ARE ALL POLICEMEN BASTARDS?

                  

            ARE  ALL POLICEMEN BASTARDS?

Two days ago, I accidently came across a post published in the blog of a person whose blog has been listed in the 'best blog of India' list under the head-humor/ satire. The blogger with an exceptional flair for writing inspires lot of new generation writers with her brilliant and lucid write-ups and as a new comer to the world of blogging, I could only start reading her recently and that too when I accidently came across her while surfing for some good ones. It’s truly amazing to read her blog which would definitely make you feel relaxed with its satirical style of writing. 

It was about an incident that had happened at the Huda City Centre Metro station in Gurgaon where her hand bag had gone missing from the X-Ray conveyor belt, obviously in the presence of few security personnel and Metro staff. It’s indeed a nasty incident that could have been so easily avoided had the people responsible should have pursued the right thing in right perspective.  She had lost a lot of cash, few credit cards, her ATM card and the keys of her house and above all her latest Android. The incident, iam sure, can drive even the calmest person in the world to serious frustration and rage and can only be understood by those who went through it even once. We as human beings are living naturally and hence those outrageous words spat out by the author calling a police officer, a  ‘leery bastard’ who in her words “was ogling at her cleavage and arms” as a pervert,  and describing a police station as a place to be avoided like a bubonic plague are natural and understandable. Since this happened to a writer, whose blog I love reading,  I decided to post a comment by apologizing for whatever happened to her on behalf of the community which I belongs to and thereby requesting her to continue with her writing rather than allowing that incident to take its toll on her creative brilliance. 

 Here goes the comment, in its original version without any additions or deletions, which I had posted on her blog the same day.

           “First off, I must say sorry for coming here for the first time to say-Sorry.  As a newcomer to the Blogosphere, let me bemoan my fate.  It’s only a couple of days ago I came across your blog and I absolutely love it. You are such an amazing writer with a great flair for writing.  What happened to you today is so unfortunate. You have got the umpteen rights to be outrageous for what happened to you which you have showered in abundance in your post. I do apologize on behalf of my community for whatever happened to you. It could have been so easily avoided had the people who are responsible done the right thing in right perspective. But now, I know you have had enough solace and one more from me won’t matter much.  Our policemen, particularly lower in hierarchy are overstressed and many hails from our own villages and poor background. One of my friends commented above that those who join the police are either undereducated or were not good enough to do any other job but to become a criminal or join police. Can you tell me, who has to take the blame for that? Such a brilliant person you are, no more elucidation required right? I’am sure you can make a nice article out of this. Please do it for me. Another friend’s comment about his experience inside a police station is self explanatory to the appalling condition the ordinary policemen live in our country. Forgive them. Do we support the idea of dismantle the police system and become anarchists? Free gun license to all and say go save you. Mam, someone has to join the police, no? Our society often thinks of policemen as someone who are there to die and read the news about police who have died in the line of duty (Mumbai attack or Chhattisgarh holocaust, yesterday in Gadchiroli ), in the same manner as you said in the introductory paragraph “cluck and shake your head in sympathy and proceed to finish your cup of tea”. Let it be. But by telling this, Iam not at all justifying the policemen who are responsible for putting you in that terrible misfortune. You have already showered a lot of abuses on them. Still you are free to approach the seniors in the hierarchy for which Iam sure, you will be heard amicably. Don’t disturb your creative head any more. Let us hope, somewhere someone trying to get a taxi to reach you and return back your handbag which she/he took mistakenly. As you rightly said in your profile-loves pocking fun at everything especially herself- just take it as an incident for future and inspire and enrich us with your brilliance in writing as I could do no more than this but to pray for you. By respecting the dignity of this space for comments- God bless you. “

To my surprise, though expected vaguely, the comment has not been published for unknown reasons. May be it has been conveniently deleted by the blogger or rejected by the 'comment moderation system' after having been recognized it as a 'potentially dangerous spam'. Either way, it’s not my loss as I could find many a blog where the blogger values and encourages people to share insights and are mature enough to handle a comment which at times is not sugary. But then I strongly believe that I haven’t made any derogatory remark to spot a genuine flaw she made in her post, nor did I say anything to put her in that ‘hate to be proven wrong’ syndrome except indicating a small point that contradicts her outburst and creating ruckus out of wrath at the metro station with her statement in her profile as she is a person who- loves pocking fun at everything especially herself.  Anyway it’s her blog and it’s her prerogative to publish it or not. If at all the dubious disappearance of my comment is due to a genuine technical hitch, then I’am here alive to emphatically apologize to her for my aforesaid statement.

You may think that I'am writing this post to vent out my disappointment for not getting my comment published. But the fact is that, I have started drafting this even before posting my comment.  What genuinely made me realize that I should write something here is the horrendous outrage the friends and followers of the author unleashed against the whole police system by generalising the issue. They were found to be competing with each other in finding the filthiest words in the dictionary to do the same. And many of them emerged as brilliant writers reflecting the negative side of creativity by truly accepting that they never ever had an opportunity to talk to a policeman or to involve themselves in the ibid system. In a democratic, socialist country like India, every citizen has the basic right to speak, express, comment and protest against anything wrong. But then why would you judge a community based on what a person did something wrong? I’am sure, many will take this as my love and steadfast loyalty towards my community. Then again, it’s their prerogative. But the fact is that, by doing so, you are insulting several upright officers in the police department who works hard for the well being of the public and several others who have sacrificed their lives to see you safe at your home.

It's well known that, around the world policemen of lower ranks who are most likely to encounter the members of the public. Here in our country where half of the population is under below poverty line, the general public is an amalgamation of well off and well educated people as well as poor and lower middle class. It needs tremendous skills and years of training to deal with each one of them as per their expectations. It’s natural that the educated and affluent members of the society  carries much expectations as to how they should be treated everywhere. And as I have mentioned in my comment to the author, many constables in police department comes from villages and poor family background, with educational qualification ranges from matriculation to upper intermediate level. After joining the police, most of them who are fairly smart, learn pretty quickly what they have been taught in the police training centers regarding human rights and public dealing. Many others take more time to understand how to behave gently to public. And of course there are few who never understand anything. They are the ones who mock at the system and brings bad name to the whole community. I accept. But then please let me know if there is any flawless community exists in this world?  To fathom the intricacies of this complex system, we need to analyze ourselves by opening all available forums to communicate each other. The more the distance we keep ourselves from the police the more do we shut the opportunities to communicate. Nobody can be blamed for this except ourselves. We have not yet fully recovered from the ill effects of colonialism imposed on us by the British rulers. To alienate police from the civil society was an idea cropped up in their mind to suppress the populace by fear and force to rule us as per their convenience using their sheer power. Policing being a state subject in India, it will take some time before the government takes any decision about the implementation of police reforms in full and to take effect several directives given by the Supreme Court to the states in this regard.

