Wave a banknote at a pundit and he'll predict anything

Of course it is outrageous to jail scientists for honest errors, but it is legitimate to hold them to some account

• 
• • Simon Jenkins
  • The Guardian, Thursday 25 October 2012 19.30 BST

Illustration by Satoshi Kambayashi

On the evening of 5 April 2009, Luigi Guigno of L'Aquila in Italy was phoned by a sister terrified by tremors under their village. He told her not to worry. Government experts in "the forecasting and prevention of major risks" had just been on the news declaring there to be "no danger" of an earthquake. They need not go out into the street. A few hours later an earthquake struck and Luigi, his pregnant wife, their son and 300 others were crushed to death.

This week a local judge jailed six of the scientists, not for failing to predict the quake but for giving what he regarded as reckless reassurances. He fined them £6m and disbarred them from public office. World scientists condemned the verdict as inquisitorial and medieval. Britain's Lord May said it ignored the basic nature of scientific inquiry. Luigi's relatives disagreed. A local official said simply: "Some scientists didn't do their job."

When a forester fails to predict that a tree might fall and it kills someone, he is arrested. The same goes for a train mechanic who fails to repair a carriage, a cook who poisons a customer and a builder whose house collapses. They didn't mean to kill, but they failed to forecast what might ensue from their defective expertise.

Why does the same not apply to the professional scientists, experts and pundits on whose predictive genius so much of our life depends? The answer is that they claim protection, either through (usually weak) self-regulation or by pleading Lord May's fifth amendment, that the nature of scientific inquiry exonerates them of harmless mistakes.

This week agriculture ministers were left floundering by conflicting scientific guidance on bovine TB and badgers. Transport ministers were humiliated by statisticians failing to predict revenue on the west coast railway. The Totnes MP, Sarah Wollaston, called attention to the hysterical 2009 swine flu "forecast", which panicked Whitehall into blowing £500m on dubious Tamiflu, whose test results it refused to disclose.

Yesterday we were told that the nation was recovering from a second "dip" in a recession, which its forecasters had failed to predict. This is despite government economists being served by ever more powerful computers and mathematical models. No one, to the best of my knowledge, has been called to account for this failure.

Science has rarely enjoyed greater status. Schools are in thrall to it. Broadcasters grovel at its feet, with hours of programmes devoted to children gazing adoringly at scientific researchers, depicted as funny, garrulous, lovable role models. Science has taken the place of religion in a cocoon of uncritical certainty. Those who claim the title "scientist", be it natural or social, expect to combine the immunity of diplomats and the infallibility of popes. Science is merging into scientology.

Of course, Lord May is right, that academic inquiry must proceed uninhibited by risk from error. That is what universities are for, and why they should stay independent of the state. But the Italian geologists were not doing research: they were paid to apply their expertise to keep the public safe. They were not researching, but advising. They failed catastrophically.

The truth is that there is one law for the officer class and another for the poor bloody infantry. When experts trained to detect seismic phenomena fail, their fraternity does not criticise or review their work, but treats them as innocent and relieves them of blame. If an ordinary worker miscalculates the risk, if trains crash, trees fall, rivers are polluted or foodstuffs rot, he goes to jail. The difference is not in class of error but in class of person.

Since the dawn of time, people have craved prediction against uncertainty. They have paid soothsayers, witchdoctors, stargazers and palmists. They ask journalists at parties: "Who is going to win the American election?" and seem cheated if the reply is "I just don't know."

Some people are paid to forecast. Their job is to make assertions about the future, assessing likelihood over a spectrum of certainty. When a scientist says this or that "will happen", we expect it to have greater credence than if he had merely gazed into the entrails of a sacred goose.

