Dance of Life

2008-06-26T23:56:00.000-07:00

Milk of Human Kindness

The other day I came upon a news clip about this villager in Orissa who rescued a bear cub which had strayed from the forest and took care of it. The cub has become a part of the family, treating the villager's 7-8 year old daugher as its sibling. It is quite tame and the villager, till now, has not used it for any commercial purposes.

The authorities (Forest Department, police) got to know of this, took the bear cub away and parked it in the zoo. They are also planning to arrest the villager for illegally keeping a wild animal in captivity. Which means, that his daughter, whose mother died sometime back, is going to become an orphan.

What sort of justice is this? Understood, that he did something illegal, but it was done with the best of intentions - the cub would have died if he had not looked after it. Being an uneducated villager living on the borders of a forest, he is unaware of laws that stop people from showing kindness to animals. And in doling out justice to the animal, a 7-year old child is being orphaned! Of course, another matter for debate is whether the bear will indeed have a better life in the confines of the zoo given the notorious facilities that Indian zoos have - at least, with the villager, it was living free, with open spaces around it.

While we definitely should care for animals and ensure that they remain in their natural habitat, sometimes we take things too far and become insensitive to human life. Maneka Gandhi, the most high profile animal lover in India, sometimes does push things too far (though I admire her work through People for Animals) - I wonder how she feels about all those people who were persecuted and presumably tortured by her ambitious husband during the emergency?

2008-06-23T23:59:00.000-07:00

One Love

When my daughter got admitted to school, the parents were called for an orientation session on parenting. It included a session by a child pshychologist and the lady (or was it a gent?) said something that has stuck in my mind for 5 years. She said that though parents always crib about their children when they come to a psychologist, the children never complain about their parents - in fact, they always say 'My mummy is the best' or 'I love my daddy'!

Though it was rather touching, I was also a bit skeptical (that's my usual state of being, the 'sthayi bhava' as exponents of dance and abhinaya would say). But as my daughter grew up and started expressing herself, I began realising the truth of the statement. Being a single parent, I have a lot of pressures to handle. On top of that I almost have two professions and both are equally demanding. Amidst all this, I can make very little time for my daughter, though I try to make up by making her a part of almost all my socialising.

However, the pressures of such a life are difficult to handle and slowly but surely, I became the irate parent, impatient with her, taking out my frustations by scolding her (sometimes for a reason, but sometimes just to get the angst out of myself). After many a long day, I have been too tired to even listen to her and am hardly part of her daily routine like homework, etc. I've missed countless school shows and prize distribution ceremonies because of my travel schedule. Sometimes I feel that I should send her to a boarding school, but can hardly think of it seriously, since she's the one person who belongs to me. Ironically, that's probably the reason why I take her for granted and turn on her when I'm battling my inner demons.

What about her? Call it unconditional love or an uncanny sense of diplomacy, she still says 'My mother is the best' and 'I love my mamma the most'. When she was quite small, I had once scolded her. She went out of the room and after sometime came back with a card, which she shyly presented to me. On it was written 'Mamma you are the best and I love you very much' - I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. On every mother's day she makes a card for me and on one such card (which was titled 'Happy Moter's Day') she had written 'you are kind'. She still considers me her hero, is unnaturally proud of me and unusually shy when she has to perform in front of me. Diplomacy? I'll go with unconditional love.

As she's growing older, the bond is getting stronger - the flip side is that she only listens to me and not to too many other people. There are still the daily ups and downs to face but I've realised that this is one love where there's no profit and loss account, no tracking of how much you gave and how much the other person returned and definitely no threat of the scheming 'other' who will take your beloved away. Even when the day comes when she will turn around and say 'Mamma, you're so stupid', I will cherish the love that she has given me all these days and be forever grateful for it.

2006-10-18T03:27:00.000-07:00

Who will cry when you die?

I've often asked myself this question. No, it's not the sign of impending old age - this is a question that has been popping back and forth between my conscious and subconcious minds since I was a teen. While the title is shamelessly plagiarised from a Robin Sharma book, the question is entirely original.

Ok, let's look at the possibilities. One might say, of course, your family will cry. You wish. Yes, they will make sure all formalities are done, they will probably be generous enough to call all the estranged and obnoxious relations to your funeral/shraddh/rememberance ceremony, irrespective of your hatred for them. But soon that ceremony will become a social occasion with discussions about/with people you haven't seen for a long time, scandals in the family, the menu and the appropriateness or otherwise of the clothes people are wearing. Heck, I've seen people ending up jiving at the rememberance get-together for a 20-year-old!

