Of ‘Personal’ and ‘Institutionalized’ Corruption

India is up in arms. The populace is out on the streets in large numbers to unite under a 74 year-old satyagrahi who wants a ‘Jan Lokpal’, or an Ombudsman with teeth, as against the government proposed milk and water one. Of the protesting crowds few really know anything about the ‘Lokpal’ or the ‘Jan Lokpal’, under which banner they gave been united. So, it is natural to ask whether all of this is one gigantic farce.

To any thinking person the validity, or indeed, the rationale of a fourth body of government, or a Lokpal (‘Jan’ or otherwise) who would necessarily come from our own corrupt society is a matter of the gravest doubt. And even if the ‘Jan Lokpal’ were to materialize, history stands witness to the corrupting proclivities of ‘power’, and it is not unrealistic to say that it would not be long before there is a demand for a fifth body of government!

However, that having been said, it cannot be denied that the angst and the frustration of the people out on the streets and those expressing their support to the movement in various ways, is very real. And if one cares to listen carefully, one realizes that only a select few are actually talking about the Lokpal. The populace of the country en masse is voicing their support ‘against corruption by politicians’.

Why only politicians?

A thinking person, at this juncture, is bound to ask, what about corruption at the grassroots? Why pitch on politicians alone? Why not clean your own fingers before pointing at others’ spots?

What about people pulling strings or paying money to avoid a traffic ticket; to square the police in a hit-and-run; to get their child admitted into schools, colleges and professional institutes; to avoid a municipality challan for littering or for mosquito-infested water around the house; to get a ration card, a PAN card, a passport or a driving licence? What about the tacit consent, and even encouragement to corruption implicit in the high level of matrimonial eligibility of those who have a good proportion of unaccounted income, be it a tax-evading entrepreneur or a bribe-taking government employee?

What about milkmen diluting milk; vegetable vendors tipping the scales or palming off bad produce; shopkeepers short-changing the public and maintaining false bills; government employees presenting false tickets and bills to claim LTC and other payments that are realizable on actuals, misappropriating perks like transportation and various cash allowances for personal use; media persons accepting ‘gifts’ from industrialists and other vested interests in lieu of favourable stories that gloss over unpleasant facts? Let he who has never sinned cast the first stone!

Corruption at the micro and macro levels

The answer is yes, there has always been corruption—in our very fibre. It is not right or justified by any means. As the older generation says, ‘It’s always been there like a pinch of salt in the dough ... a sort of leaven.’ And yes, we need to address it, primarily through self discipline, and a determination not to give in to convenience and take the easy way out by greasing the wheels of government machinery. The laws that can bring this about are in place, but it needs the will of the people to make sure that they are enforced. It can be done, and is, indeed, being done by determined individuals who make it their priority. However, the fact remains, that even though it is regrettable and needs to be redressed, it is, nevertheless, corruption at a ‘personal’ or ‘micro’ level, each instance of which affects a handful of people. Micro level corruption very much exists, and is not right, but it is limited in its scope.

For the past few decades, however, the citizens of the country have been facing a steadily increasing level of ‘institutionalized’ or ‘macro level’ corruption that originates in high places. And this form of corruption is anything but limited in its scope.

The kickbacks in national and international deals, the misappropriation of public funds for various schemes, the blatant disregard for the law of the land exhibited by those holding positions of public trust and their families— it all happens on a mammoth scale and diverts public money from public spending to the secret accounts of a select few: Money that should have been used for the welfare of the citizens. Money that should have boosted subsidies to regulate the astronomical rise of fuel and food prices in the wake of the global economic downturn. Money that might have regulated the out-of-control spiral of inflation that is sucking the common man in like a cyclone.

The whiplash of inflation

With the misappropriation of money meant for public spending, the government is forced to resort to highly inflationary neo-liberal economic policies, which render the day-to-day lives of the populace hideous. The ‘people’s representatives’, with their cars running on fuel funded by the government (read taxpayers’ money), their canteens scandalously subsidized and their every wish for luxuries fulfilled by lobbying sycophants, remain insulated from the lash of inflation. Plus, of course, they have their loot in their secret foreign accounts to fall back upon: money that, as recent events have shown us, no one can make them disgorge, even if they are prosecuted and have to spend some time in discomfort. The ‘representatives of the people’ avail regular foreign junkets while the common man, intimidated by the expense, cuts down on the quantity of vegetables and fruits his family consumes and even the middle class debates how to avoid attending a dear cousin’s wedding.