Coming back to the article, I differ in opinion with few of my friends who had commented on the subject. Due to space restrictions, I have not mentioned anything in the comment of my own posted on that day. At least, Iam happy to see that none of them, over this issue, had criticised the policemen for allegedly perpetrating this act of thievery which I have been expecting after reading the language of rage they were using against the whole police system for their apparent inaction.  In the midst of this entire melee, the person who actually took her handbag and flees had escaped unscathed without getting a single filthiest abuse from the author as well as her friends. I can’t say for sure, but I still believe that her bag was taken mistakenly by someone as it happened in many cases earlier and will eventually reach her by parcel or courier one fine morning. The person who had committed the mistake wouldn’t have the courage to come out into the limelight then and there due to obvious reason, particularly after watching all the commotion inside. If it is a thievery, which according to me is a very remote possibility, involvement of an organized criminal racket active in railway stations couldn't be ruled out. The CCTVs could provide some feedback on it. Let us hope for the best.
If at all you were ensnared in such a situation, what I suggest is to keep your cool. These rackets are ‘thoroughly professional’ in carrying out such acts which they often commit after observing your movements and even by reading your emotions. The more keyed up and hurry you are the more likely you are to get targeted. If by chance you are spellbound in such a bad situation and you genuinely feel that the policemen in attendance are least cooperative, which in itself is a most unfortunate state of affair; you can approach an officer higher in chain of command without a prejudiced mind and tender a written complaint before him or solicit his valuable guidance which he will do, I’am sure, with empathy.  As a responsible citizen, highly educated and belong to the affluent society, the author should have first explored all the available forums ahead of her rather than unleashing a unilateral outrage against the whole police system in a public medium. A public forum is an arena where you should contribute something for the betterment of the society and project issues in a diligent manner so that the readers/audience appreciate the core of the issue and salute it as thought provoking. In view of the fact that the author candidly wrote in her post that the constables are not ‘Sherlock Holmes’ and are amateurish and uneducated, it’s obvious that her blog is not meant for them to read and reform themselves. What the author earned from doing all the ruckus inside the station in front of the police and metro staff is just obliterating the last drop of empathy she genuinely deserves from the mind of the staff which would have lend a hand in finding her stolen bag in later course. This I have to say, though despondently. 
But if the motive behind the post is to impart maximum advertisement about the issue and thus provoke the attention of higher authorities by posting it in face book or other such medium, as many of her friends already did, I acknowledge it as a brilliant idea harvested in her head.  Sort of identifying and exploiting a major fault in the system. It's indeed a good potion for quick redressal, if you genuinely think that in our country you have to shout to be heard. Attacking police is definitely one of the best ingredients to invite maximum public attention. 
Now let me have an appeal to my friends, both in police and the public as well. I will start with my police friends, particularly to those who are up in hierarchy.
Why can’t we try to educate our men, particularly those in much lower levels to refrain from doing anything which potentially harm the dignity of our department and tarnish our image in front of the society? Why can’t we direct them to be extra courteous while dealing with the general public, rich or poor, even if they are under stress?  Why can’t we try befriending the public? Why can’t we isolate those who never understand the significance of policing and deal with them harshly as well?  I know we are understaffed and are in tremendous stress and strain. But still, let’s try doing it for our future generation. We officers are at the liberty of doing it which falls under our own authority. We mature by age and service. So let us communicate our experiences to our juniors. They will pay attention to you only but to the bloggers or intellectuals in our society. We are the ones to reform them. We may set a good example for those among us every time when they look at us for guidance and tell them – see look at me and do exactly what Iam doing. We can bring a lot of change.
Now to my friends from the public community. First of all please do not generalize us or in that matter any community for a transgression committed by an individual belong to that community.  Does the person who master minded the Mumbai attack represent a community?  Further the one who unleashes attack on the minorities in Gujarat doesn’t represent a community either. Person who killed Indira Gandhi or Rajiv Gandhi too doesn’t represent a community. So, there are good guys and bad guys in all sections, in all communities and in all countries. Let us try understanding and living by the fact. We are privileged that we are not living in Syria or Somalia. Is there a country without crime? 
To one of my beloved brother who commented that the people who join the police are those who could not get quality education, were not good enough to do any other job and had only two options with them, that to join police or become a criminal, I have few words. I hope you are a well educated person. Now tell me, to whom do you express your gratitude for making you an educated person?  It’s your parents who got you admitted in a school when you were a kid, paid your fees and gave you good food and clothing. In few exceptional cases, like orphans, some other noble hearted person did the same. But any way it's not you all by yourself...right? In a country where almost half of the population living below the poverty line, such parents is a minority who could afford to send their wards to IIM or IIT and bestow them the “quality education” you were talking about. Now I hope you won’t blame at least those unlucky policemen for not been able to get quality education. Education is alms, a charity you attain by the mercy of someone. Try to understand this as your primary wisdom.  Your comment was so painful my dear brother. By respecting your right of expression, let me tell you one more thing. Please ask the hapless parents of those boys who  have died and still dying in recruitment centers of armed forces and police while giving grueling physical efficiency tests in empty stomach, how much aspirations they had in their wards to make then policemen instead of fetching some good money by sending them to the world of crime. Poverty and illiteracy is not a felony. It’s just a fate instead. It’s their destiny that they born in a poor family and you in rich.
And to those brothers and sisters who have commented the policemen as ‘bunch of bastards with bangles on their hand’, I welcome you to this part of the world where we are deployed. Come to Chhattisgarh, Gadchiroli or Chintalnar to see for yourself what is in our hands. Or else you can go to those places where our peers in ITBP and BSF are burning the midnight oil, with their eyes wide open in sub zero degree temperatures of Kargill, leh and ladakh, far away from their families for months and years to make you sleep peacefully in your air-conditioned room with your partner.
When Mumbai was attacked, all were fleeing from the scene shrieking and squealing for help and those unfortunate souls who could not flee have died on the streets. That was one of the worst terrorist attacks our country has ever seen. When everyone else ran for cover after shots were fired in all directions, few those who were not there at all came running towards the place even from the farthest parts of India to help the people, to save their kith and kids and eventually many of them were killed in the act. They were THE POLICEMEN and THE ARMED FORCE MEMBERS. They died just for YOU, because they are trained and paid to pull in towards the danger but not away from it. So, in a way they are paid to be vulnerable. Now, you can seriously think about joining us-The Police- Can you?  And for your kind information, they are the ones, the only ones who would be doing it for you. In a country where more than thousand policemen are killed every year while performing their duty, let us, at least not call them- a bunch of bastards.

