Devdas Menon
(Text of an article that appeared in the April 2006
edition of the IIT Madras magazine Reflections)
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 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 gleefully 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 hundred-rupee bribe today will
have no qualms in rationalising the acceptance of
a thousand rupees tomorrow, and no doubt, demanding
ten 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 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.
Thus, the individual is sacrificed at the altar of
society.
We folks at IIT have the good fortune
of being rated highly respectable. This is so because
Engineering at IIT is the Paradise that all sensible
young people in India are expected to yearn for, and
we have gained admittance to that Promised Land. The
moment one mentions that one is from an IIT, 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. We wait patiently for them to add,
You must be a real genius!
With regard to choosing the field
of engineering, how fortunate we are to have everything
so well laid out and pre-decided for us. To be intelligent,
and not aspire for Computer Science as our first choice
— surely, that would be downright stupidity,
if not a cardinal sin! So, we all claim to have an
inherent liking for this stream, compared to all others
(which we 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 exams. What a shame it would
be to the entire family, if we were to perform poorly,
and if the neighbour makes it through JEE, while we
miss the bus. Nobody bothers about the joys of childhood
and the pleasures of learning for fun, which we miss
in our single-minded obsessive pursuit.
It’s a miracle when we find
that we have succeeded at JEE, and that too without
going completely crazy! Not everybody gets Computer
Science, of course, but we are consoled when we are
told: It doesn’t matter what you study, as long
as it is at the IIT; it’s the brand value that
counts. When we dutifully enter the portals of IIT,
our parents are delighted by their success. We have
served well as instruments to gratify their desires.
Of course, they claim that it is all for our welfare.
And they genuinely believe this, and so do we.
The disease of hollowness is, for most, chronically
incurable.
When we enter IIT, we notice many
familiar faces from our concentration camps (JEE coaching
centres). Seeing is believing: the brightest brains
of India are indeed concentrated at Hyderabad and
Kota!
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
quizzes, assignments and whatnot. It is sheer wonder
that we survive without losing our 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: 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.
Fortunately, IIT 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.
It does not matter, because everybody knows that ours
is a world-class institution.
Once in a while, we hear excited
announcements about IIT Madras being ranked third
or so in some Asian journal. Some less informed people
say that we are ranked fiftieth or sixtieth in the
world. While we may be willing to concede a higher
status to MIT or Stanford, we have some difficulty
in extending this generosity to other technical institutions
in India. India Today publishes regularly a list of
the top ten engineering colleges in the country, and
when we find IIT Madras ranked fourth or fifth, we
feel sad that the public at large has been so cruelly
misinformed.
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. Most
of us 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
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 IIT. 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, new passions
enter our lives: applying to U.S. universities and
campus placements. We talk to one another knowledgeably
about the universities and their rankings, about plum
jobs in the offing, and multinational corporations
like Lime Group, Lehmann Brothers, CapitalOne and
Citicorp. We dream of beaches (and other pleasant
things) waiting for us in California, air-conditioned
offices (with plush wall-to-wall carpeting), attractive
secretaries, mind-boggling salaries, chauffeur-driven
cars,...
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.) It is
such a big relief to know that most employers assume
that we are geniuses in our fields of specialisation
because we are from IIT. We also learn the art of
confidently bluffing our way through inconvenient
questions.
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 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. All money-making roads seem to lead to
software and management. Some of us take a minor detour
through U.S. universities before landing up in software
and management. After all that frenzy and hype about
getting through the most difficult exam in the world
(JEE) to study engineering, it’s surprising
to discover that just a handful stays back in core
engineering.
But, mercifully, nobody raises any
questions, and a great myth is skilfully preserved.
When we join the universities and
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. We may not have formally studied
the management sciences, but our native IIT intelligence
(cleverness?) helps us get around with remarkable
success.
Success is all that matters. There
may be occasional feelings of guilt at having migrated
from engineering and from India in the pursuit of
good fortune, and at not following Gandhian ideals,
or even Nehruvian ideals for IITians. But our successful
seniors have set wonderful examples in proving that
it doesn’t matter what you do, as long as you
make it to the Who’s Who. No recognition, however,
is sweeter than the one you get from back home. In
a single stroke, all feelings of guilt get wiped away,
when you win a distinguished alumnus award from IIT,
in recognition of a successful career you had made
in selling insurance in the West. The wonderful education
at IIT is what paved the launching pad to your success.
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 has drawn to an end. Is
it a comedy? Or, is it a tragedy? We are left somewhat
confused and hurt by this playfully provocative story.
Is there a moral to 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 allow ourselves to be authentic,
to strive to remain on the true but difficult path,
to listen to the music of our soul, and
to fill the hollowness with the fullness of our real
selves.
It is the task of a lifetime. It
used to be called education once upon a time.
