“Sick Man of Europe”

A FEW DECADES AGO, perhaps in the context of the emotional anguish that had overcome a section of the people of what used to be called Great Britain, I first came across the expression “declinology”. The reference was obviously to the mass of literature that was generated from the mid- 1960s onwards analysing the post-imperial trauma of this once-great island. In a nutshell, the understanding was that Britain had lost its global pre-eminence and had plumbed to a staggering low that resulted in the United Kingdom being described as the “sick man of Europe”. Some blamed this decline on the country’s over-dependence and subordination to the US. Others attributed to the post-1950s breakdown of social cohesion resulting from a mindless immigration policy. And finally, there were those who linked British decline to the loss of enterprise—an inescapable feature of the “nanny state”.

To an outsider who first came to study in Britain in 1975, the country presented a very mixed picture.

At one level, there were obvious signs of decay. Large parts of inner London had streets that were defined by corrugated iron. The newspapers contained unending reports of industrial disputes and companies— some with awesome reputations— that were shutting down. Inflation seemed completely unmanageable. The levels of taxation were as high as those Indians were accustomed to during Indira Gandhi’s experiments with crony socialism.

At the same time, what always struck me was the amazing self-confidence, verging on glibness, that defined the upper crust of British society. Superciliousness was not an unknown feature of those of us who had made the easy transition from privileged English-medium schools to the entitled environs of the pre-liberalisation St Stephen’s College in Delhi. However, the self-assurance of the British upper classes with whom we rubbed shoulders at university were at another level altogether.

The question was often asked by people at home as to whether I felt at ease with the underlying racism of British society. The queries were legitimate since the British Empire, not least in India, was marked by stupendous levels of racial exclusivity. If Nirad Chaudhuri—an incorrigible Anglophile himself— was to be believed, it was this crude white arrogance that distracted attention from the other attractions of Civis Britannicus Sum. However, the generations that grew up in a Britain where, slowly but very clearly, the Empire was becoming something that grandfathers bored people with reminiscing, race was important insofar as it blended with class and education. How someone spoke mattered. In the case of Indians from a certain background who spoke English with an accent that was then called Received Pronunciation and had imbibed the social codes associated with a type of British culture, race was thrust into the background. It was always a divide between People Like Us and People Like Them.

It has been a while since I disengaged emotionally from a Britain that holds very fond memories of a misspent youth. I still travel each year to the UK, keep up my membership of a gentleman’s club and meet up with old friends, some of whom have done well and others who were left on the wayside by a market economy. However, when my son taunts me on our occasional family visits to London, that my England no longer exits, he isn’t wrong. There is a certain charm in living in the past, and I enjoy it thoroughly—but only after crossing the immigration barrier at Heathrow.

So why am I invoking memories of a lost civilisation now? The reason is that memories have come flooding back owing to the rising concern in Kolkata over the decline and possible disappearance of the Bengali bhadralok. There are books—often of uneven quality—and discussions that are so reminiscent of the declinology that I encountered five decades ago in Britain.

The similarities are not contrived when you consider the lengths to which colonial society in Bengal went in moulding its behavioural codes with those of the English gentleman. The way Bangla was meant to be spoken, the cultivation of refinement and the detachment from the world of business were, together, eerily familiar. As was the smug disdain towards others and a belief in the community’s natural superiority.

These days, there is a creeping sense of reality that appears to be establishing itself as the new normal. The bhadralok has suddenly woken up to its approaching demise. Unless, of course, passive acceptance of decay gives way to a determination to resist.