Good manners

I have often wondered about a lot of things. Like for instance: Do we automatically attain maturity, as we grow older? Are we becoming a less tolerant society? Can respect be demanded and not earned? Is anger not a sign of weakness? Does yelling at someone, in private or in public, demean that person, or the yeller? Does raising your voice make you right? 

These and many such queries plague me as I see more and more bad mannered people around me. Folks who think their opinions are superior, so they cut others off in mid sentence during a disagreement. They talk in a monologue and if anyone challenges their views they resort to offensive language. They think their beliefs are the best and they interpret everything to their own advantage while being inflexible to any other version. 

These are not necessarily public figures but ordinary people like you and me who transformed themselves into demagogues at the drop of a hat. To the outside world they appear to be balanced and even meek individuals but within their homes, the mask comes off, and they spout extreme radicalism of thought. Whether it was politics or religion, they believe in exclusion rather than inclusion. 

I have an uncle who lives in the United States. He is in his early eighties and migrated to America fifty years ago. Even though he has been living abroad for such a long time, he follows everything that goes on in India — his home country. Despite the difference in time zones, he watches the Indian news channel on his television relentlessly from morning till evening. If there is even a mention of the political party that he is opposed to, he starts swearing at the idiot box. He saves his choicest curses for the Indian leader of opposition and if his long-suffering wife intervenes to ask him to calm down, he shouts at her too. 

I have never seen an angrier old man. He starts a discussion but does not allow anyone to participate in it, especially women, who according to him, should be seen but not heard. If a debate becomes a bit heated with the other party supplying sensible arguments he halts it by yelling. 

“Enough! I don’t want to hear another word. You know nothing. Nonsensical people!” he belts.

An awkward silence usually follows that. 

This entire thing came as a big surprise to me because I assume that men of a certain generation are very courteous and have good manners drilled into them. I would of course benchmark them against my own father, who had never spoken in a higher decibel to anyone on the planet, be it man, woman or child. When I was growing up, he encouraged freedom of thought and any conversation, however trivial, was incomplete, without all of us chipping in with our two bits worth.

The last time I was in America, my uncle was deriding Bapu Mahatma Gandhi and I could not bear it. 

“He was a foolish old man,” he announced. 

“I do not agree with you,” I said. 

“Good thing he was shot,” he continued. 

“Generations to come will scarcely believe that such a one as this ever in flesh and blood walked upon this earth,” I quoted. 

“Who said this?” he thundered.

“German physicist Albert Einstein,” I stated. 

“As stupid as the Italian Sonia Gandhi,” he declared. 

“Where you going?” he hollered at my retreating back. 

“Long walk to freedom,” I retorted, lengthening my stride.