Games Indians Play

by V Raghunathan

  ITC vs. Union Government

  Take the issue of ITC, which won a case in the Supreme Court against the Union government, where the Supreme Court asked the government to refund Rs 350 crore collected by it in 1996 as a pre-deposit to ITC. What did the government do? Rather than accept the verdict of the country’s own judicial system, it promulgated an ordinance in 2005 which in effect countermanded the verdict of the Supreme Court retrospectively. With this, the government could not only retain the Rs 350 crore, but force ITC to pay another Rs 450 crore (being the balance of an originally disputed amount of about Rs 800 crore) within a month or else pay penal interest. Sure this ensured the government temptation points of Rs 800 crore. But what it lost in the process is credibility. How will citizens, corporates and the rest of the civilized world believe that we have an effective judicial system, if judicial decisions are so easily reversible? The saga came to an end with the company signing a compromise with the government that enabled the latter to retain the pre-deposit money of Rs 350 crore in return for not pressing its claim for Rs 450 crore from the company.

  Politicians on Academic Bodies

  The second half of 2005 saw an upright vice chancellor of Bangalore University, in a rare intrepid display of intellectual integrity, rejecting five of the six candidates the state government had appointed to the university’s syndicate, candidates who by no stretch of the imagination could be called educationists, eminent or otherwise. That the Karnataka government had the power to nominate so many of its hand picked politicos into the senate was thanks to the State Universities Act 2000, which gave too much power to politicians to manage the universities in the state.

  The high court quite rightly admonished the state government over its ‘political nominations’ and declared the nominations void. So what did the then state government do? It proposed to introduce a bill containing two amendments to the Karnataka State Universities Act 2000. One was to amend the section that required all the six nominees to be eminent educationists to one that merely required them to be ‘anybody into education’. The section that restricted a nominee to a single term in the university’s senate was amended to allow multiple terms.

  What the judiciary held to be wrong in letter and spirit, the government was planning to introduce anyway. In short, we will create our democratic systems, but not follow them voluntarily.

  Now let us look at the phenomenon from the prisoner’s dilemma perspective. When the government violates the spirit of the democratic system, it constitutes a major defection of sorts. And when you undermine the credibility of educational institutions thus, the society retaliates with a major defection of its own. How? It takes the form of marginalizing the graduates of such a university. In the 1970s and 1980s, for example, the colleges in Bangalore used to fiddle around (defect) with the university’s examination system to award first class to students who had barely scrapped past their higher secondary examinations. The society retaliated with counter-defection. National advertisements for jobs added, ‘Students from Bangalore University need not apply’. It took several years for the university to change that image.

  The Sourav Ganguly Episode

  Take the controversial dropping of Sourav Ganguly from the Indian cricket team in 2005. We have an apex cricketing body—the Board of Cricket Control in India (BCCI); we have a selection committee put together by the BCCI, presumably consisting of professionals; we have a high-profile coach, whom we went out of our way to woo and get. The selection committee, the coach and the captain of the team discussed the issue and decided to drop Ganguly.

  Assume that the decision to drop Ganguly was a mistake of Type 1. So what did we do as a nation? We went by alternative ‘c’. How? Everybody, from the BCCI president, the Lok Sabha Speaker, and the West Bengal chief minister to anybody who thought Sourav was ‘Dada’ to them, made it their business to force the selection committee to ‘undo’ this ‘error’. Assuming for a moment that dropping Sourav was a Type-1 blunder (not just an error), are we to interpret that it was a serious systemic flaw? If we thought our selectors were unaware of Sourav Ganguly’s Test batting average in his earlier matches, what can we say about the process that threw them up as selectors in the first place? And if there is nothing wrong with the selection committee, what is more important—the integrity of the Indian selection system or an individual? By reversing the decision, without changing anything in the system, what statement was made about the credibility of the selectors? How can we change a systemic decision so arbitrarily and yet expect to maintain the integrity of a system?

