It's a fairly recent incident. The emergency door next to a politician in an aircraft opens. The slide chutes get automatically deployed. There is mayhem all over. Boarding is stopped, the plane is evacuated, safety protocol is followed, and the flight takes off after two hours. The poor politician is victimised. It transpires that his hand had "accidentally touched the door" because of which it had got "slightly disturbed from its position". It was not his fault that the flight was delayed. An elderly passenger even reportedly blessed the politician, "Beta (son), it is your karma and our karma that something mischievous didn't happen and you found out." See! Do you still need an explanation after that? If anything requires to be done at all, it is slapping a hefty penalty on the airline for installing such sensitive doors that open with just a touch.

Politicians and their relatives are often victimised. Their batchmates are not. I learnt it the hard way. My engineering batchmate happened to be the son-in-law of a minister. He often wore three-piece suits to the class but didn't waste time on studies or small talk with others. Our electrical engineering practicals were conducted in teams of two, and, guess what? He completed my team one day! Resigned to fate, I was doing everything alone. The suit-clad boy confined himself to noting down readings, taking tour of the laboratory, and fiddling with the controls of the idle apparatus. Suddenly, a bang brought me to a standstill. I looked around. There stood the desi dapper, next to a heavy duty induction motor with a freshly snapped lifting hook on its top, the remains of which dangled like an ominous pendulum from a chain on an overhead pulley! I walked to him and asked, "How did that happen?" "You did that, you should know!" he declared and walked away nonchalantly with hands thrust deep in his suit pockets.       

Talking of my engineering college days, I remember another batchmate. Belonging to the sports quota, he often talked about his escapades in the football field. I was always eager to watch him play and score a goal. It took a long wait of eight months for the fulfilment of my wish. I started watching the match from a vantage spot. My batchmate's team attacked three or four times in the initial fifteen minutes, but he wasn't a part of the assault team. So, where was he? It took me some time to spot him, much behind others and limping in pain. He didn't play that match further. Or, matches in the next, or the next, or the next year. In the world of uncertainty, injury to this star player in every match was certain. He passed his engineering course without playing a single game in full. What could he do? A good player can defend himself against offensive players only to a reasonable extent.

The other day I had to travel in a friend's car. Our journey started with the car chassis rubbing the pavement with a loud noise and my friend cursing, "Oh! What was the need to park it so close?" The friend's spouse had parked the car the previous night. So far as I remember, the parking was perfect, exactly between the marking lines. The fault lay with the friend, who had taken a turn too early. But it was nothing new. In the past too I have travelled with this friend with the rear wheel riding rough over pavements, dividers, and other roadside structures. When my friend drives a vehicle, the front wheels obey traffic rules and the rear ones break it. I can hardly blame the friend for the democratic disposition of the wheels.

My residential complex houses about ninety families. Hardly a week passes when we are not awaken early in the morning by the smoke alarm. The alarm usually originates from the same flat every time. The occupants of the flat deny any wrongdoing and explain that Indian food cannot be cooked reasonably well without the emission of an impressive volume of smoke. So what if more than three quarter residents in the building are Indians who manage to cook food without triggering any alarm!

I am sure, you would be having your version of similar incidents to share. I wonder, why does it hurt our ego to accept that we, too, can be wrong? Even when we are sure about being wrong, why don't we acknowledge it? Some people perfect the act so well that they completely ignore facts and refuse parts of the situation that display their fault. Justification of crime under the shelter of religion has also become a norm these days. Some play the victim card so often that one gets bored of the repeated drama. The smarter ones manipulate others with overly emotional means, shift blame, and also earn a lot of sympathy. And then, there is always a bunch of rogues who silence critics by shouting, gaslighting, telling outright lies, accusing, diverting attention, and arguing about the argument!

Beware of the colleague, who, in the name of helping, takes you to the boss and says with a smirk, "Sir, my colleague here wants such and such facility in spite of my telling ..." It is a win-win situation for the smarty. If the boss rejects the request, the smarty earns brownie points for having already warned you, and if the boss accepts the request, the smartass gets projected as an excellent team player.

A clever guy always used to keep some stupid staff under him. The purpose? Whenever something went wrong, he used to pass the blame on to the poor chaps. The sacrificial goat was replaced every time and the clever guy used to go scot free. The trick worked successfully for many years.   

It's not uncommon to find people who blame others. And it's also not uncommon to find people who don't trust such narcissists and even hate them. You can be honest about yourself, accept the reality, acknowledge your weaknesses, and find ways for improvement. Or, you can continue doing injustice to yourself and block avenues for improvement. Decide, what would you like to be? The victimised offender, or the honest human?