Thalis, Taalis, And Dancing The Ridiculous: How India Learned To Clap Ignoring Rational Thinking?
An Act of Nonsense: Thalis, Taalis, and the Art of Distracting The Nation
It’s the 22nd of March 2020. The roads are extremely quiet, and the air is thick with anxiety. It’s 5 PM, and something unusual happens. People all across India proceed to their balconies, carry utensils in their hands, and begin banging away like an unruly band without a leader. This is supposed to be a gesture of respect for the healthcare professionals combating an unseen enemy. It is a good idea in theory but turns out to be a noisy affair that seems more like a local festival than a solemn expression of respect to those who forego.
Five years ago, we still remember that day, and it stung—not because of what it was intended to accomplish, but because of what it revealed about us as a people. It wasn’t only the pots and pans that rang hollow; it was the entire attitude. We were here, a nation in crisis, cheering and clapping as if noise could halt a virus. Meanwhile, the tough questions; Where were the PPE kits? How strong was our healthcare system? Were our frontline workers ready?—were lost in the noise of metal against metal.
As the dust settled, it was evident that the “THALI and TAALI” performance was not an isolated incident. It demonstrated how we all judge by appearance and not by outcome. It was a form of groupthink in which mere attendance was equated with progress and loud action with making headway. If this rings a bell, that is because it does. Indian history is replete with instances where pompous gestures were valued more than actual, painstaking problem-solving.
Consider, for instance, the huge demonetization drive in 2016. The nation was informed that demonetization would eliminate black money, eradicate corruption, and have a number of positive impacts on the economy. What transpired instead? There was mayhem. Individuals waited in serpentine lines outside banks, businesses shut down, and lives were brought to a standstill. But for some time, many termed it a great decision, just because the hype around it was so intense. The actual impacts—job loss, deceleration in GDP growth, and practically no long-term gains—were conveniently overlooked amidst all the adoration for “bold leadership.”
Or take the swearing-in of state governments. One chief minister takes the oath in a stadium specially lit up for the occasion with thousands of party workers. Another takes the oath in a historic temple with chanting priests in attendance. The symbolism is flawless, the photo ops many, and the social media feed is fulsome. But a few months down the line, when potholes are still unfilled, with people dying in open manholes, schools do not have basic materials, and health centres are in disrepair, it becomes apparent that the pomp was a distraction.
Let us not forget the “Statue of Unity,” the world’s tallest statue. It was opened with much fanfare in Gujarat. We were informed that it is a pride symbol of India. They described it as an engineering marvel. But for the farmers whose lands were acquired and for the villages around which still lack basic amenities, the statue represents something else. It is a reminder that in India, “development” arrives in the form of a spectacle while the actual needs of the people take a backseat.
There was also a “THALI and TAALI” event in March 2020. Next came another well-publicized event: the nine-minute “lights out” event on April 5. Indians were asked to turn off their lights and light diyas or candles to show solidarity with each other. The country joined in again, and again, it asked the same uneasy question: what were we really doing?
Symbolism is important, sure. It can move people, bring them together, and encourage them. But when symbolism replaces real action, it can be bad. It provides a facade of progress that hides the reality that nothing concrete is happening. What happens next? Problems that just get worse, answers that are hard to come by, and people who are too self-satisfied because of empty praise.
The years since that fateful March day have given us ample time to ponder how we handle crises—and if we even learned anything at all. Are we better prepared to face emergencies in the future? Are our hospitals better prepared? Are our policies guided by data and evidence, or by theater? Sadly, the responses too frequently are no.
Consider the latest debates on infrastructure projects. Flyovers are constructed, metros begin operating, and highways are expanded. The ribbon-cutting ceremonies are telecast live on television, and the news reports that we now have a new era of improved connectivity. But the rains come, and the roads become waterlogged. The new metro corridors are postponed. The flyovers begin to develop cracks. Once the cameras are gone, the actual issues remain—poor planning, shoddy work, and no accountability.
Look at our education system. There are big proclamations of new lessons, virtual classrooms, and new technology. But, teachers still do not get adequately paid, schools still do not have basic facilities, and teachers prioritizing rote learning over rational thinking! All the glitzy appearance of progressing Vishwa Guru cannot conceal the underlying realities.
And what about governance? We see leaders putting on grand public theater—flying off to zones of disaster with a large entourage in tow, opening buildings that aren’t completed, or launching projects that never get done. It’s all theater, done for maximum effect, but it doesn’t amount to much in terms of actual change.
The “THALI and TAALI” fiasco of 2020 was no error. It was a reflection of something deeper: we prefer easy answers to difficult questions. Rather than tackling tough challenges—such as enhancing healthcare, reforming education, and preserving the planet—we opt to appear to be doing something. What we get instead is a culture increasingly disconnected from its leaders, its institutions, and itself.
In a place where scientific bodies say that water in mahakumbh is not fit for human consumption, we will ignore this and take a bath in that water to purify all our sins. Do not know about sins, but definitely, our rational thinking is definitely washed here! And dare to call out anyone, and you will be tagged as ‘Anti-nationalist’.
As we recall the ‘TAALI’-‘THALI’ day five years back, let us not just laugh at the banging of pots. Let us recall why we allowed it to happen, why we applauded for it, and what it reflects on what we stand for. Above all, let us determine how we can ensure that the next time we prioritize sense over noise. India, after all, is worthy of a spectacle; it is worthy of a future where actions surpass tricks.