But still, we won’t blame you. It’s an oath we took willfully.  . You made a lot of commotion inside the station by violating the norms, you shout at public servants in uniform and bang on everything you could see and spat those filthy words and you are here advising the policemen to behave in manners. The poor constable who accompanies you to the metro station, according to you were acting Sherlock Holmes. If all these are epitome of good manners, then I hope you can easily forgive those constables as well.   

Once again I would like to reiterate that I would never justify the acts of the policemen who are responsible for her plight. I sincerely appeal to the competant authority that they should be punished. And that’s the way we reform as better beings.

Before I wind up, I beg the permission to attach with this post a letter I received from a person from Mumbai, years back, when I was performing my duties as Officer Commanding at the Srinagar Airport. I never had any intention to make it public, which obviously would be reckoned as an act of extravagant self-assertion. But as it just fit in the scene, I thought otherwise. The background of the incident is that, one fine morning I found a driving license lying on the road side inside the Airport. I posted it to the person whose address I got from the license itself. I never thought the recipient will give a response. But when I received a beautifully written letter from him, it meant to be one of the most valuable commendations I got in my service. 
 My apologies to the gentleman for making it public and if you think I made a mistake by doing so, please let me know so that I will remove it promptly.


Now to the respected blogger, please let us know when you get your lost bag and post another article about it. I'am sure it's going to happen soon.  That would be a very interesting post...right? 

 Iam sure many have different views and have independent opinions on the above issue.  Please post your comment if time permits.   “JAI HIND”..




 

A TRUE CITIZEN

POLICE BLOOD IS ALSO RED

 POLICE BLOOD IS ALSO RED

                  Last few days I have felt truly rinsed out for some unknown reason. I have been a bit snappy and fatigued. Some sort of dull and sluggish. I was ready with some new projects but have somewhat stalled on the draft. The mounting temperature of this arid land might have taken its toll on my writing skills. It’s like that the sun is sucking the creative juices from my grey cells with a straw made of bamboo that are easily available in this place.

Meanwhile I thought, I need some inspiration to come out of this phase and plough on ahead. Then I remembered there’s always somebody there who has got more reason to be worried than me but is living a fully engaged, meaningful life in the community which makes the life of others better worth living. I met one such person at Kolhapur in Maharashtra. He was not alone. With him were few of his likeminded friends who relentlessly back him in his activities, extending from arranging blood for the hapless patients to organizing ambulance service for those in trauma. He, when I met him, was associated with CPR hospital at Kolhapur, the biggest health care centre in the district. Still I don’t know how popular he has been in his region as a humanitarian worker but I found his mobile phone never stops ringing, nor his old motorcycle got any relief from its escalating engine heat. The local populace affectionately hails him as “Bunty” and for those outsiders, he is Virendra Prabhakar Sawant.  In fact this post is not a story about Bunty to whom I had but little acquaintance with. But this depiction is about how he and his friends whom I met in the backdrop of a major riot, changed my perception of laymen in our society and more over how our meeting turned to be a moment of enlightenment for me that the ……..

POLICE BLOOD IS ALSO RED.

The ill-fated motorcycle breathed its last sending twisting curls of black smoke as a distress message to the weeping skies.  Several analogous messages were sent on the night of 7^th September 2009 from a small village in Maharashtra during the “Ganapathi Visarjan” festival that year. The flames of hatred every so often cause loud noises from inside the shops selling foot wears, flowers, medicines, cereals and vegetables in its busy and chaotic market road. Boulevards wore a deserted look as police imposed an indefinite curfew to prevent the violence from spreading into other districts. Peeking out from behind the tattered curtains were startled heads hitting each other in the dark, trying to figure out the movements outside the national highway, hostile or docile. Small children were held back by their hapless mothers from venturing out of their house and getting a volley of angry shouts from the policemen overseeing the curfew.  The mothers too found it hard to adjust to the plight. Often they cry out cursing the irresponsible men folk who desolated them by fleeing the village when the police knocked the doors in the night.   Narrow paths branch off the highway leading to slums now wore a semblance of cemetery. Behind the frail doors of those thatched huts were hooligans lurk to pounce on anyone daring to venture out for essential things like kerosene and milk and snatch the same eventually.

Rolled through those narrow paths in the wee hours had entered a convoy of eight RAF vehicles after much intricate eighteen hours of incessant journey from Hyderabad.  A new outburst of hostility was still looming large around the town. The exhausted members of RAF had no time to unwind as they had in their hand a grave job in saving the lives of several innocents who might die in the streets as irrational frenzy gripped the area. I thought, “Leading a contingent of one hundred and fifty well equipped men and women in blue uniform to sensitive places have become a routine for me during festival seasons as the communities living side by side for generations turn on each other in a bewildering frenzy through these times”.  For several years they have been meeting each other at least once a day and exchange pleasantries. They often help each other and share food and it would, in a matter of minutes, these very same people run amok like stray dogs searching for acquaintances from other community, only to butcher them brutally. Many times it had nothing to do with the religious fervor but would be a carefully orchestrated effort to rob the shops and wealth of their neighbors. A shame on mankind

The 'presence' of Rapid Action Force had to be made known to those hiding behind the doors of dirty houses with revenge in their mind and daggers in their hand. The trail of catastrophe, hooligans left behind in a matter of hours the previous day was terrible. The air was noxious with receding fumes of burning vehicles and shops. The flames often blazed out of proportion and coloured the dark sky in red flecks. Late night hush, though occasionally broken by mild explosions from inside the burning shops and houses along with screams or hysterical sobbing of dwellers, was indeed awesome.

