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Many years ago, in the 1990s, when I was still on the right side of my twenties, I had a flat tyre in Shimla, my hometown. Luckily, this was at a parking space right outside what was then the Indian Army’s Western Command.
Unprepared as I was to change tyres, I asked the first fauji I saw for help. He was a tall, thin, young South Indian, a jawaan . Without any hesitation he set to the task. My car back in shape, I felt obliged to offer some significant expression of gratitude. This wasn’t his work after all. My societal conditioning insisted it should be a financial baksheesh ; my shy nature made the giving of it a difficult act.
Tipping doesn’t come naturally to me. For some reason, I feel awkward handing over money. It’s neither a fee nor a gift and therefore it seems superfluous. In my mind, the act of handing over a tip confidently also necessitates an accompanying flamboyant streak, one that doesn’t mesh well with my low-profile self-image. It’s just as well that I live in China now, where there is no tipping. Well, except where some well-meaning American tourists abound. Acting on their conditioning perhaps, they seem to feel it their duty to give an extra financial incentive for work well done.
Setting aside my shyness that day, I gave rein to my society’s diktat and my assumption of what he would expect from me. I took out some money to offer him as thanks.
He smiled shyly, shook his head as well as his hand in denial of the tip, and in a soft voice explained, “ Main fauji hoon, saab [I am a soldier, sir].”
In Shenzhen, where I live now, I was recently reminded of this army ethos. On an early morning walk one day, on an empty stretch of a street, I saw three young men lounging on the sidewalk curb a little distance from me. Given that I was the only other person there, I found myself tensing. This was unwarranted perhaps because China, in my twelve years here, has never given me any cause for alarm as a lone woman, irrespective of the time of the day or night. Perhaps it was their youthfulness. I hadn’t often encountered young men lounging about on streets. Middle-aged construction workers, yes; young men who looked barely out of their classroom, no. I tried shaking off the feeling, a little amused at my conditioning. And still, I kept an eye on them. It wasn’t until I was closer to them that the feeling suddenly dissipated — when the three young men’s clothes revealed them as army men. Behind them was parked an army truck.
Far from our two countries’ border politics, I was just a temporary ‘citizen’ in a foreign country. And I drew comfort from that uniform that promised protection. The Chinese army soldiers paid me no undue attention as I walked past them. I wasn’t a woman, I was just another morning walker. And they were soldiers.
What is it about a uniform or a people, whether belonging to a family, an organisation, a community or a country, that binds them together and also sets them apart?
Culture is an oft-used word these days, casually tossed about by opportunistic mouths in conversations ranging from rape to rock stars. The Merriam Webster Dictionary even selected it as the #1 word of the year 2014, noting its movement from classrooms to conversations, ‘allowing us to identify and isolate an idea, issue, or group’. We’re all familiar with “rapist culture”, "culture of transparency", "consumer culture", “learning culture” and of course one of our favourites in India — “democratic culture” (sometimes used in an oxymoronic fashion, such as by Shiv Sena in defence of a recent ink attack).
I have worked in companies that are renowned for their culture. I have heard CEOs hold forth on their company’s values and seen bright posters silently scream their organisational litany from within office walls. Yet, the day I truly understood my MBA chapter on Organisational Culture was that day when a shy, young soldier shook his head and said, " Main fauji hoon, saab" .
That is what creating a culture is about — that pride of belonging to a larger group, an adherence to the group values even in the absence of witnesses and rewards. Above all, a giving up of the individual smaller self for another’s and the larger good. It is as true of parenting and building a family culture, as it is of organisation and nation-building.
And all it took for that lesson was one young man’s pride in his identity.
So, rather than leaving him with a tip, I drove away instead with a gift from him.
An immense pride in our Indian Army.
