Doing my Dhoti

 

During the marketing management course in MBA, we’re constantly badgered with the 4 P’s – Product, Price, Place, Promotion. Every marketing manager’s day and night and mind (or lack of it) begins and ends with these 4 P’s. During Police service, I came across a different expansion, Politicians, Press, Police and P….. One of my colleagues was fond of saying – these 4 Ps are the most untrustworthy of the lot. This piece deals with the first category, the men in Dhoti, the politicians. 

For my marriage, I had applied for seven days’ Casual Leave which was granted. When I was saying ‘see you’s to my colleagues, one Dhotiwala from the ruling party, Shanti Dolui landed up and started telling everyone that his party supporters were about to get attacked. Since it was in the island area, he wanted us to block any mobilisation by the opposition party on the rivers so that his poor dear supporters’ lives will be spared. We all thought he was just being hyper but did arrange for police launches patrolling the rivers. I went home, packed and left for the railway station to board the train. Just as I was getting down from the vehicle with my suitcase, an Inspector came running, apologised for being the bearer of bad tidings, and told me that my leave was cancelled and I had to rush back to office. 

I was shocked and surprised but, orders being orders, rushed back to office. What I found out was that far from his supporters being attacked, Shanti Dolui had himself mobilised a lot of his supporters the previous night and launched an attack on the opposition supporters. He had manipulated the Police into arranging the patrolling so that the opposition couldn’t counter-mobilise. However, the opposition supporters in place proved to be numerically stronger and in the skirmish, the ruling party supporters had suffered severe casualties. Now, I was being tasked to establish peace and rehabilitate the ruling party supporters. I was furious. I also asked why, when I’d proceeded on leave, another Addl SP couldn’t have been sent. Only to be told that no one else was daring to visit the area. 

Cut to a little later. The world had moved on and I had grown up a little and was a Deputy Commissioner in Calcutta Police. While we cops were chasing dacoits, robbers and murderers, the government panicked about something else – Delhi government had fallen because onion prices breached Rs. 50 mark. Every day, there was a meeting chaired by either the Finance Minister or the Home Minister in the state regarding prices of different commodities. 

In one of the meetings, the honourable Minister averred, “Look, Bengalis will forgive us other vegetable price rises; they will never forgive us rise in the price of potato – 80 % of the country’s potato is grown here. Please stop any export of potato to other states.” His highness’s words were our command and we blocked the four exit routes out of the state. This obviously became big news. The next day, Andhra CM told the press, “West Bengal is not giving us potatoes? Fine, we’ll not send any fish to West Bengal.” I didn’t know then but, apparently, 70 % of the fish consumed in West Bengal came from Andhra. 

That was doomsday, followed by emergency meetings. Potato price was actually “small potato” compared to a fish price hike in West Bengal. Potato export to Andhra was expressly “allowed.” For one full week thereafter, I had to report the prices of various categories of fish to the highest authorities. 

During a central government tenure, I was the no. 2 in an organisation. When my Boss retired, I was preparing for a new Boss (whoever he would be). Unfortunately, there were a lot of illegal demands on my organisation because at that time there was a lot of corruption in the air and in the particular sector my organisation was in. My Boss had held firm and was very unpopular with the Minister and LMP (Like Minded People). The Minister happened to be a Jatt. Before retiring, when pressured for an obnoxious favour, my Boss had remarked, “Even if I wanted to do it, my officers, B.B. Dash and others won’t let me …” So the LMP were wary of me. To my chagrin, they not only decided to keep my Boss’s post vacant but gave the charge to a junior guy from outside who they thought would be more pliant and “controllable.” 

I tried to protest but it was all falling on deaf ears. One day I got thoroughly het up and put down everything in writing and sent it across. There was panic and consternation in equal parts. I believe, the LMP told the Minister how I had exceeded all possible limits. The Minister read through the whole missive, twice, then burst out laughing and merely said, “Yeh to mere jaisa hai … poora jaat hai.” The matter went to the Prime Minister and I was given the charge – the (un?)happy situation lasted almost four years. 

One Chief Minister (CM) used to actively stoke psychopancy. On the CM’s birthday, all the Ministers and MLAs used to compete to recite the longest poem in honour of the CM. Whenever the CM would travel by air, all the Ministers and many MLAs used to crowd around at the airport. The CISF Commandant at the airport was fed up and developed a routine. He used to draw a circle. All these worthies used to stand inside the circle with their heads bowed until the CM convoy zoomed past. One day the Commandant asked them why they were crowding there when the CM didn’t even bother to even glance at them. One of them said, “You don’t know … later the CM checks the video footage of our standing there and from our facial expressions, the CM determines who is how loyal.” 

Well, I also did my share to cater to these idiosyncracies of the dhotiwallahs. Afer all, as Edwin Lutyens once remarked, “India expects every man to do his dhoti.”