The worst offenders are meteorologists. A Devon entrepreneur, Rick Turner, declared last month that he would sue the Met Office for inaccurate and "persistently pessimistic" forecasts, which had cost his region millions of pounds in lost revenue. I hope he wins. The gloomy Met Office, seemingly in the pay of the outbound tourism trade, is reckless with other's people's livelihoods. The weather on the Welsh coast this summer was not ideal, but it bore not the slightest resemblance to the daily "forecast" of it on the radio. The sun shone for far more hours than it rained, yet the forecast kept people away in droves. And there was never any hint of correction or apology.

Prediction matters to people. If the variables are too great, science should shut up, rather than peddle spurious expertise. But you can wave a banknote in a pundit's face and he will predict anything you like. Of course, it is outrageous to jail scientists for honest errors, but it is not outrageous to hold them to some account. When did Lord May's Royal Society last inquire into a scientific scandal? Journalists, like bankers, are getting hell these days for their mistakes. Why let seismologists off the hook?

Closed drug trials leave patients at risk and doctors in the dark

 

Drug companies can hide information about their drugs from doctors and patients, perfectly legally, with the help of regulators. We need proper legislation

We need muscular legislation to ensure that all information about all trials on all currently used drugs is made available to doctors Photo: Alamy

By Ben Goldacre

8:13PM BST 25 Oct 2012

34 Comments

This week, Daily Telegraph readers have been astonished by revelations about the incompetent regulation of implantable medical devices. This paper has clearly demonstrated that patients are put at risk, because of flawed and absent legislation. But many of these issues apply even more widely, to the regulation of all medicines, and at the core is a scandal that has been shamefully ignored by politicians.
 

The story is simple: drug companies can hide information about their drugs from doctors and patients, perfectly legally, with the help of regulators. While industry and politicians deny the existence of this problem, it is widely recognised within medical academia, and meticulously well-documented. The current best estimate is that half of all drug trials never get published.
 

The Government has spent an estimated £500 million stockpiling Tamiflu to help prevent pneumonia and death in case of an avian flu epidemic. But the manufacturer, Roche, continues to withhold vitally important information on trials of this drug from the universally respected Cochrane Library, which produces gold-standard summaries on medicines for doctors and patients. Nobody in the Department of Health or any regulator has raised a whisper about this, though Roche says it has made “full clinical study data available to health authorities around the world”.
 

In fact, while regulators should be helping to inform doctors, and protect patients, in reality they have conspired with companies to withhold information about trials. The European Medicines Agency, which now approves drugs for use in Britain, spent more than three years refusing to hand over information to Cochrane on Orlistat and Rimonabant, two widely used weight loss drugs. The agency’s excuses were so poor that the European Ombudsman made a finding of maladministration.
 

Even Nice, the National Institute for Health and Clinical Excellence, plays along with this game. Sometimes chunks of its summary documents on the benefits and risks of drugs are redacted, because data has only been shared by companies under unethical “confidentiality agreements”. The numbers are blacked out in the tables, to prevent doctors seeing the benefits from a drug in each trial; and even the names of the trials are blacked out, as if they were code names for Russian agents during the Cold War.
 

This is a perverse and bizarre situation to have arisen in medicine, where decisions are supposed to be based on evidence, and where lack of transparency can cost lives. Our weak regulations have been ignored, and if we don’t act quickly, the situation will soon get much worse. The European Medicines Agency’s sudden pledges of a new era of transparency are no use: it has a track record of breaking such promises. We need proper legislation, but the new Clinical Trials Directive, currently passing through the European Parliament, does nothing to improve things.

Are you glazing over at the mention of European directives? This is where it all went wrong. Sunlight is the best disinfectant, but these issues have been protected from public scrutiny by a wall of red tape, while the people we trust to manage these complex problems have failed us. Regulators have lacked ambition. Politicians have ignored the issue. Journalists have been scared off by lobbyists. Worst of all, the doctors in medical membership bodies, the Royal Colleges and the Societies, even the patient groups – many of them funded by industry – have let us all down.

This must change. We need muscular legislation to ensure that all information about all trials on all currently used drugs is made available to doctors. We need the members of patient groups and medical bodies to force their leaders to act. And we need EU medicines regulators to be held to public account, for the harm they have inflicted on us.