With the common man writhing under the whiplash of inflation, which is, to a large extent, a direct outcome of this increasing ‘macro-level corruption’, the gap between the ‘haves’ and the ‘have-nots’ has been widening rapidly. The crime rate has burgeoned as frustration, born out of highly divergent standards of living, brings out the worst in those existing on the fringes of society. And the people of India, so far acquiescent, have been forced against the ropes, as they feel totally stripped by their ‘elected representatives’ of all financial, physical and moral security.

And so, when an Anna Hazare, with his track record of successful social activism (water harvesting and anti-liquor drive in his own village, RTI activism at the national level, etc.) comes along and suggests a ‘Jan Lokpal’ as a panacea for corruption in high places, the people are bound to follow—not for the Lokpal, but against ‘macro-level’ corruption, because they have reached a pitch where they have very little to lose. His agitation has the right mix of populism, media savvy and a Gandhian reference to find a connect with the people.

One needs to read one’s history and remember that Queen Marie Antionette’s reported remark ‘let them eat cakes if they have no bread’ was the igniting spark for the French Revolution!

A Nation on the Warpath

The entirely unprecedented and unexpected countrywide uprising of the populace in protest against Anna Hazare’s arrest has been a resounding slap on the government’s face, indeed. And although Anna’s manifesto explicitly states that they are not opposing any particular political party, but corruption in the country as a whole, the fact remains, that the central government, by virtue of being the entity in power, has ended up with egg on its face!

Having got away with their heavy-handed tactics with the Saffron Baba a couple of months ago, (as well as with an unending list of scams) they seem to have expected to literally ‘get away with murder’ in perpetuity. And so, the turning of the worm, that is the long-suffering, so-far-acquiescent Indian public, was the last thing they anticipated, or indeed, were prepared for!

The drama continues on multiple levels: the various factions of the opposition have been rendered temporary bedfellows, as the saying is, for the purpose of reviling the government; the Baba has not been slow to rush in to grab a piece of the limelight. And in perhaps one of the most farcical twists in the entire imbroglio, the populace, having offered arrests en masse and bundled into Chhatrasal Stadium, has been reportedly demanding that the overflow be accommodated in Nehru Stadium ‘to get some value out of the public’s money squandered in the name of the Commonwealth Games’!

Now, pacifists and ivory tower intellectuals have been heard to condemn fasts-unto-death as blackmail and thus, undemocratic—no less a personage than Dr. Ambedkar being quoted ad nauseam to this effect over the past months. However, the point that has been missed here is that desperate situations call for desperate measures. And for the common man, writhing under the twin whiplashes of corruption and inflation, the situation is desperate indeed!

As scams upon scams surface with increasing frequency, and as no facet of public life is left untarnished by corruption and graft, the common man has, for the past decades, stood by helplessly, watching the gap between the ‘haves’ and the ‘have-nots’ getting wider and wider, bearing mute witness to ‘his elected representatives’ stripping the country of its dignity, the public of its hard-earned money and the citizens of security at all levels, be it physical, financial, emotional or moral!

The way politicians deal ‘democratically’ with swindlers and with rampant and unabashed corruption in public life is no secret. Given such blatant failure of the democratic machinery to effect checks, and the consequently worsening plight of the citizens of the country, if it takes a ‘fast-unto-death’ by a 74 year-old idealist to spur the youth of the nation into a definitive stance against injustice, so be it!

‘Anarchy!’ scream the pacifists. Really? And what would they call the prevailing state of lawlessness, complete lack of accountability by the people’s representatives and the comprehensive denuding of the citizens’ security? Why is it anarchy only when the people raise their voice, and not when the establishment fails them on all fronts?

And this is no tirade against the ruling party—as the Anna says, almost everyone in the political arena is equally culpable! ‘Why doesn’t Anna contest the elections?’ is hardly a valid argument. Those who did contest the election and were voted to power chose to do so themselves, and if they have abused the people’s trust and the responsibility reposed in them, the civil society has the right to call them to book. If they feel it is unfair, it would, perhaps, be better for them to step down from the public arena.

Me First!

My favourite folk tale from Haryana …

‘Hmmm… something smells good!’

Chaudhary Maan Singh sniffed appreciatively as he entered the house, returning from his early morning chores on the farm. Having left at dawn with a thick leftover parantha and a glass of frothing milk, he was ravenous, and judging by the smell, Kalawati was frying some of her mouth-watering goodies! Ah!

He really was lucky, thought Maan as he washed his hands and feet at the pump in the courtyard. The Almighty certainly knew what he was doing when he matched a foodie like him with a fabulous cook like Kalawati. His parents too had left for the customary pilgrimage to Hardwar after his marriage, secure in the assurance that their daughter-in-law would take good care of their only son. And as for him, he just couldn’t get enough of her cooking, and had been systematically overeating ever since they got married, two months ago. Thanks heavens for farm work, or he’d have had trouble entering the house through the door!