This is not to belittle the love your family has for you. One or two people, the ones closest to you will miss you, yes. But the way we are going about our lives, running from pillar to post to make a living, chances are that those 'close' people like wives, husbands, children would be estranged and disconnected by the time you die. It would just be an extension of the disconnect that you had created - it will slowly change to a dull pain and then to a vague rememberance.

Let's look at other aspects of life. The office? One minute's silence, during which numerous mobile phones will ring to the tune of all the Bollywood songs you detested. Fidgeting people will look at their watches, wondering when this torture would end. A few murmured sympathies in the pantry, a visit to your family by the boss and that's it. Your exit interview is over.

On a more serious note, I do feel that there is lack of purpose in our lives. What is it that we were born to do, that unique thing which I can brand as 'me' and which no one will ever forget, even if they forget my name, how I looked and when I lived. We get so involved in our petty problems - deadlines, clients, bosses, houses, cars...you name it. Yet, it's so inconsequential if you put it in perspective of the larger world. I feel petty and insignificant when I see this perspective. At least, for me, my other profession, dance will help me leave some legacy, in terms of students, dance productions and hopefully, a few admirers. But even I can't pursue what I really believe I was born to do - i.e. dance, because I want a safe and secure life, for which I have to do a high pressure job. Is it worth it? Probably not.

However, I don't have the courage to quit and follow my dreams. Maybe I will psyche myself into it some day, but I can't see that day clearly before me. Paulo Coelho said in The Alchemist 'When you want something badly, the universe conspires to help you achieve it', and I have seen it happen in my life. Still...

2006-06-07T22:53:00.000-07:00

Notes from a Pilgrimage

Finally, I'm ready to talk about the other theme of this blog - dance. A trip to the Mecca of my form of dance seems like an auspicious beginning.

A few weeks back, I visited Manipur along with a motley group of people comprising my mother, daughter, mother's friend, two students and a student's mother. I was visiting after a long gap of four years and I didn't really know what to expect. Added to that was my trepidation about the increasing insurgency threats and consequent security concerns. I was responsible for the safety of other people, including that of my mother and daughter, and the pessimist in me collaborated with my overactive imagination to give me visions of abduction, torture, getting caught in the crossfire....

We arrived in Imphal after a gruelling 16 hour bus journey from Guwahati (which was preceded by a 22 hour train journey from Kolkata in 3-tier comfort!). Expecting verdant valleys and the splendours of nature all around us, we found ourselves in the middle of a busy market place (rather like Burra Bazar in Kolkata). Enthusiasm Counts slipped a notch or two. Hopes of a cooler climate too were thwarted by the blazing sun. Finding a hotel proved a tough ask too. If after many sweaty hours we managed to find something decent, there did not seem to be too many eating joints around. Plus, the language problem became apparent. Though most people talk broken Hindi the gap between our intended meaning and their understanding was huge - and I wasn't yet feeling adventurous enough to try out my broken Manipuri! The crowning glory was an evening spent without electricity, cooped up in our hotel rooms. The E.Cs were dropping faster than the current-day sensex. (Only my six-year-old daughter Ana seemed to be enjoying the rare privilege of spending endless hours with me!)

However, even this day of trial for the helpless big city people in a less privileged world had its rewards. And that was a visit to the Ima market - a market run entirely by women, made famous recently by Discovery Channel. It was just two minutes away from the hotel and the local handloom products had us engrossed for one happy hour and we came back satiated. However, my anxiety about the E.C. remained and I started to think of this trip, rather fatalistically, as an unqualified disaster.

And then we went to Moirang on Day 2. It's a border state, the famous place where Netaji Subhas Chandra Bose and his Azad Hind Fauj planted the first Indian flag in his bid to overthrow the British Empire. Moirang is better known among the Manipuris as the birthplace of their ancient festival of Lai Haraoba. The moment we heard the sound of Pena (an ancient string instrument, somewhat like a makeshift violin) from outside the enclosure where the festival was going on, our spirits lifted. We watched the Maibis (female priestesses who get the 'call' to serve god and devote their lives to worship and social work) perform with inimitable grace, a little child, barely 4 or 5 years old, performing the trademark steps with great confidence and the entire community gathered to take part in this re-enactment of the creation of the universe. The E.C.s began their heady ascent into hitherto unknown heights!