Ben Goldacre is a doctor and author of 'Bad Pharma’ (4th Estate 2012)

Is sport an art?

Ed Smith

In the early 1990s, there was a famous Reebok t-shirt with the simple slogan: "Sport is an art." Nice idea, but is it true? Can sport - which, by definition, is practical (score runs, take wickets) and competitive (beat the other guy) - belong to the same sphere as painting, literature and music?

The debate is not helped by the fact that sport and the arts are usually portrayed as antagonistic opposites - athletes v aesthetes, hearties v arties, jocks v thespians. From school to adult life, it is often (wrongly) assumed that there is little overlap between artistic creators and sporting competitors. (Writers, in fact, are often just as fiercely competitive as sportsmen.)

And yet no one (well, almost no one) disputes that sport can be beautiful. Last month, I tried to describe the aesthetic pleasure of watching David Gower bat - or just seeing him stand languidly and unhurriedly at the crease. When we watch Sachin Tendulkar turn his wrists at the very last moment, flicking the blade of the bat towards the on side just as the ball arrives under his eyes, we have experienced something beautiful: not just poise and grace but also concision and completeness. Nothing can be added or taken away from that Tendulkar flick that would not diminish the shot. Within its own terms, it cannot be improved upon.

A couple of years ago I watched Arsenal play Barcelona. The game finished a draw, but it was the spectacle rather than the result that left the deepest impression on me. Judged in terms of pure beauty - the physical grace of the players, the inventiveness of their movement - the match was surely the equal of any artistic or cultural event taking place in London that evening. Only someone with his eyes closed could pretend that the match had been defined completely in terms of goals scored and points bagged.

Occasionally I still hear arts-lovers complain that all sport is dull or anti-aesthetic. They are watching the wrong stuff. Anyone who loves ballet must surely recognise Roger Federer as one of their own. Again, elegance is matched by economy: the Federer effect is created not only by what he does but by what he avoids doing. There are no false brush strokes, no unnecessary chords, no superfluous sentences. There is no straining for effect, nothing is artificially tacked on.

There is another parallel between sport and the arts. In each sphere, the greats often have golden, productive spells late in their careers - periods when the insecurities have faded, when the urgent confusions that follow from deep ambition have receded. In his essay "Late Style", the academic Edward Said described how "age confers a spirit of reconciliation and serenity on late works". Yes, the artist may have been at the peak of his powers in his middle or "High" phase. But there is something even more moving about the final creative outpouring. (If you take only one thing from this article, listen, as I am doing now, to Richard Strauss'Four Last Songs - true Late Style.)

Said was writing about the arts, but the same principle applies to sport. The discerning fan will know the feeling of having watched a great player near the end of his career play sport on a higher level - without the fear and frantic-ness of his younger, restless days. We saw Late Federer in the Wimbledon final this summer, conjuring victory despite being outplayed for most of the first two sets. Late Zidane, too, seemed to grasp the whole football pitch before he made even the simplest pass. There was greatness in the small things - especially the small things.

But being beautiful does not make something an art. Many things are beautiful that cannot be classified as art. In The Principles of Art, the English philosopher RG Collingwood (no relation) set out to define the difference between an art and a craft. A skilled worker in a furniture workshop might be highly skilled - and might derive deep satisfaction from his work - but he is not an artist. He is a craftsman. A carpenter assembles bits of wood according to a plan for a table and, usually, the more exact the plan the better the table.

In contrast, art (according to Collingwood) demands a separation of means and ends. There must be an act of alchemy, the emergence of a creative vision. A poet "converts emotions into poems". Unlike the assembly of a table, the final poem is more than - and different from - the sum of its parts.

