I'm always there

 

Recently, there was an article on the Net regarding Ravi Shastri’s Audi being restored:

https://www.rediff.com/cricket/report/how-shastris-iconic-audi-was-restored/20220604.htm

The article and the pictures took me back to my callow youth. That Audi and I are old friends, but let me not get ahead of the story.

In 1983, at about six in the morning after the World Cup final evening, we, the Bombay summer trainees of IIMB, had to board the train from Bombay to Bangalore so I landed at the Bombay VT railway station waiting room the previous evening to wait out the night at the station so as not to miss the train. After a score of 183, no one in his wildest dreams seriously expected India to win. No TV either in that locked-in waiting room. As the West Indies wickets started tumbling, that microcosm of India in the waiting room celebrated as one and how. None of us there slept that night.

Cut to 1985. I was sitting at my desk in an office hall in the Shipping Corporation of India, Bombay, as usual gazing into the horizon thinking about nothing at all, when suddenly Sunil Gavaskar and Ravi Shastri landed up at my desk. They must have spent exactly a minute and a half there. They had come to ask when that ship carrying Ravi Shastri’s Audi (won as Champion of Champions) was docking. I gave them the info and offered them a cup of tea but they declined and left. After that, I looked around and there was a sea of humanity (Shipping Corporation staff from all 12 floors of the building, mostly females) crowding the aisles and corridors and ogling/ gaping at me. Most of them had missed seeing Ravi Shastri in person by a whisker and I was THE NEXT BEST THING since he had talked to me. That brief period when I was allocated the Australia desk (basically two ships, Ramdas and Ravidas operating in the Australia – India sector) had its uses.

Then came the day when the ship actually docked. The General Manager and I went to the docks to hand over the car to Ravi Shastri. Ravi Shastri strode in, tall and lithe, a few dock worker types following and growing in numbers. The car was unloaded from the ship and ready to go. The GM handed over the keys ceremonially, posed for the cameras and left. I was waiting for Ravi Shastri to drive off into the sunset and me to come back to the office. One small problem – he didn’t know how to drive and that day, Gavaskar (who knew how to drive) had not accompanied him. Meanwhile, the crowd – mostly dock workers – had begun to swell to huge numbers. Those days, there wasn’t any police arrangement for cricketers, especially in restricted areas like docks. I hid Ravi Shastri inside the ship where the crew plied him with tea and biscuits and went out and told the teeming masses that Ravi Shastri had left. After about two hours, the crowd dispersed and then and only then, a by then thoroughly bored and fed-up Ravi Shastri emerged from the ship and managed to go back. Long years later, when I met him at Tolly Club in Calcutta, I tried to jog his memory but clearly he had forgotten. As per the above report, he still has that car, now restored to its pristine glory.

In 1996, I was SP, Calcutta Airport. During that World Cup, there was an intelligence input that a specified terrorist group would carry out an attack, probably targeting a particular team. All the teams were landing up in Calcutta for the inaugural ceremony. I made an arrangement with the airlines so that the teams would sit at the back of the planes. While the other passengers were disembarking through the aerobridge, the players would get down from the back into the tarmac and be taken away by buses through other and secure gates. That way, they would be insulated and avoid possible problems. All the teams and the consuls, especially Australia, appreciated this arrangement. Meanwhile, there was the Indian team big-wig who shall not be named. He refused to sit at the back of the plane. Just because of this, the Indian team was delayed by about an hour, the passenger flow and the players moving in opposite directions inside the plane. Anyway, the inaugural ceremony bit went off okay. Problems arose when the Indian team landed up to play the semi-final, after beating Pakistan in the quarters in Bangalore. 

Mob hysteria inside the airport. Azhar was travelling with Sangeeta Bijlani – they were not married then. The mob was touching Sangeeta’s feet, calling her Sangeeta-di. The next day or the day after, India lost badly to Sri Lanka. Some cute guys tried to light bonfires inside the stadium. The following morning, I landed up at the airport at about 5 AM. The first person who met me was a dishevelled Srinath, practically in tears, “I know why you wouldn’t like to help me but please, please help me find a seat on a plane, any plane, going to Madras…” A little later, good old Azhar came in with Sangeeta in tow. The mob hysteria, now the lynch-mob hysteria, almost went through the roof. Sangeeta and Azhar had to travel some distance inside the airport to get to a particular gate. The mob was charging menacingly, shouting “Kothay achhe (beeped out) Sangeeta?” meaning “Where is (beeped out) Sangeeta?” They thought she was the reason for Azhar and the team’s indifferent performance. “How dare they go around like this without even being married? Think of Azhar’s poor wife…” And so on and so forth. Almost the same guys who were touching Sangita-di’s feet so affectionately the other day! I tried to divert the crowd by separating Sangeeta and Azhar and channeling them through separate routes but they were not keen on it. Later, they separated for good.

