While adult India seems apathetic, the young ones are appalled by the way things are going in the country. INDIA TODAY records the frank--and disquieting--views of children from widely disparate backgrounds.

By Raj Chengappa

Nikhila Palat and Mohammed Shukkar Ali are both 15 years of age. That's where the similarity ends. She, ensconced in the comfort of a flat on Mumbai's Napean Sea Road, driven in an Esteem to school, home in the afternoon to croissants and hot milk, tennis practice for two hours in the evening and then tucked into a warm, cushiony bed. He, lying curled up on the floor of a smelly, rat-infested hut in a Delhi slum, up at the crack of dawn to rummage through garbage heaps, at the raddi shop by noon to weigh his collection, dal-roti at the dhaba, and as night falls, gazing hopelessly at the stars. Nikhila's view of India: "Opportunities are open everywhere." Mohammed's: "If you spend your whole day picking up garbage, your life will end up like that."Why should we care what either of them thinks of India? Or for that matter what they would do if they ever became prime minister? What their aspirations are or who they model themselves on?

Here's why. Adolescents like Nikhila and Mohammed are going through that stressful transition from puberty to adulthood. They are searching for answers to life's most fundamental questions: "Who am I?" and "Where am I going?" Psychoanalyst Erik Erikson coined the phrase 'identity crisis' to refer to this period of self-doubt and self-definition. It is the age when their minds are as malleable as clay, constantly being moulded by their experiences and beliefs. As psychiatrist Shekhar Seshadri points out, "If we want to change their attitudes, we have to do so now." For by 20 they are grappling with reality, their ideologies harden and it's often too late to change.

As teenagers their answers are honest and spontaneous. They are mirrors of India's behaviour. Their image of the nation is disquieting, as india today correspondents found out. Fifty of them between the ages of eight and 15 from widely disparate backgrounds were interviewed from across the country. Firdausa Akhtar, a 13-year-old living in the Kashmir Valley, says she has grown up knowing only "fear, bullets and blood". Sudarshan Kamat, 14, a hotelier's child in Bangalore, grieves for everyone when he observes: "Without bribery nothing gets done in the country." Nikesh Mawad, 14, a sarpanch's son near Bhopal, talks of the deepening schisms when he points out, "Everything in our villages is still done along caste lines, even fights." For the emerging generation, the India that we are handing over is a bumbling, unscrupulous land steeped in poverty, prejudice and strife. In its eyes, adult India is a big failure.

If the US classified its new generation as X because of its languid approach to youth, then India's teenagers should be called the Y generation. Simply because they ask: Why are things so bad, why are you leaving us a country such as this? Theirs is an aware generation shaped by the television revolution. Where even L. Manimeglai, 11, daughter of a hoarding painter in Chennai, can narrate the foibles of Laloo Prasad Yadav and J. Jayalalitha with embarrassing details. While adult India seems apathetic, the Y generation is not just appalled, it demands change. There are no half measures. In Bhopal, Palak Arora, 12, is direct: "I'll shoot all dishonest people." Sociologist M.N. Srinivas views their consensus on condemning graft as significant. Usually, the class divide is evident on key issues. In many surveys, children of well-to-do parents are despondent about the country's decline and want to desert the sinking ship by migrating abroad. The Backward Classes, which are just beginning to taste power, are optimistic and want to effect far-reaching changes. But as Srinivas points out, "The across-the-board anger against corruption is something our political leaders should take note of."

Equally significant is the eclipse of politicians as role models for this generation. Most go for the athletic-jock stereotypes such as Sachin Tendulkar or Rahul Dravid. Experts regard them as only fleeting models. It is a grim reflection of how bereft the nation is of towering political personalities. When the children interviewed did mention a national leader who inspired them, it was more often Mahatma Gandhi rather than Jawaharlal Nehru. Sociologist Andre Beteille thinks that Nehru's decline as a national figure is a result of a uniquely Indian reaction which holds the father somehow responsible for the sins of his heirs. Happily many of the children mention their parents or local leaders as people they look up to. It bestows on the parents a greater responsibility. Their actions are under constant scrutiny.

Fifty children (a sample of the interviews appears in the following pages) obviously cannot be representative of such a vast nation. Their anger over issues such as declining moral standards may just be what they think are politically correct responses rather than a deep-seated urge for reform. So why bother? We need to because they will use these perceptions to evolve their own identities and world views. Apart from being naturally curious and philosophical, they are imbued with a sense of power to change. For them it is a whole new world opening up and they are impatient to chart their destiny. As Nikhila says with a quiet assertion, "The nation's future depends on us." If we mend our ways and demonstrate that we can improve India, then we can still inspire them.

And 50 years hence, when they pass the torch to the next generation, they can say, as Anant Goenka, 15, a Mumbai industrialist's son, now hopes, "We made India a better place to live in."

More

Write to us | Subscriptions

© Living Media India Ltd