	A great sportsmen, very occasionally, does something that transcends the activity of scoring a goal or making a shot. He taps into a deep instinct that he cannot quite understand

Where does this leave sport? I would say sport usually has more in common with craft than art. The batsman practising in the nets over many years is honing his craft. He is searching for a technique that is reliable, consistent, resilient and robust. And if one bit breaks or becomes damaged, he hopes the rest of his game will function adequately while he makes running repairs. The job of a good craftsman is to create a finished article that can be repaired without the whole thing always needing a structural refit.

But sport is not limited to being a craft. A great sportsmen, very occasionally, does something that transcends the activity of scoring a goal or making a shot. He taps into a deep instinct that he cannot quite understand, let alone articulate. But I suspect this artistic strand can only be achieved by accident. If I was a coach, I would be worried if my star batsman said, "Today I am going to bat beautifully." Far better that he tried to bat as simply and naturally as possible - and the beauty happened along the way, as a happy but unintentional by-product.

Sport, I think, can momentarily touch the arts. But it cannot permanently belong as one.

But sports certainly fulfil some artistic roles. In the classical world, the arts had a defined religious purpose. For the Greeks, watching a play was a communal act of piety, a form of shared worship. Modern sport achieves something similar. What do we feel when we walk among the masses to a vast sports stadium? We are part of the crowd, we share a purpose and sense of hope with the thousands around us - we belong to a broader congregation. That religious language follows naturally. The art critic Robert Hughes famously wrote that train stations were the cathedrals of the industrial age. To update Hughes: sports stadiums are the cathedrals of the post-industrial age.

Above all, sport provides us with timeless stories. It reveals, in dramatic ways, essential elements of the human condition. A few years ago, speaking at a BBC debate called "Sport v the Arts", the classical scholar Edith Hall made this startling claim: "Sport has only two narratives - either you win or you lose - how boring!"

The truth could not be more different. A moment's reflection reveals that within the overarching narrative of victory or defeat (there are also draws and ties, Edith), there are countless twists and subplots - often far more interesting and affecting than the headline-grabbing result. Sometimes you have to look more carefully to see the real story.

Sport can be experienced at many different levels. Just like the arts.

Former England, Kent and Middlesex batsman Ed Smith's new book, Luck - What It Means and Why It Matters, is out now. His Twitter feed is here

Drinking two cans of Monster Energy drink on consecutive days kills 14 year old?

The company is also being sued the family of Anais Fournier, who had a pre-existing heart condition, but says it does not believe its product was 'in any way responsible for the girl’s death'

Monster Beverage Company is being investigated by the US Food and Drug Administration after a 14-year-old girl died after drinking just two cans of its popular energy drink.

The company is also being sued the family of Anais Fournier, who had a pre-existing heart condition, but says it does not believe its product was “in any way responsible for the girl’s death”.

The lawsuit, and reports of several other similar deaths, is likely to add to questions over Monster’s safety, and to escalate calls from its critics to change the way the beverage, which is the fastest growing energy drink in the US, is marketed.

Ms Fournier died of a heart attack brought on by ‘caffeine toxicity’ after drinking two 24-ounce Monster cans - containing 240 milligrams of caffeine, or seven times the amount of the caffeine in a 12-ounce cola - on consecutive days in December 2011.

An autopsy revealed the teenager, from Hagerstown, Maryland, died of cardiac arrhythmia due to caffeine toxicity that impeded her heart's ability to pump blood. The medical examiner also found that she had an inherited disorder that can weaken blood vessels.

Miss Fournier's parents Wendy Crossland and Richard Fournier claim Monster failed to warn about the risks of drinking its products.

Ms Crossland told the Record Herald: 'I was shocked to learn the FDA can regulate caffeine in a can of soda, but not these huge energy drinks.

“With their bright colors and names like Monster, Rockstar, and Full Throttle, these drinks are targeting teenagers with no oversight or accountability. These drinks are death traps for young, developing girls and boys, like my daughter, Anais.”

With double-digit growth through the third quarter of 2012, Beverage Digest Editor John Sicher said he expects energy drink sales to exceed $10 billion this year. He declined to speculate about future growth.

