Devdas
Menon
This
is a somewhat playfully provocative
article published in the College
Magazine of REC Calicut in 1998.
We
are
the hollow men,
We are the stuffed men,
Leaning together,
Headpiece filled with straw.
— T S Eliot

Nobody
likes to
be called a hypocrite. Yet, nearly
everybody is one. No doubt, some
men are less hypocritical than
others. But there is nobody, to
the best of my knowledge, who
is entirely free from hypocrisy.
Perhaps, to be hypocritical is
human.
A hypocrite is one who projects
a false self-image. One pretends
to be someone one, in fact, is
not. Initially, this is for the
consumption of others. But sure
enough, and soon enough, one is
oneself consumed by it. To be
‘good’ (?) at hypocrisy,
one has to be a skilful liar,
and for this reason, politicians
qualify eminently as good hypocrites.
We love to condemn the species
of politicians because they not
only lie so glibly, but get away
with so much power and loot in
the bargain.
In our heart of hearts, however,
I suspect that we are actually
envious of these politicians (and
all other wealthy/powerful people).
Yet, we condemn them readily.
That is our brand of hypocrisy.
If, by some chance, we are offered
a taste of their power and wealth,
surely we would throw our injured
morality to the winds, jump on
to their bandwagon, and even pronounce
that it is all for the good of
the people!

The denial of our hypocrisy makes
us hollow. Hollowness, in this
context, is the gap between what
we are and what we think we are.
It is difficult for us to face
the reality of our hollowness,
because we genuinely believe that
we are good and noble. We point
at our good work, our accomplishments,
our charity and whatnot, as solid
evidence of our good character.
Men
of wisdom such as Socrates
have identified the disease of
hollowness as the most dangerous
threat to education. It is perhaps
for this reason that the dictum
of Socrates, ‘Know thyself’,
was specifically chosen to be
the inscription on the portals
of the Parthenon, the Greek Temple
of Wisdom. It is as valid today
as in his time.
Hypocrisy, to some extent, is
inescapable, given the requirements
of a civilised society. For example,
we are expected to smile and say
silly things like ‘Good
morning!’ or ‘Excuse
me!’, even when we are least
inclined to feel pleased or apologetic.
But this is a trivial kind of
hypocrisy — indeed, a conventional
necessity — to facilitate
cordial human interaction. This
is an example of a situation where
we are being hypocritical (out
of necessity), but we are not
being hollow.
The issue of hollowness arises
only when we miss the fact that
we are practising hypocrisy —
as, for example, when we smile
sweetly at certain individuals,
and later stab them behind their
backs. Many of us engage in this
practice as a daily habit, and
certainly derive much malicious
pleasure out of it. But if we
catch our enemies at the same
game against us, we would not
hesitate to condemn them, as righteously
as possible.
We do not dare admit to any charge
of hypocrisy, and we can invent
excellent reasons in our defence.
By systematically deluding ourselves
on a daily basis, we become more
and more hollow. And so, a person
who justifies the act of accepting
a ten-rupee bribe today, will
have no qualms in rationalising
the acceptance of a hundred rupees
tomorrow, and no doubt, demanding
a thousand rupees the day after.
It seems to be a coming of age
— from reluctant acceptance
to uncompromising demand.
With continued practice, we become
adept at the art of deceiving
ourselves, and of skilfully suppressing
what remains of our chastising
conscience. To be forewarned about
this is, hopefully, to be forearmed.

We
all crave for respectability,
and are so led to doing things
that other people deem to be important.
Thus, everybody wants to do the
same thing at the same time, and
this results in heavy competition.
In this mad rush to keep ahead
of the crowd, we have neither
the time nor the inclination to
pause and question: whither and
wherefore?
Socrates
may have taught ‘Know thyself’,
but the only thing we know for
sure is that we had better hurry,
lest we should miss the bus. We
do not bother to know who we are,
or what we really wish to do in
life. It is easier and safer to
join the rat race.
And so it is that the individual
is sacrificed at the altar of
society.

