Diwali in Trafalgar Square

Diwali arrived in London last Sunday – a week too early according to Susen’s cousin in Kolkata where the celebrations take place on 3 November.  But, as Susen said, we can be flexible.  There are many paths and many ways to celebrate.

We decided to experience the celebrations in Trafalgar Square via lunch at Masala Zone in Covent Garden.  Masala Zone was busy – lots of Indian families there as well, which was good to see. As a restaurant, it is growing on me.  I wasn’t sure at first, or at least just got an ‘OK’ from me – but it fills the existing gap for a mid-market Indian contemporary restaurant offering reliable quality.  Their lunchtime thali is good value for money - £10 for the grand thali, if choosing either a vegetable or chicken main curry.  I did get a little over-confident with my chilli experiments, ordering the masala chilli paneer – only to find the sauce burnt my mouth and I just couldn’t eat it.  To their credit, the manager swapped it for a chicken korma dish without additional charge or fuss.

Trafalgar Square was packed.  As we approached the crowd, a lone bagpiper across the road competed for attention against the Bollywood beat on stage.  It was great to see so many people on an overcast autumn afternoon, but it did remind me why outdoor festivals, particularly urban ones in London can be hard work.  The set up was conventional, with a central stage and screen for the live performances, with various food and other stalls around the edges.  But so many people means lots of queuing and trying to squeeze past people to view the performance.  I am probably just getting old.

It was great to see such a mix of people though and a feeling that it wasn’t just an Indian Hindu event, but something in which everyone could join in.  White women were walking round dressed in saris which almost seemed normal until a woman with Doc Marten boots and jeans on underneath her sari did make me wonder whether I had missed some new fusion fashion statement.  We then discovered the ‘Saree Experience’ stand where women were queuing to be dressed in a saree (over their clothes) which explained the new fashion.  One Indian street food stall was staffed entirely by white English people – which Susen seemed to think was strange, though the ethnic mix had not struck me as anything unusual at all.

Bastions of the British Empire watched over proceedings from their immortalised positions in the square.  I have no idea what Sir Charles James Napier (General of the British Empire and the British Army’s Commander in Chief in India – notable for conquering the Sindh province [now in Pakistan]) and Sir Henry Havelock (British General who oversaw the recapture of Cawnpore during the mutiny of 1857) would have made of the festivities, but I like to think they would be tapping their feet along to the Bollywood beat while the statue of Lord Ganesh looked back at them.  They might even have been smiling at the quirkiness of the big blue cockerel currently installed on the fourth plinth.

It would have been good to have stayed for Anoushka Shankar’s expected performance later on, and I also imagined how good thousands of lights and candles might have looked against the autumn darkness.  But it was time to leave.

We crossed the road, past Uganda House – the country who had unceremoniously expelled all Asians in Uganda in 1972, making the UK the beneficiary of so many skills, talents and hard work brought with the new immigrants who sought refuge here.  As we waited for the bus, the sound of Hare Krishna chanting could be heard, the bagpiper having finished his solo.

I felt like London had come of age, a place where, at its best, you are free to be whoever you want to be.  I’m still pondering the sari with jeans and Doc Marten’s though, but you never know.

Caste in the UK

 

Last Saturday saw hundreds of people gather in Central London to demonstrate against caste discrimination in the UK - we passed the demonstration in Whitehall.

This issue came to prominence earlier on this year when the House of Lords voted to include discrimination on the basis of caste in the Equality Act 2010 as an aspect of race (see my previous blog about this at http://www.indiainlondon.com/caste-discrimination-in-the-uk/).  The Government, previously opposed to legislation, relying instead on an educational programme, finally backed down and agreed to include caste discrimination in the Equality Act.  On 10 October this year, recognition of caste discrimination gained further support on an international level when the European Parliament (including support from UK and Irish MEPs) passed a strongly worded resolution on caste discrimination, condemning the numerous human rights violation committed against Dalits ('untouchables') and other groups affected by caste.

Since then, however, the Government seems to be stalling on the proposed legislation, saying that it doesn’t expect measures to be introduced to Parliament until the summer of 2015, citing the necessity of comprehensive consultation on the issue.

Widespread caste discrimination is clearly an issue in India (despite its own legislation making caste discrimination illegal), with Dalits often consigned to menial, low paid occupations others do not want to do.  A UK government report in 2010, however, also showed widespread caste discrimination here in the UK, providing further evidence for the need for inclusion in the Equality Act.

Despite this evidence, together with national and international support for legislation, it has received strong opposition from Hindu groups in the UK such as the Hindu Council UK and Hindu Forum of Britain.  It may be that lobbying from these groups (seen by many to be a stronghold for ‘upper caste’ Hindus) is causing the government to try to sideline and stall the proposed caste discrimination legislation.

There seem to be a number of arguments put forward by British Hindu advocacy groups opposed to caste legislation.  The first seems to be that although it is acknowledged that caste is not confined to Hinduism, nevertheless Hindus in the UK are the real focus of anti-caste campaigners.  Not only this, but backing of organizations such as Dalit Solidarity Network UK and Castewatch UK by churches and Christian groups aims to undermine Hinduism and gain converts to Christianity.  Foreign money going to fund Dalit converts in India is seen as part of this neo-colonialist Christian attack on Hinduism.

Secondly, it is argued, the whole concept of caste is a European construct of Hinduism, originating in the 17^th century and nothing to do with India or the underlying philosophy of Hinduism, which is in fact caste blind.

