The Anatomy of Everyday Disorder

A few years ago, I met an Indian friend—an airline station manager—at an international airport. Inevitably, our conversation turned to India and its quirks. With a smile, he took me to a gallery overlooking the departure hall, where passengers were lined up at dozens of check-in counters. Pointing down, he said, “I can predict which one is the Air India line.” From above, the queues looked like streams of dots. His guess was confirmed over the walkie-talkie: Air India. Puzzled, I looked closer. Only one line was crooked, with passengers bunched tightly, almost climbing onto each other. In contrast, the Japan Airlines queue nearby was straight, orderly, with people spaced comfortably apart. With a sigh, he explained, “That’s why our Delhi and Mumbai flights always get the farthest gates. Airports worldwide know which nationalities will form crooked queues, so they keep us away to preserve peace.”

If we look at it, forming a queue, standing in it peacefully, and waiting for your turn is a very normal task. But why are we, who are born in the land where we, for things mundane and spiritual, claim to have given a universal message of peace—"Om Shanti"—so restless in real life? Showing patience in a queue demonstrates respect for the system and rules. Societies in which people stand patiently in queues value fairness and consider the principle of "first come, first served" to be fair and appropriate. By this principle, when the rich and the poor stand in the same line, it reflects acceptance of egalitarian values. On the contrary, breaking the queue is a symbol of disorder and privilege which flourishes in a society where wealth, fame, position, or influence allows one to consider themselves above common people and to treat breaking the queue as no indecency at all.

In our country, breaking the queue by manipulating or gaming the system—whether at an airport or for college admission—is almost taken as a sign of resourcefulness. To be able to game the system through money, power, or connections is often regarded as an index of one’s smartness.

Not queuing is also a sign of distrust of the system and a behaviour shaped by a perceived lack of resources. It is a reflex action born of a mindset forged by decades of shortages. This behaviour is found only in societies with a history of scarcity, black marketing, or corrupt distribution systems. It is not surprising, then, that in our country, even when systems are in place, it is the elite who are the first to break them—simply because they can.

At many places—airports, temple lines, or even traffic snarls—where rules and processes are set and your turn will eventually come, people still like to cut through as if their brain is suspended. In a traffic jam, when more people cut across and block another lane, they may realise that such cutting will actually delay their exit, but the impulse of impatience clouds any judgment of fairness they may have. It has become a habit.

At a psychological level, the willingness to wait reflects a sense of contentment in a society and an ability to control one’s impulses. In countries where people stand in queue peacefully, there is usually a shared understanding of public space and mutual respect for others’ time. Desperation, urgency, and a more individualistic mindset prevail in societies where queue-jumping and jostling are daily behaviour. In general, such societies do not collaborate well and show a greater propensity for divisiveness—on religion, region, caste, political affiliation, and more. The net result of all this is that you also find a significant correlation between the parameters of general economic prosperity and the ability of people to stand in a queue. In a society like ours, where a government officer drives with curtains drawn in his car; where even a small district leader displays his status by putting a big, bold golden board declaring his designation on his jeep; where hordes of people stand waiting for all and sundry VIPs right outside the arriving plane doors—in such a scenario, all talk of democracy and equality of citizens remains limited to school civics books, to be crammed for good marks and then forgotten in the melee to secure special favours.

Now, forget about countries like Japan—even after disasters like the tsunami of 2011 and during Covid in 2020, the patience and orderliness of Japanese queues astonished the world. At an individual level, this showed a sense of pride in doing the right thing; as a nation, it also exhibited deep cultural roots of discipline and respect for fellow countrymen. The opposite is happening here. It is not just about queues at a railway station or a traffic jam. Here, even in the house of God, we parade our pride and status and still hope the Almighty will shower blessings on us. “Poojas” can be bought by money (VIP poojas) or influence. It never occurs to us that when we usurp the place of a poor, less fortunate devotee in temple darshan or at a Kumbh bath, we insult the very deity we seek blessings from. Do we really expect that the Almighty will be pleased with this blatant parade of our ego?

We have long convinced ourselves of the narrative that the world is enamoured of our great culture and heritage. Well, the Western and “civilised” world has mastered the art of not saying things that hurt. It revels in pleasant hypocrisies. Besides, the developed world swallows a lot with a smile, as they primarily see us as a market and commercial opportunity—and nothing more. They are not going to risk commenting on our conduct, knowing it may offend us. It is only when you know people well, and once they feel comfortable talking openly, that most from other countries do call out these things.

We, on the other hand, have unfortunately become like a cat that closes its eyes while drinking stolen milk, thinking—if I cannot see anyone, no one can see me. Are we, as a society, going to be governed by such feline illogic, or are we going to address the larger question that beckons us in our day-to-day behaviour? Perhaps it is time we stop making a spectacle of ourselves in public places and begin the journey toward becoming people who show discipline, decorum, and decency. If we do, many great things will follow—for our society and for our nation.

The writer is an Ex-IPS officer and he writes regularly on policy and economy. Views expressed are personal