This is not about the complicated working of the brains of the men who blew the towers. Nor about the assassins who kill with cold blooded fury.
But about the cobbler who lives across the street. The autodriver we haggle with everyday. For starters, let us meet the jackfruit seller at the corner. He is engaged in the simple act of selling eight pieces for twenty rupees. With the expertise of a juggler playing with fire, he puts the yellow pieces in a crisp plastic cover. We notice that his movements with flourish has covered the fact that there are only seven pieces inside. A mistake, if done once. But we notice that he does this to almost every new face that lights up in the glow of shiny jackfruits. However, this is hardly a crime, we say and move on.
The root cause of all this cheating boils down to one word money. Probably, the war between conscience and money is a losing one. But, isn't everything supposed to be fair in love and war?