Thirdly, if caste affiliation still does exist in the UK, it is more akin to identifying with a clan or club, there to provide mutual help and support – but not in a hierarchical or discriminatory way.

Finally, Hindu groups argue that British Hindus have largely eradicated caste awareness in 2 generations of settlement in the UK, and any remaining problems or issues can be solved through education, not legislation.  It is therefore just a matter of time before caste is no longer a part of British Hindu society.  They argue that legislating against caste discrimination just makes it more of an issue again, rather than letting its significance fade with time.

While acknowledging that caste discrimination in the UK is nowhere near the level in India itself, it is difficult to reconcile these arguments with the accounts of discrimination in what research has been done, together with many more personal anecdotes.  These range from ‘high caste’ Hindus refusing to touch ‘low caste’ Hindus (for example in shops, or in a care setting), bullying and name-calling among school children to discrimination in employment.  With all types of discrimination it is always difficult to identify and pinpoint the more subtle aspects, such as use of language, tone of voice or even attention given to an opinion.  All these, however, can contribute to low self esteem, poor promotion prospects and mental health issues if not confronted.

It is also worth remembering that one of the most prominent campaigners against caste, Dr B.R. Ambedkar, did not advocate conversion from Hinduism to Christianity (or even Islam, or Sikhism) but instead to Buddhism - followed by many thousands of his followers in India.

It also need not be either legislation or education, but could be both.  Legislation sends a clear signal to the UK population that caste discrimination will not be tolerated, raises awareness of potential issues involving caste, and also sets an example to the rest of the world that caste is a human rights issue and discrimination of the worst kind.





 

"Inventor of Genius” – Ravi Shankar’s Opera 'Sukanya' Previewed at the London Nehru Centre

[caption id="attachment_812" align="alignleft" width="620"] Poster image courtesy of the Nehru Centre[/caption]

Last Friday evening saw me walking across Green Park in a distinctively blustery autumnal atmosphere on my way to the Nehru Centre to a preview of Ravi Shankar’s opera. It’s been less than a year since Shankar’s passing but his legacy lives on in many ways.

As well as a preview of the opera I was attracted by the attendance of Amit Chaudhuri who I thought would be chairing. I had recently read his Calcutta book and was hoping he would sign it but alas he went walkabout at the end and I lost him. In addition, Shankar’s wife, Sukanya, his grandson, and his dog were in attendance.  The evening was rather sparsely attended, perhaps by 60 people in total, and many were friends of the Shankar family, in a theatre that might hold 200 people. Many of the attendees were first generation and reminded me of my parents in many respects.

I hadn’t really known what to expect of the evening but it was engrossing.  Firstly words of introduction from the Director of the Nehru Centre, Sangeeta Bahudur, who spoke warmly of her personal memories of Ravi Shankar.  Then David Murphy, Ravi Shankar’s co-composer, along with Anouskha Shankar, and conductor, talked about the background to the production, and how he and Shankar had worked together in composing the opera.  Murphy had conducted the London Philharmonic Orchestra in performances of Shankar’s works with Shankar as the sitar soloist.

Murphy had first met and worked with Shankar at Dartington in 2005, and clearly idolised him.  Murphy already had an interest in Indian music and had worked with many Indian musicians.  They became teacher and pupil, and he and Shankar began to collaborate.  Dartington in Devon, UK, describes itself as a “social enterprise organisation” and it has also had an interest in India, and most notably hosts the Tagore Festival each summer.

Continuing, Murphy spoke of Shankar’s training in Indian classical music which he said was much more complex than Western classical music, and how Shankar was well-versed in both traditions which he had wanted to fuse particularly in an exploration of rhythm.  Indian classical music was derived over 2,000 years mainly from the hymns of Indian temples, almost in a mirror of the Western tradition, so there is a deep spiritual component to both traditions.

As well as being a performer Shankar had been a mentor and guide to many world class Western musicians including Yehudi Menuhin, with whom Shankar recorded albums and performed on stage.  In addition, Shankar had been a strong influence on John Coltrane, Philip Glass and George Harrison amongst others.

Shankar had originally conceived the opera 15 years ago and wanted to utilise his visual and dance creativity as well.  He had originally been a dancer and worked with a number of film directors including Satyajit Ray.  The opera is based on a scene from the Mahabharata, the epic Sanskrit histories of ancient India.  The scene, appropriately entitled 'Sukanya', depicts a sage who has meditated so long in the forest that he is covered by ants.  Found by Sukanya she accidentally blinds the sage.  They marry and she looks after him.  Some time later twin demi- Gods offer to restore the sage’s sight and youth if Sukanya can distinguish her husband from the twin Gods who all now have the same form.

As part of the programme Murphy introduced a short film about Shankar which had been shown after his death.  Entitled 'Sangeet Ratna' it had been put together by Alan Kowslowski who has made a number of concert films amongst others. The film, about 35 minutes long, was a delight to watch.  In chronological order it focused on Shankar’s career from dancer, travelling across the world, sitar pupil, his own musical journey, to working with George Harrison, Yehudi Menuhin, Ali Akbar Khan, his own daughter Anouskha Shankar amongst others. The film was a mixture of still and moving footage with Shankar’s music as background and concerts.  It included interviews with Shankar himself, as well as other notables Zakir Hussain, Zubin Mehta, and Joshua Bell.  There was also a segment devoted to Shankar’s performance at the Monterey Festivals and there was an allusion to Shankar’s doubts about playing at such events. (See my Ravi Shankar blog).

