“Tk250, apa!” demanded the driver from behind the greasy grills of a CNG-run three-wheeler. The fare meter blinked 85 in neon-red digits. Under the scorching heat of mid-day, I stood on the brick pavement of Dhaka city, bargaining vigorously for a close-to-real price. While the heated exchanges continued between us, many offered cursory glances at us, but only one man dressed in formal attire stopped near us.
“Increase the fare for him. Give him 200,” he advised me in a sympathetic tone. When I asked this Good Samaritan to pay the remaining amount towards his proposed price after I paid what I had intended to, the man darted off to his business. It amazes me how absolute strangers interfere in other people’s lives with such ease, and not even to endorse something legal or fair.
We are a curious nation. It does not take much in this country for a crowd to form and to grow bigger, creating a large tamasha. Whenever there is a wreck on the road and a lone policeman attempts – sometimes in vain – to settle the dispute between two parties, random “street witnesses” show up.
“It’s Driver A’s fault,” one yells. “It’s Driver B’s fault,” yells the other. “The person at fault must pay for the damage (which, by the way, takes the form of invisible scratches in many cases).” They both yell in unison, before the drivers could even look up from their not-so-palatable blame-game.
Men – in lungi (loin-cloth), in baggy jeans, in well-fitted trousers et al – huddle around the road accident. Women form a minority even in this situation. Jubilant street urchins peek through the legs. Failing to do that, they make a rather ambitious yet futile attempt of viewing the scene over the shoulders of taller adults in front of them. Passing vehicles pause momentarily before the seated passengers within those vehicles, or from ones behind, urge the drivers to look ahead for a wreck-free, congestion-less journey.
Commercial establishments seem to intensify the onslaught of the Meddling Syndrome. Shoppers around you will remark about your purchases, if not your appearance. Some competitive women – wearing an unfulfilled look – will compare your purchases with theirs. Men who feel the need to dominate the shopping sphere as well will peek at your shopping cart and advise their respective chaperoned spouses about the latest trend, wearing a proud smirk which is characteristic of the all-knowing lot.
Once in a spacious shop at Jamuna Future Park, a woman was heard crying hysterically, and if witnesses are to be believed, she was suffering from a sudden asthma attack. All the staff members present, except the guard at the entrance, rushed to the spot, worsening the breathlessness of the woman.
Wandering customers peeped and inquired. A few nervous souls began to raise a hue and cry (as if that helped). Some “concerned” individuals suggested obvious recommendations: “Give her water,” or “remove the scarf.” Sadly, it occurred to none that dispersing the crowd to allow the free passage of air and comforting the victim could have been possible – and maybe better – solutions.
At an “upscale” restaurant, my mother chose to be seated in a quiet and warm corner where all the tables were unoccupied. Later, a group of two couples – appearing to be in their 30s – entered the restaurant. After inspecting other vacant spaces, they made themselves comfortable at the table immediately next to us.
In a while, my mother and I became the unwilling participants in their night-out, as they ogled at the food we ordered, and laughed and conversed extra-loud, disrupting the civility (let alone peace) in that corner.
The Meddling Syndrome creeps into workplaces too. During the Rana Plaza collapse, when the world was shaken by the colossal casualties that it caused, one executive of a “development” organisation was anxiously monitoring if the organisation had succeeded in collecting the highest amount of donations!
Previously, this same organisation was fixated on its rivals (other social workers) to such an extent that it downplayed their efforts and overzealously discussed them in every meeting. Alliances were formed only when they were “strategic.” Somehow, aggressive competition was taking over the innocence that should have been a part and parcel of every charitable organisation.
Seats are common triggers of this syndrome. Many feel the urge to sit as close to others as possible. Is it a general disposition towards bodily warmth, or is it a superstitious belief that unoccupied spaces elsewhere are somehow unlucky or less attractive?
Once at a private university, I sat in a quiet and well-lit spot, revising for an exam a few hours before its commencement. Interrupting that bliss were two girls who soon situated themselves inches away from me with plates of food and tongues full of gossip. Neither of them paid any heed when I politely requested them to shift somewhere else (the lounge was spacious and empty) or to maintain silence. “We will not talk anymore,” they assured me only to continue whispering, which was even more distracting.
One would expect to unwind at home without the Meddling Syndrome kicking in, but alas, that has become a utopian scene in many households at present. With melodramatic dialogues of saas-bahu sagas blaring in the background, real-life saas-bahu animatedly denigrate the neighbouring girl who wears “immodest” clothing and is “spoilt” to the core; the lady who frequents the local club and returns home in a drunken state; and the former school teacher who – after being widowed – now manages an enormous amount of wealth.
All of them are the unaware objects of ridicule, gossip, and contemptuous mirth. If these stories do not fill their appetites, the adventurous duo will seek the help of spying domestic help for more. All else failing, they would take it upon themselves to either peek into the neighbouring homes or eavesdrop on others.
What makes it so difficult for us to mind our own business? If it is a genuine concern for others, why do we pull the blinders when others are mugged, beaten, or harassed? Why do we dismiss domestic violence as a “private family matter?” And as pointed out by a Bangladeshi civil servant, why do we, when asked about the competency or character of any person – whether it is someone known to us or not, casually say “kharap na” (not bad)?
Does it hurt to say (or acknowledge) good, excellent, best when commenting about others? If you find yourself either curious for apparently no good reason, or overjoyed at the misery of others in an attempt to fill an inner void of yourself, you are most likely to be diagnosed with the Meddling Syndrome. The only cure is to subdue the seemingly-invincible Green Eyed Monster with large powerful doses of empathy.
