“SORRY” is such a tiny word, but it is packed more tightly with meanings and narratives than a drop of shampoo in an advertisement is packed with fruit oils and wholesome sighs or a hair follicle with dandruff
“SORRY” is such a tiny word, but it is packed more tightly with meanings and narratives than a drop of shampoo in an advertisement is packed with fruit oils and wholesome sighs or a hair follicle with dandruff.
I’ve always felt Indians have a hard time saying sorry. Several years ago, in this column, I had written about the late RR Patil who, while in office, was photographed in his car sans seat belt. Instead of a good natured apology, he said the law was stupid (always reassuring coming from the government), because in city traffic we can barely drive at 20 kilometres an hour.
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Dr Mohan Agashe in Astu (So Be It)
This whataboutery — basically saying “teacher it’s not my fault, he was distracting me in class’ — is a fear of admitting error for fear of being obliterated. It’s indicative of our maturity as a society and also what gives us a talent for trolling.
Of course, it is too simple to understand it like that. As a feudal and once-colonised society, wrongdoing is often used to fix your identity as worthless and so, fit for control, a justification for your oppression, the basis of administering physical violence (beating, locking you up in your room, occupying your state) or social humiliation.
We can understand then, why the powerless might avoid “sorry”, but why those in powerful positions, such as Salman Khan, who has persistently refused to apologise for his rape analogy. Perhaps this refusal is not only wedded to the feudal — sa’ab ki shaan kam ho jayegi — but also the masculine — real men don’t apologise, at least not to those lower in status, such as women, the poor or one’s fan-subjects. An extension of this is the refusal by the State to apologise to victims they have not protected from violence, despite being voted in to do so, sometimes doubling their punishment to disguise this reality and blaming the victim, as in the recent FIR issued against the family of Ikhlaque Khan in Dadri.
On the other hand, perhaps one must be wary of those who say sorry too often, not in order to rectify a mistake, but as a token sop to maintain the imbalance of power — abusers in domestic violence often do this.
Being able to say sorry comes from a place of security in self and others — an ability to make oneself vulnerable and trust opponents, an imagination of equality, the confidence to change.
So, there is something to be said for the recent exchange between Rajdeep Sardesai and Sania Mirza beyond the memes. Rajdeep, while interviewing Sania about her memoir, asked when she would ‘settle down’ — yaniki medals-vedals theek hai, but woman ki ultimate destiny, you know na. Cringes rippled from Bhatinda to Bengaluru. Sania sighed, and called him out with forthright style after which Rajdeep tried to joke his way out, but said sorry on TV, admitting he would never ask a man such a thing. Sania, fairly enough, did some more eye-rolling. Rajdeep took it, apologised again, promising there’ll be no repeat.
Both moved the social narrative on Sorry a step forward here: Sania in saying with self-confidence what she thought, rather than suffering it and Rajdeep in apologising instead of being defensive. I’m not sorry to have seen this rare occurence.
Paromita Vohra is an award-winning Mumbai-based filmmaker, writer and curator working with fiction and non-fiction. Reach her at www.parodevipictures.com
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