When Cops are caught at the wrong end of the stick….

Yesterday my friend Kartik encountered one of the most hackneyed incidents happening on Indian roads – Breaching the rough side of the law and getting caught by a traffic cop. Apparently he too like many of us had to grease the palm of the “lucky” constable and scoot off from the scene, where the delinquent act was committed.

Often people, including me, wonder why is it that it’s the common people who are caught pants down in such scenario while influential breed move around scot-free. However my bewilderment didn’t last too long when I realized that on couple of occasions ,when I had rendezvous with the protectors of law, I managed to turn the table around. It was more about the wits, luck and presence of mind rather than any bravado which helped me hoodwink the premonition written in thin air.

One such incident happened a year or so ago. After my office hours, I decided to make a casual visit towards northern part of Chennai- Egmore. Engrossed in exploring the area and enjoying the dinner I didn’t realize, it was pretty late to return to my house . I was completely exhausted after yet another taxing day.With a laptop dangling on my shoulder, I trudged along the pedestrian lane to catch the bus for Velachery. As my luck had it, I didn’t have to wait for too long and found a fairly empty bus for Saidapet which was mid way between Egmore and Velachery.

I sank myself on one of the far end window seat reflecting on my day that passed by. At next stop, couple more passengers boarded the bus along with a cop. Perhaps, my conspicuous appearance enticed the policeman to take the next seat that of mine. As the bus accelerated, the cop threw first jibe at me in Tamil. Those days my understanding of Tamil was as good as my knowledge about Latin or Greek. I tried to ignore his physical presence and turned my face away from him.

The stink coming from his mouth suggested that he was drunk. I presume my nonchalant behavior hurt his domineering ego and instigated the fire in his belly. Within few moments he again said something to me in Tamil which I blissfully ignored. The bus sped through the empty lane towards the Mount road. The Cop’s temper, catalyzed by alcohol he consumed, flared up, resonating with the frequency that of the bus engine. He held my hand firmly and demanded to know in broken English what was there in the black bag, pointing towards the lap top that I carried.

Irritated with his meddling business I shoved my hand away and said in stern manner “It’s none of your business”. I think I stretched my luck a bit too far. Till that point in my life I never had one to one with any policeman. Perhaps I never knew the repercussion of messing up with a cop, never knew what exactly it feels like when you tickle their nerves. The Cop was slightly taken aback my foolishness rather than audacity. Anyhow it surely shot up the mercurial temper that he carried. In full throttle he started chiding me , occasionally pushing my lap top , brushing my shoulder, scowling at me. In broken English he finally threatened,” I want to frisk you. I will show you what my business is. We will get down at the next police station. I demand an explanation about the content inside this bag.”

Seeing the scuffle going on, the bus conductor and few passengers came for my rescue. They tried to persuade the Cop to leave me. However, the Cop’s pristine ego made him more adamant to teach me a lesson. The realization embarked upon me a bit too late that I had landed myself in a big soup. I had already set the cat amongst the pigeons. Now it was the time to reconcile and save my skin .I showed my company ID, opened my lap top bag, explained him that I am coming from office and that’s why I was carrying this lap top. An elderly angelic soul put my case forward in Tamil to the Cop. Somehow his words seemed to calm the flared up policeman.

After lot of persuasion from fellow passengers including the bus conductor, the cop cooled down and accepted my plea. The matter was over and the cop settled back in his seat. The bus crossed the Chennai Central and headed towards Spencer Plaza. I was fuming with rage and anger more on my stupidity than on Cop’s enactment The Cop turned around and asked,” Where do you live?”

I mumbled,” V…Velachery”

“What is your father?”

“ J..Judge..he is a judge, Sir..” I squeaked.

I first thought he didn’t listen to what I said. But then hearing the word “Judge”, he somehow got off balance. There was a distinct change in his tone and voice from thereon. Now his broken Tamil/English combo was replaced with more polished English. He started bridging the gap with a diplomatic lecture that I shouldn’t be venturing out with such expensive electronic items so late in the night. Chennai is not all that safe.Blah..Blah..