Since then, it became easy. The Loktak Lake was breathtaking with its huge expanse, floating vegetation and the presence of military personnel from the army camp, in as much abundance as the vegetation. We were lucky enough to witness two more Lai Haraoba performances, this time within Imphal, where again the community participation enthralled us. When I say that everyone from six to sixty years of age took part, it's actually an understatement. Children and elders, who can barely walk, took part and one 70 year old man gave a spirited performance! A visit to the Govindaji Temple proved an experience in spirituality that I seldom encounter. An added bonus was a brilliant play by the celebrated director Kanhai Lal - an adaptation of Dakshyajagya rendered in a style that's uniquely Manipuri - stark, earthy, eloquent, poetic and wholly surprising.

What has always struck me most about Manipur is its paradoxical ethos. On one hand, you have the Assam Rifles men, with menacing looking automatics, placed a few metres apart, on almost every road you travel. On the other hand, you have the people - simple, friendly and demonstrative. We were overwhelmed by the love and affection showered on us - and especially on Ana, who wore a Manipuri Phanek (a kind of sarong) through most of the trip and delighted everyone who saw her. Of course I had to field uncomfortable and sometimes funny questions about whether I had married a Manipuri! By the second day, I was a little more adventurous with my spoken Manipuri and that immediately made people warm up even more towards me. We made friends in the Ima market (strangely enough, everyone knew our travel plans by the 2nd day); we were offered places to sit (a rare commodity) at the Lai Haraoba performances.

Manipur is a state that is less privileged and neglected in many ways. The infrastructure is poor, the power situation is nightmarish (barely 6 hours of electricity per day in most areas) and there are numerous problems, one of the biggest of them being the prevalence of AIDS. Yet, in spite of all these troubles, the Manipuris create unparalleled beauty through their art - the dance style is lyrical, the handicrafts are exquisite and the aesthetic sense and artistic sensibility of the man on the road, remarkable. It's difficult to imagine how such artistry, love and beauty can exist side by side with negligence, terror and violence.

2006-05-16T01:48:00.000-07:00

Hail Reservation

India is truly on the path to global leadership. Not only do we have a booming economy and an increasing position of strength in international politics, we are teaching the world a thing or two about liberty, equality and fraternity.

The proposed policy on reservation in educational institutions for scheduled castes and tribes is a revolutionary step towards the emancipation of the downtrodden. Of course, some of those downtrodden may well be owners of Swiss bank accounts but historically and by virtue of their birth they fall under scheduled castes or tribes. The government is showing great sense of discretion in not letting financial status cloud their vision. The other small matter of depriving the meritorious upper caste student is also been seen in its true perspective. After all, how many meritorious students actually serve the country - most of them will take the superior education provided by India and then use it for the benefit of some other country. The reflected glory that sometimes belongs to India is dispensable, especially in these days of real glory.

On the other hand, consider the benefits of the reservation regime. India will forever lose the stigma of an old social order that believes in caste discrimination - a stigma it has carried for thousands of years. The Western countries, already falling over themselves in deifying India and its talent, and its large, rapidly evolving consumerist market, will hail the move. We will be the true upholders of democracy, a country where equality is not just a word but something that we live....and suffer, everyday, with faulty diagnoses and collapsing buildings.

The other benefit is even more far-reaching in effect. Think of this. After the reservation policy comes into effect, people will think twice about going to doctors and hospitals. To ensure that they don't have to do it, they will take care of their health - they will eat right, exercise, give up smoking and drinking, go vegetarian, start mediatation and...and, practice birth control. In one fell swoop, the government has tackled the problems of overpopulation, national health, the issue of lack of beds in hospitals and so on and so forth. It won't be surprising if world leaders now look towards India to lead the path in innovative strategising and policy making.

An appeal to the demonstrators - get your perspective right. You are seriously jeopardising India's chances of global glory. No wonder the official reaction is so severe!

2006-05-07T23:38:00.000-07:00

Ram, Shyam and Harry

Many of us have hailed the Harry Potter series and its creator the inimitable Ms Rowling for leading our children, a la Pied Piper, back to books. The hysteria surrounding every new release and the avid interest with which today’s children devour the books would tend to validate this opinion.

However, if one pauses to think, are Harry, Ron and Hermione (and most of the children on the ‘Good’ side) worthy role models for our kids? More than the dangerous tasks they undertake with such deceptive ease, it's their precociousness and audacity that is a matter of concern for parents. The attitude of the born rebel and challenger of rules and courtesies of social existence is tremendously attractive to children (one of the reasons why the books are so popular?)