After the film Murphy focused on the actual composition saying that the software programme Sibelius had been utilised by Shankar and himself but that it was perhaps not best suited to Indian instruments like the sitar, tabla, and shehnai. Murphy played two short extracts, the first of which was akin to Western orchestral music and the second rather avant garde, reminiscent of Akram Khan’s 'Desh'.  Murphy finished by saying that the production would be a combination of animation – an animation company, 59productions, involved in the Olympic opening ceremony and many operas were participating - and dance together with the music.  Sukanya has already had the backing of the Royal Opera House, as well as other major theatres.

Murphy introduced the Bengali writer Amit Chaudhuri who I learnt was also a composer and musician but had been brought into the project as librettist.  He has of course has a deep insight into Indian music and based on his writings has a deep passion for Shankar and his work.  Chaudhuri used the term “inventor of genius” to describe Shankar.  I was rather surprised when Chaudhuri revealed he could not write a libretto in Bengali not having been schooled in the language.  He talked of Shankar extending boundaries and wanted to bring this quality to Sukanya.  An interesting snippet was that Murphy had sent Chaudhuri a comic book based on the Sukanya story. I remember these comics from childhood but I think ours were in Bengali which I cannot read.  There was limited insight into the libretto which was described as a work in progress and Chaudhuri compared it to Ted Hughes’ 'Tales of Ovid' which is itself a reworking of 'Metamorphosis'.

It was quite remarkable to be almost an insider during the gestation process of Sukanya, and hearing the thoughts of Murphy and Chaudhuri.  I look forward to seeing the completed opera, sometime during the 2014/15 season, and seeing how the collaborators will fuse the western and eastern classical traditions of music, and dance.  Given its heritage, a homage to the memory of Ravi Shankar, and the quality of its composers and librettist I expect to experience a unique production.  Finally the Nehru Centre hosted the event well with wine and nibbles but more use of social media like Twitter would have ensured a greater exposure to a wider and larger audience.

http://ravishankaroperaproject.org/

http://www.nehrucentre.org.uk/

http://59productions.co.uk/

 http://www.dartington.org/tagore-festival#&panel1-2 

World Mental Health Day - mental health in the UK and India

10 October is World Mental Health Day – a day first celebrated in 1992, designed to bring awareness and understanding of mental illness and disability and its effects on people worldwide.

In the UK, it is estimated that in any one year, 1 in 4 people will experience a mental health problem.  So, out of every 1000 people, 300 will have a mental health problem,  230 will visit a GP, 201 will be diagnosed as having a mental health problem, 24 will be referred to a specialist psychiatric service and 6 will become inpatients in psychiatric hospitals.[1]  Whilst well-known personalities such as Stephen Fry, Alastair Campbell and Ruby Wax who have suffered with mental illness, have done much to publicise and de-stigmatise the issues, many people still suffer without receiving the help they need for fear of adverse reactions from family or employers.

Mental illness is a type of disability – sometimes referred to as a ‘psychosocial disability’ [as opposed to a learning, or other kind of, disability].  Disability has long been characterized according to a ‘medical’ model, seeing the person with a disability as flawed and vulnerable and therefore in need of medical treatment, service provision or charity to give needed social protection.  Disability is therefore individualized and classified as a deviation from the norm. Campaigners such as Mike Oliver[2], however, have argued for a social model of disability, which locates any limitations experienced not in the individual but in society.

Mental health legislation in the UK has undergone an overhaul in the last 8-10 years, resulting in the amended Mental Health Act 1983 (MHA) in 2007 and the introduction of the Mental Capacity Act in 2005.  While some new safeguards were introduced in the MHA 2007 (such as for treatment with ECT or psychosurgery), much of the legislation was left intact, with the focus on detention and treatment (by force if necessary) of mentally ill people in order to protect either themselves or the public.  There continues to be huge publicity over violent criminal acts committed by people with mental illness (such as the recent stabbing of Christina Edkins on a bus in Birmingham) and while these cases are shocking and tragic, they are fortunately very rare.   Figures from the UK Royal College of Psychiatrists help to put this into perspective: for every citizen killed by a mentally ill person, 10 are killed by corporate manslaughter, 20 by people who are not mentally ill, 25 by passive smoking and 125 by NHS hospital acquired infection (2004 figures).

If mental health issues in the UK are underfunded and stigmatised, the situation in India is worse.  Whilst in the UK, many are concerned about over-treatment, and the right to refuse treatment (for example if sectioned in a psychiatric hospital), the emphasis in India is more about the right to access and receive appropriate treatment.  In May this year, the BBC reported about a man who had been incarcerated for more than a decade in southern India.  The man, Keshava, had suffered with mental health problems and for years his family tried to get him some help.  Eventually they could not cope, so took to hiding him in a room when people visited and then bricked it up, imprisoning him in there with only a tiny opening for ventilation and through which to serve food.  Eventually, the authorities heard about the case and broke into the room – to discover Keshava still alive, but who seemingly had not washed or had a hair cut for a decade.[3]

Of course these cases are extreme, but it does serve to highlight the lack of help or resources.  A 2005 report in India by the National Commission on Macroeconomics and Health estimated around 65-70 million people in India have a mental illness, and this excludes common mental disorders.  There was an estimated 70-80% treatment gap for mental disorder.  There is only one psychiatrist for every 400,000 people in India – one of the lowest ratios in the world and there are thought to be more Indian psychiatrists working in the US and the UK than in India.  Psychiatry is still very much the poor relation in medical career choices, with doctors saying it is often treated as an after-thought in medical education with very little time devoted to psychiatric undergraduate teaching.

