Something (more) about West Bengal cadre

 

These chronicles will not be complete without mentioning an officer named B.B. Biswas (now deceased). He was from the State Police Service. When I first met him, he was Additional Superintendent of Police in the adjacent district of Coochbehar. In Police, when a law and order situation develops, it is communicated urgently on the wireless. This being a one-to-many communication, all important officials and stations get to hear it simultaneously and take action, as required. Whenever there was any such situation reported on the wireless in Coochebehar district or any district where B.B. Biswas was posted, such a message was almost immediately followed by a message that the Additional SP (i.e., Biswas) had rushed to the spot. However, someone did some research and found that although there were numerous reports of B.B. Biswas having started off immediately for all the trouble spots, there never was any report or evidence of his EVER having reached any of them. All the SHOs of all those Police Station areas are still awaiting his arrival. 

When the post of Additional SP, South 24 Parganas was falling vacant, B.B. Biswas moved heaven and earth to get posted there. That was not because the jurisdiction was huge or because it was close to Calcutta. One reason he was desperate to be posted there was that he had three wives belonging to three different Police Station areas of the concerned zone. It was a logistical nightmare for him to coordinate his domestic arrangements from a remote posting. The second reason, as stated by him, was that there were 19 Police Stations in the zone so if each one contributed at least Rs. 2,000 per month, he could keep his assorted wives in relative comfort. His logic and his efforts to achieve the outcome became widely known. However, unfortunately for him, I got posted in the zone instead. This sent him into depression but when someone was trying to commiserate with him, he replied that he was almost posted there but at the last minute, the typist made a mistake and typed out B.B. Dash instead of B.B. Biswas. May his soul rest in peace.

 

In Bengal, no one used to attend office before 11 A.M.. On the other hand, there was a rush to leave office at around 5 PM. In one of the offices, in a fit of idiotic insanity, I thought there should be more discipline and asked the Bodo Babu (Section Officer) as to what actually was the government-mandated office time. He hemmed and hawed and scratched his head and indicated that he had never come across any order specifying it. I set him and others to search for the order but to no avail. One day, I just walked into the office at 9.30 AM and marked everyone absent for the day. People started rolling in at 11 AM as usual and were horrified. By 11.05 AM, all the relevant orders pertaining to attendance magically appeared on my table.

 

The actual office timing turned out to be 10 AM to 5.30 PM. Later on, while I made it a point to land up in office at 10 AM, I generally deferred to the local custom of 11 AM start to the office by the others. When I was IG (Admn), sitting at Writers’ Buildings, the bastion of state administration and also then the bastion of militant unionism, one day, a Section Officer turned up casually at around noon. There was something important to be dealt with and I was upset and made known my displeasure at his tardiness although as per his calculations, he was late by only one hour. The same evening, I was discussing a file with him and immediately after 5 PM, he kept looking at his watch pointedly. I was annoyed, pointed out that he had come inordinately late in the morning and asked why then was he looking at his watch at 5 PM? He said, “Dekhen Sir, Sakale ek baar late hoychhilam; eki dine dubaar late hote pari naa.” [See Sir, in the morning, I was late once (arriving); can’t afford to be late twice (while leaving also) in one single day.]

 

To go with the militant trade unionism of the subordinate staff, we also had a fairly militant IPS association, albeit without the rights of industrial action. One particular year, there was a hotly contested election between two groups of officers who openly branded themselves as “the haves” vs the “the have-nots.” The “haves” were further divided into “grass-eaters” and “man-eaters” but that’s for a later blog. The “haves” took the floor first and held forth on how they will transform the cadre by increasing the cadre strength, creating extra posts at the senior levels, etc.. The “have-nots” talked about district assignments for all, reducing arbitrariness in posting, and so forth. Meanwhile, a senior officer, known for his excessive militancy, wanted to have his say and rushed towards the microphone. Many other senior officers tried to grab and restrain him because with him at the mike, anything could happen. Somehow, he managed to escape all the clutching hands and shouted into the mike, “All these big things are bunkum. Tell me what you’re going to do about medical reimbursements.” When everyone was surprised at the question, he added, “I still haven’t been reimbursed for my wife’s first delivery. The child is now grown up and about to get married …”

 

In the state Intelligence Branch, two officers of the same batch were posted as Addl Director General. One of them was heading the Branch and the other one was holding another important post. There was constant struggle for establishing supremacy. Things came to a head when the second officer landed up in the office early one day and parked his car under a portico leading to the offices. Traditionally, the car of the head of the Branch used to be parked there and there never was any trouble earlier because the other officers in the Branch were always either junior or from junior batches. When the big chief arrived, he was aghast to see that “his” spot was taken. The other officer refused to get his car moved. Things escalated through the Home Secretary, the Chief Secretary and finally to the Chief Minister. After a lot of heated discussion, it was finally resolved that the car of one of the officers will occupy that space for three days in the week and the car of the other officer, the remaining two days. Why the cars couldn’t drop off the officers and be parked elsewhere is a question that was never asked.

