Ghar Vapsi: What does it mean to belong?

Sanjay Joshi 

In a speech last year, the Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh (RSS) chief, Mohan Bhagwat, sought to justify the Ghar Vapsi programme — of a “reconversion” to Hinduism of people who had converted to other religions — and defended it the following way: “Mera maal chor ke paas hai…. mein apnaa maal waapas loongaa, yeh kaunsi badi baat hai (my possessions were stolen by a thief…. if I now take them back, what’s the big deal?). Understandably, his choice of words shocked some liberal sentiments.

That his statement was unbelievably crass is beyond doubt. But, it also raises a couple of interesting questions. Was Mr. Bhagwat completely wrong in his assumptions that the people he represented as “original” Hindus were possessions or belongings, to be stolen from and be retrieved by the community he claims to represent? And, how does that representation of Hindus as “belongings” square with other ideas about Hindutva that emphasise the oneness and togetherness of the Hindu community? I would like to suggest that neither was Mr. Bhagwat entirely wrong, nor does his statement contradict other ideas about Hindu-ness. Rather, what his speech calls for is to explore the idea of “belonging.”

 

Unpacking the idea
The notion of “belonging” lies at the heart of all communities, real and imagined — whether they be those of birth, blood, proximity, or of choice. Everyone “belongs”, and a sense of belonging is often crucial to a person’s well-being. At the same time, we dispute belonging, vociferously. Such disputes can be competitive, in the sense of “my community is better than yours”, or they can occur when different ideas of belonging intersect and overlap, with different ideas of belonging competing for primacy. Wars, riots, sports rivalries, some forms of electoral politics, and certainly many family disputes, are ultimately about competing visions of belonging. Given its overwhelming centrality to human life, it is somewhat surprising how little attention is paid to unpacking this idea. We use the word often enough, but, do we really know what it is to belong?

In the English language, the word “belonging” has two meanings: one, to indicate an affective sense of identification with a place or people, and the other, to suggest possession. In one sense then, a person belongs to, as in has a great deal of affection for and identity with, a place or people (or an institution). In the other sense, a person who “belongs”, is deemed to be the possession of a place, people, or institutions. This is not simply an idiosyncrasy of the English language. In Hindi/Urdu too (the only other languages with which I am familiar), the words apnaa/hamaaraa and/or apnaapan function in very similar ways. I am sure readers with a larger linguistic repertoire will be able to add other examples.

 

More than linguistic
My point is not a linguistic one though, but rather is to draw attention to a social and cultural phenomenon. I would like to suggest that the same word, apparently indicating two different meanings, is much more than a linguistic coincidence. In fact, I would go further and argue that social and cultural practices of belonging, necessarily, and almost always, bring both senses of the word into play. The carrot of an affective, emotional bond with something larger than oneself is always accompanied by the stick of possessive authority that demands that one comply with the rules and hierarchies of the community. Mr. Bhagwat revealed, albeit in an extremely gross fashion, how the two ideas of belonging come together, at least in his imagination. In both senses, he is saying, the converts actually “belong” to the Hindu community as he defines it.

But, it’s not just one outspoken RSS leader’s statements that are at issue. Anthems, flags, patriotic songs and national celebrations reinforce for us our feelings of belonging to an entity larger than ourselves. Yet, we also “belong” to the nation-state in other ways. In a legal sense, the state sets the parameters for acceptable behaviour, and has the power to punish us. The nation-state also asserts, not always successfully, a unique primacy on our sense of belonging. If our actions demonstrate that we value belonging to another community over the nation — for example, another nation, or a State (think of Jammu and Kashmir or Nagaland or Punjab as extreme examples), or even if we value our sense of belonging to a community shaped by our friends or family, over that of the nation-state, the latter punishes us for usurping its putative primacy in our sense of belonging. We belong to the nation, in both senses of the word.

Or, we can think of even smaller communities. Jati and gotra survived over centuries because institutions such as proximity, marriage, occupations, landholding or commensality, promoted an affective sense of belonging, of identity, that was important to the members of the communities. Yet, as the actions of the leaders of the khap panchayats in Haryana demonstrated a few years ago, the two senses of belonging clearly overlapped. While the diktats of the khap elders have made news in the last few years, there is little doubt that the sense of belonging to caste, gotra, and community in general meant belonging in both senses of the word.

 

Idea of family
And, perhaps where this dual idea belonging is most apparent, and least recognised, is the community closest home — literally. Families, we are often led to believe, are a site of affective and unconditional love. Despite so much everyday evidence to the contrary, this notion persists. Whether it is in the realm of politics, of business, the identification of the idea of the “family” (the parivaar in Hindi) is brought to the fore to suggest a sense of affective bonds that hold people in the institutions together. But, as cinematic or televised melodramas repeatedly tell us, families are hardly the sites of only affective love and togetherness. Indeed, melodramas would not be possible if love, togetherness, and harmony were the only characteristics of families. There are sons who don’t follow their father’s wishes. Daughters refuse to follow the conventions of the family’s womenfolk. Daughters-in-law don’t obey their mothers-in-law. Such are the stuff of these melodramas. And, what are they if not differing ideas about belonging? What are they but situations that occur when established ideas about belonging clash with the changing social realities that produce new forms of affection and belonging?

It is in the microcosm of families that we can also, most clearly, see the extent to which ideas of belonging are connected both to affection and to power. The modern family, at least, is believed to be rooted in ideas of affectivity. Carrots of affection are what keep families together. Yet, whether generational or gendered, the stick of power is never far from the surface. Through “gifting the bride,” or the change of her surname, rituals indicate that the woman now “belongs” to a new set of “owners.” And, it is in the way we think about and act towards our own children perhaps, that we most clearly reveal the duality inherent in the notion of belonging. That we love and cherish our children is, for most part, beyond doubt. But, until they are able to act independently, we do seek to control them as if they were our possessions. Choice of words aside, how different is that from what Mr. Bhagwat said about the “possessions” he believed had been “stolen” from “him”?

 

For introspection
The two meanings of belonging do matter, because while we tend to celebrate the first sense of belonging, a feeling of togetherness, we often ignore the other. From the nation-state, through religious communities, down to the family, the power to define belonging is confined to the few. That power allows the government, the sarsanghchaalak, or the elders to exercise the stick of authority and treat members of the community as belongings. My purpose with this article is not only to point to the two inextricably-linked aspects of belonging, but also to suggest that it is only from this recognition that we can either hope to contest the power exercised through the politics of belonging, or find other and more creative and less oppressive ways of belonging. Alternatively perhaps, we could change how we think of people with whom we share so much; and start at the most fundamental level of belonging, as Khalil Gibran did, when he wrote: “Your children are not your children./They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself./They come through you but not from you, And though they are with you, yet they belong not to you.”

(Sanjay Joshi is a Professor of History at Northern Arizona University, U.S.)