Think of it. If you were a teacher in Harry’s class, would you have put up with their behaviour? They are pathologically inattentive and spend a lot of time discussing their adventures in class. Harry and Ron need frequent help, sometimes of the unethical kind, to pass their exams. They are disrespectful to most teachers and here I’m not only referring to Snape – think of the trouble they give poor little Flitwick. Breaking school rules is second nature for them and being rude to adults is also part of their ‘charisma’.

So are these the values that we want to inculcate in our children? It’s pointless to say that children today are not that naïve and they don’t imitate fictitious characters so easily. If that's true, then we won’t have all those children jumping off windows thinking they are Superman. Even if you manage to educate the children about the danger of the more physical acts of bravery in Harry Potter, it will be far more difficult to counter the insidious effect that their behaviour in the most sedate of chapters can have.

Having said this, I must also say that I’m not against the HP series. In fact, I’m an avid reader (the 6th book is the only one I have read less than three times!) and enjoy the world of fantasy that Rowling has created so effortlessly. But may be we could do with some Parental Guidance as our Rams and Shyams read and internalise everything in these books – right from the incantations and the quidditch positions to the bravado of rule-breaking and name-calling.

2006-05-02T22:16:00.000-07:00

A pedestrian approach

She grabs her 10-year-old daughter’s hand. Then, sari firmly tucked around an ample waist, blouse fighting a losing battle with the love handles, she starts running across the street, unmindful of the vehicles hurtling down towards her. Her daughter, weighed down by the multitasking capabilities required to manage a heavy schoolbag and a dripping ice-lolly, breaks into an awkward run too.

The Crisis: A bus on route No. 47A in Kolkata
The Motto: Pran jaaye par bus na jaaye!

The empty cab puts the Mississippi to shame as it meanders, immune to the desperate horns of office-going vehicles. Just when you decide he’s going to pull up on the side, he puts on a sudden burst of speed and swerves to the right, or left, depending on which part of his brain is functioning at that moment. The horns are now replaced by the screeching of brakes and some really offensive remarks about the cabbie’s treatment of his mother and sisters.

The Crisis: Too many cabs/Too many Bihari non-drivers
The Motto:
Yeh dil, na hota bechara
Kadam, na hote awara
Jo Salt Lake wala koi apna
Pa-ssenger hota!

The light turns green. The vehicles surge forward. So do the pedestrians. For unfortunate owner’s of vehicles in Kolkata, it’s a case of ‘damned if you do, damned if you don’t.’ If you stop, the car behind will have something to say about how YOU behave with YOUR mother and sisters. If you move, that hardworking representative of the proletariat, in other words, the pedestrian, will abuse your bourgeois audacity to not only own a car, but also drive it when he/she is crossing the road. Signal? It’s like your inner consciousness – it takes the shape, or colour that you decide to give it. After all, we belong to the transcendental Orient and can rise above such mechanical inventions of the materialistic West.

The Crisis: Colour blindness?
The Motto:
Yeh Mahalo, yeh takhton, yeh taajo ki duniya
Yeh insaan ke dushman riwazo ki duniya
Yeh duniya agar mil bhi jaaye to kya hain?

The world is their playground. Free spirits, they are not bound by the laws of space, nor are they confined by the boundaries of streets and sidewalks. If they decide to greet a friend and exchange pleasantries in the middle of the road, there’s no stopping them. Minor things like cars or the laws of the state cannot dampen their spirit. If a car comes, it will stop – simple! The sidewalk? Boring. We like to take centre stage in all that we do. And if a car dares to use its rights of moving on the street, all that’s needed is a strong, hard stare from bloodshot eyes and a slow, oh so slow, swagger to the roadside.

The Crisis: Misplaced bravado
The Motto: Aa dekhe zara, kisme kitna hain dum!

2006-04-26T00:23:00.000-07:00

Pea-brains, paisa and peanuts

While going to the gym this morning, which is right next to a college, I saw some young guys getting out of a car. From their appearance, I could make out they were Marwaris. They came out of a swanky car and were dressed (rather unflatteringly) in the latest fashions of the season. My instant reaction was “There go the brainless usurpers of Kolkata.”

But then, I stopped myself. Who was I kidding?

