India, Jan. 24 -- Death shouldn't be a mere number. But in India, it often seems to be reduced to exactly that. The government response to an accident is intrinsically linked to one question: What was the damage? The conversation isn't about whether the tragedy could have been averted, rather it quickly shifts towards the death toll and the number of those injured and the candy that we all know as compensation. It happens in such a cold-hearted manner that it makes one wonder: What is the value of a life in India? In Greater Noida's Sector 150, a 27-year-old software engineer, Yuvraj Mehta, tragically died after his car plunged into a water-filled construction pit on the night of January 16-17. The night was cold and foggy, and the bend on the wrote that Mehta could not see was very likely a case of bad design, with fatal consequences. Eyewitnesses reported that he struggled for nearly 90 minutes, screaming for help, even as his father, the police, the fire brigade, and personnel from the State Disater Response Force (SDRF) watched on. The National Disaster Response Force could arrive only much later. It was a death that was the direct result of criminal negligence on the part of the administration and societal failure. With its gross domestic product (GDP) valued at $4.18 trillion, India has surpassed Japan to become the world's fourth largest economy, it aims to become the third largest by 2030. But what is the point of this growth if it is soaked in the kind of apathy that allows its citizens to drown without so much as batting an eyelid, or moves on after some shortlived outrage. Around 9.5 million people die in India every year. This is the second largest number of annual deaths of any country in the world after China. So perhaps the death of one techie doesn't mean much in the larger scheme of things. But it is only when a country starts reacting to such incidents by asking questions that are aimed at getting to the core of the problem rather than covering things up can we talk about maturing as a society. Surely, an ancient civilisation should have had at least this part pinned down in the modern age. We have unfortunately reached a point where such incidents have started to seem like the norm - people dying because of potholes, contaminated tap water, or even stampedes at religious gatherings. And this is just the tip of the iceberg. The problem, though, is the pattern that follows. Politicians quickly look to apportion the blame and not take any responsibility for what has happened or what will. Someone will be suspended. A probe will be ordered. And then there will be silence. Not even a sincere sorry follows. In the hierarchical Indian society, deferring to authority figures and navigating big egos is almost a given. Every citizen uses a coping skill called masking: concealing thoughts or behaviours to fit in. But sometimes, you just have to do what's right. And this is where the Indian State machinery fumbles with startling consistency. Ideally, in a democracy, the ordinary citizen must have the right of way. But it rarely ever happens, so much so that the sinking man feels like an apt metaphor for the state of humanity. A slow descent into a hell where we'll watch, we'll outrage, perhaps even cry, and then we'll let them die....