  Tragically, we do accept such flouting of systems as a matter of course in every walk of life. What is worse, somewhere along the line our corruption and flouting of systems also get mixed up. Often they become the flip side of the same coin. For example, it may be a moot point to debate whether the various public service commissions or selection boards are merely flouting systems or are thoroughly corrupt. The same may be said about our constabulary system, land registration system, ration card system, pension system, or practically any ‘system’ in the country. In effect, we fail to see that a country of a billion people cannot be ruled with a billion different wills. We need systems like a newborn baby needs milk.

  We do have a few instances of robust systems which clearly show the advantages of having strong systems in place. Take some of our institutions of higher learning such as the IITs and the IIMs. If undue influence cannot work to get a candidate through interviews in these institutions, it is thanks largely to the robust system that they have in place. That does not mean these processes never suffer from Type 1 and Type 2 errors. Occasionally, not-so-worthy candidates do get in, and some very worthy candidates do get left out. But these are systemic errors. These apart, because willy-nilly the institutional systems have been preserved, these centres have emerged as islands of excellence. Yet, we are nowhere ready to learn from the fruits of our own successful examples.

  AND WHEN WE DO HAVE SYSTEMS

  More often than not, our well-functioning systems are either informal, illegal or odd-ball systems. If they are legitimate, they are more likely to be applied neither intelligently nor equitably and hence are more or less defunct. These systems are often meant for the ease of application of the administrators rather than for the benefit of the users, customers or masses. More often than not, the systems are tiresome and completely devoid of sense as can be seen in the following examples.

  We are a hot and sunny country. The temperature in summer can soar to over forty-five degree celsius in most states. Yet, I have rarely seen any of our municipal workers cleaning the streets by night, or our construction workers building roads and bridges by night, or our traffic squads painting the road lines or zebra crossings by night. Ideally, such an arrangement would make life much easier for the workers, for they can rest during the day when it is blistering hot and work at night when the temperature is a good six to eight degrees lower. The practice would also cause less obstruction to the traffic. Even in the coldest of the countries such activities are carried out by night. So why not in our country? What prevents us from creating systems that are more suited to our geography or climate?

  Of the informal but durable systems, we have many. The dowry system is one such. The caste system is another. Our garbage disposal system (of simply throwing it in front of the house) is yet another. Our rural toilet system is no less robust. One could go on. These are systems that have come to stay forcefully.

  But it is on our illegal systems that we actually thrive. Here are some examples.

  Take the case of the demolition drive in Delhi in early 2006. How is it that we first allow illegal constructions to come up for decades, and then one fine morning wake up to the fact and wage a war on such structures overnight? Even when the drive is on, how come the properties of the powerful are rarely touched? It is not as if these deviations occur unknown to the authorities. But once these authorities receive their illegal gratification, any deviation is there to stay.
For some reason, giving a bribe, particularly when you have no choice, appears to be less of a defection than taking it. But in reality, is it? Isn’t it a collective thing? If there is no giver, there will be no taker. But who will take the initiative? Clearly, one can only begin with oneself and not another party; only then can the prisoner’s dilemma problem be resolved.

  Then, there is a wonderful system that operates in Mumbai providing ‘insurance’ for ticketless travel. It is (or at least was) a rather well-functioning system. If you pay your monthly premium to the ‘insurers’, you can travel ticketless in the suburban train. If you are caught (the probability of which is rather low) and fined (which is also relatively low as a proportion of the original fare when compared to the penal provisions in other countries), you simply produce the fine receipt before the ‘insurers’ and your fine amount is promptly refunded.