There are reports also of a large increase in suicide rates in India in recent years – worldwide suicide is among the top three causes of death among younger people.  From 1980 to 1990, there was an estimated 41.3% increase in suicide rates in India – although the data must be treated with caution.  Suicide is still a criminal offence in India which may lead to under-reporting and registration of death and causes of death are not that efficient or accurate in rural areas.  Nevertheless, there does seem to be a high rate of suicide among young people, farmers[4] and married women (elsewhere marriage is a protective factor against suicide, but seemingly not in India.  Domestic violence and / or forced marriage may be a key factor here).  It is also more common in urban areas – possibly because of greater stress factors and pressure to succeed in the job market.[5]

Mental health legislation in India largely reflects the UK legislation.  The current Indian law is the Mental Health Act 1987 and is based on the same medical model of mental illness, focused on the detention of people with mental illness in psychiatric hospitals.

In 2008 the UN Convention on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities (UNCRPD) came into force.  This was hailed as a paradigm shift, finally treating people with disabilities as rights holders, rather than charity or medical cases.  It aims to give all disabled people (which includes those with psychosocial disabilities, or mental disorder) equality of opportunity, freedom from any discrimination based on the disability, autonomy including legal autonomy to make their own decisions and participate fully in society.  As well as guaranteeing liberties for people with disabilities, it also places obligations on States to enable their exercise of these rights.  Both the UK and India have signed and ratified the UNCRPD and both countries are now obliged to comply with this international law.

India, to its credit, has recently drafted a new Mental Health Care Bill which was introduced to the upper house of India’s parliament in August this year.  This new legislation aims to make India’s mental health laws UNCRPD compliant with a new emphasis on the rights of people with mental disorder.  New provisions include the welcome decriminalisation of suicide, an improved definition of mental illness, non-discrimination in the exercise of legal capacity, autonomy in decision making, restrictions on the use of ECT and psychosurgery as well as the introduction of advance directives to specify in advance the treatment a patient might accept in case they are incapacitated and unable to give consent.   In fact it seems to go further than current UK law in s.4 where it states that every person, including a person with mental illness shall be deemed to have capacity to make decisions regarding his mental health care or treatment.  Under UK mental health law at present, people who are ‘sectioned’ in a psychiatric hospital can potentially be treated for their mental illness without their consent, using reasonable force if necessary.  This includes those who still have ‘capacity’ – ie. the ability to make their own decisions - as well as those lacking capacity.  Many, including myself, would say this is not UNCRPD compliant – although the UK government does not seem to have addressed this anomaly as yet.

Dr Sushrut Jadhav (UCL, Senior Lecturer in Cross-Cultural Psychiatry), however, argues that mental health theory and practice in India still remains a ‘watered down’ version of Western psychiatry.  He maintains there needs to be more awareness of the local cultural context of mental disorders, and how the understanding of mental disorders is shaped by cultural factors.  For example, how does the stigma of Dalit caste contribute to suffering or well-being?  Does this change on conversion to other religions (from Hinduism) and is the stigma of caste similar or different to the stigma of mental illness?

On this World Mental Health Day, so much more needs to be done to help those suffering with mental illness in India, the UK and across the world.  Let’s hope the new legislation in India will go some way towards strengthening the dignity and rights of those with mental illness, more resources are made available to promote effective treatment and those needing help able to have treatment without fear of stigma or discrimination.

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[1] Figures quoted by MIND (UK)

[2] Mike Oliver, ‘Understanding Disability from Theory to Practice’.  MacMillan 1996.

[3] Reported 31 May 2013

[4] A high suicide rate among farmers in India has been widely reported, thought to be caused by economic conditions, introduction of GM crops and debt.  A BBC report though (23 Jan 2013) questions these statistics, saying they are no higher than other groups (and may be lower) but seem high because agricultural workers make up a large proportion of the Indian population.

[5] Figures taken from Radhakrishnan R & Andrade C, Indian J Psychiatry 2012 54(4) 304-319

Surrogacy in India

I am reading Rampuri’s ‘Autobiography of a Sadhu’ at the moment and there is a wonderful part where another sadhu complains, ‘When you white people first came, you were rich, important and powerful.  You were sahibs and governors and viceroys even….’  Rampuri explains that ‘they’ came to conquer and rule, but ‘we people’ have to come to learn from you.  So, says the sadhu, ‘…before you came to take our land and our wealth, and now you come to take our knowledge!.....what will you give for the knowledge? Or you just take it and run away?’. But then he laughs and exclaims, ‘Take it, take it all…….we give it all to you with love!’[1]

India has certainly been the source of many riches for the West: first it was tea, cotton and spices, then human skeletons for medical students[2], then seekers of knowledge and enlightenment and now ……wombs.  Or at least wombs for rent by couples desperate for children from the UK, the US and elsewhere.  The practice is also growing among well-off Indians as well, as it was revealed earlier this year that Shah Rukh Khan, the Bollywood star, and his wife had their newborn son carried by a surrogate.

