This week, I attended a Bengali wedding reception after a long time – for the daughter of a very dear IIMB batchmate and a (highly prolific) fellow blogger. It was a well-arranged and joyous affair with a charming crowd and very nice. In an earlier life as a cop, I have had a few brushes with weddings in Bengal, some joyous and some not-so-joyous.
I was just a few days into my first assignment as Sub
Divisional Police Officer (SDPO) when, one early morning, a very young boy and
an equally young girl landed up in my residence-cum-office seeking help and
solace. Turned out, cupid had struck and they had gone and quietly got married
without the knowledge and against the wishes of their parents. Both the sets of
parents (and, of course, the inevitable relatives) were furious and the girl’s
parents had threatened them with severe punishment including and up to death. I
rang up the local Police Station and asked them to look into it. Shortly
thereafter, the agitated parents of the girl also landed up and were extremely
adamant and extremely furious, in parts. I referred them also to the Police
Station and set out for another Police Station area where a heinous crime had
been committed the previous night.
After supervising the incident, raids and interrogation
of the arrested accused persons in the latter case, I returned home fairly late
in the evening. My house complex (residential office) was choc-a-bloc with two
sets of crowds from the boy’s and the girl’s sides. They had parried and
thrusted under the guidance, cajoling and persuasion of the Police Sub Inspector
but could not reach any common ground. The boy’s parents were unhappy at the
marriage having taken place without their knowledge but had nothing against the
girl. The girl’s family were in a how-dare-they-elope mode even though they
didn’t know much about the boy.
I asked them what they expected me to do, it being a
civil, social matter. Both the sets of parents and relatives said, “Ja SDPO
saheb bolben oita final.” [Whatever SDPO saheb says will be final.] I told them
that as I wasn’t married, my knowledge about these matters was zilch so I won’t
be able to advise or prescribe anything. I reiterated that it was a civil and
social matter. However, both the sides were adamant and threatened not to leave
until I decided. Very reluctantly, I intervened and a “formal” marriage
ceremony was held. I hope, the couple had a blessed married life. My career
practically started on the dubious note of jumping into something where I had
no expertise or jurisdiction.
This posting was also in the same place where I had
undergone the district training. Usually, in a uniformed service, there is a
lot of social distance between the ranks. However, since the junior officers had
trained me, all of them treated me as family. One day, a Sub Inspector named Karmakar
turned up with an emotional pitch when I was sitting in the Kotwali (town)
Police Station. His brother was getting married (another love marriage) and he
said he didn’t have much in terms of family and would be grateful if the other
officers and I attended the marriage. I accompanied the Inspector of the Police
Station and other Sub Inspectors to the “Bou bhaat” function. In Bengali
marriages, this is an important part when the new bride feeds the guests in the
groom’s place with food cooked by herself.
The occasion was bubbly, the feast was lavish, and the
bride was very friendly, smart and chirpy. We didn’t see anyone from her side
of the family but I didn’t enquire closely into it as it was a love marriage
and it was better not to be inquisitive. We came back after thanking Karmakar
who was thrilled at his close colleagues attending the wedding en masse.
A month or so later, the Inspector (Bodo babu) of the
Police Station rang me up one morning and told me there was a problem. There
was a complaint of dowry death. This was a time when the country had become
very agitated over a spate of dowry deaths and bride burning continuously
highlighted in the media. In response to the public hue and cry and in
legislative wisdom, a new section 304 B was inserted in the Indian Penal Code
and another section in the Indian Evidence Act whereby, in the case of any unnatural
death of the bride within the first seven years of marriage, it was liable to
be treated as a dowry death and the accused persons had to prove that they were
innocent, not the other way around (presumed innocent until proven guilty) as
obtained in other crimes. We were also instructed to give such cases priority
and immediately effect arrests first and ask questions later. So I told the
Inspector he should go ahead with lodging the FIR and asked where was the problem.
He told me that Karmakar’s sister-in-law whose Bou bhaat we had attended had
committed suicide and her parents were at the Police Station demanding that an
FIR be lodged. I still didn’t see the problem and asked him so what. Then he
revealed that they had collected a list of all the persons who had attended the
Bou bhaat and had named them as accused. This, of course, included himself and
me.
I dropped everything and rushed to the Police Station.
I talked to the deceased bride’s parents who were actually very decent folk and
friendly but absolutely determined about the FIR. In the polite discussions, I
also asked them about their absence during the marriage. They said, “Ora toh
CPM kore, aamra Congress kori; ei jonno gelam na.” [They support CPM, we
support Congress; there was no question of our attending the marriage.] That
was my first inkling of how deeply party politics had got entrenched in every
aspect of everyone’s life in the Bengal of those days. Anyway, the Inspector,
with his exceptional persuasive skills, managed to convince them that we were
innocent so they pared down the list of the accused to just the husband and the
in-laws. Phew! If they had insisted on their original list of accused, I
would’ve probably ended up arresting myself!
When I joined as Superintendent of Police (SP) of a
district, my tenure started with an all-out clash with the local big leader of
the ruling party. However, over time, he became very friendly (or probably gave
up), ceased to try any intervention and used to drop in for occasional friendly
chats completely unconcerned with administration or politics. During one such
visit, I found him a little down in spirit so asked him why. He said he was
feeling sad. His daughter had just been married off. I was solicitous and
offered a few general platitudes. Then, he burst out with, “Everything is fine.
The boy is very decent, doing a handsome job, is from a very good family.
Everything is great. Except that we are CPM, they are RSP; I’m somehow just not
able to reconcile myself to this …” This was at a time when CPM and RSP were
constituent parties to the same Left Front government. I was stunned! And not a
little amused.
My Police career which practically started with
intervention into a marriage when I had no experience of the institution has drawn
to a close. Since that incident, I have been married and now my kids are about
to get married. I presume to have some domain knowledge about marriage now.
However, no one asks me for advice or intervention in matters related to it any
more. Not even my kids.
[Name changed to
protect identity]
The last sentence packed a punch, Sir!
ReplyDeleteThank you so much for constantly encouraging and supporting. 🙏
DeleteHahaha! But then, Sir, it is an axiom that it is position that's respected to and listened to, not wisdom. 😀
ReplyDeleteWhere one stands depends on where one sits, huh? 😀
DeleteArresting yourself would have been a Pink Panther moment!
ReplyDeleteLOL!!
Delete... and the Inspector's face would've been 50 shades of pink. 😀
DeleteHi Dash,
ReplyDeleteAs always, a very readable post.
As I read it, the realisation came that a wedding event, which we usually tend to gloss over ( of course only if we are not a direct party to it!) as a joyous event and something to be enjoyed in the moment, can actually reveal deep aspects of our belief ridden perceptions and societal fabric. What I loved were your 'in a lighter vein' narration as a direct participant.
And yes, your closer line did deliver an irony laced punch!
Cheers
Shakti Ghosal
You hit the nail on the head, as usual.
Delete