I think, in June 1996, Sourav Ganguly scored a century on his debut test at Lord’s. He followed it up with another century in the next test. After the series, he came back to the home, sweet home, Calcutta. I had told the Additional SP to supervise the police arrangement at the airport. I was not planning to go but some sixth sense prompted me to give it a once-over. When I reached the VIP gate at Calcutta airport, I saw a crowd of about 20,000 at the VIP gate, chanting “Maharaj”, “Maharaj.” The police cordon was broken through and in disarray, the Additional SP was nowhere to be seen and a large guy with several gold chains around his neck was proudly holding court and directing “this vehicle will go into the tarmac, this vehicle will be stationed here, this is the reception party for Sourav at the plane” and so on. I sent for reinforcements and walked up to the guy and told him hang on, not a single person or vehicle would go inside the tarmac as it was a protected area. Sourav would come out and have fun. He screamed that he was such-and-such and didn’t-I-know? I also screamed back. Things got pretty hairy because the mob and the press were clear about who they were with and indicated it in no uncertain terms. When the reinforcements came and I threatened to arrest “the” Big Guy, finally, tempers cooled down. [Incidentally, Sourav himself, when he came out, was grace and humility personified.]

In 1999, during the inaugural test of Asian Test Championship at Kolkata (India – Pakistan), I was on duty at Eden Gardens stands. It was a pretty see-saw match. It was also the debut test of Shoaib Akhtar who announced his arrival to the world by getting Dravid and Sachin out off successive balls. The first time both of them and all of us saw those particular deliveries was on TV replays – he was really fast and probably gave it his all. After a hectic three days of hard work in the blistering sun, I thought I’d take it easy on the fourth day (second innings) and went to the upper stands (shaded) to sit down and enjoy a bit of fascinating cricket. The moment I sat down, Sachin got run out under controversial circumstances (colliding with a Pakistani fielder) and all hell broke loose. I had to again rush around and somehow the day passed off. The next day, there were about one lakh people in the stands and it was madness. On an earlier occasion, there was a police lathi charge at Eden Gardens and several people had died in the stampede. Keeping that in mind, we were told to “persuade” the people to kindly leave. If anyone has seen a sports loving crowd, he would have an idea how little persuasion counts for in such a situation. Anyway, I was trying my best – persuasion, cajoling, threats – when suddenly one water bottle hit my Commissioner. Something snapped in me and I went to action with the Rapid Action Force and emptied those particular stands. Other stands followed suit. Luckily there were no casualties. For the first time in the history of Test Cricket, almost a full day of a Test match was played in a completely empty stadium, that too Eden Gardens. I read in the papers the next day that Azhar had described it as an eerie feeling.

As I keep telling the wife, I’m always there. Whether India wins the World Cup, whether India crashes out of the World Cup, whether Ravi Shastri becomes the Champion of Champions, whether Azharuddin and Sangeeta Bijalani are matched or detached, whether Lord’s bows to aamader chhele Sourav, whether Cricket is played to packed houses or empty stands, whether Ravi Shastri gets to renew his affair with his recandescent Audi, whether anything at all to do with Indian cricket or cricketers, I’m always there.

The cop and the bribe go one step up

 

Pre-Kandahar hijacking, airport security used to be manned by the local police. At Calcutta airport, there was enormous jockeying to be posted to the international frisking wing which used to be allocated on rotational basis. A Constable hauled up before me in the orderly room for some misdemeanour was barely able to speak, even in Bengali. I thought he had some speech impediment or problems with language skills. When his turn came, the same Constable was posted to the international frisking wing. I used to sometimes tag along in civvies, incognito, in the queue of passengers waiting to be frisked. I found that the posting had wrought a miracle in the above Constable. Not only did it cure him of his speech impediment, he was now fluent in English also. I saw and heard him engaged in a lucid conversation with a British passenger, “Sir, you are our English master. We are your Indian slaves. You may give me some pounds. Or dollars. Even some 555 cigarettes will do …”

At Calcutta airport, it was sometimes difficult to digest some of the capers the personnel could get up to. The airport duty is round-the-clock so the personnel are deployed in eight-hour shifts. A Dy SP supervises the duty of the personnel in each shift and is present at the airport during his shift to attend to any urgent problems. Once, a passenger complained to the shift Dy SP regarding extortion by a Constable and gave the complaint in writing. The Dy SP summoned the Constable and asked him for an explanation. The Constable swore up and down and sideways that he was innocent. When the Dy SP pointed to the written complaint, the Constable grabbed it and immediately proceeded to eat it up. By that time, the passenger and his flight had already left so all that was left of the evidence was a little bit of indigestion for the Constable. Which brings me to a little higher up.