  Clearly, the system works, since the insurance premium is much less than the monthly fare, and the probability of being caught and the consequence of it are both extremely low. What is more, the ‘insurers’ never ‘defect’ vis-à-vis their customers, as the regular insurance companies might do. One reason could be that the threat of your police complaint about any defection from the insurers can have relatively high adverse consequences for the ticketless travel insurer as compared to the legitimate insurers. The other reason could be you are less likely to ‘defect’ on the ticketless travel insurer—who may well be a local goon—by making a fake claim. If our illegal systems do work well, does it mean we are capable of operating efficient systems? I think not. We saw earlier that in an iterative PD situation, the idea is to maximize the overall satisfaction points and not win against others. But that is not how we see things. With us, it is always ‘winning’ against every other person we interact with, which a standardized system rarely permits.

  The odd-ball systems, run rather efficiently, are very few.

  THE ODD-BALL SYSTEMS

  Of the rare but prevalent systems, the best example may be the service rendered by the Mumbai Topiwalas or Dabbawalas, who deliver lunch boxes to millions of people in Mumbai— come hell or high water—with an error rate of less than one wrong delivery per million. In the present-day management jargon it is referred to as a 6-sigma system.

  Then we have the milk collection system created by Kurien through his milk-cooperative movement in Gujarat. That even the top business schools in the world should think of developing case studies on these systems, and that we are not able to replicate these experiences in practically any other ongoing system, is perhaps testimony, if one were needed, to how rare such well-functioning systems are in the Indian context.

  Then there are odd-ball systems which are not ongoing as in a day-to-day sense. Our census survey held once a decade is one. The other is our voting system (on an average once in five years). Yet another is the system surrounding the Kumbh Mela (once in twelve years). Even our daily milk and newspaper supply systems are quite robust. Occasional hiccups and problems notwithstanding, these are among the best of our systems.

  Finally, here are a few examples which happen to be firsthand observations of some of our legitimate, ongoing systems from the aviation sector alone.

  Travelling on Indian Air

  This is an example of a hare-brained ‘system’. If you take one of the international flights of Indian Airlines (mostly to and from the Middle-East) to fly within the domestic sector, you will be given a slip at the check-in counter, which you have to fill up and hand over to the customs authorities sitting just after the emigration. The form asks you to declare that you do not possess watches, gold jewellery, TVs, diodes, zip fasteners, photographic cameras etc. ‘of foreign origin’ and Indian currency more than Rs 5000.

  Let us quickly enumerate the absurdities of this process:

  The form is meant to be filled up only by domestic passengers (flying within India). If so why should they declare their watches, TV sets, zip fasteners, etc. of foreign origin, when passengers flying by domestic flights do not have to do so? In other words, why is it all right for a domestic passenger to carry a TV or a watch of foreign origin as his baggage without a declaration if he is flying from Bangalore to Hyderabad by a domestic flight of Indian Airlines, but not so if the same passenger is flying the same route in an Indian Airlines flight going from Bangalore to Hyderabad to Sharjah?

  And zip fasteners? Diodes? In this day and age?

  Photographic camera? What other kinds of cameras are there anyway? And whatever happened to liberalization?

  And Rs 5000 in cash, when any average credit card will enable one to draw five times that amount anywhere in a single day? Gold jewellery? But beyond how much value? Besides, in practically every domestic airport you can see the Airport Authority’s signage allowing passengers to carry cash way above the absurd limit stated in the above form. So why this discrepancy between a domestic passenger travelling within the country on domestic flights and a domestic passenger travelling within the country on international flights?

  To investigate if these questions really had some deeper significance, I once diligently listed out my ipod, gluco-meter, pen-drive, gold cuff-links, Rs 5500 cash that I had carried that day on purpose and a spare imported watch. When the customs inspector saw my form, he was completely flummoxed. He asked me why I had listed out these items. When I pointed out that the form demanded my declaration, he had no clue on how to handle the situation. Finally, he gave me a new form, asking me to simply put nil against each item, and then let me pass.

  Maybe there is some deep significance to the form and it serves some higher purpose apart from providing employment to hundreds of desultory customs inspectors in the country. But we may never know.

