WHENEVER I drive into a hotel, a security guard asks me to open the boot of my car. I comply without protest. He peers inside with admirable seriousness and shuts the boot, and I proceed with the comforting feeling that national security is not being taken for granted.
The practice became commonplace after the Mumbai terror attacks, when hotels rightly tightened security. The threat was real, the response understandable. Over time, the boot check has become a familiar ritual that visitors accept without a second thought.
I have great respect for security procedures. Most are born of hard lessons and painful experience. But I have also learned that every system, however useful, has a shelf life. The world changes. Technology changes. Criminals change. Terrorists certainly do. Which is why I sometimes wonder whether some security drills have become so familiar that they are no longer drills at all. They are habits.
The trouble with habits is that everyone learns them. Familiarity is useful in many walks of life, but security is not one of them. A procedure that can be anticipated perfectly is halfway to being circumvented. If I know that my car boot will be checked every time I enter a hotel or a mall, surely a terrorist knows it too. In fact, he has probably studied the routine more carefully than I have. Once a procedure becomes predictable, it ceases to surprise the very people it was designed to deter.
Security is, in many ways, a contest of adaptation. One side devises safeguards, the other looks for loopholes. The advantage belongs not to the side with the longest checklist but to the side that remains unpredictable. Random checks, changing patterns and occasional surprises create uncertainty. Predictability does the opposite.
This is not an argument against security. Quite the contrary. Security is too important to become mechanical. The purpose of a security drill is not merely to reassure the innocent; it is to introduce doubt into the mind of the guilty. The best time to rethink a procedure is before it becomes a ritual.
There is a broader lesson here. We live in an age where obsolescence sets in before we realise it. Technology is updated, professional skills are refreshed and systems redesigned. The challenge is not merely to create procedures but to recognise when they need renewal.
I say this as a retired policeman: retirement is not a punishment; it is recognition of long and honourable service. Security measures deserve the same respect. They should be appreciated for what they have achieved and, when the time comes, succeeded by newer ideas.
The boot check has rendered faithful service for many years. Perhaps it is now ready for a pension.
The writer is a retired IPS officer
