The day the cadre allotments are announced while we are at
the training academy is a big day. There is intense discussion amongst the
probationers as to who got a better deal and who got the rough end. Generally,
the north eastern states are less preferred, except by officers belonging to
those states. During our probation, Punjab was facing the height of its militancy
so some officers were not too keen on it. And so on. However, for some reason,
the day our cadres were announced, officers who had drawn other cadres
converged upon us, the West Bengal allottees, to commiserate and condole.
Even
after retiring from the service, I haven’t fully figured out why. I found the
cadre to be nice and informal. The force had faced the first terrorist movement
in independent India and had acquitted itself remarkably well. There was
enormous camaraderie and full-throated celebrations to go with onerous duties.
Probably one of the reasons for the cadre getting a bad press was that, at the
time, West Bengal Police force was the only Police force in the country where
the Police associations were allowed trade union rights including the right to industrial
action.
In
theory, it was a good idea. The unions were expected to focus on the welfare of
the staff, act as a bulwark against high-handedness and discrimination, prevent
victimisation of the members and secure better working conditions for them. The
dream glowed; reality did anything but.
Soon
after I assumed charge as Superintendent of Police (SP) of a district, the
office bearers of one of the unions came to “call on” me for an introductory
tete-a-tete. Post the initial exchange of pleasantries, they told me that the
district Police situation needed a lot of improvement. I asked them where all
the infrastructure was deficient, what the duty hours were, whether adequate
transport, fuel, etc. was provided, the state and availability of the police ration,
accommodation and so on. There was pin-drop silence. After a while, the leader
said, “Sir, you don’t have to bother about those things. Just tell us what you
have decided on the forthcoming general transfers and postings.” It was now my
turn to be speechless.
There
were almost weekly delegations by the two unions with varied demands. In
Police, there is a system of Orderly Rooms, usually held once a week. During
this, subordinate staff charged with smaller misdemeanours are marched in in Muster
Parade (i.e., ceremonial) uniform, given a hearing of their defence, and, if adjudged
guilty, summarily awarded a “minor” punishment. One of the first demands of a
union was that, as per the law, no one can be punished twice for the same
offence and I must put a stop to it. I was surprised that such a practice
obtained in the district. The law was clear. There cannot be double jeopardy. I
invited them to give me instances of such anomaly. They informed that I was the
biggest culprit. Whoa, what! They then proceeded to inform me, in words of one
syllable, that I was making the charged officials appear in the Orderly Room in
muster parade uniform which constituted the first punishment. Not satisfied
with such a grave tribulation, I again awarded them a “censure” or “warning”
which was a second punishment. My inhumanity and cruelty were such that
sometimes I even awarded a third punishment by cutting their pay for
unauthorised absence. I was speechless.
One of
these increasingly fractious meetings was held in the afternoon. Usually, the
two unions were at loggerheads and looked at issues in opposite directions but
this one day, they were unanimous in their demand. They pointed to the
afternoon hour when the meeting was being held, informed how the human body
undergoes enormous transformations after lunch, and “demanded” that I should
exempt wearing of the (uniform) belt after lunch. I was speechless.
Coming
to the original issue, just before the annual general transfers and postings,
the bigger of the two unions came up with a series of “demands.” There were two
sub divisions in the district. The first demand was, an official from one of
the sub divisions could not be transferred to the other sub division because it
entailed humongous dislocation [the longest distance in the district was 133
kms]. Secondly, officials who were above a certain age should not be relocated.
Thirdly, officials who had ageing parents could not be displaced. Further, officials
whose children were in 10th or 12th standard could not be
relocated. Finally, officials who or whose family members suffered from any
illness could not be relocated. These were not so much “demands” as
“non-negotiables.” Curious, I asked them how complicated the whole exercise
would be and they said not to worry, they would give me a “list” after due
diligence, covering about 60 % of the personnel. The other union, being the
smaller one, would give me a list covering about 30 %. The remaining 10 % was
completely at my discretion for pleasing the powers that be. I did not say
anything. I was speechless.
The
real subtext was that all those constraints would not allow anyone to be “disturbed”
from the existing location. All that could be done was to transfer someone from
a Police Station duty to Intelligence gathering or white collar crime or home
guard supervision or office duty and so on at the same duty station. Some of
these “postings” had better extortion potential than the others. However, once
a person has been identified as from the police station, the general public in
the area would not know that he has been transferred to Intelligence branch or
elsewhere. Thus, his “income” remained steady. All the locations had been
arranged in the past through “negotiations” with the union office bearers at
virtual auctions.
It was
early days of computers. What I did was divide the locations into three
categories – “High Oxygen,” “Low Oxygen” and “Gasping for breath,” meaning
high, low and negligible “incomes.” With the help of a small computer
programme, in a completely mechanical fashion, I shifted the location of all
the personnel having completed two years at a location across the categories.
All hell broke loose.
As per
a government order, I had to provide a small vehicle to the unions for welfare
work, as per need. They requisitioned one and went around the whole district to
mobilise the personnel to assemble at the district headquarters on a particular
date and “gherao” me. When alerted to this, I personally typed out a letter of resignation without the knowledge of anyone and kept it in my drawer. I had decided
that if they gheraoed me, I would simply put it on the table, tell them there
goes your SP and walk out from their lives and the service. I had no intention
of being subjected to a 24-hour or a 48-hour barricade without food, water,
toilet break, etc.. The appointed day came. I waited in the office the whole
day but the dramatic things didn’t happen. In the evening, my informants told
me that the union did mobilise the numbers. Unfortunately for them, too many
personnel who never had any hopes of getting a so-called “good” posting had got
those and resisted in greater numbers. One member of the latter group went and
put a huge padlock on the union’s office door. They effectively “gheraoed” the
militant union’s office bearers. Thus did I live to tell the tale.
After the district stint, I was leaving for central deputation, with a certain amount of relief that my life would have at least one less complication now. A few days before that, the big fry in that concerned union came to my office alone. We were chatting generally and after a long while, out of the blue, he said, “Chaalano jaaye Sir, chaalano jaaye. Maayna bhetore sonsar chalano jaaye. Aamra bujhechhi ekhon.” [It’s possible, Sir. One can manage the household within the salary. We’ve learnt that now.] I was speechless. At his candidness. One. Final. Time.
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