The laaparwahi syndrome

Disclosures about Indian Parliament not having several critical security systems in place or a CAG report lamenting the vulnerability of the country’s two key railway stations in New Delhi and Mumbai do not come as a surprise to most of us. Nor do reports about the non-installation of CCTV cameras in and outside key institutions such as courts, administrative buildings and markets, despite an ever-present terrorist threat. Such instances of omissions by government officials and agencies are too endemic to elicit anything but public cynicism.

Nothing seems to be a priority in a country marked by monumental apathy and disregard of public duty. Critical national decisions, even some that involve national security such as the purchase of 126 frontline combat fighters, continue to languish in bureaucratic processes for months and years. Only a crisis, media attention or sudden public debate instils some sense of urgency into an otherwise torpid public apparatus.
Callousness is evident throughout the hierarchy of officialdom, from the Central government at the top to municipal bodies at the bottom. Hardly a day goes by without the newspapers reporting tragedy caused by negligence: a child drowns in an uncovered drain; someone is electrocuted by unshielded wires; hospital patients die due to lack of timely care; unlicenced SIM cards are sold openly to potential terrorists; or an unsafe building collapses killing its occupants. Street lights are left on throughout the day, garbage and debris pile up on roads, street signs fall off or become illegible and broken pavements are never repaired.
The stories make for sordid reading and highlight a problem as bad as corruption. The malady is laaparwahi, a Hindustani word that has no parallel in the English language, which roughly translates into callousness, carelessness and apathy rolled into one. In effect it amounts to neglecting one’s duty, doing slipshod work, not following up on orders or simply not taking decisions. The effect is stacks of pending files, machinery going to rust, expensive equipment lying unused, unaddressed public grievances and interminable delays in routine processes.
New Delhi is testimony to the workings of this insidious mindset. Last year, a few thousand crore rupees of the Indian taxpayers’ money was used to purchase new, low-floor buses for the city’s public transport system. The polished green and the air-conditioned red buses were to be the pride of the city. Yet, in less than a year, the buses have visibly deteriorated, many are scratched and dented like the bad old DTC buses and breakdowns on the roads are slowly but surely becoming frequent and noticeable. In another year or so, the fleet of ultramodern buses would have been reduced to a mangled, rusted and nerve-jangling collection of vehicles.
The capital’s roads, pavements and flyovers exemplify the effects of callousness, particularly poor workmanship and lack of maintenance. Apart from crumbling pavements and rutted roads, not one stormwater drain inlet in the city has a grill to stop solid waste from clogging the drains and every downpour chokes the city’s main thoroughfares.
As the courts work overtime to find out who stole much of the thousands of crore of Commonwealth Games funds meant to transform the capital into a world-class city, the capital itself inexorably sinks back to its dust-blown past.
Gilbert Etienne, an old India hand, and Prof. Emeritus, Institute of International and Development Studies, Geneva, has often talked about the problem of laaparwahi and its catastrophic impact on the Indian economy. He has estimated that laaparwahi and corruption taken together is the cause of massive “leakages” in the economy. He has written that problems such as non-collection of telephone and electricity bills, delayed projects, non-maintenance of assets, rotting foodgrains, doubtful subsidies and so on cause revenue losses amounting to thousands of crores every year.
The malaise is so all-pervading that even private organisations in this country are not immune to its debilitating influences. Anyone who has had to negotiate billing, servicing or similar problems with Indian companies would be aware of the extent of the problem.
Most citizens blame corruption for all their ills while others point
to an enigmatic systemic fault. Few admit that the fault lies not just in our stars or in corrupt officials but also in our acceptance of laaparwahi as a way
of life.
A political movement against laaparwahi is not possible, nor will there be any Anna Hazare to protest against it. Behaviour and work ethics are far less amenable to modification than laws and rules.
Fortunately, one does not have to look far to find a solution. The Delhi Metro is one towering example of a system that has beaten the laaparwahi syndrome. It has achieved this by laying down meticulous systems and procedures for every aspect of the Metro’s workings, from coach maintenance to station cleanliness.
The success of enterprises and institutions in the West is not just due to good work ethnics but also because of cast-iron systems that spell out every functional detail. This is one reason why McDonald’s outlets in India are able to maintain near-global standards.
Only strict, enforceable rules and procedures can counteract laaparwahi in government institutions. In this context, the Municipal Corporation of Delhi’s decision to provide time-bound services should be applauded as a small but significant step in the right direction.

Indranil Banerjie is an independent security and political risk consultant