It was early morning before our first assignment-show of strength-had been accomplished. Perturbed senior police officers encamped in the town since the ordeal started, heaved a sigh of relief as the vindictive night went off peacefully without any unpleasant incidents. Situation had improved significantly as combined efforts of state police as well as RAF, intervened on time, bore fruit. Strictly imposed curfew had prevented any moving objects, man or machine, to venture out into the streets with dubious intentions.  Pacing up and down were the vehicles of senior police officers taking all precautionary measures in their respective jurisdictions in order to prevent any collateral damage. “Situation tense but under control” scrolled the television news channels as they continued the coverage of one of the fierce communal riot happened in the district since long.

Finally at 3am in the morning, a security assessment meeting was conducted at the local police station whereby it was proposed to shift my company to the district headquarters at Kolhapur as another RAF company from Mumbai was already there engaged in vigorous patrolling.

It was almost dawn when we reached this historic town of Kolhapur.  Not even bothered about the basic amenities available in the police lines,   troops went into a quick slumber as they were much tired after a long journey from Hyderabad and an arduous patrolling the previous night.

Kolhapur was free from curfew. Nevertheless, prohibitory orders were issued by the district administration in few sensitive places as a precautionary measure as they genuinely feared a backlash over the sporadic incidents of violence happened elsewhere would affect the city of Kolhapur also. People seemed to be care less about what had happened in their neighboring villages. RAF had no much job to do for a couple of days apart from conducting flag march and foot patrolling in the city limits as a show of strength to infix confidence in the mind of local community.

Suddenly things took an ugly turn one day as tension erupted in the outskirts of Kolhapur when public violated the prohibitory orders and took out a politically motivated procession. When the police tried to hold them back beyond a point, the demonstrators came into a violent scuffle with them which resulted in heavy stone pelting from all directions. Police resorted to lathy-charge to disperse the unruly mob. Agitators ran helter skelter.  Several of them were injured, some of them seriously. The area was placed under curfew and RAF was called instantly as a rudimentary precaution. But the situation returned to normal as fast as it appeared. RAF returned to barracks and put themselves in routine in-house training activities at the Kolhapur police lines.

Hectic “Ganapathi Visarjan” bandobast duty for almost eleven grueling days in Hyderabad and a hasty short notice movement to Maharashtra was in fact a daunting assignment would any elite force dare acknowledge. Such an unrelenting work load for almost one month started taking toll on my company personnel. Few of them had got fever due to fatigue and sudden change in climate. Two among them, including a lady constable, had to be admitted in the CPR hospital where their condition continues to remain a matter of concern.

Couple of days later when I was standing near the hospital ward, the duty doctor came in a hurry “I have to tell you, officer,” he said drily, “the condition of your men is critical. I gather you are here to save the public and now your own men are in trouble”. He stared at me. Laboratory investigations revealed a critical state of affair.  The blood platelets of both of them had declined drastically due to the incessant viral fever they were suffering for many days. “They are in a state of thrombocytopenia”, doctor murmured in my direction. “Normal platelet count in a healthy individual is 150000 and 450000 per micro liter of blood, anything below 20000 is a reduced count and if platelet count level falls below that, spontaneous bleeding may occur and is considered a life threatening risk. The most serious complication which is potentially fatal is a bleeding inside the head (intracranial) or from the lining of the gut (gastrointestinal). Your men are in that state of affair”. He paused but found to be nervous about the laboratory reports.

It was late in the night. He motioned me to a chair at one end of his room and told that the main approach to addressing low platelet count in a variety of conditions is to give blood transfusion or platelet transfusion. “Both may be necessary in the present condition”, he said, “Either way the blood platelet may need to be replaced”.  Few other doctors also joined him in some serious discussion. Sitting there I had been listening quietly to that. Now one among them turned to me and said, “ An immediate transfusion of blood plasma would be required to save them. It is very difficult to get blood platelets now at mid night as all blood banks in the city are closed.”. That was a shocking revelation for me. My over ambitious assertion that I had enough donors available with me , made no impact on them.  “Extraction of blood platelets is done through a process called Plasmapherasis which itself is a long process”, they continued, “You have only one option. Convince the administration to get any blood bank open at this time….. Think it over…. We have to act fast”. He moved swiftly towards the ward. Dumbstruck, I stayed there gazing at him. I felt helpless. With one hundred and fifty trained men under me, if needed, I thought I could manifest anything that I want. But here Iam looking back at the corridor of the hospital, stood there staring into abyss in some sort of despondency.

 Suddenly I thought, “I have to act and act soon. A wrong or late decision could mean a horrible death for the two constables who had trusted me”. Time had suddenly became precious. In a strange place at odd hours, I felt vulnerable. To the terrible dilemma in which I found myself, there seemed to be only one answer; that to approach the district administration or police as the doctors rightly said. It was late night, the city, otherwise boisterous with busy markets and ever shouting street vendors, was quiet.

Superintend of police, Kolhapur, might not have expected a call from me at midnight with a problem he would have never expected from a central armed force officer. Of course, policemen talk benevolence too. For such a need, he assured me, he had ample resources. It took only a matter of minutes before the local police Inspector and the man with a mission, Prabhakar Sawant alias Bunty, arrived on the scene and was placed at my disposal. Paraded behind them were few doctors and few local politicians with several young men as volunteers. Bunty was found busy giving instructions to them.

I stood there alone and tense as a mute spectator in the corridor of the hospital watching how quickly the arrangements were made in a sophisticated manner. A Blood Bank in the city was opened and platelet packages were made available at the hospital in a flash. Under close observation of senior doctors, the transfusion was done then and there.

 A perceptible change of atmosphere in the ward had been noticed by me. Doctors assured a fast recuperation. It was almost, sort of life saving effort by all of them. It was, even the experienced doctors would later recall, ‘A wild gamble’.