Surrogacy in India is a booming industry, one worth an estimated $2.3 billion a year in revenue.  25,000 babies are estimated to have been born since commercial surrogacy was  legalised in 2002, with 50% of those from the West.  Around 30% of commissioning parents are thought to be either single or homosexual (presumably from outside India).  In the UK, while surrogacy is legal, commercial surrogacy is not, whereby a surrogate mother is contracted to carry a baby for a fee.  In practice in the UK, however, the surrogate mother typically is given a sum of around £10,000 – 15,000 as some kind of compensation, which, although not meant to be a fee is usually authorised by the courts once the baby has been born.  Importantly, however, contracts in the UK are not enforceable (so a surrogate might change her mind) and the legal mother is always the woman giving birth, not the genetic mother – necessitating legal involvement to transfer legal parenthood via parental order or adoption.

In India, by contrast, contracts are enforceable – meaning a surrogate mother cannot change her mind and decide to keep the baby.  Legal parenthood is with the genetic mother and father – not the surrogate who carries the baby.  Crucially, because the costs of living and medical care are cheaper in India, costs of surrogacy are much lower.

BBC 4’s excellent documentary, ‘The House of Surrogates’ last week focused on the Akanksha Infertility clinic in Anand, Gujarat, run by fertility specialist Dr Nayna Patel.  Dr Patel first came to prominence in 2004 when she helped a woman in India become a surrogate mother to her own grandchildren.  She realised the potential of surrogacy and established her clinic where around 100 surrogate mothers at any one time stay in an attached dormitory.  Couples pay the clinic around $28,000 (around £17,500), of which the surrogate mother gets $8,000 (around £5,000) – a fraction of what this might cost in the USA, where commercial surrogacy is also legal.  For this, the clinic can create in vitro embryos from the genetic parents’ egg and sperm which are then implanted into the surrogate mother (1 or 2 – the rest frozen. This is for full (IVF) surrogacy – partial surrogacy would fertilise the surrogate mother’s own egg with donor sperm). The surrogate will stay in the dormitory – forbidden from staying with her family -  for the duration of her pregnancy, where she is fed, monitored and encouraged to rest before giving birth and the baby collected by the genetic parents. This is to ensure the surrogate mother receives adequate nutrition and vitamins and avoids hard physical labour which might jeopardise the pregnancy.

The set up is obviously controversial, with Dr Patel having come in for much criticism over time.  But, she describes herself as a strong feminist and says it is all about women helping each other.  Dr Patel says people have two basic instincts: to survive and to procreate.   As she sees it, she is helping with both: the surrogates survive with the money they are paid, and the childless couples procreate.  It is hard not to have some sympathy with this viewpoint – at a purely rational level, it’s a win-win situation.  The couples get a much-wanted baby they otherwise would not have been able to have, while the surrogate mother is paid a life changing sum of money than she might never earn – enough to build a house or pay for children’s education.

To watch the actual practice of this though, on a large scale – a production line, or ‘baby farm’ is quite another thing.  To be a surrogate on an informal basis, for perhaps another family member is one thing - but this is very different from commercial surrogacy as a business.  As clinics go, Dr Patel’s seems well-run and, while the women sleep 8 or 10 to a room in fairly basic accommodation, this has to be contrasted with conditions they might have come from in villages.  Dr Patel herself is very much the matriarch running the show.  Her concerns seem patronising at times – for example, in vetting how the women plan to invest or spend the money.  But she also provides some education for new skills whilst the women are pregnant – both to relieve boredom and so they might be able to earn their own money afterwards.  I might have preferred IT, health care or business skills rather than the sewing, embroidery and beauty on offer – but this might reflect a pragmatism about the most realistic way for these women to gain income from self-employment, and their lack of basic education, rather than returning to financial dependency or hard, low paid manual labour.

The technology in the clinic seemed as good as any clinic in the West – though I was a bit concerned (from an ethical standpoint) at how easily Dr Patel was persuaded by the couple to implant 2 embryos, not 1 – seemingly without discussion with the surrogate mother of any potential increased risks to her.

What was harder to watch was the behaviour of some of the Western couples.  They clearly must have been desperate to have gone to these lengths for a baby, but to see a Canadian woman inspect the potential surrogate mother for her next child – ‘good hips, not too small and the preferred religion of Christianity’ – seemed little better than inspecting cattle at a market.  Then an American woman who came to meet and collect her baby, barely glancing at the woman lying on the bed who had just given birth.  Such conduct might reinforce Indian sensibilities about rich Westerners although it is debatable whether rich Indians would have behaved any better.

But to think of the surrogate mothers as just being exploited doesn’t do justice to the complexity of the situation.  The women seem to know exactly what they are getting into, and do so with the backing of their husbands and families.  Yes, it is commodification of their bodies, perhaps reducing them to a purely biological role of baby carrier.  But so is exploiting an intelligent person’s learning in a company or the muscular strength of a man on a building site.  These women are probably making a calculated decision, faced with a limited number of options for earning money.  Yes, poverty is the driving factor – but then it is a driving factor in the vast majority of people’s willingness to engage in any kind of paid labour.  And Dr Patel hasn’t done too badly either – as she invests in building a new ‘one-stop shop’ costing around $6 million.

