First published: Wednesday, 27 September 2006

Earlier this summer - before the Mumbai train blasts and before the heightened tension in Heathrow - I was taking a flight within India.

Security was lax; a genial security officer did a cursory pat down and waved me on. I asked him if he did not need to do a more thorough check. His response: "Nowadays nothing untoward happens."

This is no doubt a case of the oriental fatalism act overdone. But, at times, I wonder if the world is not going too far in the other direction. 

Given the rise of terrorism the world over, of course, airport frisking will be extra-diligent, and parking a car to drop off passengers at airports will cause security personnel to go edgy. These are quite understandable.

But there is an aspect of caution in life that deserves scrutiny. What concerns me is that, through a combination of forces, ranging from the fear of litigation to the rise of genuine risks in everyday life, we are erring on the side of caution. 

Chilling instruction

If you read the warning labels on products you will know what I mean. My printer ink cartridge, for instance, has a warning that I should not drink it. I do not know whether I should thank the company that produced it for its touching concern for my health or send a letter to the product manager asking him what he thinks my IQ is.

The husk of psyllium, popularly known in India as isabgol, that grows in abundance in the Kutch region of Gujarat, has been known from ancient times for its medicinal value. Two spoonfuls stirred with water and taken at night acts as a mild (and soothing, some diehards would insist) laxative. Recent research has also suggested that isabgol may lower cholesterol. 

In India isabgol is widely used, adults and children gulping it down with water and without a thought. In the US it can be bought over the counter under various brand names, such as Metamucil.

But alas, when you are about to down one of these, your mind, far from being put to rest, has every reason to be on alert, for you are told: "Taking this product without adequate fluid may cause it to swell and block your throat or oesophagus and may cause choking."

Travelling by British Airways from Calcutta, via London, to New York last month, I could understand the severe limits placed on what we could carry, and the meticulous checks that our baggage was subjected to at each airport. In fact it was comforting to have that drill.

But what about the routine, chilling instruction (crafted by the International Air Transport Authority and so covers all airlines) we get at the start of each airplane flight, such as how to get into the "brace position" in the event of an emergency?

I wonder if this is not overdone and also poor economics. 

On the cost side is the fact that it ruins the journey for thousands of air-travellers who are already uncomfortable about flying, by reminding and in effect exaggerating to them the risks involved. 

If, every time you got into a car, you had to hear a recitation of the risks of driving and of how, in an accident, the airbags will open up and how you should respond to such an eventuality (for instance, not have your knitting needle pointing towards the airbags), we would have much less traffic and many more hypertension patients. 

Miniscule probability

What about the benefits? It is true that in some events this instruction can save one.

But to see how miniscule that probability is, note first that the chance of an emergency, where the need arises to get into the brace position, is tiny; and, second, if the need does arise, the most likely outcome is that one will meet one's end in a brace position, and there is nothing to commend that. 

The probability that the brace position is needed and will save you is therefore microscopically small.

So, if we do a serious cost-benefit analysis of these alarming announcements, my guess is that we will cease to bother passengers with them. 

And the hazard warning does not end there. 

If, after settling into your seat, you reach into your pocket for one of those refreshment strips,, "Cool Mint Listerine Pocket Packs", for instance, you will notice a word of caution in bold: WARNING: THE CARRYING CASE MAY CAUSE A CHOKING HAZARD.

In case you were tempted to eat not just the candies but the carrying case, I suppose that is a useful warning.

Weighed down by these thoughts, last evening I tried to put all the dangers surrounding me out of my mind, and relax with a book and a glass of soda.

And what better than ginger ale, caffeine free, Canada Dry, to soothe the nerves?

But no sooner had I sunk into the sofa and picked up the bottle, my eyes fell on a warning on the side of it: "Contents under pressure. Cap may blow off causing eye or other serious injury. Point away from face or people." 

Dr. Kaushik Basu, Professor of Economics and Carl Marks Professor of International Studies at Cornell University

This article first appeared on the BBC News Column Wednesday, 27 September 2006.