How does an IPS officer make money, if he is so inclined? Obviously, he is above going from truck to truck or weekly market to weekly market or chewing up evidence against him. Well, he has serious discretionary powers over all those who do all those things. Let’s go back a little in history.

The colonial rule did suffer from fears of illegitimacy in the minds of the people for the early part. There was considerable effort at display of grandeur to counteract such perceptions in the populace. Thus, the British built few hospitals and schools but the police stations and buildings were elaborate, imposing bungalows in Victorian architecture, with high ceilings and broad verandas all around where most of the official work was carried out. The same principle applied to SP offices and residences, armed guards and escorts, addressing senior officers as “Huzur Bahadur” (the brave gentleman) or “Kaptaan Sahib'' (the lordly captain), practices which endure till date. And so do the buildings. Inspections by senior officers used to be accompanied by tiger hunts and lavish stay, feasts and entertainment arrangements, all paid for by the Police Stations.

Would a senior officer of the British India of the 19^th century landing up at a Police Station of today find things different? Not much. Tiger hunts have, of course, been banned. However, these have been replaced by new year parties, picnics and official “get togethers'' with family and friends, at “Dak Bungalows.” The entertainment of senior officers by the subordinate staff is even now an established practice in the police departments and beyond a token payment, all other expenses are passed down to the SHOs. That British India officer would miss the tiger hunt but otherwise feel right at home.

In Police, we have a system of a monthly meeting, called the Crime Conference. It’s usually about three hours of grilling the officers on crime and their countervailing efforts in their areas of responsibility – COMPSTAT in New York by Bratton was the nearest that US had. One of my predecessors in a post used to have two Crime Conferences – one for grilling the officers on the crimes and the second one held on his residential lawns by his wife to discuss why the last month’s brown envelope was smaller in size than the previous month’s … There are always people searching for ways to bribe without being obvious about it. Birthday gifts for the child come in real handy. This same predecessor’s son used to have at least half a dozen birthdays per year as a result…

In a district, while the final disciplining powers vest with the SP, the minor punishment powers are delegated to the SDPOs and the Additional SPs for officials in their jurisdictions. In one district, I found that the SP had taken away this delegation and used to deal with all infringements himself. Because of this, he had to hold Orderly Rooms on almost every working day. While the number of personnel accused of the misdemeanours was huge, I found that he had not awarded a single punishment to anyone in his entire tenure. The implications were staggering.

Police recruitment is the big money spinner. While in Calcutta Police as Dy. Commissioner (DC), I was sent to a district called Burdwan for recruiting 100 Constables. Trying to be extremely diligent. I closely supervised all phases of the recruitment – measurement of height, chest, chest expansion, weight, 800 metres run within 4 minutes and so many seconds, 15 feet long jump, 100 metres sprint within 15 seconds, interview and so on. Just to be safe, I made everyone run singly for 100 metres with a stop watch in my hand. The process was so rigorous that there were less than a hundred people qualifying the physical tests. As a result, interview was inconsequential, eliminating the discretion component. Despite all this, I learnt that there had been widespread corruption. How? Apparently, there were these touts who promised the job to most of the candidates and collected two lakh rupees from each. They pocketed the money from all those who were selected on merit and returned the money to all those who failed. At Rs. 2 lacs per head for 100 selected – a neat two crores, in one district alone. No one complained. The selected candidates were happy. The failed ones got their money back and had no grievance. The touts were laughing all the way to the bank. If a DC taps into this, he also chuckles. One DC of Calcutta Police sent to North Bengal for recruitment in several districts never returned – they’re still waiting for him, after decades. Meanwhile, the immediate target of that constable having paid Rs. 2 lacs would be to recoup the money as quickly as possible …

Posting of officers and men is the other big one. I have heard that in many states, many times, the SHO posts of police stations are auctioned to the highest bidder. By its very nature, the organisation is secretive and this creates great opportunities. Subversion of investigation of major cases on pecuniary and political considerations is one of these. Cuts from vendors supplying uniforms, office equipment, vehicles, arms, ammunition and gadgets work out to huge amounts because the numbers are very high. The Police strength of a medium-sized state is over a lakh. The strength of one paramilitary force is above 2.5 lakh. The maths of any percentage cuts can be overwhelming. The budget estimate for Police expenditure for a medium-sized state for 2022-23 is above Rs. 10,000 cr. Police modernisation for both the state and the central police forces have huge budgets and, of course, huge opportunities.