“Midnight ordeal is over” was my initial thought after seeing a gleaming smile on the faces of doctors. It was almost an hour past the midnight. I stretched my legs, straitened myself and walked into the loggia where Mr. Prabhakar Sawant and local police Inspector were waiting for me with smiles on their lips. My gratitude was expressed to them through a long, long handshake. I looked at the eyes of Bunty for a long moment, and something I seemed to see in his eyes gave me a lesson in my life. I read that in his eyes, eyes that appealed to me that humanity is the biggest religion. My mind was full of affection. “It’s indeed amazing that such a remarkable effort could be done by you in a short period of time and in odd hours” my words, I know, were not enough to appreciate the efforts  they rendered to help the patients with compassion and service.

i found there in the portal, not far away at a respectable distance from us stood few young guys who willfully came along with Mr. Prabhakar Sawant on his request. Their mission was to donate blood for the sick RAF personnel just by chance. While expressing my words of gratitude to all of them, I found two among them had a heavy bandage on their arms.  A casual enquiry about the the injury brought sheer astonishment in return. One of them said in an unruffled voice “Sir.. We were there at Ujgaon village yesterday when the police resorted to lathy charge and were defending the blows with our arms”- he smiled. A sudden silence froze the loggia. For few seconds I looked aghast at his words. ‘Well,’ he continued with that smile intact, ‘Let me tell you sir, the Police Blood is also Red’, and turned back disappeared in the darkness. As they left, I heard inside my eardrums, the bitter sound of the roar and scream of the crowd outside the Ujgaon police station and rattling sound of cane and body shields. Stunned and beyond words I stood there alive.

STANDING IN THE LINE OF DEATH

STANDING IN THE LINE OF DEATH 

Your sacrifice won't go waste

Narendra Kumar IPS

I did actually begin thinking about penning this last Sunday, when I read the death of a young promising IPS officer Mr. Narendra Kumar who was crushed to death on Thursday as he was trying to stop a tractor engaged in transporting illegally mined stones at Barmor in Morena district of Madhya Pradesh.  The officer after taking charge of the district few days back took a firm stand against all illegal mining activities and had seized several vehicles engaged in transporting illegally mined sand and stones. When the nation was celebrating Holi, the festival of colour in all its exuberance, he was also coloured red but not by Gulal, but in his own blood.  He laid down his life fighting for a cause that he felt as his responsibility towards the nation. Though it’s always been my policy to not to vent my frustrations about the contemporary policing in my blog, this incident made me feel shaky and at the same time ashamed of the system as to how that these criminals mustered up the gumption to murder one of the senior most police officer of the district in broad daylight. How dare that errant driver did that to him and is still alive down there? Why didn’t they just shoot him down when he was creating havoc?  These questions have been asked repeatedly by many of my civilian friends when they got to know about this incident from the news paper. The answer is not as simple as you would probably think and it’s a complex situation where corrupt politicians, politicized bureaucracy and egocentric police leaderships are involved. A brief retrospective on this issue is what iam aimed at.

What was his fault and what could have cost him his life? Why is it his fault that he acted upon the orders given to him with umpteen sincerity and dedication for that he didn’t mind standing in front of a speeding tractor driven by an evil?  Why is it his fault that he didn’t bow his head before the mighty barons and mafia goons and there by relinquish many lakhs he would be getting for simply shutting his eyes and keeping himself inside his air conditioned office in an anachronistic situation like many others?

The state government can’t simply wash their hands off the responsibility for what has happened to a senior police officer who according to the state DGP “was a police man who could face up to the hard challenges and was thus posted to the Chambal area”. So they knew the area is a hard challenge. Did the government or the police hierarchy provide him the much needed moral and logistical support to flush out the much coordinated and organized crime syndicate when they took the decision to post him there? Will they be able to do that at all? Did they ensure that the subordinates working under him are apt for his style of functioning and he enjoys their confidence? I don’t think so. If that’s the case, then why he himself had to stand in front of a tractor when many were available under his authority who were entrusted with this job in the likes of an SHO or a circle inspector? Are these juniors embossed in the pay roll of the mafia syndicate or in other words asked by some, so called higher ups, to keep resilience over all such illegal activities? In our contemporary security scenario, answers to these questions are so hard to come by.

Let me say that, even as the police machinery is responsible to safeguard the policies and strategies of the government, it is also the responsibility of the government to back them up and to stand behind them in the event of a crisis. But unfortunately the scenario is different in many states. We have got this habit of blaming the corrupt system, the judiciary, the constitution and the democracy with a sigh of dejection. Most people think that it is Mr. Kumar’s fate that everything happened to him as it did. How can we say that the fate of him was etched in that tractor? We cannot. We condemn the inactiveness of the police and administration when ever such incidents crept up in our land. But did we ever know that they have been forced to remain dormant in many states for the better interests of corrupt politicians and mafia goons? On issues where family members of the politicians including MPs and MLAs are suspected to be involved, it is affirmative that the police and administration would remain as mute spectators even in more grave situations.

Strong laws are in fact the need of the hour and such laws should have statistically significant deterrent effects to make the influential mafia men think twice before giving a deal to their con men to run over a hapless police officer who, with good faith attempt to stop an illegal vehicle while on engaged in the line of his duty. The time has come to amend the law, if not already, to award capital punishment to those who murder or attempt to murder a police officer in uniform. At present these creeps are least bothered about the legal implications as they all are very well aware of copious loopholes in the judiciary.  By putting the best advocate available in the state and by throwing some money they could get him out of pretty much anything. Worst, they will be convicted for a silly offence of rash and negligent driving amounting to culpable homicide and would be sentenced to imprisonment for a term of two years which they would spend as cooling period inside the jail.

I would never say the death of an IPS officer is no less or more of a tragedy than the death of a constable. Life of every single policeman is important for the nation. Our society often thinks of policemen as someone who are there to die. It is true that the officers and men posted in these areas often take their lives in their hands each time they step out unarmed or under armed to have a head on with these dreaded criminals and organized goons armed with automatic guns and machetes by a pistol or a rifle. And those who are equipped with firearms are hesitant to use it even if their life is under threat. I don’t understand this. If a criminal is killed, the nation is not going to lose anything, but the death of a police officer is a huge loss for the country not only economically but also morally. It acts as a shame to the nation and morale booster for the criminals. I fully support the idea of persecuting the criminals and their supporters. Police officer should carry gun all the time and should be accompanied by gunman selected by the officer himself as I normally do.  Arming the police does not mean that all police officers should  move with an AK-47 for that will alienate them from the public, but those who are working  in disturbed areas should definitely carry a gun. Many lives were lost akin.

 Why our policemen are dying in the streets in large numbers? Do we think that we have enough man power to replace our dead heroes? In a country where there is no shortage of well educated unemployed youth and as such recruitment is not a big problem, many may have the liberty to think like that. What a pity..!. Why can’t we change this attitude prevalent among us? Let us utilize this skilled manpower to replace those corrupt officials and worthless workers who are in the pay rolls of mafia consortium.  

