Kishore Singh: Victims of our own nature

PEOPLE LIKE US

About a fortnight ago, running late for an appointment, I took my wife's car (because she had "borrowed" mine and failed to return it before I left for work) only to find it splutter embarrassingly to a stop on the main road.

Fortunately, two mechanics happened by, took charge, replaced some parts that they happened to have conveniently on them, and even though I knew I'd fallen prey to the oldest trick in the book, I actually found myself thanking them for ripping me off Rs 500.

It's something akin to the Stockholm syndrome, this inability to take stock of a situation in its entirety; so instead of screaming at service providers for putting us on hold, or sending an engineer (or whatever) several days after he was supposed to show up to reconnect the computer/ broadband/water purifier/cable network/air-conditioner, we still end up profusely thanking (even tipping) him in spite of the extraordinarily late service, and despite a warranty that you thought was very steep when you signed up for it.

So it's hardly surprising that the middle class is becoming a soft target for everyone from credit card or telephony companies to the men in uniform to whom you find yourself turning in times of trouble.

Even so, it was shocking to be forwarded a mail by a friend, about an incident at Bangalore railway station that was so venal as to cause alarm.

Varun (to give our mail writer some name) came to the station to see off his fiancee and her mother, and bought a platform ticket as most people do. However, the official at the gate seized the ticket, turned him over to some policemen with lathis and had him beaten into a state of incoherence, claiming he never had a ticket. Varun realised that what was happening was wrong, but was in neither physical nor mental condition to protest (and certainly no one came to his rescue).

In this state, a stranger did intervene on behalf of the police, asked him if his salary had been credited to his bank account, and "rescued" him by taking him to an ATM from where he drew Rs 15,000 in cash, and then to a Samsung showroom where he tried to purchase a phone worth Rs 18,500 on Varun's credit card.

Varun writes in excruciating detail about how he knew he was being taken for a ride by a seeming nexus between railway officials, the railway police and the stranger who claimed to be an executive with Infosys, perhaps Bangalore's most well-respected company. That he was still "happy to see some sort of help" is the most upsetting part of his mail, for it shows up the inherent vulnerability of an individual in Indian society.

Is Varun's story real? He forwarded two numbers on which he could be called for further clarifications, but both have remained unreachable for two days. But whether or not Varun's story is fact or fiction, what's frightening is that it is believable, that it could have happened to you or to me.

There is not one among us who expects those in uniform to do their duty with diligence or even a modicum of integrity. What's even more galling is how easily we capitulate to situations. The electrician and the plumber hold us as easily to ransom as the electricity providers (whether government or private).

What's particularly upsetting is not that somebody has to beat us into submission, but that we're willing to do it ourselves for getting the services that should be ours by right, or on payment, and still, we'll thank our tormentors because we think they're doing us a favour. Every one of us has become a victim. Varun was merely one more among them.