The legal situation, however, is not as straightforward as clinics might lead couples to believe.  If the parents are domiciled in the UK, UK law will apply to them no matter where the conception takes place.  This can mean, therefore, that for a baby born to a surrogate mother in India, whose genetic parents are UK domiciled, neither parent will be the legal parent.  In India, because the legal parents are the genetic parents, but in the UK the legal mother remains the surrogate mother who gave birth.  The child would therefore be born an orphan.[3]

Calls for more regulation in India have led to a proposed Assisted Reproductive Technology (Regulation) Bill, currently under discussion.   Proposals include banning homosexual couples, single individuals and unmarried couples from surrogacy in India, enabling direct negotiation between the surrogate and commissioning parents for the fee, an age limit on surrogates and a limit on how many pregnancies (including her own) she can carry.  Whether this will be enough for effective legal and ethical regulation remains to be seen.  The ban on same sex couples is clearly discriminatory (same sex couples are not legal in India), although the argument is that it aims to protect the rights of the offspring where same sex adoptive parents might not be legal or recognized.  If this ban goes through, however, it will clearly be bad for the surrogacy business in India.

Perhaps the voices not heard in the surrogacy debate are those of the babies born, and the longer term psychological effects on them knowing they were ‘manufactured’ in an Indian womb.  For the moment though, surrogacy in India continues – perhaps not given purely with love (as with knowledge) but for the right fee.

A postscript:  While US mothers are turning to Indian surrogates, wealthy Chinese couples are seeking US surrogate mothers.  This can evade the strict one-child policy in China, whilst also under US law the child is a US citizen if born there – and can apply for a green card for their parents once they turn 21.  Chinese agencies are offering a basic surrogacy package for $120,000 to $200,000 – meaning that, as one agent put it – for around $300,00 (including plane tickets and other expenses) you can get 2 children and the whole family can emigrate to the US.  A future vision of a global roundabout in the production of children comes to mind, with international outsourcing of the manufacture of babies across the globe.  A nightmare scenario, or one that is just using new technologies to everyone's advantage that in time will become as accepted as modern medicine, the internet or cars?

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[1] At p.87 - 88

[2] Very lucrative, until the Indian government banned the export of skeletons in 1985 – which probably just drove it underground instead

[3] See the cases of Re G (Surrogacy: Foreign Domicile [2007] EWHC 2814 (Fam) and Re X&Y (Foreign Surrogacy) [2008] EWHC 3030 (Fam)

Southall musings

London is sometimes portrayed as this huge cultural melting pot with everyone living side by side, tolerating if not always accepting of each other.  In parts this is true, but it also betrays just how segregated and separate different communities still are.   I live in West London, in a part perhaps well suited to me: 2 miles one way and I am in Richmond:  leafy, expensive, wealthy and overwhelmingly white. Here, on a sunny Sunday afternoon the riverbanks are filled with people sitting out drinking their pints of cold lager while cricketers play nearby on Richmond Green.  All the major chains vie for space: Giraffe, Gourmet Burger Kitchen, Petit Bateau, Gap, Space NK and so on. From my own cultural background (white, middle class) I should be at home here but despite its familiarity I feel out of place.  Instead, 2 miles the other way and I am in Hounslow – overtly much poorer with a busy Primark, Argos, Marks & Spencer discount outlet, KFC, pound shops, discount shoe stores and the Treaty Centre with its Wilkinsons and Debenhams. It is predominantly Asian, with an increasing minority of Somali and Polish.  This is not my culture and yet I feel more comfortable here while at the same time feeling an outsider. At one end of Hounslow High Street you can buy every kind of spice, halal meat, naan, Turkish bread, olives, fruit and vegetables in the local shops.  Drive past the Treaty Centre to Hounslow West and you go past the new large Quality Foods supermarket, stocking everything you would ever need for an Indian meal: dhal, chapati flour, basmati rice, spices, chillies, coriander, samosas, yoghurt etc. together with a stall selling pani puri, bhel puri and papri chaat to take away.  On this side of Hounslow you will also find the local gurdwara, Laxmi Narayan Hindu temple and Hounslow Jamia Masjid and Islamic Centre.

And then of course there is Southall.  In my 20s, I used to travel across London from Croydon or East London – where I was living at the time – to visit Southall, or ‘Little India’.  I just loved the clothes, the textiles, materials, spices, sweets and food shops.  It was so different to where I had been brought up and, deprived of such diverse cultural variation in my youth, I marvelled that such places existed in Britain at all.  But it wasn’t my culture, or at least not my culture of birth or upbringing, but my culture by adoption which is not obvious to those around me.  I was, and am (less so) conscious of being very much a minority walking down the Broadway there, passing very few – if any – other white people. Going back to my 20s, I also have memories of going there with my then boyfriend.  His family were Punjabi Sikh / Hindu and although all were educated, professional (he was a doctor), all the siblings seemed to occupy the uncertain space of second generation immigrants with one foot in Punjabi culture, the other in Western culture (though strictly speaking he was first generation, having spent his first 2 years in the Punjab).  Such was the way with our relationship about which, although lasting many years, he was never able to be up front with his family.  There is certainly a rich tale to be told there, and perhaps one day I will tell it.  For the moment, however, my memory is of his anxiety and nervousness about walking next to me (a gori) down the Broadway, for fear of recognition by some relative or family acquaintance who would then pass the news back to his family in Birmingham and cause all sorts of trouble for him.  And this was an educated man who in other areas of his life was capable, confident and commanded respect.  Yes I was young, naïve and overly accommodating.  Suffice to say I would never accept such treatment nowadays - I have changed and times have changed as well.

