An IPS officer and his wife

  

During training, IPS officers have a “troubled area visit” to learn policing in such situations, first – hand. During our training, we were taken to Punjab which was at the peak of its militancy then. Mr. Julio Ribeiro had just become Advisor to Governor, giving charge of DGP to Mr. K.P.S. Gill. Both of them addressed us separately. During Mr. Ribeiro’s address, one of the trainees (excited electron type) asked him whether, given another go at life, he would still like to be an IPS officer. Mr. Ribeiro pondered hard and long. “No,” he drawled, “I would not. I would rather be an IPS officer’s wife!”

 

The big thing about life is not the money or the bungalow or the car or the academic degrees. It is actually about how many slave labour you can achieve through authorized and unauthorized means. And in Police and Army, numbers don’t matter. During the first posting I had as a Sub Divisional Police Officer, I found that there were 700 people I was commanding. As you go up the ladder, as IG or Major General in the Army, that number goes up to about 12,000 – 14,000. It hits stratospheric levels when you hit DGship. Given that, sparing 10 or 15 people for the upkeep of the house or massaging the wife's status is like a drop in the ocean. Some of us may have seen a media SCOOP about how a large contingent was deployed to build a swimming pool in the residential house of S.P., Keonjahr in Orissa. The S.P.’s explanation: He was giving them physical training to make them bigger, broader, better human beings through physical exercise! Please closely observe the sequel – wife is very happy. She also has a high status amongst other wives of her ilk. I think, much of the rivalry and bitterness between IAS and IPS can be traced to this. IPS wives have this army of disguised slave labour for the whole career of their husbands and the IAS wives’ equivalent army probably takes a hit after the DMship.

 

When one joins the Police, one is immediately given certain perks officially – a vehicle, a driver, a bodyguard and two orderlies. The orderlies are supposed to take ‘orders’ – for cooking, buying sabzi, looking after the children and so on. (Un?)fortunately, in West Bengal cadre, the orderly system was abolished by CPM government which thought it was a sad relic of the decadent Raj. In its place, two Home Guards were provided. Their job was to guard the home of the officer. How these one–foot–in–the–grave guys could ever hope to do that without firearms was beyond me. Some officers used them for household work. I drew the short straw and the two guys allotted to me made it very clear on Day One that their job was to guard the home and not household work. I was okay with it. They helped in running errands and attending to the phone and so on. Then I got married. The wife must have been updated at some point and we all settled down to happy domesticity. I carried these two guys from posting to posting as we were familiar with each others’ expectations and there was no hassle. Then I joined SSB, a central police force on Central deputation as a Commandant and all peace went out the window.

 

I was now entitled (?) to a cook, several orderlies and other such entities and I grabbed them without hesitation. The cook was an ex – three star hotel chef so all of us put on about 5 kgs each within a month. My shoes were shining enough to dispense with the mirror. The crease in my uniform could cut through butter. I was happy, reading jokes on the internet and occasionally contributing a PJ or two to my IIMB e-group until one fateful Sunday morning. I was sleeping late when the wife woke me up with some urgency.

 

Wife: “The Home Guard has misbehaved with me – you must do something.”

 

Me: “Wha… wha… what?”

 

Wife: “I asked him to polish your shoes and he refused, saying it’s not his job.”

 

Me: “Wha… wha… what?”

 

Wife: “Wake up. I asked him to polish your shoes and he refused, saying it’s not his job.”

 

Me: “But darling, he had made it clear about 14 years back that it was not his work. Why the sudden urge to get the shoes polished by him? I don’t want my shoes polished by him.”

 

Wife: “But the other orderlies from SSB do it. Why not him?”

 

Me: “Look, like he said, it’s not his job and it has not been his job for the last 14 years. If it’s the job of the SSB guys, they are welcome to it. What do you want me to do now?”

 

Wife: “Well, I have been humiliated so you must chuck your West Bengal Home Guards.”

 

Thus, a long 14-year association between me and these Home Guards came to an end – over shining a pair of shoes.

 

Anyone observing bureaucracy closely would call it jeepocracy (or, carocracy now). The seat of the seniormost person in the jeep or car is fixed so that people can do salaam to the correct person. It is the left side seat in the back, diagonally opposite to the driver. How this tradition originated is not known but officers adhere to it fiercely. So if I travelled with anyone even one batch senior to me, I waited until he occupied the “big” seat – left, back and then occupy any other seat available. What happens when the wives are travelling together?

 

One of my cadremates, Namit Verma got posted as SP, Jalpaiguri. Simultaneously, his batchmate, Deepak Soni got posted as SP, Cooch Behar. While Namit and Deepak were good friends and did not have any issues, when their wives were travelling together in one car, Namit’s wife insisted on occupying that coveted left – back seat as Jalpaiguri was a bigger district than Cooch Behar. Within months, Deepak was posted as SP, Darjeeling which was then considered a more important district than Jalpaiguri. Now, Deepak’s wife would insist on occupying that left – back seat when she travelled with Mrs Namit Verma. I found it very funny and wanted to share the story with the wife. She has a far more successful career than mine and inhabits a world fairly insulated from Police shenanigans. I thought she would also have a laugh but decided against telling her. 

 

 

 

 

[Names changed to protect identities]