We
folks at REC have the good fortune
of being rated moderately (highly?)
respectable. This is so because
Engineering is the Paradise that
all sensible people are expected
to yearn for, and we have gained
admittance to that Promised Land.
The moment one mentions that one
is from an REC, people (at any
rate, sensible people) are instantly
impressed. Sometimes they ask,
"Isn’t it very difficult
to get admission there?",
to confirm that their judgement
is not in error. Would we love
to give that confirmation!
While we may be willing to concede
a higher status to the IITs, we
have some difficulty in extending
this generosity to other technical
institutions. India Today had
published recently a list of the
top ten engineering colleges in
the country, in which only one
REC finds a place. Unfortunately,
the REC cited is not the one at
Calicut, but the neighbouring
one at Surathkal. We feel sad
that the public at large has been
so cruelly misinformed.
With regard to the fields of engineering,
Computers and Electronics presently
reign supreme, and hold the high
caste status. To be intelligent,
and yet not aspire for Computer
Engineering — surely, that
would be downright stupidity,
if not a cardinal sin! So, practically
every youngster decides to want
Computer or Electronics Engineering.
The bright youngsters will claim
to have an inherent liking for
the subject — which they
know next-to-nothing about at
the time of admission. It pays
to cultivate hollowness early
in life.
During our schooldays (and sometimes,
till late in life), it is our
parents’ prerogative to
decide what we ought to like and
dislike. From an early age, they
indoctrinate us into believing
that the greatest virtue in life
lies in scoring marks and passing
entrance examinations. What a
shame it would be to the entire
family, if we were to perform
poorly. But when we succeed, and
dutifully enter Engineering, our
parents are delighted by their
success. We serve as instruments
to gratify their desires. But
they claim that it is all for
our welfare. And they genuinely
believe this.
The disease of hollowness is,
for most, chronically incurable.

We
enter college, breathless and
eager to experience the Paradise
we have heard so much about. We
sit in rapt attention inside the
classrooms, anxious to pick up
pearls of wisdom. But gradually
it dawns on us that something
has gone wrong somewhere. Bravely,
we brush aside our apprehensions
as mere figments of imagination.
In our weak moments, however,
we are ashamed to hear the groaning
in our hearts: ‘Hell! This
is Engineering?’
But we dare not speak aloud, even
to our friends. Instead, we smile
and pretend that everything is
as it should be. Our job is to
get on with the important business
of scoring marks; everything else
is secondary. During the class
hours we are bombarded with all
kinds of information, all of which
must be surely very important.
We slog through innumerable tests,
assignments and whatnot. It is
sheer wonder that we survive without
losing our so-called sanity.
We get hardened (immunised?) by
the time we enter our second year.
We learn, thanks to our seniors,
all the tricks of the trade required
to survive and to beat the system.
A great secret is revealed to
us: that it is not necessary to
understand the subject in order
to pass, or even score well in
the examination! Moreover, even
those few who struggle to gain
fundamental understanding often
end up with poor scores. We excel
in the art of copying† assignments,
lab records, and even test papers.
However, in spite of all this,
some of us end up failing in a
few courses. But the University
is kind enough to promote us to
the next semester. We lose interest
in studies, and the teachers all
know it. However, we are not too
disturbed, as we are told that
our college is a Centre of Excellence.
Our college prides itself for
maintaining strict discipline.
The authorities believe that they
know what is good for us, just
as our parents did. No departure
from the norms of civilised behaviour
is permitted. We are all cast
into one mould, and are expected
to believe that all is well with
us. Some of us — especially
the girls — succeed with
this belief, and so keep quiet.
The rest of us cannot do this.
We discover weird ways of releasing
our tensions and frustrations.
We howl like jackals and unleash
strings of abuse; we break innocent
chairs and shatter window panes
— all under the cover of
darkness. Come daylight, and we
return to decent normalcy. No
one understands our Dr Jekyll–Mr
Hyde type behaviour.
We drift from semester to semester
— in blissful ignorance.
We undergo numerous courses, all
supposedly very important. We
get to see all kinds of teachers
— the good, the bad and
the ugly. The good ones are too
sincere and make us feel guilty
of our own insincerity. The bad
ones mumble something in the class,
take attendance and run away.
The ugly ones like to bully us
and compel us to submit all kinds
of stupid assignments. We never
stand up and ask questions in
any class, because we may end
up looking like the idiots we
suspect we are. This can be acutely
embarrassing, especially if it
is a mixed class, with the other
sex around. All said and done,
we try to have a good time in
the class, giggling and fooling
around. The teachers pretend that
they do not see us play.
After all this turmoil and confusion,
it is an immense relief to get
back home at the end of every
semester, and to hear the neighbours
whisper, "He’s studying
at REC. He must be really brilliant!"
It is like the sound of sweet
music. We wish we could have it
replayed (at higher volume) —
again and again!

