Indians should take note from the Pune Porsche accident
if you're powerful, the law doesn't apply to you.
The 24-year-olds Anish Awadhiya and Ashwini Costa were not killed by the 17-year-old intoxicated minor who was speeding a Porsche Taycan in Pune at 160 km/h. Not did the young man's father, well-known builder Vishal Agarwal, who was taken into custody this morning in Sambhajinagar. The two IT engineers' killers are part of a complex web of impunity and complicity; by collectively shrugging off responsibility and breaking the law, a number of institutions made this kind of tragedy possible.
Here are a few of the murderers who participated in this "accident" together. the officials who, since March, permitted the opulent car to be driven on city streets without a valid licence plate or registration. A system that only slaps the wrists of juvenile drivers (and their guardians)
a system that, in the unlikely event that juvenile drivers are caught, only imposes a light reprimand on them and their guardians. An institution that happily serves alcohol to children despite the fact that Maharashtra's legal drinking age is 25, and most other Indian states have legal drinking ages of 21. a system that, especially when the perpetrators are well-known, influential, or wealthy, ignores the imposition of punishments for infractions like speeding, driving while intoxicated, or driving without a licence.
The court system on the other side of the collision gave the offender bail after only 15 hours in imprisonment, subject to requirements like writing a 300-word essay, cooperating with traffic police for 15 days, and obtaining psychiatric assistance. This
This is the value that judges have placed on our existence. Such small, pointless demands publicly mock the sorrow of the young victims' relatives.
Fury and Ignorance
In the immediate wake of the tragic Pune accident, there was not an unusual amount of leniency in Indian judicial history. It follows a pattern. It brings to mind past high-profile incidents in which celebrities avoided harsh penalties in spite of serious accusations. In 1999, the term "hit-and-run" entered the national discourse due to the Sanjeev Nanda BMW case in Delhi. Salman Khan cemented it in our collective awareness a few years later.
For common Indian residents, these cases established a troubling precedent that made it very evident that, if you're a powerful person, the legal consequences of your misdeeds will be minimal at best. The rest of us will be left with trite platitudes about how cheap human life is in India or the tired "Spirit of Mumbai" bromide that follows every preventable disaster.
The police were undoubtedly under pressure to respond quickly and even overcorrect due to the public outcry over the Pune case. They contend that because of the seriousness of the offence, the accused ought to face an adult trial. But in all honesty, we need to reflect on our own place in society and pose some challenging questions to ourselves.
Like our next-door neighbours, Ashwini Costa and Anish Awadhiya were bright, promising people who were about to launch excellent careers. Would there be so much indignation if they weren't "people like us"? In India, thousands of preventable deaths occur annually, with the impoverished and disenfranchised bearing a disproportionate share of the toll. However, they go unreported because, unless the death is too large to be hidden by a cloud of popular indifference, only some fatalities seem to stir public outrage.
Consider the 2023 Odisha train disaster, which claimed the lives of over 290 persons, the majority of them were seated in general category compartments. There were more than 1,200 injuries. But 2,590 individuals have died on Mumbai's suburban railway system in the last year alone.
primarily as a result of falling from packed, moving trains. In 2022, the corresponding figure was 2,507. Our collective fury is captured by the episodic tragedies, notwithstanding the startling numbers. Typical, daily catastrophes get accepted as the usual. They disappear into the background and become an inseparable part of metropolitan life.
Modest Compassion
It goes beyond trains. There are avoidable tragedies involving Indian deaths everywhere.
Sewers are where they're dying. Since 1993, 1,035 persons have lost their lives while cleaning sewers, according to government statistics. Every year, these fatalities average between 300 and 500. Furthermore, it may be argued that they are only reported numbers rather than accurate ones.
Firecracker factories are deadly traps where Indians are dying. Since 2014, 298 individuals have died in instances similar to the 2012 Sivakasi factory disaster, which claimed 40 lives.
Frequent floods, extreme heat and cold waves, and an overheated globe are all killing a lot of people. Millions of Native Americans being electrocuted, falling off newly built flyovers and manholes, being buried by unlawful hoardings, being mauled by stray animals, and passing away in tragic accidents involving stray livestock.
Which political parties' manifestos address these issues when they run for office? Or are we content to alternate between Muslims, Mandir, and Mangalsutra?
This limited focus draws attention to a more troubling reality about human empathy. Only when we recognise ourselves in the victims can we truly be empathetic. Our empathy is frequently limited, situational, and intended for specific individuals.
As we consider Anish Awadhiya and Ashwini Costa's deaths, we also need to compel ourselves to face our group's moral blind spots since apathy becomes us complicit. While people are incensed at high-profile crimes, we tolerate everyday injustices that do not directly impact us.
It would be wise for us to keep in mind that one day, we could all fall prey to the same kind of institutionalised carelessness that permits a minor to operate a deadly vehicle on our streets. Ultimately, the cost of our partial empathy is paid for in human lives.
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