At times, during trips to Southall on my own, I have wondered whether I had been on the receiving end of discrimination, because of my whiteness and ‘outsider’ status in Southall.  Once I went into a well-known sweet shop to buy sweets.  I was the only one in the shop and there were 2 men behind the counter.  I waited patiently to be served, but each ignored my presence and carried on busying themselves in whatever they were caught up in doing.  It was obvious that I was there, and finally one of them turned to me and served me in a fairly ungracious manner.  As with all these things, in retrospect I wish I had said something, made a complaint – which I would do, now that I am older and (hopefully) wiser.  

Another time, I went to Southall with my son – then aged around 5 or 6.  He had decided he wanted a kurta pyjama to wear.   I have no idea where he got this idea from, except that he had many Asian friends at his school, who might have fostered this interest.  So, ever the accommodating parent, off we went to buy one.  Kurta pyjama duly purchased (amid slightly strange looks from the shop assistant), my son said he was hungry, so I found a nearby café with the hope that some fairly non-spicy food would be available for him.  We sat down and waited to be served, and waited, and waited.  People came in after us and were served – but we were not.  I wondered whether I should go up to the counter and order, but others had their orders taken at the table.  Now I was confused as to what the system was.  Finally another customer came to my rescue, who, seeing that we had been waiting a long time, took matters into her own hands and summoned a waiter to come and take our order – finally.  Again, I can only surmise as to what was going on – was it a genuine mistake, or deliberate?

On a slightly more light-hearted note: a couple of years ago Susen had asked whether I could get a box of sweets for his aunt and uncle in Birmingham – where we were due to visit on our way to Wales.    So, one morning I dutifully went to ‘Bikanervala’ in Southall, where I knew they sold sweets with the ‘silvery paper’ we both liked.  Completely forgetting, by this stage, that I was white – not Asian - I just began matter of factually pointing to which sweets I wanted in the mix, together with their (Hindi) names.  The person behind the counter obliged without question, but finally – bemused at this white, blonde gori knowing so much about Indian sweets – he asked whether they were for myself.  I said it was for a present – but then explained that my partner was Bengali, and they were for his aunt and uncle.  Some recognition! – and a smooth transaction afterwards.  How weird though – I had forgotten that I was white and blonde, and therefore strange in his eyes to be buying Indian sweets (OK Susen would say ‘Bengali sweets’ – and actually this was the sign in Bikanervala).

 

And so to our visit a couple of days ago.  We had a rare weekday off and decided to go for lunch at Giftos in Southall.  Thankfully Susen has no hang-ups or worries about walking down the Broadway with him – although we do attract some attention by passers-by.  In days gone by, with my ex-boyfriend, I really think I wanted to ‘belong’ somewhere, to a close-knit community that cared about you – in a way that I felt my family background did not.  But the other day, I walk down the Broadway and I have mixed feelings.  Yes, there is community, family, businesses, identity, support and shared experience.  But also, having read ‘Shamed’ by Sarbjit Kaur Athwal (a compelling read, I would recommend), I feel the claustrophobia and stifling nature of close-knit communities – quick to judge on those not adhering to accepted norms.  You appreciate why people like the anonymity and freedom of large urban cities.

As we walk down the Broadway, we stop off at a couple of DVD stalls – looking for both ‘Roja’ and ‘Bombay’, directed by Mani Ratnam.  Fortunately the Sikh stall keeper does not blink an eyelid at my Englishness, and unexpected knowledge of Bollywood.

Once seated in Giftos, we order almost exactly the same as we always do.  I people watch.  Next to us are seated a white elderly woman, an Asian man and a younger fair-skinned Asian-looking man.  I think what the connection might be.  I conclude: possibly an English woman married to an Indian / Pakistani man, together with their adult son.  She is older than most – perhaps a marriage in the 1960s when cross-cultural relationships were very much frowned on, but also a time when integration was more prevalent as the small minority Indian community was forced to interact with the predominant white, western culture.  Later, it was not so imperative as more wives and families joined their pioneering husbands over in the UK.

On leaving Giftos, walking back to the car, I am struck by the Muslim girls in shalwar kameez, dupatta and blazer just coming out of school.  Also the young girls – aged perhaps 7/8 – wearing hijabs – to my understanding, not a requirement of Islam - if ever - but certainly not before puberty.  In addition to the older woman in Giftos I see perhaps only 2 other white people on the street in the time we are there.

And back home to my Indian-English household.  Yesterday (halal) chicken tikka masala, dhal, rice and chapatis to eat.  Today beef stew with dumplings.  A snapshot of (non)-integrated London life.

 

 

 

Who Do You Think You Are? (BBC TV) – Indian Journeys

[caption id="attachment_776" align="alignleft" width="280"] Image courtesy of the BBC[/caption]

“Whenever I come to India I realise how English I am.....”, so says Gurinder Chadha in the programme dedicated to tracing her family history. This is undoubtedly a sentiment with which I would concur, particularly when arriving at Kolkata Airport and being driven into the smells and sounds of the city.

‘Who Do You Think You Are?’ is a BBC series delving into the family histories of celebrities. Recently a programme featured Nitin Ganatra, the Eastenders actor, and I realised I had recorded programmes featuring Meera Syal, a comedian / actress / writer, perhaps best known for the TV series ‘Goodness Gracious Me’, and Gurinder Chadha, a film director best known for ‘Bend It Like Beckham’.