When I joined the service, I thought there was a small, miniscule proportion of IPS officers (the so-called “haves”) creating a bad name for the majority (the so-called “have-nots”). Do I still hold that opinion? Well, ahem, ahem …

 

You were supposed to lend these powerful shoulders to the weak against the mighty …

 … what have you done with the stars in your hands?!

What the cop and the bribe did next

In my childhood, I had heard a popular rhyme, “Machha khaiba ilisi, chakiri kariba polici,” meaning, “out of all the fish in the world, the choicest is Hilsa fish; out of all the jobs in the world, the best one is that of a cop.” In the India of the early 1960s characterized by low incomes, job attractiveness tended to be measured by the potential for illegal gratifications. The incomes have gone way up, even in real terms. India is no longer the land defined only by snake charmers, rope tricks and abject poverty. However, Police continues to be associated with rampant corruption. 

At the police station, registering a case, investigation, decision to arrest, submitting of chargesheet, closing the case; each stage of the game is marked by what is euphemistically referred to as “give-and-take.” I once got hold of a “(top) secret” register of a police station under my jurisdiction. The double entries of income and  outflows were so perfect that I thought even my accounts teacher at IIMB could have learnt a thing or two. All collections were written on the left-hand side and all outflows including balance were given diligently on the right-hand side. It was also actually “audited by an internal Committee!” To my horror, I saw my own name and designation on the outflow column each month so I confronted the SHO (he is called OC in my cadre). He explained that the rate was fixed by one of my predecessors and it continues until a different rate is fixed by another officer. Since unfortunately (unfortunately?) I wasn’t taking the money, that share used to go into an escrow account to be spent informally for certain specified purposes. Similarly, the rates were fixed for each rank. Interesting part was, a person was entitled to his share of the monthly pie only if he was on duty for at least one day in the calendar month. That is when I understood why all Earned Leave applications were of 27/ 28 days and never subsumed an entire month. If anyone was unfortunate enough to forfeit his share like this, that again went into the escrow account. Every police station also annually appointed someone as a “dak master”, through auction, to fulfil the collection target. Anything beyond that was his profit.

The dak master “supervises” the various organs of “collection.” The constabulary extorts money from the hawkers, footpath dwellers, truck and bus drivers and so on. This is the visible corruption but actually accounts for a miniscule portion of the take. The investigating officers concentrate on the complainants, witnesses and the accused. The SHO acts as the “gatekeeper” for registering of criminal cases and arrests. There is of course the “hafta,” weekly collections from shopkeepers, businesses and criminal operators. And so on. I found that there was a lot of demand for “night patrolling.” Usually, every Police Station has one jeep dedicated to it. This jeep is affectionately called “Laxmi Bhandar” by the Police Station staff. Interestingly, the night patrolling often doesn’t end with the night and continues to daylight hours, including and up to the afternoons. 

 

As Additional SP, on the day of assuming my second charge, I was sitting in my office, feeling sleepy and waiting for some file to come or the telephone to ring. The first call was from the-person-who-must-not-be-named but who was rumoured to be actually running everything! No, not the CM or the Chief Secretary but someone whose ante chamber used to be replete with Chief Secretary/ DGP aspirants and history’s unmarked graves of discarded careers. I was jolted out of my stupor and sat bolt upright. Nearly saluted invisibly. Here is the conversation:

“You’ve joined. Good, good.”

Me: “(Sputter, sputter)”

“Your officer visited someone I know regarding Police verification for a government job. He has made such a huge demand that this person is not able to pay. Please see if something can be done.”

Me: “Please tell him not to entertain any such demand. I’ll check.”

“No, no. Whatever normal expectation would be fulfilled. I’m just requesting because the demand is way higher than normal.”

A threshold of corruption seemed the accepted norm.

Same office. Another day. A Deputy Magistrate visited me and told me that his sister had got admission in a prestigious medical institute in London but was not able to go because one of my officials was harassing her for money for giving the Police clearance for her passport and the amount was beyond their capabilities. When I started the enquiry, the girl’s father pleaded with me not to proceed because that might antagonize the official even further and, as a result, his daughter would not be able to go. I reassured him, arranged for all the clearances, placed the official under suspension and initiated a Departmental Enquiry. These enquiries proceed at their own pace. Three years and two further postings of mine later, the Enquiry Officer and the charged official landed up in my office to formally record my statement in the enquiry. After the formal process was over, I asked the official where he was posted those days. He smugly replied, “You see, Sir, you suspended me about three years back. After that, I’ve never bothered to return to office.” Apparently, he had already earned so much illegally that he found managing his money and attending to his myriad private businesses more profitable. He was only interested in completion of the enquiry so that he could resign and his pension would be forthcoming.

