Touchstones: Why we behave like louts

Two ghastly incidents of the past week have shaken me profoundly. One is the senseless bombing in Gaza that has not just destroyed it, but has left its hapless residents bereft of any kind of support. Israel’s relentless bombing, its heartless refusal to allow foreign aid agencies to bring in food and medicines to those who need it urgently — to say nothing of breaching every convention, such as not touching hospitals and schools — is so inhuman that one wonders how it can ever be justified. Imagine not having food or milk for your children; what those mothers must be going through shakes my faith in everything. Even God.

The other was the Bengaluru victory parade that turned into a stampede when several enthusiastic fans were trampled upon and died or were grievously injured. The roads were jammed so no ambulances could ferry the injured to hospitals, and there was virtually no police bandobast after the ministers and VIPs left. Predictably, no one wants to take responsibility for this tragic episode. Instead, once again, we have two political parties bringing up other stampedes in other states as if to compare whose stampede was better.

However, beyond all this, let us examine why such stampedes are a recurring feature in India. Just over the last year, there have been at least three tragic ones. I have often wondered why we Indians find it so difficult to stand in orderly lines or await our turn. Go to any bus stop or railway platform and see for yourself how passengers shove and push to enter and grab a seat. Old people, women, young mothers with babies in arms — no one is respected. The only exception is the Metro, where passengers wait until alighting passengers are safely out before boarding. Have you ever wondered why the behaviour of the same people is so different in these two instances?

One reason is the design and vigilant staff. Only bona fide passengers are allowed entry and a firm line keeps the pushing-shoving in control. The other reason is perhaps that once a convention of good civic behaviour is established, no one wants to breach it. We are proud of our Metro stations, so no one spits paan or gutkha or sneaks a smoke. However, the minute you come up to the ‘normal’ world above, we revert to our ‘jungli’ behaviour.

Another reason is that in a developing world, where everything is in short supply (including seats in a bus or train), people grab every opportunity to get in first. The concept of waiting for your turn has never taken root because often there is no seat (or whatever else) before you can get a chance to enter. On the other hand, when we can stand in line at an ATM, why do we break a queue in a waiting room in a hospital to try and catch the doctor’s eye so that we can enter and say, ‘I am so-and-so?’ In developed countries, people are sure that groceries won’t finish before they can get a chance or that another bus will arrive shortly. If the seats are full, the ticket collector will not allow a passenger in. And that verdict is accepted without an angry exchange or a discreet bribe.

It may take many years before we will have the confidence that we can get whatever we seek without a bribe, sifarish or name dropping. Another reason is that none of our sahib log ever deign to take public transport (unlike in, say, the UK, where even the PM may take the Tube to work). Naturally, if the officers who are supposed to ensure proper behaviour signal that they won’t be caught dead inside a public bus, the message that goes down is that it’s alright to behave like louts.

I think I’ve written before about how digitisation has fractured the personal bond between the bank and a client. Banks are now hollowed out of people and every few months your customer care person is transferred and you have to start all over again with a fresh face. I am still old-fashioned enough to deal with cash transactions and rarely use UPI or PayTM, despite being persuaded by kind friends and my own children to switch. It’s just that the feel of a note and the pain of parting with a Rs 500-note often makes me think whether I need to buy a box of expensive cherries or something.

Handling actual cash keeps a check on the temptation of giving in to one’s first impulse. I think young people today are on a high and spend recklessly because they don’t see the money actually leaving their wallet.

The same goes for buying expensive gadgets, cars or phones on instalments (few check the interest that is being slyly levied) just to keep up with their friends. So many people now live beyond their means and if, God forbid, they suddenly drop dead, who’s going to pay the money owed? Food, clothes, shoes and many other disposable items are now available at the mere click of a button that few pause to ask whether they are really necessary.

So yes, digital payments have changed the way we now buy and pay and the world is in awe of our achievements in this area, but it has also made us spend without thinking whether it’s prudent.

—The writer is a social commentator