In the kitchen Kalawati was frying gulgule and fuming: ‘Here he comes! I love cooking for him and like the fact that he loves my cooking; but he really is the limit—as long as there is anything special left, he just won’t stop stuffing himself! I cook in such enormous quantities, but not one bite do I get! I wish my duty as a wife did not forbid me to taste these gulgule before my husband, or I’d have sneaked a few before ever he set foot inside the house’.

‘GULGULE!’ exclaimed Maan as he entered the kitchen. He gazed adoringly, first at the mound of golden-brown balls of goodness piling up in the basket beside the stove, and then at his wife working her magic on the mundane flour and sugar. As he reached out for a couple, the unprecedented happened:

‘Don’t touch them!’ shrieked Kalawati.

‘Why?’ he was shocked. ‘I’ve washed my hands and feet!’

‘It’s not that …’, she hunted in her mind for a plausible reason … ‘They … they have to be taken to the temple for puja (ritual prayer) first,’ she blurted out.

‘What kind of puja?’ he asked, drawing back, disappointed.

‘Yesterday the panditji (priest) at the temple told me today is Ludhkan Chauth (ludhkan: to tumble; chauth: fourth day of the lunar month),’ she babbled, improvising wildly. ‘We fry gulgule and offer them up in prayers first. Then we bring them home and place them on the chhappar (the canopy that runs round the house). The ones that tumble down are to be eaten by the women and the ones that stay up are given to the men.’

She put out the stove and went to get ready for the temple, leaving Maan in a thoughtful mood.

‘Hmmm … that sounds peculiar! The chhappar slopes downwards, so obviously all the gulgule are going to tumble down … and she gets to eat the whole lot!!! And I’ll probably have to eat the khichdi (rice and lentil stew) or leftover paranthas she would have eaten after I was through with the gulgule … What nonsense!’

Rendered resourceful by the exigencies of his taste buds, he tied some bamboo poles all round the lower edge of the canopy. ‘There! Now let’s see how many gulgule are able to escape!’

Kalawati, meanwhile, went to the temple with the basket of gulgule and rendered prayers and apologies for her perfidy. ‘But I just can’t take it any more dear God,’ she pleaded. ‘I too have the right to eat good things for a change—something apart from the leftover paranthas that usually fall to my lot when my insensate lump of a husband is through guzzling on the goodies I make for him—I do think I have the right to at least a bite or two!’

Wending homewards, and feeling thoroughly guilty by now, she thought, ‘I can’t possibly eat all these. I’ll keep a few for myself and make up some kind of a tale and give him all the rest,’ when she saw from a distance, her Lord and Master, atop the roof with bamboo poles and ropes.

‘Oho! So it’s like that, is it?’ she thought, with the light of battle in her eye, taking in the situation at a glance. ‘Well, we shall see who wins: brain or brawn!’ By the time she reached home, Maan was back down, looking quite innocent and the bamboo poles were out of sight from the ground.

‘Hey! Good news for you,’ she chirped with a smile on her face. ‘Panditji says he’d mistaken the lunar date. Today is actually Reh Reh Paanche (reh: remain behind; paanche: fifth day of the lunar month). So, that means, that the gulgule that remain on the canopy are eaten by the women, and the ones that tumble down go to the men…’

And she sailed away in triumph, to scatter the gulgule on the canopy …

How to make Gulgule

Ingredients: (8 to 10 pieces)

1 cup wholewheat flour (atta)
½ cup sugar
1 tsp powdered fennel (saunf)
A pinch of baking soda
Oil for frying
Procedure:



Mix the flour, sugar, powdered fennel and baking soda together. Dissolve in just enough water to get dropping consistency. Cover and keep for 5 minutes.
Heat the oil in the kadahi or deep pan. When it starts smoking, drop in tablespoonfuls of the batter and fry to a light golden.
Drain and remove from the oil on a newspaper or sheet of blotting paper to soak the excess oil.
Can serve either as finger snacks or in combination with kheer (see recipe in 'Sweet Nostalgia').

Gulgule and kheer as a combination is a traditional monsoon snack in many parts of North India.

Additional tips:

Can use crushed gur (jaggery) instead of sugar to make it more nutritious.
Can mash a small overripe banana into the mixture to increase fiber and mineral content.
Can add powdered almonds into the batter to make the gulgule crisper.

Madness at Midnight!

I wake up sweating and swatting (mosquitoes) in the middle of the night. Hubby is swearing under his breath, mindful of the 11 year-old making irritated noises from her bed at the other end of the room.