“I don't think they are going to ban energy drinks,” said Morningstar analyst Thomas Mullarkey. “The question arises whether or not it gives them more firepower for increased regulation.”

Monster Beverage Corp said it does not believe its drinks are 'in any way responsible' for Miss Fournier's death.

'Monster is unaware of any fatality anywhere that has been caused by its drinks,' the company said in a statement. It said it intends to vigorously defend itself in the suit.

So how long can the US hold the world to ransom with the dollar?

Satyajit Das

On 8 November 2010, the German finance minister Wolfgang Schäuble told the Wall Street Journal: "The USA lived off credit for too long, inflated its financial sector massively and neglected its industrial base."

US gross government debt currently totals around $16trillion (£10trn). The US government holds around 40 per cent of the debt through the Federal Reserve and government funds. Individuals, corporations, banks, insurance companies, pension funds, mutual funds, state or local governments, hold 25 per cent. Foreign investors, China, Japan and "other" (principally oil exporting) nations, Asian central banks or sovereign wealth funds hold the rest.

Historically, America has been able to run large budget and balance of payments deficits because it had no problem finding investors in US Treasury securities. The unquestioned credit quality of the US, the unparalleled size and liquidity of its government bond market, ensured investor support. Given its reserve currency and safe haven status, US dollars and US government bonds were a cornerstone of investment portfolios of foreign lenders.

During this period, emerging countries such as China fuelled American growth, supplying cheap goods and cheap funding – recycling export proceeds into US bonds – to finance the purchase of these goods. It was a mutually convenient addiction .

Asked whether America hanged itself with an Asian rope, a Chinese official told a reporter: "No. It drowned itself in Asian liquidity."

Given the sheer quantum of US debt, foreign investors may become increasingly less willing to finance America. Japanese and European investors, struggling to finance their own government obligations, may simply not have the funds.

Given its magnitude and the lack of political will to deal with the problem of debt and public finances, the US is now deploying its FMDs – "financial extortion", "monetisation" and "devaluation" – to finance its requirements.

In a form of extortion, existing investors like China must continue to purchase US dollars and bonds to avoid a precipitous drop in the value of existing investments.

Debt monetisation – printing money – is another strategy. The US Federal Reserve is already the in-house pawnbroker to the US government, purchasing government bonds in return for supplying reserves to the banking system. Expedient in the short term, monetisation risks setting off inflation. The absence of demand in the economy, industrial over-capacity and the unwillingness of banks to lend have meant successive "quantitative easing" has not resulted in higher inflation to date. But the risks remain.

Monetisation is inexorably linked to devaluation of the US dollar. The zero interest rates policy and debt monetisation is designed to weaken the dollar. As John Connally, the US Treasury Secretary under President Richard Nixon, belligerently observed: "Our dollar, but your problem."

Despite bouts of dollar buying on its safe haven status, the US dollar has significantly weakened over the last two years, losing around 20 per cent against major currencies since 2009. As the dollar weakens US foreign investments and overseas income gain in value. But the major benefit is in relation to debt owned by foreigners. As almost all its government debt is denominated in US dollars, devaluation reduces its value.

This forces existing investors to keep rolling over debt to avoid realising losses. It encourages them to increase investment, to "double down" to lower their average cost of US dollars and debt. It also allows the US to enhance its competitive export position.

Major investors in US government bonds now find themselves in the position John Maynard Keynes identified: "Owe your banker £1,000 and you are at his mercy; owe him £1m and the position is reversed."

Valery Giscard d'Estaing, the French finance minister under Charles de Gaulle, famously used the term "exorbitant privilege" to describe the advantages to America of the dollar's role as a reserve currency and its central role in global trade.

That privilege now is not only "exorbitant" but "extortionate". How long the world will let the US exercise it is uncertain.