In
our fourth year, a new passion
enters our lives: campus placement.
We talk to one another knowledgeably
about the plum jobs in the offing,
and of multinational corporations
like Motorola, Siemens and Citicorp.
We dream of air-conditioned offices
(with plush wall-to-wall carpeting),
attractive secretaries, five-figure
salaries, chauffeur-driven cars,
VISA credit cards, ...
We attend various interviews and
group discussions, hoping that
we are not asked too many technical
questions. (It is comforting to
note that even the great Bill
Gates did not fare too well in
that department, during his college
days.) Sooner or later, we get
through somehow, and in the process,
discover a mind-boggling secret:
most jobs have little to do with
engineering! You do not need engineering
to work on banking software, or
fiddle with the Y2K problem, or
sell soaps or even computers.
Yet, it has become fashionable
for companies to recruit engineers
to serve as their programmers
and salesmen, with promises of
careers in ‘information
technology’ and ‘marketing
management’.
Thus, a myth is preserved.

College
days come to an end. We emerge
(with a sense of relief) as full-fledged
engineers (whatever that means).
On the last day, we go through
a touching farewell ceremony,
during which we take a solemn
pledge to serve our motherland
with honesty, dedication and whatnot.
Then we join the companies that
have recruited us. We are breathless
and eager to experience the Paradise
we have heard so much about ...
Yet another (familiar) phase in
our hollow lives begins...
We run around hither and thither,
meeting deadlines and targets,
and trying to impress our boss.
Quickly, we learn the tricks of
the new trade, hop from one job
to a more paying one, pull the
right strings, and butter the
right people on their right side.
Maybe this is what ‘management’
(at least, in practice) is all
about?
In the meantime, we get married
— after much skilful negotiation
— preferably, to other respectable
professionals like ourselves.
Then, we enjoy life in all its
fullness (and hollowness), and
live happily ever after! We reproduce
miniature versions of ourselves,
and we promptly proceed to program
them along ‘respectable’
lines. We want them to become
even more respectable professionals
than ourselves. Of course, it
is all for their welfare! And,
no doubt, also for the development
of our society!
Thus, history repeats itself.
And so does hollowness.

This
story is drawing to an end. Is
it a comedy? Or, is it a tragedy?
We are left somewhat confused
and hurt. What is the moral of
the story? We may concede that
we are hollow men (and women).
But what are we supposed to do?
Perhaps,
to
pause and find out what we really
want in life,
to discern what is of enduring
value,
to accept the harsh truths about
ourselves,
to feel the pain of dishonesty,
to strive to remain on the true
but difficult path (the proverbial
razor’s edge),
to listen to the music of our
soul, and
to be liberated from hollowness.
It
is the task of a lifetime.
It used to be called ‘education’
once upon a time.