We have been brought up to believe that Bengalis are this great race who are intellectually so superior to the rest of India that mundane things like money don’t matter to us. We dazzle the world with our intellectual brilliance and bask in that glory.

One may say that this is a belief held by the previous generation, since they are from the times when they could confidently say ‘What Bengal thinks today, the rest of India thinks tomorrow.” But what about our generation? In spite of all our education and rationalism, we do have an unconscious sense of superiority which makes us look down in a kind of reverse snobbery on all those who are rich and powerful – most of them being from the Marwari community.

But on what rational basis does this sense of superiority rest? Can we really call the people who are working in the same industrial environment and using the same resources to make millions more than any of their Bengali counterparts (maybe with a few exceptions) pea-brained? Haven’t we all noticed the excellent attitude they have towards their customers – you only have to visit a shop run by a Bengali and one run by his Marwari counterpart to understand why people will always come back to the latter.

One may argue that being more culturally inclined, the Bengalis are not interested in money. Let’s not kid ourselves. All of us want our ACs, cars, movies at Inox, designer clothes and the works. Even the most intellectual of Bengalis will not refuse an AC refuge in the energy-sapping, clothes-sticking-to-the-body heat of summer. Let alone creature comforts, the more cerebral pursuits, like travel for instance (I dream of visiting Europe and watching the sunset at the Parthenon), need money. So, if we want these things and don’t have the means to get them, of what good is our so called superiority?

The way I see it, the boys I saw this morning, whether pea-brained or not, will go on to make some serious money. While I, with all my genetically ingrained sense of superiority, will still be counting peanuts.

2006-04-25T04:31:00.000-07:00

He looked at her, with some amount of apprehension. “What about dinner tonight?”

She hesitates. Then, haltingly, she replies: “Actually, you see, I have to attend a friend's wedding today, so….”

He finds her resistance even more alluring. Quietly, he says: “No problem! By the way, you are looking great.” He knows he has to be patient. He doesn’t mind. This one is special.

A few days later he calls her and tells her that he has fixed everything. The others are also coming for the party. It won’t be very late, he promises.

She dresses carefully for the party. In spite of the others, his eyes never leave her. She can’t help blushing.

She enjoys the party and now, it’s time to leave. He offers to drop her...

Next day, she resigns.

Sexual harassment at work is a reality that every working woman has to live with. There are policies against such behaviour in most organisations. But who has the guts to complain, when the deciding authorities are also the guilty ones? You can take them to court, but again, money and power are on their side. And after the publicity, where will you find a new employer?

2006-04-23T22:16:00.000-07:00

Are we younger than our parents?

Most of our generation (people who are 30+) have grown up hearing about and experiencing the generation gap. Today, in the days of gadgets and gimmicks, the generation gap with our parents seems even wider. Let alone being able to explain ‘what we do’ in our new-age IT-enabled jobs, it’s a task even making them understand the working of a simple cell phone. Our parents’ generation really seems Jurassic in their inhibitions against anything remotely technical.

However, when it comes to the divide between our children and us the difference is more qualitative than quantitative. Our children have learnt how to use a computer or a cell phone at an age when we were still grappling with the alphabet – on paper. But we can still understand their language, be on the same wavelength when they talk about the latest game on mobile phones or the most recent Internet innovation that’s taking the online world by storm. Of course, we still feel inadequate – Ana, my six-year-old daughter, taught me how to use the Calendar option on my mobile phone after keeping a reminder message on New Year’s Eve which completely mystified me by its sheer existence. Since then, however, my learning curve on this particular option has been pretty steep – now I’m leaving reminders for anything and everything, from birthdays to bill payments and for ‘time to stop Ana watching TV’! If she only knew…

The point I’m trying to make is that unlike our parents, we have been able to take that leap into the digital world and this achievement, among other things, has kept us younger. We are not only using technology for work but also in our personal lives – from keeping in touch with relatives and friends abroad via email to carrying on conversations , often of the romantic kind, over SMS. Indeed, writing letters, which our parents did with dutiful regularity, is as passé as clothes that don’t offer a skin show. Add to this the modern obsession with keeping fit and the refusal to don the physical and mental image of a wife, mother or grandmother (or for that matter, husband, father or grandfather), and we have 30 and 40 somethings whom you cannot really classify into any age group. We happily accept a Shah Rukh or an Aamir as college going kids, knowing full well they are over forty.