Satyajit Das is a former banker and author of "Extreme Money" and "Traders, Guns & Money"

Navratri and the lessons of fasting for atheists

Spiritual disciplines can teach us much about food discipline – I found my 10-day fast extremely rewarding



Julian Baggini

guardian.co.uk, Monday 22 October 2012 15.34 BST



It might seem odd but I, a convinced atheist, have recently completed a 10-day fast based on the Hindu festival of Navratri, which is being celebrated this week. Fasting is refraining from eating at all, or more usually certain proscribed foods.





These days, if we limit what we eat, it is almost certainly because we are trying to lose weight, detox or realise some kind of health benefit. The idea that we might seek to forgo certain foods for moral improvement seems bizarrely anachronistic. The penance of Catholic Lent and Friday fasting make as little sense to most of us as the once common idea that food should be avoided after a death for fear that food around the deceased would be impure.





But there are some real lessons we can learn from spiritual disciplines around food. For the Benedictine former abbot Christopher Jamison, only eating certain things at certain times is a way of countering our tendency to slavishly follow our desires. "It's a way of exercising choice very knowingly," he told me, "and at the same time a way of exercising discipline around food." Similarly, the Buddhist abbot Ajahn Sucitto says that too often eating becomes just one of those "compulsive activities which on a functional level are not necessary. We do it just because of a psychological habit."





For reasons like this, I thought fasting was worth a try and Navratri – literally meaning nine nights in Sanskrit – looked like a good model. It heralds the start of autumn, and is dedicated to Shakti, the deity responsible for creation. My rules were that I would eat three meals a day, with no snacking in between of any kind. I would forgo meat, seafood and dairy products and would not drink alcohol or eat sweets or cakes. I would strive to eat each meal mindfully and thankfully and on the last evening would have some kind of feast, a celebration of the pleasure and variety of good food rather than an excessive gorging. The idea can be summed up as countering the bad A of automaticity with the three good As of right appreciation, right autonomy and right action.





I found the 10 days extremely rewarding. It wasn't meant to be a trial, and when I did feel hungry I reminded myself that such feelings pass, and unless we're really starving, we can always choose to wait until our next meal.





I'm not the only atheist learning from religious fasting. The philosopher James Garvey, my successor as editor of the Philosophers' Magazine, has also followed a version of the Ramadan fast several times. "There is some sort of discovery of a part of yourself involved, or maybe a discovery associated with the human experience," he told me, "a feeling of being in control of your appetites for once. I can see why so many religions do it."





I've become quietly evangelical about it. Some people have no trouble controlling their appetites or just don't care much for food. But I suspect most of us eat too thoughtlessly too often. I plan to repeat my fast twice a year, around the spring and autumnal equinoxes. The next one starts on 14 March. I'd be happy for you to join me.

Be Your Own Dick Tracy

                 

Just walk into the nearest spyware shop, and grab the gizmo of your choice.

Arpita Basu 

In a basement office-cum-showroom off Green Park in south Delhi, a demo is in progress. “Recording time is 12 hours, the images and sounds will be so clear you can see and hear everything,” offers the sales assistant. The customer, a man in his 40s with dark-circled eyes, is convinced; the deal is sealed. In an hour or so, the digital table clock he just bought should be sitting on his bedside table; hopefully, worth every penny of the 12,000-odd rupees he spent on it.

The innocuous clock is in fact a spycam, bought to combat “domestic abuse” in his bedroom, he confesses, even as he advises us on the best cam for our job. There are, after all, plenty of options: caps, wristwatches, sunglasses, buttons, pens, belts, pendants, photo-frames, iPhone lookalikes, cola cans, even chewing gum packs, each fitted with pinhole cameras and tiny recording devices to be your eyes and ears when you need it to be.