[Names changed to protect identities]

Something about West Bengal cadre

 

Even before eight of us IPS probationers landed up in our allotted cadre, West Bengal, we were exposed to tales of what a unique cadre it was. There was a case of a DIG (Deputy Inspector General) at Barrackpore who, in a fit of exaggerated conjugality, picked up his service revolver and shot at his wife. Thrice. He hit a few valuable things but not the wife who ran to the local Police Station to lodge an FIR against him. For an SHO of a Police Station, this was equivalent to several kilotons of atom bombs bursting on his head without warning. Caught in the Scylla vs Charybdis, he did what every SHO does in such a circumstance – delegated the decision upwards. His immediate superior, the Circle Inspector did his bit and passed it up to the SDPO who passed it to the SP and so on up the line right up to the supreme authority, the Head of the Police Force (used to be IG then). The IG heard out the whole story on the phone, merely said, “Oh, I always knew that DIG was a bad shot,” put the phone down and went back to his newspaper. In the enquiry, the DIG’s explanation: “Hadn’t been to the firing range for a while so I missed.” 

When we heard the tale, as a curtain-raiser before arriving in the cadre, we thought it was semi-fictional but later, several sources confirmed it to be true. When we arrived, the first bit was a month-and-a-half-long training at the Police Training College (PTC), Barrackpore for learning about local laws, local problems, local customs, local language, etc.. One night, at about 2 AM, we were jolted awake by a huge commotion in the neighbourhood of our Mess. We didn’t know Bengali then. Our cook, Ravi who stayed in the Mess, didn’t know Hindi or English. However, since he was from Orissa, I was designated to find out from him what was happening. I nudged him awake with some urgency and asked him what was which. To which, he nonchalantly replied, “Oh, it’s nothing. Just the recruit constables bashing up the Superintendent of Police.” We were stunned.

 

What had happened was that a recruit constable had taken ill in the evening and his associates had taken him to the Command Hospital in the PTC campus. Since it was outside the OPD hours, the doctor was not available so they took him to the doctor’s house. However, the doctor (reportedly inebriated) didn’t wish to attend to him at his house. Later, the patient’s condition worsened and he died. His associates went ballistic and went to the doctor’s house to attack him. Having learnt the news, the doctor had fled. When they didn’t find him, the recruits vented their anger on the Principal whom they could find in the campus. The latter probably didn’t have any inkling of the situation leading up to the death till then.

 

As the Principal was getting beaten, his panicked colleagues rang up a senior officer in Calcutta, informed him of the situation and requested him to come handle it. The senior officer asked thrice, “Is the situation serious?” Each time, he was told that, indeed, it was as serious as could be. Realising the seriousness of the situation, he refused to come. We were pretty shaken by the incident. Those were the days of severely militant trade unionism informing all walks of life in West Bengal.

 

At the National Police Academy, Hyderabad, we had attained proficiency in many physical activities including swimming for which there was a nice swimming pool there. At PTC, West Bengal, we had to do swimming and we happily marched out under the diligent supervision of the ustaad (trainer). However, we couldn’t find a swimming pool. What we saw was a "pukur," practically a ditch where water had collected since prehistoric times. When we looked askance, the ustaad just smiled and said, “Nahin, zyada gandaa nahi hai!”

 

After that "idyllic" month and a half at PTC, Barrackpore, it was time to go for our district training and confront what is called “real life.” Prior to that, we needed to submit a Travelling Allowance (TA) claim for a troubled area visit (to Darjeeling) which we had undertaken as a part of our training. The claim needed to be submitted on the last day and we trooped in to the TA clerk’s office at about 1030 hrs. to collect the form. The TA clerk was nowhere to be seen. We kept visiting his office at half-hour intervals, only to be rebuffed by an empty chair and other signs of non-occupation. 

Time was ticking by and we had to catch our trains in the afternoon so on our third visit, in desperation, we went to the next-door room which was the office of the Head Clerk (Bodo Babu) who was around. When we told him about our predicament, he said we should just wait a while; the TA clerk would appear like magic when we least expected it. When we insisted, he said, “Aare baba, bollaam toh aasbe, ektu wait karun.” [Uff, I told you, he will come, wait just a bit.] We told him we had been waiting and waiting and had trains to catch and so on and he kept repeating the same answer. Finally, we asked him exactly where the TA Clerk or his house was so that we could visit him and plead. To this, he replied, “Ei toh aamar saamene base achhe, aamra ektu golpo korchhi.” [Umm, he’s sitting right here opposite me. We’re just chatting a bit.] This was 1988. I submitted that TA bill for Rs. 263 and some paise. The reimbursement is still awaited. Hell hath no fury like a TA clerk whose gossip session has been interrupted.

[The swimming pool]

[To be concluded]