Now I should articulate something about the very system to which I belong to. Our police system, since time immemorial, has always been blamed for the animosity perpetuated towards the public. All of us agree that it is high time that we should first change our attitude.  We should learn how to behave friendly with the public.  Criminals often take advantage of this acrimony and gather information about the police movements from local populace. Let us befriend them and respect them. And iam sure the public will shed their begrudging admiration towards the criminals and join us in no time. One of the paradoxes of our age is the fact that the intellectuals, the human rights activists, the media, the politicians have never uttered word about the better side of the police and their devotion to the public good and have they been always grossly indifferent to the police. 

 In police hierarchy, I should not deny, few of them have completely forgotten what policing is all about mainly due to the uncertainty of postings and other impediments in career progression. In those states where postings of senior police officers are decided at the party headquarters, it is quite natural for them to keep personal affinity towards the politicians and crave for key postings at strategic places and in few cases even for ceremonial postings after retirement.   And these police officers often refrain from taking stands and would say nothing in support of their juniors who struggle in their line of duty and are often left to fend for themselves. It is not that all officers in the police department are corrupt, ambitious or pessimists. We have plenty of upright and brave officers. All they need is a firm moral support and a background to act without fear for family members or their own safety. They can do wonders if they get that on time. In my almost twenty years of service in this department I have got the opportunity to work under several officers who understood and illustrated that the salary they get per annum is reasonable enough to support their family and  to give good education to their children and to make them a good citizen. Many of them were daring and don’t care a damn for what the political bosses tell them to do something haphazardly. They stick to their words and were always available for juniors. They always believed, being honest and live to the expectations are also qualities of a good leader and that will cause you no harm. After retirement these officers will live a life full of happiness and peace with their head held high, Iam sure.

Now that the nation has lost a brave and dutiful officer, it is high time for the government machinery to think seriously and act upon to prevent recurrence of such events. Any procrastination in this effect will only lead to another disaster and another death as more and more efficient, upright police officers are being targeted by the mafia as they look upon them as hindrances in the way of their progress.

It is now the time to act. Some discussions in the news channels, few condolence messages by political leaders with tears flowing down their eyes or a few comments on face book will not do any good. For me, it has been fairly disgraceful watching to see the very same politicians who feed these criminals shedding crocodile tears and trotting out their usual platitudes about police bravery. The nation is asking for someone in authority to stand up and speak out the need for an all out fight against the mafia syndicate. A strong will power to give orders for stringent dealing with the law breakers and few overriding acts and rules to ensure no criminals should escape unscathed. All actions in this regard by the police officers should be vindicated and praised even if it extends to use of firearms against the criminals. If the state of Andhra Pradesh had more success in almost eliminating the threat of naxal from their state and Sri Lanka, a country smaller than many Indian states, can eliminate a well trained, enormously equipped and well armed LTTE from its soil, there are no excuses what so ever for the other states to follow suit.

 And for the so called human rights activists I have an appeal to them. Please help me to find what you think makes a police officer different from the other people in your list.

Finally….! I salute you officer. Your unborn child and your pregnant wife were not in your mind when you leapt in front of that tractor driven by a wicked creep instead you were overwhelmed by a blissful dream about a district free from illegal mining and other criminal activities. You decided against living a life led with style and panache in your government guest house amidst abundance of servants and other special privileges accorded the job. You bravely sacrifice your life for a cause. Iam sure, in a country where stories of supreme sacrifices associated with our freedom struggle still reverberate in the mind of millions, your dream will come true one day. Well, at least I’am relentlessly optimistic….

REBIRTH ON A BIRTHDAY

When my wife asked me to post one of her  write up in my blog, I never thought translating a Malayalam story would be so difficult.....It took me almost two days to complete it.   

Delhi Musings:-  Rebirth on a Birthday. (Janmanalil  oru  Punarjanmam)

16 January 2002, it was on this day in Delhi, that I became a proud mother of a cute looking baby boy, Akshit. With his grand entrance into this world, we found our lives have become more blissful than ever before. We beamed with love and ecstasy. An addition in the family strength was celebrated with exuberance not only by us in Delhi but also by our relatives and friends in Trivandrum.  And eventually, two years later, his second birthday was celebrated in the same place, but this time with a miraculous rebirth of me, when I survived a nasty electric shock which almost took my existence away from this world; 

“Den for all Delhi”, has always fascinated me in my school days.  Whenever my history teacher elucidates in a theatrical way, the rise and fall of mighty emperors in their majstic palaces rivaled each other for those thrones made of most luxurious objects which reflects umpteen ‘paramountcy’, I dreamt about visiting that place, even for once in my life time. It was after my marriage was fixed in the month of November in the millennium year 2000 to a Special Protection Group Officer working in Delhi, I started reading more about it.





 

I never thought in my wildest dream that I would be marrying a person with a job outside Kerala.  As a reticent village girl born and brought up in suburban Trivandrum, I had my marriage dreams tailored around someone who comes back from the office in the evening and taking me out for a kitty shopping or to a second show movie in a nearby film hall in his scooter. My limited ambitions in life never allowed me to dream anything bigger than that. But as it is popularly said in my countryside, marriage of a girl is  being fixed in heavens under the fate and she has not much to do about that.  I was doing my second year post graduation in Malayalam literature when the fate and the heaven, both intervened in my life. I adjusted myself and re-wrote my dreams and ambitions to marry him and moved out from Trivandrum to a place where fortunes of history oscillated with every overthrow of regimes.

I held my breath to control my inner trembling and pretended courageous in front of my weeping parents as I stepped into the compartment of one of the oldest running passenger trains of Indian railways getting ready for a three days journey to Delhi.   The sudden ringing of bell followed by a long horn announced the departure of Kerala Express from the land where I lived for twenty five years. As the waving hands of my parents gradually diminished and vanished on the culvert, I glued to my husband and broke down silently to not to alert any passengers.  I was so emotional that my hands and feet went cold.

“Hey…See… what happened” murmured my husband in my ears, holding my hand with love and affection. That appeared as something soothing to my otherwise turbulent mind.

 “I...I don’t know.”

A concealed smile on the corner of his lips brought me back to normalcy and I felt ashamed about my stupid behavior on the spur of the moment.  