Each family had slightly different journeys in reaching the UK.  Ganatra and Chadha were both born in Kenya before their parents came to the UK following discrimination against foreigners after independence, while Syal’s parents came directly from India. Their family histories are perhaps representative of many Indian families in the UK, some of whom had to struggle when their qualifications were not recognised and they could not bring money - from Kenya in particular.

I recognised many of the celebrities’ traits and culture. Like me they were all second generation, but often with a deep-rooted insecurity regarding their identity. Were they Indian, wearing Indian clothes and going to festivals, speaking Indian languages, or were they English? You learn these insecurities are perfectly normal amongst the second generation. The celebrities all spoke their parents’ language but could not read or write it. They spoke to their parents in English, and responses were in a mix of languages. When they spoke an Indian language, I realised there was a slight hesitancy as if unwilling, but then the words flowed.

For the Kenyan-born Ganatra and Chadha, the sense of insecurity and dislocation was perhaps even stronger given that they had 3 different cultures to assimilate: English, Kenyan and Indian. Ganatra’s antecedents had come to Kenya from Gujarat to work as labourers on the railroads in the 1890s, and had stayed setting up shops in the newly built Kenyan railway towns. Chadha’s great-grandparents had come from the Punjab as policemen and later set up trading posts. From the photos their lives in Kenya seemed comfortable with a strong sense of community. I was surprised there were Indian schools for the children, temples and gurdwaras, but their development is indicative of the size of the Indian community in Kenya. What was interesting was the continuous contact with relatives in India, bringing brothers to work in Kenya, the sending home of money, frequent journeys and long stays in India to, for example, marry off sisters. So those familial links were always strong and maintained.

After Kenyan independence in 1963 Indians were forced to choose between their British passports and adopting Kenyan nationality. There was increasing tension between the black majority and Indians, and many chose to come to the UK from the late 1960s onwards.  Chadha recounted how her father was unable to find suitable work in the UK and felt himself forced to shave off his beard, a religious prerequisite for a Sikh, because of discrimination, and then found work as a postman. Ganatra’s father, meanwhile, found it difficult to raise finance for his business ventures but eventually paid back his first loan, for £2,000, early.

Syal differentiates herself to some extent by focusing on the fact that her parents had a “love marriage” which must have been unusual in its time, perhaps the early 60s, and that they crossed the religious divide, one a Hindu and the other a Sikh. I presumed the marriages of Chadha and Ganatra’s parents were arranged. Syal’s background seemed the most comfortable in India with a grandfather being a journalist in pre-Independence India.

Of the three celebrities, Ganatra’s ancestors appear to have come from the most impoverished background. Ganatra was shocked by the fact that his maternal grandparents were married at the ages of 6 and 10, but what was heart rending was that so many of his uncles and aunts died at a very early age. Often the deaths were not reported but researchers found details of the death of an aunt and Ganatra was given an official death certificate. These early deaths were attributed to the high rate of complications in pregnancy and birth in young girls married before their own bodies were fully mature, as well as the high cost and limited availability of food, and diseases like malaria.  It was probably famine and disease that forced Ganatra’s grandfather to take a very hard labouring job in Kenya.

What is surprising at times is how little awareness of family history there is or that facts have been glossed over even from two generations previously. Perhaps there is a desire not to talk about some elements of family history. Ganatra was not aware of his grandparents’ early marriage or of the deaths of family members. In addition, Ganatra did not seem to know about the political tensions that drove his parents out of Kenya. Chadha believes she has a black African cousin but family members alternately support and deny the notion. Her family believes they may be related to a noble house. Amongst my own family anecdotes there is an assumption that my paternal grandfather was doctor to the King of Nepal. I had visions of going to Kathmandu and trying to ascertain the provenance of the story.

Towards the end of each programme the celebrities try to find their home village in India, or in Chadha’s case in what is now Pakistan. Often that is quite moving, particular for someone like them who is a product of a trans-national diaspora. Ganatra found a man who knew his family and, without prompting it seems, knew that they had gone to Africa.

The celebrities also try to find records of their families.  Unlike in the UK where it would be a matter of looking at censuses, and registers of births, deaths and marriages, such government records did not exist in India. Instead family histories are noted by priests in books or on cloth going back several generations.  However priests, have to manually go through the records as there are no indexes. Syal’s family records are noted on a single piece of cloth to prevent fraud. The sexist nature of Indian society becomes apparent when it is revealed that the records only follow the male line.

I have over time researched a little into my family history. I have records and documents of my grandfather’s medical student days, one uncle painstakingly wrote me out a comprehensive family tree, and I have visited the house in the grounds of a hospital in a small town in West Bengal where my father was born. I have collected more information, and with the help of cousins, and surviving uncles and aunts will try and visit more places relevant to our family including houses that are still family owned.

While the three celebrities and I are second generation, although the Kenyan born-duo’s families might have been in Kenya for 2-3 generations previously, there is a strong connection to India but it remains to be seen how future generations will feel the pull of India. There might be an interest in some elements of culture like food, clothes and Bollywood, but there might be little interest in exploring India and family history. Almost certainly future generations will not speak or understand any Indian languages. My understanding is that, while members of the Indian diaspora in the Caribbean retained some Indian culture, they feel emotionally distant from India.  My generation was almost forced to assimilate as there was little Indian culture in the UK to explore. Like the three celebrities I found the pull of India greater as one gets older but balanced by a greater security to explore the culture and my roots.