Just like that | The accident in Pune is a reflection of our class hypocrisy

On May 19, 2024, an allegedly drunk 17-year-old youth rammed his father’s Porsche into two young technicians in Pune at breakneck speed, killing them on the spot. He was arrested, but the entire system, including two doctors from the government-run Sassoon Hospital and reportedly the local MP, did their best to protect him at the behest of his influential family.

The reprehensible incident rightly sparked national outrage. But I wonder if the public outrage would have been less if the car was a Maruti Alto rather than a Porsche, and if the accused’s father was not rich and powerful but just a middle-class pensioner with some contacts in the welfare system?

I ask this question not to remotely condone the criminality of the Pune incident, but to question our attitude towards the rich and influential and our own ethical standards. Do the self-appointed messiahs of the poor behave differently? Are angry critics scrupulously honest when it comes to their own interests? Do we loathe the rich, especially in a society that is so unequal? ​​Or are most people, especially the middle class, simultaneously jealous of them and aspire to be like them, regardless of means?

When Mayawati, the Dalit chief minister of Uttar Pradesh, celebrated her 47th birthday in January 2003, a huge pandal of fine glass was made, modelled on the sets of the film Mughul-e-Azam, and the venue was decorated with 60 quintals of flowers. The cake was as big as a room. Over 100,000 laddoos were ordered, and all the thousands who attended brought gifts in return. None of this prompted her ardent supporters to question where Behenji got the money. The display of pomp was seen as an inevitable extension of power, and she was neither the first nor the last politician to follow this conflation.

In early March, the media was captivated by the lavish wedding celebrations of Anant, son of Mukesh and Nita Ambani, in Jamnagar, Gujarat. While some thought such a display of wealth was vulgar in a poor country, most reacted by asking: If the Ambanis have the money, why shouldn’t they spend it?

Indians have nothing against wealth. Lakshmi, the goddess of wealth, is one of the most common deities in Hindu homes. The aarti or invocation to her has these ethically neutral lines: “Jis ghar mein tum rahti, tahen sab sadguna aata; sab sambhav ho jaata, man nahin ghabrata” (In the house you live in, all virtues come naturally; everything becomes possible, the mind is free from worries). Artha or the pursuit of material prosperity is considered one of the four highest purusharthas or goals of the Hindu worldview, along with dharma, kama and moksha.

When it comes to honesty, Indians are harmonious schizophrenics: highly indignant when the high and powerful are guilty, and effortlessly expedient when it comes to their own morality. How many of us, when faced with a fine of ₹2,000, will not, if possible, escape ₹500 dollar bill to the police officer to avoid this?

And what parent in our country, rich or poor, would not try to protect their child from criminal action? Our otherwise philosophically sophisticated moral relativism is remarkable because it allows exceptions to “correct” behavior. A man can do no wrong if he acts to protect his svadharma, the behavior that is right for his jati or status. He cannot be held guilty of transgressions in the interest of kuladharma, the behavior that is right for his family. And everything he does is justified in the state of exception, apaddharma.

I realise there are honourable exceptions to such antiquated thinking. But fundamentally we are different. When Prime Minister Tony Blair’s 16-year-old son Euan was arrested for drunkenness in 2000, the police did not cover it up. Blair cut short his holiday in Portugal to publicly declare that his son should not be treated any differently from other juvenile offenders. And he and his wife Cherie were both at the police station when Euan was disciplined.

What happened in Pune must be prosecuted. But it is also a mirror in which we can question our own value systems and ask ourselves what we would do in similar situations.

Pavan K Varma is an author, diplomat and former Member of Parliament (Rajya Sabha). Just Like That is a weekly column in which Varma shares interesting news from the world of history, culture, literature and personal memories. The views expressed are personal