After three days of exasperating but emotional journey,  the train came to a screeching halt at the New Delhi railway station on a murky afternoon. A waiting friend of my husband received us at the railway platform. With heavy traffic, active pedestrians, lot of greenery and chilly weather, this place in its mid winter, made me feel like I’am in an altogether different world. Old fashioned palatial bungalows on either side of the road were suddenly replaced by ultra modern shopping blocks on a heavy market place.

 “This is Connaught Place”, his words were like introducing me to Delhi, his Karmabhoomi in an authoritative way.

 “How contrast this city is”, I thought. Sitting inside a Maruthi Omni van, gazing out the window and enjoying a new world beside a person new in my life, I was like –Alice in wonderland. “This is the Delhi I read in books.”  I murmured to myself. But all of a sudden it came to my mind, like an uninvited guest, the reminiscences of my serene village and my innocent neighbors, the Devi temple and my house thereby clouding the ecstasy and I lost in my thoughts and imagination. I felt like crying. Again the same caring hand came to my rescue. 

When our car entered into a colossal complex through a large gate heavily guarded by CRPF men, my husband whispered in my ears, “This is the place we are going to start our new life.” With that concealed smile popping up again on his lips he continued, “This is where, the nation’s most elite and baffling commandos who are entrusted with the deadly job of protecting the head of the government of the largest democratic country stays.” He paused a while and with a swinging action of his hand pointing towards numerous apartments there, said, “Welcome to our family”. The word “our” for which he gave an extra thump was not initially understood to me. I have never had any idea what so ever about SPG or its high liability job of protecting the Prime Minister of the nation till my marriage was fixed. I thought.  ‘Protecting the Prime Minister of a country is not in any way a joke’. Even now after spending almost ten years with my husband I still haven’t much idea about this furtive organization as he never ever discussed about it even after he was repatriated from this organization five years back. S.P.G will remain as an organization ambiguous to me till one day he starts telling me about it, may be after his retirement from service.

I don’t know what a feeling I carried about the winters in Delhi when I started my ‘life as a wife’ in that heavily guarded fort at Pappankalan, Dwaraka. There the winters sometime becomes vindictive as chill fog swaddles its sprawling historic dominion.  The streets usually wore a deserted look late into the day as passers-by opt to stay inside waiting for the first golden rays of sun creeps through the old Jamun trees. Those who dare the chilling cold would be the hapless office goers or the diary farm workers from the nearby villages, wrapped in thick woolen quilts, reaching their permanent customers in bicycles. Early morning haze, thick fog at night, bone chilling breeze and murky afternoons had become a part of my life. I found myself draped in the bliss of a new married life, the experience, I only heard several years back in the corridors of my women’s college when my friends shared gossips of their or somebody’s newly married nephew or a cousin and giggle. Though I never showed any profound interest in listening to those frivolous pastimes of young girls, I too had a personal leisure pursuit of writing a note book about the silly romantic phrases and thoughts. In fact I had fallen in love with my cute little book and I wrote continually on it and filled its pages with my own day dreams. Apart from that I liked rain, that too, night rain. Admiring its soft sound, I gazed through the window of my small house for long, watching her dancing with the wind and making obscure patterns in the air.  I converse with stars when they twinkle. And yes..! They gave answers to my many silly questions. I never liked moon for that it often changes its shape. The moon according to me was an opportunist, till one day I fairly understood that it is not the moon but the dominant sun and the earth doing all the tricks at the cost of this poor moony.   Sometimes when my mother gave me a slap or an earful for scoring fewer marks in English or Hindi test papers, I prayed to god to stop the sun from rising in the eastern horizon for days and thus enable me to get several nights at a stretch to talk to the stars. Whatever I used to share with my lovely stars, I shared it with my dearly note book too. On one such night, when the stars glimmered and the sweet fragrance of night blooming water Lilly filled my heart, I wrote, by looking up at the night sky, my soul in my dearly note book.  A handsome prince from the heaven with a cute smile tucked in the corner of his lips coming to marry me in a golden chariot pulled by seven white horses, escorted by rain. When the chariot landed at my door step, the rain stopped for a while, I get into the chariot and above the clouds we flew to a mesmerizing paradise where the angels danced with us.  Oh my god, what iam into. It is an old understanding that I will not disclose anything I wrote in that tiny note book except to my prince who comes to marry me. I have to keep my word.








Special Protection Group

 For any SPG officer or in that matter any Police officer on his active duty, there is little regard for his personal safety and security. Initially the frequent tours and tedious duty hours of my husband were enough to make my days dreary. I have to admit I was angry about it too. But gradually I understood the dignity and importance of his work. He often told me, “Being a body guard is a thankless job and we are paid to be in the line of fire”. Even though he says that jokingly, I knew, no other jobs in the world require the stress and strain demanded incessantly of an SPG officer. As a newlywed I didn’t even know how to cope with my husband being called for odd time ‘extra duties’ when we planned an overnight dinner at Sector-8. But after spending days with him together I felt it’s all not just about us, the family, but it’s all about the job which he has been entrusted with. On the day I married a police man, my life as a civilian ended. And as a wife of an SPG officer, whose job is of clandestine in nature, the thought was always there in the back of my mind that anything could happen to him anytime. “Trained to be in the line of fire”, the phrase often used by him with an extra bit of pride coated on it, was enough for me to understand the threat of imminent danger always looming over his head in his day to day work. Every day when I see off my husband out into his job, as any women do to their loved ones, I carried in the core of my mind a strange feeling of scare for his life. That was the nature of his job as a Personal Security Officer to the head of the nation.

SPECIAL PROTECTION GROUP

I remember, barely an year after Akshit came into this world, one day I woke up to the news about a serious security breach in the Prime Minister’s cavalcade and gun shots fired by SPG men. Stared at the television news channels, I watched a shattered car which intruded into the cavalcade of the Prime minister and few animated descriptions by the news reader on how the incident had happened. The whole nation was by then glued to the satellite news channels. I knew it was on his night shift duty that the incident had happened and as PSO to the Prime Minister he would be in the thick of events.

I got my breath in order only when he returned back home safely the next morning several hours after the incident. He never told me anything about this incident till this moment, neither have I asked him about it.  But I knew it was his team that opened fire and he was very much associated with that incident.

The weeks give way to months and months to years. When Akshit was born in the year 2002, we were little bit surprised by his extraordinarily fair colour. Our good neighbors, particularly those from north India, often tease me saying “it is because that he born in Delhi, he has got his fair color”. Though I knew that my son got the colour of his paternal grandmother, we never intended to deny their version so as to make them feel happy as they were so affectionate towards him.

