‘Mother India’: Prayaag Akbar’s new novel excavates the often empty roots of nationalistic pride

For far too long we have been subjected to angry, vitriolic videos that promise to avenge supposed wrongdoings of the past and reinstate Mother India to her previous glory. This wrath is rarely directed towards the British (or other European colonisers) – who perhaps deserve it the most – and instead, almost always, towards the Mughal and other Muslim rulers who migrated to India in the conquest of land and riches. Never mind that these wars were fought many centuries ago and since the first conquerors, the subsequent rulers were “Indians” with little to no ties to their “original” lands. Until a few years ago, what was understood as a natural course of human migration is now the cause of India’s broken imperialistic dreams. Cultures that had successfully mingled with “local” cultures are now bitter reminders of how the docile “Indian” was cuckolded by these “foreign” forces.

The absurdity mounts with each video and there comes a time when the relentless manufacturing of lies makes you wonder what the reasons for it might be. Is it truly a deep, undying love for the country? Does your next-door neighbour indeed feel burdened by the country’s “Islamic” past? Is the present so perfect that there’s little for the upright citizen to do other than set out to right the wrongs of history? And, most important, what is the root of so much anger?

Inside the bowels

Prayaag Akbar’s novel Mother India dives right into these questions. Mayank, a young man in his twenties, works in the basement of a right-wing content creator. His day-to-day work consists of browsing Reddit, 4Chan, and online message boards for memes, clips, and news that his boss Vikram (host of Kashyapji ka Right-Arm Fast) can churn into the viral content of the day. Fact-checking, due diligence, and other journalistic integrity do not exist in this universe. The internet is unforgiving – Vikram and Co are not only fighting against time, but also the minds of their audience who have the attention span of a goldfish. Everything goes as long as there’s maal and masala. In Vikram’s words, “To make an impact on the internet you don’t need ideas, you need enemies.” No guts, only glory.

Gig work has not exactly brought glory – or money – for Mayank, though. He works earnestly to prove himself to Vikram. The young man keeps his mobile at hand and films every random scene on the road in anticipation of finding the next viral moment. For someone who lives, breathes, and works on the internet, his passivity is rattled when he comes across Nisha’s profile on Instagram. Her demure photos and pleasing demeanour catch his fancy. He does not “follow” her, but a deep dive into her public profile gives him an idea of the kind of woman she just might be.

Mayank has grown up amidst hardships ever since his father died in 2009 in a construction accident. Since his father was one of the men working on the site, their family was “lucky” to receive a full pension – which his mother ensured by trading favours with the local neta. The act is caught on camera. Mayank knows the sincere damage a piece of media can bring to a woman’s life. He cannot subject Nisha to a similar humiliation – to him, she is the pious Mother India. Virginal, blemish-free, and frozen in time. To encase her in this image, he feeds her photos to an AI software that throws up slightly altered images in her likeliness.

Meanwhile, Nisha has no aspirations of becoming viral for whatever reason. She is a girl from the hills who has come to Delhi to make a living. Employed as a salesperson at a fancy chocolate shop, her days are spent waiting on customers and longing for the home she has left behind. Delhi’s squalor and heat are unmissable, and the megacity has disenchanted her already. When her sister brings the Nisha-like Mother India to her – and the world’s notice – things spin out of control. Very few understand she has been violated and most enthusiastically agree to Mayank and Vikram’s calls for revenge.

The cost of virality

In Mother India, the violence of virality is most prominent in a person’s psyche. Credibility or the truth has no space in a conversation. History is lifted from Facebook and people who share the same identity markers as you are trusted to revise and tell your story. Local legends are morphed into true history as one becomes eager to recreate – and boast – about the past that never was. Mayank, whose intentions, for what it’s worth, were noble illustrates what young people are forced to become when their lives are defined by lack. But Akbar is not unforgiving of such transgressions. Mayank’s mother makes him own up to his mistakes – sometimes a young person is misguided and stern words and gentle guidance can make them aware of their missteps.

And yet, these missteps are often not so trivial. AI is a menace and more so for women. Nisha deals with the fiasco quietly knowing the only way to douse a fire is to ignore it. Akbar gives us brief glimpses of what a “victim” in such a scenario might experience – consent becomes a trickier concept, the public image violates the private existence, and a woman is trapped in the eternal status of a “victim” without wanting to and when no “real” harm has befallen her.

A reckless – or unthinking – move during these polarised times can cost us heavily. Mother India asks us – What is the final result of virality? Where does the screen end and real life begin? What depravities encourage sectionalism? Who benefits from these unproductive angers? The answers, my friend, are blowing in the idle pride of nationalistic winds.

Mother India, Prayaag Akbar, HarperCollins India.