Why all Indians are rule-breakers
Because the state makes it impossible not to be
IF YOU HAVE ever relaxed with a cold Kingfisher beer at the end of a long, sweaty day in Mumbai, the party capital of India, you have almost certainly broken the law. Specifically, you violated section 40 of the Bombay Prohibition Act of 1949, under which you must hold a permit to drink booze. A first offence is punishable by a fine of 10,000 rupees ($115) and up to six months in prison.
Welcome to India, where everything is against the law. According to Vidhi, a legal think-tank in Delhi, India has 7,305 crimes at the national level, three-quarters of which attract imprisonment. India is hardly alone in overcriminalisation. But even America, not exactly known as soft on crime, had a more modest 5,199 federal crimes at last count in 2019. China imposes the death penalty for 46 crimes. In India the number is 301 (though rarely applied).
The central government’s ardour for lawmaking and punishment is infectious. India’s 28 states, which control vast swathes of policy, are no less assiduous in regulating everyday life. The state of Uttarakhand, to pick one, requires couples in live-in relationships to register (and pay a fee) within 30 days of shacking up. Failure to comply attracts a fine and up to three months in prison. What of love lost? The unhappy couple must de-register (and pay another fee). Uttarakhand is particularly energetic but few states pass up the chance to make citizens visit the registrar.
Then there are tax rules that make almost everyone cower. Renters paying over a lowish threshold must withhold a proportion of the rent from landlords and deposit it with the state as tax, which can involve obtaining a special tax number and hiring an accountant. Some people must pay income tax four times a year. Penalties for errors or delays are high. In June the authorities increased fines for misreported income or false deductions to “up to 200% of the tax due, 24% annual interest, and even prosecution”. There is no leeway for honest mistakes.
Businesses have it worse. Companies that grow beyond even a small size must compulsorily register for a goods-and-services tax, disincentivising expansion. They must register in each state in which they have any activity, even if they have no physical presence there. They must also pay taxes withheld from buyers every month, regardless of whether they have been paid. Big companies have legal and compliance departments. Small ones struggle. A convoluted tax code means it is easy to mess up.
Beyond the big-ticket items of crime and tax there exists a third category of rules so baffling it defies labels. Cities build fancy new elevated roads only to set speed limits as low as 30km per hour (18mph). Local authorities brick up entrances to public spaces for “safety reasons”. Airport security confiscates packets of spice mixes but allows packets of noodles that contain packets of spice mixes. It is hard to escape the sense that there is no logic behind the rules.
That is because there isn’t, say people who have worked with government. Policy can be made just because an official says “I think it’s a good idea.” To save energy, a central-government minister says air-conditioners should function only between 20°C and 28°C, boasting of a “first-of-its-kind experiment”. A minister in Kerala wants to fine people who use their phones while crossing the street. In Goa, a holiday state, a new policy makes it mandatory for beach shacks to serve “freshly cooked Goan cuisine”. The tourism minister stipulates that this means fish curry and rice, though there is no such clause.
The usual excuse for India’s surfeit of laws and rules is colonialism’s legacy. Indeed, in 2023 India decriminalised 183 defunct provisions in 42 laws. The government is working on a second rationalisation and setting up a deregulation commission to ease the burden on business. A tax bill is in the works. These are welcome moves. But the deeper problem lies in the attitudes of politicians and bureaucrats. “We think the state must have a say in every aspect of an individual’s life,” says Arghya Sengupta of Vidhi. “Everything is game for legislation.”
The outcome is to make Indians less law-abiding, not more. Why follow the rules when everything is verboten? Why start a business or expand a successful one if it will only attract attention and more compliance? One high-ranking official complains that the state sets impossibly high standards and then claims that Indians are lawless. But “You have made it impossible for them to follow the law.” ■
Subscribers to The Economist can sign up to our Opinion newsletter, which brings together the best of our leaders, columns, guest essays and reader correspondence.
This article appeared in the Asia section of the print edition under the headline “Discipline and punish”