 

[to be concluded]

Return of the cop and the bribe

 

The views and the responses around the previous blogpost have prompted me to add a sequel.

Once I was sitting at a Police Station when a local leader walked in with information and desire for information. After his need for information regarding arrest of some of his supporters and action on his complaints was satiated, he launched into a diatribe on all that was wrong with everything around him. He raved and ranted about how the PWD engineers were indulging in corruption on an unimaginable scale, how much the general public was duped by them and so on. I asked him why then he always targeted the Police in his critical speeches all the time and never mentioned PWD. He said if he talked about even grand corruption by any other department, people might hear but would not listen. On the other hand, even petty corruption by Police strikes a familiar chord with his audience. As a leader, he needed to say what the people wanted to hear. This is one of the reasons Police corruption is talked about so much – corruption by the Police is much more visible. However, that doesn’t wish away the problem. Whether corruption is more in the Police than in other departments and agencies or less, Police corruption is a stark reality.

How and why does the Police corruption take place? Actually, Police functioning is one of the most supervised government services. The rules and regulations are watertight, the inspection and monitoring systems are rigorous and there are layers upon layers of supervision. Why then? Part of the answer (but not the whole answer, by any means) lies in the origins of Policing in India.

During Mughal rule, there was only rudimentary policing although terms like Daroga, Kotwal, etc. seem to be of Mughal origin. During this period and early British rule, the Policing function did not command a salary. The person entrusted with the job used to collect cash and kind from the population and traders in his area to pay the compensations for himself and his staff. The biggest source of income used to be the weekly haats (markets) and thus hafta became synonymous with Police corruption.

For a while, the zamindars were held responsible for the crimes committed in their areas. Lord Cornwalis reforms of 1792 removed this responsibility but tasked the zamindars to report crimes. This created an anomalous situation as crimes and criminals became a major source of income for the zamindars and it was in their interest not to report the crimes. When the Policing was organized along more professional lines, the accountability to the public was conspicuous by its absence in the ethos and the working. With that background and the constant need to keep the official crime figures down, suppression and minimization of crimes/ cases got deeply entrenched in the Police DNA even though as per law, every complaint, even a false one, is mandated to be recorded as an FIR. In case of a false complaint, there are provisions to prosecute the complainant, but only after registering the FIR. Police can refuse investigation but only after due documentation and recording valid reasons in writing. There is no discretion to refuse to even accept a complaint. Unfortunately, this “unavailable” discretion is used for serious corruption.

When I was an IPS probationer and was visiting my brother studying in Delhi, his bicycle got stolen. I accompanied him to the Police Station to lodge a complaint. Then I realized how difficult it was to register an FIR in India. It would be hours before the duty officer would even look at you. If and when he does, he would bark rudely as to why you’re disturbing him. This particular duty officer demanded Rs. 100 to lodge the FIR. When I introduced myself as an IPS probationer, he said, “Aarey aap toh ghar ke hain, 50 rupaya mein ho jayega.” A discount! The Police Station was in the office complex of the DCP and this was happening literally under the DCP’s nose. I had to meet the DCP to manage to lodge a First Information Report FREE OF COST. As to the investigation … my brother is still waiting for any news and I have retired from the service.

The situation was bad when I joined the service. Later, it was worse rather than better.

In my cadre, for any officer working in outlying districts, a visit to the state HQ on official work used to be nightmarish. There were two government guest houses which used to cater to all of us from different services and many times, the rush was too much. One had to practically beg and plead with the concerned officials for accommodation. Other suitable accommodation was beyond the reach of our pockets and the travelling allowance. After a lot of efforts, the IPS officers pooled in certain resources and, with a bit of help from the government, managed to create an eight-room IPS Mess in the city in the early 1990s. This was a godsend and made all of us feel relieved while visiting. Long years later, when I returned to the cadre after a central deputation in 2009, I checked into the IPS Mess and had to stay there for about two months before getting official quarters. I was surprised that for almost the entire period, I was the lone occupant in the Mess. Intrigued, I asked the Mess officials how come. They said, things had changed for the better. The officers of the outlying districts preferred to stay in 5-star hotels when they visited. Change for the better indeed! The pay and travelling allowances remained a pittance. When I quizzed further as to who paid for the 5-star accommodation, there was a telling silence …

 

[to be continued further]