In a similar way to the jati-based livelihoods, our system of markets was also dedicated and tied to groups. There were many restrictions too. No one could go anywhere, anytime, to sell his wares. All producers had homes and sometimes even villages distributed amongst them; they could provide their goods only to the homes tied to them. Through this arrangement, everyone’s market and everyone’s livelihood and everyone’s food security was ensured. In today’s modern system, the entire market is open. Anyone from anywhere can go to everyone to sell his goods and grab whatever share of the market that he can. Nobody’s livelihood is safe, nobody feels secure. Even the big industrialist is insecure about his market and what such mass-level insecurity makes people do, that we are witnessing in society today. There is no limit to acquisition of money, of things, of property. Today’s pleasure-driven behaviour in society is actually the result of this deep insecurity.

In Indian civilization, the bhikshavritis, i.e., those who lived on contributions from others in the community – teachers, astrologers, musicians, monks and others in spiritual pursuit – were always accorded the highest respect, and even revered. Today, anyone who lives on alms is considered a beggar and lives a menial life.

Diversity is naturally nourished in Indian society. Apart from its well-known geographical diversity, Indian society incorporated a large variety in its subsystems which made our society truly diverse in its functioning, but in today’s systems, the geographical diversity notwithstanding, everything is being standardised, mono-culturised. From Kashmir to Kanyakumari, virtually everything – language, clothing, food, home & building architecture, festivals, marriage ceremonies and even diseases and medicines – they are all becoming alike and looking the same. Whereas in Indian society, because of its small-scale technologies, every region had its own design for everything which was reflected in their food, habitat, clothes, music and art. It celebrates diversity, while modernity pushes for a global monoculture.

Life in our society had a relaxed pace, while modern living is very fast-paced. When life is lived at a slow pace, a lot of things sprout in it. It’s a bit like our river and wind; when the river flows slowly, there is a lot of life in it and around it on its banks and similarly, when the wind blows gently, it gives life to everything in that environment. But when these two gather great speed, they take the form of floods and storms and destroy everything in their path. One can see this distinction between Indian-ness and modernity. Life at a slow pace gives a man a lot to think about. Living like this results in the sprouting of various things – literature, music, design, spirituality and social mores. On the other hand, living a fast-paced life, a person is so busy that he has no time for such things; his entire thought is occupied within his daily routines.

These are some of the differences between Indian-ness and modernity. They are the complete opposite of one another. The more we study and understand these differences, the more it will be to our benefit.

Let me share a story from my village. Some people from the city came to our region for a training session with our women. They brought a machine for making pattal – leaf plate – and taught the women to operate it and make leaf plates. On the completion of the training programme, there was a small ceremony and I too was invited to attend. In the session, the trainers were keen that these women join the factory-type of production work.

But the women had their doubts and said, “We make our pattals at home while still doing all our domestic chores. We make pattals while feeding our children, we make pattals while cooking, and we can make them little by little throughout the day. If we come here, we have to leave home, and leave all the home work. Here, we can’t combine the two activities.”

“Also,” they continued, “we know which type of pattal-leaf to be used for different festivals, because there are so many different types of pattals in our customs; the same leaf-plate is not used throughout the year and in some months, like chaitra and baisakh, no tree has to be harmed and no leaves are to be used, and so pattals are not made at all.

“But your machine will produce the same type of pattal all the time. We don’t know who will eat in the pattals you will make, because surely the villagers here will not eat in them.”

To which the trainer replied, “The pattals you make will be used in five-star hotels!”

“How does that matter to us,” said the women, “but tell us, how much will you pay us for making these pattals here in the machine?”

“Twenty paisa each,” said the trainer.

“But we get 40 or sometimes even 60 paisa per pattal here in our own market,” said the women, “And we get to do it at home, while you want us to leave home and children and all our home chores, and yet work for twenty paisa!!!”

At this, the trainer got annoyed and said, “Come on, don’t you want to progress? To become modern, one must be prepared to sacrifice a little. If you can’t sacrifice even this much, how will you progress?”

Indeed, to become modern, one has to sacrifice, and sacrifice a lot. We may not even be able to calculate the losses we have incurred in becoming modern.

(First published in the journal Raibar, Volume 6-7, January 2017)