We are younger. It’s the young who keep us young – youth has never been so ruthlessly exhibitionist or so intensely attractive. At every step, we are competing with the youth (I know many people would disagree, but that’s what we are doing, if not in terms of physical appearance then in terms of keeping our minds young). And when we are not competing, we are just ensuring that we are up-to-speed with our children as they step on the threshold of adolescence (which comes pretty early these days). We are creating preventive measures against the inevitable “Mama, you are so stupid!”

2006-04-21T04:13:00.000-07:00

Of rotis, cats, murmurs and Freud
On second thoughts, I will give childhood a go. Well, not childhood in its entirity, but the kind of memories that have a 'sticky' quality to them - you don't know why you remember them over more apparently important and critical things.

Like, for instance, I remember this huge problem I had with the way our boy-servant Mantu used to make rotis. I would complain to my mom that he makes the roti turn around in circles as he rolled them out ('Ma, o abar rutigulo ghuriye ghuriye belche!'). Now there must be some complicated, Freudian explanation for this, but to me, it's a funny memory from those days. Funnier, since I became one of those circuitous roti makers myself!

Then of course there were my daydreaming sessions. As a child I used to love role-playing (I guess every child does) and often, my 'performances' would extend into family gatherings. I would be happily muttering to myself while my more 'normal' cousins would smirk at me. My mother would be mortified - anyway she was accused of spoiling me and on top of that I was offering a fair impersonation of a demented child in front of the critical eyes of relatives (most of whom don't really matter, as far as I am concerned).

Lastly I remember the total heartbreak and emotional trauma of being refused my 19th pet cat! In retrospect, I can see the practical side of not wanting to increase the cat population in the house but to my child's mind it was the worst kind of oppression that could be dealt out by a tyrannical centre of power.

Select memories from a fairly eventful childhood - I wonder what makes them stick to this day? While I understand that these were pressing existential problems for a child, there were other events that were far more momentous in nature and impact, which I don't recall vividly - the quarrels between my parents, my father's alcoholism or his death...

2006-04-20T23:09:00.000-07:00

Having created this blog by accident (while posting a comment on another blog), I thought for a few days about what I should write. The blog name immediately suggests two very broad topics - dance and life. But they are just that - broad topics. So should I start with some subsets? Should I write about my childhood? Nah, too personal and maybe a bit boring too. Should I write about my passion for dance? Well, maybe...but that again is too large a topic. Then I thought I will take up a topic that's pretty current these days and one which has touched a lot of people in this 'brave new world.'

Extra-marital affairs or monogamy, whichever way you want to look at it. Having been at the receiving end of one such affair (yes, that's rather personal, but what the hell!), I had, at that time, heaped the most macabre of curses on the 'other woman'. But later, when I could dissociate myself from the emotional fallouts, I started looking at it objectively. It's probably unrealistic to expect two people to be forever faithful to each other, in every which way. Man(and in this I include both sexes), by nature, is not monogamous. Even before marriage, I think all of us go through a series of crushes, some of which turn into 'love' (I frankly don't know what this word means) and some just fizzle out. But it is possible to feel intensely attracted to several people over a span of few days, months, years - with some of these feelings overlapping each other. So what makes us think that after marriage, by some miraculous effect of law, society and a few holy words, this nature will change? I think every married person has been attracted to the 'other' - some deal with it while others opt to choose the other over the current partner.

Which brings me to the question - how common are these affairs? Or how easy, in terms of subduing your conscience, is it to get involved in something like this? If reports are to be believed, then Rituparno Ghosh's latest film on the topic, 'Dosar', suggests that all of Kolkata is indulging in extra marital affairs. Now, though I don't form opinions based on what this director has to say, I'm intrigued with such a claim. This would seem to suggest a total disintegration of the institution of marriage. Are we really moving towards Huxley's ‘brave new world’ where being monogamous invites ridicule?

I personally think it’s not easy to get involved in these affairs. People with a certain kind of upbringing, education and social conditioning cannot violate the sanctity of marriage on an impulse. Of course there are some people who are addictively polygamous. But would usual (and I avoid the word ‘normal’) people brought up to believe in the institution of marriage easily betray a person to whom they are emotionally, morally and socially bound? Or are we facing a situation where such affairs are accepted and they continue without the marriage breaking up on paper? There are many such instances where partners in a marriage have their own affairs but continue as a couple for various reasons – financial security, the fear of social stigma or for the sake of their children. Isn’t this as much of a disintegration of the institution as a clear break would be?