abolition, reform, etc. becomes much more complicated.
For example, we have just had the festival of Diwali, arguably India’s most widely celebrated festival. Delhi and the adjoining states had taken an unprecedented decision to ban firecrackers entirely due to the rising pollution. Considering how bursting firecrackers trigger serious health concerns, it was a wise decision, especially in view of the rising cases of Coronavirus infection which is associated with severe breathing problems. In fact, firecrackers release copious amounts of harmful chemicals like nitrous oxide, sulphur dioxide, and carbon monoxide, which can have severe impact on respiratory health of all vulnerable individuals. Understanding its disastrous impacts, many had applauded the decision and pledged not to burst crackers. However, there were also others who had opposed the move, saying that the ban had hurt Hindu sentiments as firecrackers are an integral part of Diwali. Diwali came and went, tradition was honoured, crackers were burst, and air pollution levels obviously rose.
Diwali is ‘essentially’ a festival of lights but, for decades, Indians have associated firecrackers with it. First, let’s go back to the origin of this festival. Deepavali, literally means a row of lights, or lamps. Diwali celebrates Shri Ram’s return to Ayodhya after defeating Ravana and completing his 14 years of exile. To mark the joyous occasion, the citizens of Ayodhya decorated the entire city with earthen lamps to signify the victory of light over darkness. There is strong scriptural proof of people lighting diyas, but there is no evidence whether people of Ayodhya burnt any fireworks on the arrival of Ram. If the story in the Ramayana is really as ancient as many believe, it all happened long before the invention of firecrackers. But it is still tradition.
Diwali has long been done with for this year, but Delhi continues to be as polluted as it always is at this time, because another tradition took over after Diwali, that of burning farm stubble to get the fields ready for the new harvest season. No amount of coaxing, cajoling, and persuasion has worked with the farmers of Punjab and Haryana. They refuse to adopt other means to dispose of their stubble using equipment that science and technology have come up with. Of course, there is an expense involved in buying the equipment but the farmers of the region are not known for their poverty – far from it. The truth is that it is all about refusing to move away from tradition.
In north India, where I live, another well-known tradition is that of ‘Khap Panchayats”. These are typically caste-based groups of male elders which adjudicate on matters relating to their caste or village. A Khap’s jurisdiction is vast and varied – the permissibility of mobile phones, legitimisation of honour killings in inter caste or inter religious marriages, dress and attire, whether girls should be educated, and if so to what level. Petitions have been filed in the Supreme Court regarding some of their actions, particularly their interference in marriages of which they disapprove, and related sanction of honour killings. As a consequence of such petitions, our Supreme Court has passed several directions. But Khap Panchayats continue to function unhindered because they are part of tradition. They have often retorted that the Supreme Court issues directions based on a Constitution that is not even a hundred years old whereas they have been functioning exactly the way they have for centuries. And that they depend on and dispense verdicts based on customary law at low cost and a faster pace than the new-fangled judicial system of the Indian government. Indeed, supporters of Khap Panchayats claim that, because people are generally familiar with customary law, which is interconnected with local tradition, people accept and live by its decisions, and compliance with Khap Panchayat verdicts is higher that with those of the “modern” courts of our nation.
Such unthinking acceptance of tradition poses a problem for iconoclasts like me. I am quickly reminded of child marriage which is still a tradition, in spite of what the laws say. About 50 per cent rise in the cases of child marriages has been recorded in 2020 over the previous year – according to recent data from National Crime Records Bureau. a total of 785 cases were registered under the Prohibition of Child Marriage Act. However, everyone knows that vast numbers of such marriages go unreported. I used to live near Vrindavan where widows, some widows even in their teens, sing bhajans hoping to be able to get a paltry meal. It is a tradition. Even polyandry is a tradition in pockets of India. Fraternal polyandry is still prevalent in some of the remote Himalayan communities. To us, the practice may sound weird, but to them, it is a way of life.
I agree, though, that traditions represent a critical part of our culture. They help form the structure and foundation of our families and our society. They remind us that we are part of a history that defines our past, shapes who we are today, and who we are likely to become. Once we ignore the meaning of our traditions, we’re in danger of damaging the underpinning of our identity. Coming back to the “Fiddler on the Roof”, in the song “Tradition”, the wise father, Tevye, points out that without our traditions, the community of mankind would lose its grounding. “Because of our traditions,” Tevye sings, “we’ve kept our balance for many, many years … and because of our traditions, every one of us knows who he is and what God expects him to do.” Very true.
And yet, in these times of rapid change, do we not, at least once in every generation, need to evaluate our traditions, so that we can keep what retains value and cherish it, but discard a few too? Such as firecrackers?
