Sapiens, Desi-style

The other morning, my wife was looking out of the window as the school bus pulled away. A few children, as usual, had missed it. Casually, she remarked: “Have you noticed? The ones who are mostly on time are South Indians, and the ones who aren’t tend to be North Indians.” I thought to myself, it isn’t about the kids, it is about rice and wheat, reflecting on what I read longtime back in Sapiens: A Brief History of Humankind. 

Yuval Noah Harari has a way of making us see the invisible. In Sapiens, Harari writes about the difference between rice and wheat civilisations. Rice, he points out, is a demanding crop. It needs constant tending, precise water control, endless labor. Wheat, on the other hand, grows with less fuss. Plant it, pray for rain, and wait. From this difference, he says, emerge two distinct work ethics — rice societies become disciplined, cooperative, and patient; wheat societies lean toward individualism, bursts of energy, and risk-taking.

One needn’t need to travel across continents to see this divide.In India, we carry both these temperaments. The South and East are cultures of rice; the North and West, cultures of wheat.

The rice-eating regions seem to carry in their cultural DNA a certain patience, a belief in endurance. Education here becomes a long-distance marathon: endless hours of tuition, ritualised preparation for exams, the stubborn slog toward IITs and UPSC. After the medieval times, it was people from Bengal and Madras presidency who became the hands and legs in the Indian bureaucracy. Even today, bureaucracy bears this stamp: meticulous files, rigorous procedures, an abiding faith in rules. Even in the arts, be it Carnatic music, Bharatanatyam, the Bengali literature, or Rabindra Sangeet — mastery comes only after years of daily, almost devotional repetition. Rice societies thrive not on spectacle but on discipline.

The wheat-eating North and West tell a different story. Here, history is full of bursts of intensity — of armies and invasions, of clan loyalties and feudal dramas. Work is not a steady climb but a leap, followed by a pause, and then another leap. Education often carries the stamp of jugaad: street-smart confidence, shortcuts, the ability to negotiate with the system rather than surrender to it.  Even in arts, the tempo of Kathak or the josh of Bhangra is visible. The North is not afraid of flamboyance; it celebrates scale, energy, assertion. Festivals are noisier, weddings grander, politics brasher. If the rice world creates software coders and civil servants, the wheat world produces politicians, entrepreneurs, and entertainers.

Placed together, they form a peculiar Indian duality: a country that is both methodical and chaotic, diligent and opportunistic, patient and restless. Our global reputation in IT services owes much to the rice ethic of meticulous execution, while our entrepreneurial and political swagger draws from the wheat ethic of boldness and improvisation. One India builds the process; the other breaks it open.

Perhaps this is India’s peculiar advantage — to be both rice and wheat at once. The future truly belongs to this country for we are patient enough to wait, and restless enough to leap.

(Note: While reading the above, I realise that I might be accused of stereotyping people from one region & other. That never has been my intention. Annam Gehunam, non persona. ;))