CONFESSIONS
OF A COMMON
MAN
By A.V.
DHANUSHKODI
FIVE -- A
MAGNANIMOUS WAIVER
Often I have wondered why we, the common
people, condone corruption. We read,
almost every day, of corruption at every level of functioning of our nation,
right from the central ministers down to the sweeper on the street, not
impersonal events far removed from our lives, but events which happen every day
in our own lives, affecting us in so many ways.
Yet, we do not take them seriously.
Possibly, either because we do
not recognize them as corrupt practices or, even if we do identify them as
corruption, we brush them aside with a casual gesture, as common occurrences. One may call it resignation, resulting from a
sense of helplessness. There may be some
truth in that interpretation but, going a step further, I would ascribe that
attitude to be rooted in an awareness, conscious or subconscious, of our own
behaviour, corrupt to a greater or lesser degree. I do not mean monetary corruption only, I mean
by the word ‘corruption’, a broad
spectrum of behaviour in every one of us, crossing the boundaries of legality,
morality, and all norms of social behaviour---business as well as non-business
in nature---which have evolved over centuries,
meant to benefit the largest number of people.
Being a
man on the street, I have easy access to a wide range of services, quite a few
of which I use every day. One
day, after a long wait of about thirty minutes, I saw my bus 5E groan and
grumble as it came to a stop at the bus stop.
When I saw that it was already bursting at the seams, I began to groan and grumble. However, before I could decide whether I
should board that bus or not, I was swept in by an impatient crowd of men,
women, and children, waiting at the bus stop around me.
The
whole population of Chennai appeared to have got into that one bus. Everyone was sandwiched between everyone, and
everyone was thrusting notes and coins of all denominations at the poor
conductor, demanding tickets of different denominations. I always used to marvel at bus conductors’
immense patience and perseverance. Being
a conscientious daily bus traveller, I always kept in my shirt pocket the exact
change for my ticket. Now, I too joined
the others, thrusting at him my collection of Rs.2.50, to buy a ticket for that
value. The conductor gave me the ticket,
but I was unable to move forward, a literal representation of the figurative
position in which I found myself in life.
Among
the many passengers behind me, who were thrusting notes and coins at the
conductor, I noticed a man holding a twenty-rupee note to buy a ticket. When I took a good look at him, I was amazed
at the remarkable resemblance we shared:
we were of the same height, same complexion, same design of glasses, greying
hair on the head, white moustache, and beard.
He too was looking at me and we smiled at each other.
I
saw him buy a ticket for Rs.3. The
conductor told him, “Take the change before getting down.” He nodded his head, squeezed himself through
hair-thin gaps, and moved forward.
Soon
the bus was approaching my stop. I put
out my hand at the conductor, “Please give me the change, I have to get down at
the next stop.”
He
looked up at me and asked, “How much?”
I
showed him the Rs.2.50 ticket and said, “I gave a twenty-rupee note.”
He
rummaged through his bag and took out Rs.17 in notes of different denominations. Apologetically he added, “Sorry Sir, I don’t
have a fifty-paise coin.” Such an honest
man, he will continue to be a poor conductor until his last day.
“It’s
O.K. It doesn’t matter,” I dismissed his
apology magnanimously and was getting down the steps at my stop, when I heard
him remark, “Thank you Sir. Many
passengers fight tooth and nail even for 50 paise.”
A.V.
Dhanushkodi
June
24, 2011
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