  Vizag Airport and the Indian Airlines

  Vishakapatnam has a relatively small airport. Alliance Air operates only old Boeings here. These aircraft have such small overhead luggage bins that even a standard hand baggage does not fit into them. The stewards repeatedly appeal to the passengers to shove their luggage under their seats. Often the bags are so large that shoving them under the seat is impossible. Finally they are deposited in the undercarriage, with a receipt given to every passenger. This delays the flights by a good thirty to forty minutes every time. Why can’t passengers with large bags be asked to check in their bags beforehand rather than delay the flight? When asked, the flight crew typically wash their hands off the problem, saying that despite their repeated requests the ground-staff do not cooperate. Pose the question to the duty manager and he tells you the reason is noncooperation of the Airports Authority security staff who refuse to filter hand baggage according to size. The security staff in turn say their job is simply to check the hand baggage from a security point of view—whether it fits into the aircraft or not is not their concern.

  At the end of it, the problem remains unaddressed. All they need is a simple system in place. At the X-ray section, the Indian Airlines authorities could place a baggage frame suitable for the luggage rack of the old Boeings. Each passenger has to place the hand baggage in this frame; if the bag fits into that frame, it could be allowed as hand baggage. Surely, if there is a will to address this problem, it can be very easily addressed with no extra cost or work. Why can’t we implement such a system?

  Ahmedabad and Mumbai Terminals

  Or consider this. Both Ahmedabad and Mumbai airports have newly refurbished terminals. Both are swanky with a lot of granite, glass and needlessly expensive yet tacky plaster-of-Paris false ceilings. Clearly cost containment has not been a major agenda. That is fine. The problem is that the Ahmedabad terminal provides for exactly one narrow entry-cum-exit door at the departures section. As hundreds of passengers push and shove their carts from that narrow entry, even as the airport staff is trying to push a train of luggage trolley out of the same gate, you have a perennial bedlam. A long queue begins to form, which continues to grow longer at the check-in counter and then the single X-ray machine. The old, the infirm, children and women with babies
, all have to stand for almost an hour to gain entrance into the boarding area. Mumbai’s new terminal has two security gates and two X-ray machines, but the problem remains largely unaddressed given that the passenger traffic is very high. This alone delays the outbound flight by at least half an hour.

  Once again, why could we have not done a better systemic planning to avoid the bottlenecks? True, security at Indian airports is an issue of major concern. But should not passenger comfort be of equal concern? So why can’t there be an array of security gates and X-rays? Surely, our systems, if any, are designed for the comfort of administrators and not their clients?

  SELF-WORTH VS RULES

  Our disregard for systems is reinforced when we see our VVIPS flouting the airport queues every day. We stand there for forty minutes, first at the security, then at the check-in counter and then at the X-ray machine. Along comes a politician or a civil servant who is simply whisked ahead of us. How come the basic systems, processes, rules, regulations and laws do not apply to them? How come most of us standing in the queues do not even fight for our right to be served first?

  To Indians, in general, a position of power is synonymous with special privileges. The norms, systems and processes of the ordinary folk do not apply to the high and mighty. So deep-rooted is this belief that if a security guard so much as asks a man clad in spotless whites for his identity card, he stands to lose his job. ‘Do you know who I am?’ is a standard phrase employed to throw one’s weight around in this country. In a Western country, so used are they to treating everyone as equal before the law that they actually do not understand the question or its implied threat. Many of our politicians have had a rude shock when faced with this reality abroad. Ours is a classic case of iterative PD in action. It is our politicians and other VIPs in the government who have conditioned the country into accepting different standards of rules, regulations and laws for those in power and for ordinary citizens. The law enforcer has been conditioned to bend before the ministerial power. He may not question when a white-clad man surrounded by four burly safari-clad men jumps queues at the airport security. He may not ask an important-looking man in a train for his ticket. He may not dare ask any occupant in a white Ambassador with a red light on the roof for his identity.