“DID you pick up the Rs 100 note on the dining table? This was payment for the newspaper vendor,” I asked in hushed tones. It was addressed to my better half, known for his uncanny ability to clean and clear everything.Thedining table, for him, is meant only for one purpose - dining. If you place anything that is not associated with eating, he will pick it up immediately and put it in its rightful place. My normal strident voice was toned down many notches as the maid was hovering around the living room, seemingly doing her job. If she got a hint of the note disappearing and subsequently the finger being pointed at her, she would have taken offense. I can afford to offend my sister-in-law (actually it should be MIL here, but mine has been deceased for a long time now-May her soulrestin peace - hence SIL), but not my maid. That, in all probability, is the situation in most Indian households. Rs 100 pays my newspaper bill for a month. So I had to getto the bottom of it.What followed was a full-fledged inquiry, wherein each member of the house was interrogated separately. My training acquired in RAW helped me to do the job in a very professional manner.

 

The daughter and husband were subjected to a psychological evaluation,whereinImonitoredthebody language closely for any tell-tale signs. With the maid,I was very courteous.“Seema,diningtable clean karte waqt galti se tumne Sau rupiye utha kar kahin aur rakh diye kya?” One glare and a curt refusal were enough for me to back off.Even thedogwasn’t spared- whoknows, with the note being on the dining table, he mighthave thought - ‘Aha! Something to steal and wolf down’. I spent nearly an hour relentlessly questioning the members present in the house, cross-examining them- together, thenseparately, and of course brought to use allthe forensic analysis gleaned from the umpteen crime shows that I binge on OTT in my spare time. Sofas were moved, cushions were lifted and dusted, and drawerswereopened and shut. And then just as I put my hand inmypocket,I found a crumpled paper - the missing note. Red-faced, I apologised for my forgetfulness, and the household returned to normalcy. As I sat down to read the newspaper, the headline in one corner of the page caught my attention - ‘Bank defrauded of Rs5000crores!’What a spectacular financial heist. And this isn’t a stray incident in our country.Atregular intervals, we come across such scams involving an insane amount of money.

 

The reaction to this -acollective national shrug. No one has a clue, and no one cares. When I murmured this, my better half jumped in, “And look at the ruckus you created when you misplaced a Rs 100 note”. We all, after reading/hearing about innumerable such scams, are well aware of how the situation later unfolds. Like well-rehearsed magicians, performing their best tricks - of making things vanish in thin air, the bank officials’ noncommittal reaction invariably is “The matter is under investigation,” which translates to,“Wehave no idea, but let’s pretend we’re on top of it”. And then because of the siphoning off of so much money, these financial institutions many a time go bust - bankrupt - leaving the poor customers in great suffering. Forus, especially for the salaried,middleclass, banks are the institutions where we hope our money will be secure. But is our money safe? One moment our coffers are full, of course, with our hard-earned money, the next moment the bank announces a ‘liquidity crisis’. The reason couldbemanifold- lending huge amounts (read with never-ending zeroes) to business honchos to the top boss draining off money in his private account.You then hear of the CEO resigning, citing personal reasons.

 

The authorities, by now know, whatisgoingtohappennext, but do nothing to avoid the move - the perpetrator hops onto a pre-booked flight to a country that has no extradition treaty with India.While the social media flashes pictures of him revelling in luxury, backhomethepoorcustomersqueueupoutside the bank, desperate to withdraw their own money, only to be told brusquely, “System down hai” (when is it working is the moot question), or the sign on the door simply reads, ‘Closed’. Customers cry hoarse and want to know their financial status, and where their money has gone - but the banks have no answers.Imean, in our homes, ifasingle ten-rupee coin is misplaced, we do everything in our power to track it down. But in these scams, thousandsof crores gomissing, and the official response is a vague promise of ‘investigation’. It isn’t only the banks that are at fault here. Many companies lure investors with promises of great returns. And then these booming businesses who tempted clients with their glossy brochures, promising the moon, collapse faster than a deck of cards.

One minute, they’re valued at thousands of crores; the next, they’re declaring bankruptcy as if it’s a fashion statement. The people who invested stew, their employees do likewise, Collectively they can do nothing but be frustrated at watching their directors sip exotic cocktails sitting on the beach of an obscure island as they post motivational quotes about resilience and tough times. Complaints to authorities go unheeded.If the kind of accountability that exists in our homes regarding any missing moolah is executed in the corporate boardrooms, half the world’s financial crises would be solved in a jiffy. Which brings me to the ‘sheesh mahal’ that was in the news. Where did the money come from? The humble servant could barely afford a two-wheeler.Somenoiseisheard,themediaruns a debate - The NationWantsTo Know-and then poof!, the steam fizzles off. Meanwhile, if I don’t pay my electricity bill orifI don’tfile my Income Tax Returns, I cannot even imagine the repercussions. The authorities swoop down with the efficiency of an overenthusiastic SWAT team, ready to disconnect your supply, ready to put you behind bars for evading tax. Priorities, you see. It’s extremely distressing for honest lawabiding citizens (I am one of them) to note that all that the officials promise, whenever a major scam unearths, is a ‘detailed investigation’. Committeesareformed(more of the hard-earned money thatI pay as tax is used forthis purpose), reportswritten,yearspass, and nothing concrete comes out of this long drawn out activity. The stolen money remains as mythical as the lost city of Atlantis. Meanwhile, the accused continues tolive lavishly, occasionally releasing videos about ‘giving back to society’.

 

When I compare this with a similar situation at home - say for eg a chocolate bar that was found hidden in my kid's closet - it is confiscated, and punishment is meted out for stealing, hoping that this will serve as a lesson and future misdemeanours will not take place. Yet, in financial scams, there’s no chocolate bar to be found, no punishment, and certainly no accountability. Isn’titironicthatinourhouseholdswhereevery rupee matters, it is these very people who have to struggle with bank queues, lost savings, and vanishing investments? All we can do is seethe when we witness the real masterminds offinancial frauds enjoy their retirements in scenic European towns, their illegally amassed wealth safely parked in offshore accounts. Sometimes they even have the gall to tweet,fromtheirhaven, about national development while sipping their morning espresso. We remain mere spectators, watching the grand financial circus unfold, bit by bit. Can I suggest something to the authorities who say they are ' looking into such matters’?Appoint Indian mothers to probe into these scams. I can assure them that we have an unparalleled talent for uncovering hidden secrets, whether it’s a child bunking school, a husband pretending to work while watching cricket, orthe maid faking herillness (of course - on this,Ihave no control - didn’t I tell youIcannot afford to offend her).If there’s anyone who can find where all the missing money has gone, and apprehend the guilty, it’s none other than the Indian mom.