A power cut on a sweltering July night. I’d been sleeping like the dead after an especially exhausting day, but to judge by the vibes of irritation eddying about in the pitch dark, and from my own drenched and mosquito-bitten condition, the power must have been out for some time.

“About one hour,” growls hubby.

“What do they say at NDPL?”

“No idea ... haven’t called!”

“Why not?” I’m indignant. “Am I the only one who can call up and lodge a power cut complaint in this house?”

“Yes, because the number is saved in your phone and I didn’t fancy groping all over the house in the dark for it,” he says unanswerably.

“And whatever happened to the inverter?” I shrill. “At least the fans and light bulbs should be working!’

“The batteries dried up, remember? And you were out every day this week, so there was no one to get them serviced,” he reminds me.

Oh! So now it’s my fault! Typical!

“My night’s rest is ruined!” wails kiddo. “How will I ever wake up in time for school tomorrow?”

“Don’t even start!” I snub her. “You cannot stay home from school tomorrow.”

“Oh, but ...”

“No buts ... you are old enough to be able to do with a little less sleep for one day.”

As she subsides, muttering, I grumpily retrieve my phone from its nightly resting place under my pillow (for the morning alarm, as hubby should very well have known) and ring up NDPL.

“Good-Evening- NDPL- ‘XYZ’-here-How-may-I-help-you?” rattles off the voice at the other end, without break and without expression.

“I need to lodge a power cut complaint for ABC Colony, PQR Zone, New Delhi, India.” The process is outsourced now, so the call center guy needs to know the precise geographical location. And although I was told that the call center is at the other end of the city, it is better to play safe and provide complete information.

“Which part of ABC Colony are you calling from?”

Suppressing the urge to say, “the part between its ears”, I hold on to my patience and reply, “I’m calling from house no. 123, the residence of Mr. Goyal.”

“What is your exact location?” comes the next question and patience flies out of the window.

“Talk sense!” I snap. “I’ve told you the number of the house, the name of its owner, the colony, zone, city and country. What more do you want to know—the location of the room I’m calling from?”

“Sorry for the inconvenience, Ma’am,” the BPO operator reverts to the standard fallback.

“May I know your K number?” comes the next query.

“My WHAT?”

“K number—the 10 digit number on the top left corner of your electricity bill ...”

“Why in heaven’s name do you need the K number?” I ask, amazed.

“Our system can track you and lodge your complaint only by your K number,” comes the deadpan reply.

I’m speechless.

"Then why were you badgering me about the minutae of my location?"

“What’s the problem?” asks hubby.

“They want our K number to lodge our complaint!”

Hubby takes the phone from my hand and says with awful patience: “Listen mister, it’s past midnight and pitch dark. The 10 digit K number is not something you remember off-hand. You have our name, address and phone number. Surely your system can register our complaint on the basis of these details?”

“Sorry for the inconvenience, Sir,” parrots the operator. “Your complaint cannot be lodged without your K number.”

Hubby disconnects the phone in dudgeon, muttering, “Go to hell!”

Half an hour elapses. The heat, humidity and mosquitos are getting more and more unbearable by the minute. I get up, cursing, switch on the flashlight in the phone, stumble over to the chest of drawers and scrabble around for an electricity bill. Call up NDPL again.

“Good-Evening- NDPL- ‘XYZ’-here- How-may-I-help-you?”

“I’m calling from house no. 123, Mr. Goyal’s residence in ABC Colony, PQR Zone, New Delhi, India. I need to lodge a power cut complaint and our K number is ----------,” I say triumphantly.

“How long has the power been out at your place?”

“More than an hour and a half!”

But if I thought I had cracked the NDPL complaint system, I had another think coming.

“Is it just your place, or the whole colony?”

“Now, how the hell am I supposed to know that in the middle of the night?” I ask in exasperation. “Conduct a door-to-door survey?”

“NOW what do they want to know?” asks hubby resignedly.

“Whether the power is out at just our place or in the whole colony!”

Hubby takes over the phone.

“Mister, you have been provided all the details you need to lodge a power cut complaint, including the K number. Now please register our complaint and let us know the complaint serial number,” he instructs in his Senior MNC Manager voice. It apparently cuts no ice with the programmed automaton on the other end of the line.

“Sorry for the inconvenience, Sir, but ...”

“DON’T KEEP APOLOGIZING,” bellows hubby, past patience now. “JUST REGISTER THE COMPLAINT SO THAT SOMEONE CAN DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT!”

The instruction to ‘DO SOMEHTING’ is clearly not part of the automaton’s programming. It gets confused and promptly disconnects the line! We try again ... and again ... but the receiver is off the hook!