 His first birthday was celebrated with great grandeur in Delhi amidst a huge gathering of neighbors and our relatives from Trivandrum.  This event was a great opportunity for me to see how the armed force members live with utmost harmony and brotherhood and with that association among each other. They organized everything, from decorating the house to arranging the furniture, from welcoming the outside guests to distribution of food. It taught me the power of an organized community. It was on that day I understood the meaning of that “our family” my husband told me the first day when we entered the complex.  

One more eventful year has gone in the history of my new life and came the second birthday of my son. This time it was a quieter event. My husband took one day leave from his duties and we woke up bit late in the morning and missed the sun rise. He told me and I agreed that between three in our family we can make this birthday really special. A simple vegetarian ‘Sadya’ in the afternoon, a visit to a temple in the evening followed by a private dinner at sector-8 was what we fixed as our programme.

I remember, it was a bleak and blustery winter morning. A thick veil of fog that engulfed the national capital at night was still swirling around mysteriously. Sun, the redeemer was struggling to chase it away as if to illustrate the virtues of benevolence still persists on the blissful face of earth to those hapless but rare breed of eternal optimists.

My husband  was getting ready in his room and my little son, who would do anything for an outing, was fervently pleading his father to took him along,  was what I saw when I entered his room to hand him over the list of items to be purchased from the vegetable shop nearby. A glance at the list, I found him truly amused at that.

 “I may need a translator to convert the names of these south Indian vegetables in Hindi…It’s going to be a tough time ahead with that Haryana vendor”. 

He was worried because he was sure that he wouldn’t be able to locate many of those vegetables in the shop and thus couldn’t help the vendor identifying it. For that I said “A ‘Sadya’ is not a joke. It took some seven vegetables for a ‘Sambar’ and almost same number for an ‘Aviyal.” But still he felt apprehensive about items in the likes of “Kachil’, ‘Koorka’ and ‘Koval’ to name a few. 

My son literally won the battle and was already on the shoulder of his father in a tight hug. I didn’t know when he would be back from the shopping arcade, so I told him to call me to bolt the door from inside and said a bye to my son with a kiss on his red cheek which I normally do. I sprang inside for the bath room with an electric immersion rod to arrange some hot water for a bath.

“Lock the door, we are leaving” I heard him closing the door from outside as I was just checking whether the powerful electric immersion heater I mounted in a bucket full of water in the bathroom was functioning or not. Those tiny bubbles confirmed it was working. Just as I was about to bolt the door from inside I heard him coming back in a hurry.

 “It’s very cold outside…. let him have an extra pair of woolen socks and a shoe”.  I went inside and came back with a pair of tiny woolen socks, handed over to him and returned back to see the condition of the water again.

 What happened next was like a blitzkrieg for me. I remember, I touched the water in the bucket to check if it’s too hot, the way I normally do. The next thing I remember was lying flat on my back on the corner of the bathroom with that immersion heater, with current still flowing through it, clasped in my hand. In between I knew I made a horrific scream, it was a loud screech of a dying person for help Iam sure. Next moment everything was calm. With the immersion heater still clasped in my hand I was lying in a pool of water with a bucket broken into two pieces. I was in a semi conscious state and was wailing in pain. I felt like my right hand was being torn out of its socket. It was already black in colour. I couldn’t get up. In my blurred vision I saw him rushing towards me. I felt difficulty in breathing. He carried me carefully to our bed and laid me out on the covers. By now it’s an endless stream of tears flowing from my eyes.  I try to keep them inside, because I know that my husband hates to see me cry. He sat down next to me, wiped my tears and started consoling me. It took me few hours to get back to normal and to realize exactly what had happened to me. When I asked him later how miraculously I escaped from that terrible shock, he gave me an answer so vivid and so simple that I will never forget it in my life.

He said, “I was sitting on the sofa and putting shoes on his legs. The time I heard your loud squeal in a strange manner, I was sure that you have got an electric shock because I knew that you were getting ready for a bath and was warming the water with an immersion heater. I jumped off the sofa, took a small dive to the main switch board and cut off the power supply before rushing towards you. Simple”.  And that is the reason, I thought, how I have been able to pull free of the circuit in a couple of seconds time. I was in his deadly clutches for, may be, two seconds.  I didn’t ask him why he put off the main switch first, instead of rushing inside to see what had happened to me when he heard my shriek. Still I believe, it’s his persistent training on reflex actions and years of experience in the elite SPG saved my life on that day. I won’t argue, and iam sure many civilian, may be with little training, act in an identical manner under similar situation in the same speed, but then I have to say, it is for them the word- exceptional-already there in the dictionary. 

After that incident, few questions still remain unanswered. Why my husband took a leave on that day? , Why he returned back for a pair of woolen socks for my kid? What would have happened if he went alone leaving behind my tiny tout inside the house? Why my father at Trivandrum, miles away from Delhi got a tremor in his chest matching the time when I had the shock and called me later to see everything is fine?  I know these questions will remain unanswered forever. People often say, life is an experiment and everything happens for a reason.  That day I will never forget; A day that still haunts me. Iam just beyond grateful that it was not my time to leave my loved ones and that iam able to share my story with few of you.  It has been a long time since the incident has happened but  the tremors of that violent shock still emanates from my right hand when ever iam into writing about it. I am happy that I could complete it this time. God bless you all. 

                                      Chithra Nair.

Just a minute…...  I  have few points to those who think that meddling with electricity is funny.

1.   When your body is moist, there is a radical drop in resistance. When water is present in the environment you should exercise more caution.

2.   Suddenly tensed muscles can throw your body across a room hard enough to break bones or cause concussions.

3.   Medium range currents (in our home appliances) are more dangerous than low currents or high currents because medium current trigger heart fibrillation.

4.   People who receive an electric shock often get painful muscle spasms that can be strong enough to break bones or dislocation. This loss of muscle control often means the person cannot let go or escape the electric shock. The person may fall or thrown a distance.

5.   For more details you can log on to several sites available. One such is http://www.osha.gov/.

P.S:- I salute those great men who translated the bulky and thick volumes of Russian literature represented by the likes of Tolstoy, Dostoevsky, Gorky and Pushkin in English. My Salute….!