An Indian doctor once asked me if I knew the crab story. “The crab story?” I replied in a questioning tone, mentally preparing myself for a lame attempt at a cultural joke whose punch line would probably be lost in translation. “This is an internationally known story,” the doctor assures me.
“Once upon a time, in a land far, far away…” each word grossly exaggerated as it escapes his lips. At this pace the story could last for days, but the doctor chuckles at himself. “I’m just joking, the real story starts like this. All the countries of the world decide to hold a contest to see who has the best crabs.” The story already sounds silly, but I keep listening. “Each country gathers on a neutral beach toting a large wooden crate full of their finest crabs to the international affair. Each country has appointed a dutiful guard whose sole responsibility is to carefully watch over the crate, ensuring the prized crabs don’t escape.” He pauses to make sure I’m following along. "I'm still listening," I assure him. “First up to be judged is the United States. The American guard protectively minds the precious crate as he pulls a metal key from his pocket and unlatches the lock and lifts the heavy chains shrouding the box. As he slowly opens the lid to the wooden box, countless crab claws are already clipping at the top of the box to escape. The guard quickly slams the lid down to bar their narrow breakaway attempt." The doctor slams his palms onto his desk for the sound effect. He continues, "The judge is impressed, but moves on to the next country, France. The Parisian guard is also standing close to his wooden crate of Grade A French crabs. The judge asks him to remove the lid and the French guard unlatches his crate, following the judge’s request. Like the U.S. guard, the French watchmen pulls off the lid of the box and quickly slams it down as the crabs try to escape from their wooden prison. The judge nods approvingly and continues down the row of countries with similar reactions from all the countries’ top-notch crab-guards, until he arrives at his last wooden crate to judge. The judge notices the lid is already off the box, the apathetic guard is yards away, smoking a cigarette, hardly paying attention to the crabs crawling around in the open crate. The judge approaches the Indian guard with surprise. Aren’t you worried about your crabs escaping? No, the guard replies and laughs. We have the best crabs in the world! They won’t let each other break free. When one almost escapes, another one clips him with his claw and pulls him back in.”
I smiled at the doctor. I actually had heard this story before, except the story replaced crabs in a wooden box with chickens in a metal coop and was written by a breakthrough Indian author, Aravind Adiga in his premier novel White Tiger. (One of my suggested books for anyone looking for an interesting summer read.) Stated by an author and confirmed by an Indian doctor – some stereotypes are grounded in reality…
The story drew me back to a reality I witnessed only a week prior. I was in a living room, sitting on a white, plastic lawn chair under a dinky metal fan set to full speed. I was amidst a heart-to-heart with the mother of a young woman involved in the family counseling program with MCCSS. I had just enjoyed a lazy lunch with her family grazing on white rice, sambar sauce, green vegetables and boiled chicken. All the family had left the house after lunch, so I sat together with the mother for some coffee and conversation. I expressed gratitude to my gracious host for the food. I sipped my coffee and smiled at her. We started with small talk, but she soon opened up in earnest detail about her life, her experiences and her story.
The facts involved enduring an emotionally abusive husband for the past nine years and a broken marriage where not one affectionate touch had been exchanged for the majority of those years. The children, often used as tools of manipulation, were rewarded by the father for fighting with the mother, driving a wedge between their relationships. The husband refuses to contribute to the household, holding a job barely three months of the year, preferring alcohol and tobacco as opposed to a salary and responsibility. Yet she continues to support him. After all, he is the father of my children, she tells me. The mother recently dipped into her savings to pay a hefty dowry for her youngest daughter to marry, causing her to fall behind on motorbike payments, which her son now needs in order to obtain work to help support the family. The motorbike was repossessed in the middle of the night and the 25-year old son now spends the majority of his time playing cricket and loitering with the wrong crowd. Worse yet, the daughter’s arranged marriage failed after just three months – she was psychologically abused by her husband and in-laws. The young girl was forced to eat left-over food until she vomited, then eat more, while working as a slave in the home. She was physically locked inside with no escape and her breaking point came when the newlywed wife felt drinking a pint of poisonous cleaning solution was her only way out. Luckily, she survived and so grew the mountain of hospital bills it took to keep her alive. The mother, a school teacher by day, now stared into the face of the year coming to a close for summer break, translating to zero income over the next three months. “How will I feed my family? How will I find the money to pay for my motorbike which will allow my son an income?” It wasn’t a plea for my personal help. It was a plea for someone to listen, to share her burden, to hear her worry. She didn’t want money; she wanted a friend. I asked her if she had friends with whom she could talk, maybe ask for a loan or at the very least to lend a shoulder of support until she could overcome her troubling situation. We all need support during our personal vicissitudes of life. Isn't that what friends are for? "Things will get better," I attempted to assure her holding her hand, "But you surely must have friends." She shook her head. "You can’t tell people these things, or else they will use your situation against you. If I ask for help, they feel I am lower than them. They will gossip to other people about my situation and make things worse for me then they are already." "But, there has to be at least one person, a co-worker or someone to trust?" She just shook her head, “My people are different than yours.” My heart ached – not for her situation, but for her society.
Is this the real India? It's absurd and inappropriate to stereotype a population constituting one billion people, but it makes one think... This crab story wouldn't leave my mind, so I did some online research. It’s called crab mentality and by definition describes a way of thinking best described by the phrase "if I can't have it, neither can you." At times we all may feel a slight pang of envy toward a friend or co-worker for being granted an opportunity or promotion that perhaps we would desire for ourselves. I think this is normal. Crab mentality rears its hideous head when one uses this positive gain against them negatively. It is one thing to feel a jealous twinge, quite another to try and pull someone down from reaching their dreams and goals, quite simply because you cannot reach your own. It is an ugly mentality that I doubt is solely isolated to Indian crabs. After all, haven't we all heard the time old adage, "misery loves company?" One can only hope this disturbing mentality is only held in the hearts of the minority of humanity. If not, what might our world become?
