The other day, a gentleman stared suspiciously at my spectacles. “Bob, are you wearing smart glasses?”
“No,” I replied.
“Thank goodness,” he whispered. “Then I had better say whatever I want before you buy a pair.”
I laughed, but later pondered his reaction. What was he planning to say that frightened him so much? Was truth suddenly dependent on the kind of glasses I wore?
Today, I read that senior police officers are also uncomfortable about smart glasses. One police chief reportedly said he would now be more cautious while speaking to visitors. Another warned that such technology could deepen the trust deficit.
I scratched my head. Surely trust is not damaged because a conversation is recorded. Trust is damaged when what is said cannot bear being recorded.
Imagine entering a police station wearing smart glasses.
“Why have you come here?” asks the officer sternly.
“To file a complaint, sir.”
“Come tomorrow.”
I touch my glasses and smile, as he looks suspiciously at them. And then there’s a sudden change, “Why wait till tomorrow?” he says, smiling sweetly. “Please sit down. Would you like tea, coffee, or immediate justice?”
What a transformation! Smart glasses may achieve what training manuals, disciplinary committees, and endless lectures on public service have struggled to accomplish.
Perhaps the opposition parties should distribute them free to citizens. Files might begin moving without mysterious encouragement. Officials might discover that chairs are meant for sitting and desks are meant for working. Even politicians might start remembering promises made before elections.
We Indians have always had an interesting relationship with technology that exposes the truth. We were among the last to accept the third umpire in cricket. We preferred the human umpire because his poor eyesight occasionally helped our batsman remain at the crease.
“Not out!” he would declare.
The replay showed three stumps flying in different directions, the wicketkeeper dancing, and the batsman already halfway to the pavilion.
But we trusted the umpire.
Why?
Because error can be useful when it favours us.
That is the real fear behind smart glasses. They do not create mistrust. They expose what already exists. They quietly announce, “Please behave exactly as you would if the whole world were watching.”
And that frightens many people.
We love rooms with dim lights, missing cameras, misplaced files, forgotten promises, and conversations that can later be denied.
“I never said that,” we declare confidently.
Then someone presses play.
Suddenly, memory returns.
Smart glasses may invade privacy if misused, and safeguards are certainly necessary. But accountability is not the enemy of honest people. It is the enemy of hypocrisy.
Perhaps the glasses are not becoming smarter. Perhaps they are merely forcing us to become more honest.
We love darkness because it hides our convenient truths. But when light enters the room, even through a pair of spectacles, character is finally asked to stand up and face the camera...!
The Author conducts an online, eight session Writers and Speakers Course. If you’d like to join, do send a thumbs-up to WhatsApp number 9892572883 or send a message to bobsbanter@gmail.com
