Family and Society

Family and society are so closely intertwined that it is almost impossible to separate one from the other. We saw, in my previous blog, that the first nuclear family was that of Adam. I still believe that “family” is the essential core of “society”, for without family, we are all strangers, locked up, as we so often are, in our individual spaces, and asking, piteously, “is there anybody out there?” Without the bond of family, we are all just chaff, waiting to be consumed by elements that make us what we are.

How many of us understand the concept of “family”? How many of us know about the past, about the privations and gloom that were before our time? How many of us realize that such anguish was part of the sacrifice—in a family—made by so many for the benefit of so few? But all of this is done in good faith, in the hope that the next generation will rise above pettiness and avarice. This may be exhibited, in some way at least, within the immediate family and, by extension, to relatives and friends, and, by even greater extrapolation, to society as a whole, thereby making the world a better place for you and for me.

All this is mere talk, dear Reader. The reality is something quite different. Families are disintegrating because society demands that we move forward, we improve our social standing, we go out to seek new pastures and, after it is too late, return to the homestead and try to repair the fences, or try to recreate a world that has vanished in the gloaming. If all this is not possible, then at least try to write about it—in a blog that no one will read—for the times are not changing, they have changed.

When I was a boy—and some people say that I still am—I owned the world. It was my world and I was satisfied with it and all the joys it had to offer. My family was essentially middle-class, but at that time I didn’t know what that meant; nor was I particularly aware that the others around me were enjoying a better life-style. I had food on the table three times a day and if the tummy was still unsatisfied, there were fig trees, as well as other vegetation that could whet an uncomplaining boy’s appetite. In those bygone days, having an egg for breakfast was something extravagantly sumptuous, for, when buying a couple of eggs for less than ten paise, we were allowed to test them in a shallow bowl of water—if the egg rose to the top, it was just not good enough.

All I’m trying to establish is that it took sacrifice to live in those days. A boy, or girl, for that matter, rarely wondered where the food came from, as long as it was on the table. But we live and learn. When I was working in Bahrain, the restaurant where I had lunch and dinner was sealed suddenly. I had nowhere to go, not much extra cash too. I survived for three days on the milk and tea and coffee that was freely available in the school, but wasn’t I overjoyed when my eating-joint re-opened. I didn’t think about the tale of the prodigal son at the time, but now, reminiscing, I realize that I almost hit rock-bottom.

What took me to Bahrain in the first place? Yeah, you guessed right—money. For whom? Not for me only; I had racked up some sizeable debts back home and the push moved quickly to shove. Of course, I stabilized, but it took over a year to know and experience the joys of Home again.

So, family also means, I believe, sacrifice. Some of us may never have to understand want, but money is not the only thing we care about—though the world seems to have forgotten this. Family means fortitude, sharing, giving, loving (in whatever way we think appropriate) and not asking anything in return. If we cannot survive as a family, how can we ever understand the apocalyptic words: “Who is my mother?”