For anything from Rs 1,500-Rs 30,000 or more, you can play detective with a lifetime’s supply of spy devices available off the internet, in discreet shops, or through smses peddling the snare ware. A request to an online directory for details of shops selling spyware like pen cameras throws up nine addresses in south Delhi alone. No wonder Bhavna Paliwal, director of Tejas Detective Agency, has had to reluctantly ditch the pen camera as a work tool because it is “so common now”. Clearly, spyware has stealthily attached itself to the underbelly of urban relationships, with spouses, partners, friends and colleagues relying increasingly on guileful gizmos to catch their kith and kin in the act.
Mueen Pasha, founder of the Bangalore-based Spy Zone, has been selling spy gadgets for eight years, but it’s only now that his business is truly thriving—he sells at least a hundred gadgets a month, in the price range of Rs 4,000-Rs 15,000. “Sales have gone up, and in the last two years, family problems have come to the fore. These days working hours are so long that one doesn’t know what is going on at home and some people will go to any lengths to find out.”

In Mumbai, Mahmood, a salesperson in a spyware shop he didn’t want named, says, “Most often people buy these gadgets when they suspect their partners of infidelity. Many discuss their problems in detail, so that we can suggest the best gadget. Others claim they want to fix cameras in their shops or homes after a theft, or to keep an eye on their domestic helps, but we can tell they are lying.”
He has seen enough customers to know that the real reasons may be very different. Sanjay Singh, director of Indian Detective Agency, doesn’t hesitate to call the use of spycams a ‘trend’. “People going for business meetings try to sneak in devices to record conversations. Many who come to us have already tried these DIY spykits,” he says. One woman, he recalls, approached him to help her bring her husband to book. The gentleman in question, she alleged, was enjoying the company of other women behind her back. “I was surprised by the knowledge she had about spy devices!” Singh says.
Paliwal too has had clients trying to cut costs by doing the digging themselves instead of hiring a private eye. “Very often they fail,” she laughs, recounting how a newly-married man tried hiding a tiny camera in the air cooler. Only, he hadn’t factored in his wife’s keen eyesight. “As it turned out, he had no reason to suspect her,” she says. Another client, a professional working in a multinational company, made a mess of “investigations” trying to record his wife entering her office. “Their divorce case was under way, and if he could prove she had got herself a job, he wouldn’t have to shell out maintenance money,” she explains.

So common are these devices, and so diverse their customers, that Devendra, from Anand India’s sales team, finds it difficult to sketch up a client profile. “Aajkal to bahut chal raha hai,” he concedes, counting journalists, lawyers, doctors, wives and husbands among his customers. One popular product, he says, is the spy bug—a matchbox-sized device fitted with a SIM, which can be yours for Rs 3,000. “Once you put the sim into the device, and call that number, you can hear whatever is going on around that device.” If that sounds difficult to pull off, it isn’t. Arun (name changed) vouches for it. His “friend”, he claims, had once hidden this spybug in his girlfriend’s handbag when she went to meet a former classmate. “He suspected the two of them were more than friends and figured that listening in on their conversation would clear things up.” Obviously, the girl’s word that there was no funny business going on wasn’t enough.

Paliwal feels shows like Emotional Atyachaar, where cheating partners are spied upon and confronted, sparked the dubious inclination to peep into our own bedrooms. This inclination has been fuelled by easy access and low prices. Singh says, “Five or six years ago, we would buy pen cameras for Rs 15,000-Rs 20,000. Now Chinese versions of it can be bought for Rs 1,500 or less.”
That cannot be good news for unsuspecting subjects at the receiving end. As Singh cautions, misuse is an obvious danger. “I know of teenagers using these gadgets, they are so tech-savvy anyway. People know all about these gizmos; even leading dailies run advertisements for them. Girls often bear the brunt, being filmed without their knowledge and viewed by hundreds once the video is posted online.”
Even if the footage is for the eyes of the “spy” alone, the act itself is an invasion of privacy, a breach of trust. As Paliwal asks, “Will a wife who knows that her husband tried to record her activities on the sly ever trust him again?” Whatever the answer to that, it is a risk not a few are clearly willing to take.

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