Vande Bharat Express around Mumbai / Wikipedia

If you grew up traveling by train in India, you probably share this memory. Early in the morning, the train stops at some junction, you step out to wash your face, and there it is: the heavy brass push‑knob tap. You press with one hand, snatch water with the other, and the spring snaps it shut. 

Push, splash, stop again and again. It was mildly comical, mildly annoying, and completely normal. Beneath that design sat a blunt assumption: Give people a normal tap, and they’ll leave it running. People can’t be trusted.

Also Read: Saffron, secular, and Sanatan: Reclaiming the civilizational soul of Bharat

This winter, that assumption felt outdated. At several stations, the old push‑knobs had vanished. In their place were simple turn‑faucets that stay on until you turn them off. No spring, no forced closure, no micro‑control. 

It is a small change, but it carries a big message: We trust you now. We trust that you will not waste water just because you can. We are no longer designing for the worst‑case user, but for a responsible citizen.

From Hardware to Software

For the past few years, each winter visit to India had its visible headline: smoother highways, gleaming Vande Bharat trains, smarter stations. Last year, during Mahakumbh in Prayagraj, we saw something deepera rare synergy between administration and society. The scale was massive, yet the experience was largely safe, organized, and dignified.

This year, the change felt subtler and more pervasive. It was less about new structures and more about how systems and people behaved, as if, after years of upgrading India’s hardware, the country had begun updating its software: the relationship between citizen and state, quietly shifting towards trust.

When Complaints Start Working

For a long time, “filing a complaint” in India felt like talking into a void. You filled out a form or dialed a number and expected nothing. This winter challenged that habit.

On Railways, complaint channels and helplines actually led to visible action. One incident at Varanasi Junction stood out. Contractors managing wheelchairs had started demanding passengers deposit their mobile phones if they wanted a wheelchair and exploitative practice aimed at the most vulnerable. Instead of accepting it with a resigned “aisa hi hota hai,” we took it to the Station Master.

The response was firm and quick, no deflection, no irritation. The issue was acknowledged and addressed. In that moment, it was clear: the feedback loop, once broken, is slowly closing. Citizens are not just being watched; they are being heard.

Faces of a Changing System

This shift wasn’t only visible in apps and complaint logs; it showed up in faces and voices.

At the Passport Seva Kendra, the experience felt very different from the old stereotype of a government office. Even ground‑level staff, usually the most overworked and stressed were polite, clear, and professional. The tone was one of assistance, not arrogance.

Public sector banks showed a similar transformation. The old contrast between efficient private banks vs. sluggish public ones is blurring. In several branches, staff handled rush hours without the familiar irritation. The quality of service felt at par with private banks, sometimes better. And behind that, public banks continue to offer something important: fewer hidden traps and exploitative sales tactics. With the RBI tightening its stance on dark patterns and mis-selling in bank product sales, that difference feels even more reassuring.

Taken together, these experiences suggested a quiet cultural shift within institutions: from suspicion and hierarchy towards service and trust.

Citizens Rising to the Expectation

The most hopeful part was seeing how people respond when the system shows a little more trust in them. At railway stations, casual littering seemed noticeably reduced. 

We saw passengers carrying empty bottles or packets for long stretches, discarding them only where there was already a trash heap or a bin. It wasn’t perfect, but the default setting had clearly shifted. That same sense of accountability even showed up in smaller, everyday transactions.

At small eateries and roadside stalls, simple questions about quality and freshness drew unusually honest answers. If something wasn’t fresh, many vendors openly said so and suggested something else. 

On one occasion, when I questioned a restaurant about the GST it was charging and whether it was properly structured as a separate hotel-and-restaurant entity, they quickly corrected the bill and even offered a few free items.

In a low-trust environment, the instinct is to lie for a quick sale. In a higher-trust environment, reputation and repeat relationships matter more. You could sense that priority evolving on the ground. 

Psychology tells us people tend to live up or down to expectations. When systems are built on the belief that citizens will cheat, many eventually do. When systems extend a little trust, people often stretch themselves to honor it.

Watching from Outside, Thinking from Within

As NRIs, we often hear only the loud negatives from afar viral clips, angry posts, and stories of mismanagement. Being on the ground this winter told a more balanced story. There are still many problems, but there is also visible progress in how the state treats citizens and how citizens respond. India seems to be inching from mutual suspicion towards emerging mutual respect.

There was quiet joy in simply watching someone open a tap, wash peacefully, and then turn it off without being forced. No spring, no guard, no lecture—just trust, answered with responsibility.

The Question That Follows

As the government begins to trust its people more and officials across levels become more citizen‑friendly, another question naturally arises: what is our role in reinforcing this positive loop?

Yes, we must keep public spaces clean, follow rules, give honest feedback, and raise issues when something is wrong. Many Indians are already doing this, and the change is visible. But there is a subtler layer we rarely discuss: how we, as citizens, treat those who serve in the system.

We are quick to criticize bad behavior in government offices, and often rightly so. Yet, when it comes to their perks and compensation, we slip into a strange double standard. 

A government officer passing a toll plaza without paying or a subsidized meal in a parliament canteen instantly triggers resentment. At the same time, we celebrate private companies that offer free food, shuttles, lavish campuses, and generous bonuses. We call that “taking care of employees.”

Why is a perk admirable in a corporate campus but questionable in a public institution? Why does a free lunch for tech workers feel cool, but a subsidized thali for those running the machinery of the state feel offensive?

Perhaps it is time that we, as citizens, cut down on this double standard.

In my next post, I want to explore this more deeply. If we rightly expect our public representatives and officials to work with integrity and a strong sense of duty, maybe we too have a duty to ensure they feel respected, valued, and fairly treated. In a democracy, the citizen is, in a sense, the master. And it is also the master’s responsibility to take good care of those who serve.

 

 

The writer is an AI researcher for a top IT firm. 

(The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of New India Abroad)

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