The rage within me somehow was replaced with a sense of crookedness. The prankster of good old college days decided to hit back with vengeance. After all what will the world say if they come to know that the son of a Judge is bullied by an ordinary cop. Perhaps it was my ego’s turn to strike. Sensing that he was drunk I decided to play my game

I said,” So... you know, he is a high court Judge in Chennai.”

Admittedly, my dad hadn’t seen this neck of the woods till that time.

“What?? I’m sorry son…I mean..he is high court judge in Chennai.” The cop responded in mellowed voice.

“ Yes.. and today there is a party in my house where top officials are coming.My dad is going to be very disappointed seeing me late. You have to escort me so that I can tell him what all you did?” I said in firm voice.
Now my co passengers again turned around sensing another drama brewing up.They say lightning doesn’t strike twice. That day shower of lightning struck on the head of poor constable. The affect of alcohol seemed to vanish in thin air. Now he was at my mercy.

“You are like my son…dear..I have a son who is as old as you are..” The Cop started

“So what…today you have to come with me to my house..” I was firm on my stance.

“Son…I am a lowly constable…I never wanted to get into this police force. I was a singer and dancer in my village…But destiny had its own ways and I had to forfeit my ambition and accept this job. I am very poor son…I just got drunk and told you several things…I never intended it..” The constable cut loose his whole story within a minute.

The passengers now seemed to enjoy the dramatic turn around in the events.

“Ok..ok…let me think…..hmm…so you sing??” I asked

“Yes son…I know carnatic music, I know to dance too…I can sing film songs, I can dance like Rajni..” The cop replied.

Smiling within myself, I decided to have just a bit more of fun.” You have to prove it…only then I can leave you...” I said ,faking a stern voice.

“Sure…sure son…I will go near the front seat so that everybody can hear..” , before he could complete the sentence …he was off at the centre of the “stage”

Even the bus conductor seemed to relish the prospect of entertainment from a city constable.

As the bus crossed the Gemini flyover, the cop started singing in his hoarse voice. The passengers complemented him with foot tap ans claps. The cop’s performance continued for ten minutes. When the bus entered T.Nagar, the conductor announced the passengers boarding down at Saidapet to get ready. The words from the conductor seemed to give a slap at the back of the constable’s head. He came rushing towards me explaining that he had to get down at Chennai Central itself which was 15 km from Saidapet. In this whole confusion he missed his stop.

He folded his hand and asked for final reprieve. In no mood to dally with any more danger I gave him “permission” to board down at T.Nagar. He breezed towards the exit gate. Before one could say Jack Robinson, he was off.Once he got down, the entire bus was full of laughter and claps. I shyly grinned at one of my fellow passengers.

Perhaps seeing a Cop facing the wrong end of the stick was a pleasant experience for them than the ordeal they faced for many years

When I look into a Mirror….

Looking into the mirror is often a humbling experience. With an open mind you can exactly see the thought patterns on your forehead, in your eyes, in your lips, in your appearance. A guilt conscious mind often try to shove away from mirror as quickly as possible while a rewarding experience often leave you adoring , drooling those distinct smiling silhouette, for hours. That’s where the word Honesty plays its role. How much you can face yourself after committing a delinquent act? How much benign you are when you bask in the glory of success? The Russian roulette of thoughts makes me wonder do I have immense guts and belief to accept my mistakes in front of my reflection.

I tried it. More often than not I failed


Every time I look into the mirror a disturbing thought keeps haunting at the back of my mind …Am I really honest??? Often we judge the sacrosanct word Honesty to our action in public domain. More often than not it’s the other individual’s parameter that decides how honest we are in community and in society in general. Yesterday the propensity to this thought kicked towards a different alley when a friend of mine narrated about her experiences of putting her thoughts in a dairy. The thought treaded a new dimension - how many of us are really honest to ourselves?

I can’t claim that I am the One…

Often people pour in their emotions in a Pensieve, I can’t fathom precisely for what reasons. I guess every individual likes to open up his or her inner consciousness to someone or other. Some find other trusted human entity as the best way to cut loose their thoughts ,others prefer docile and genial mouth less pages of dairy where they can put over their feelings. Often human reactions are deceptive and inconclusive to comprehend others emotions – the silent words scribbled on those pages have a calming effect. However there is another set of people who simply don’t have courage to speak even to lifeless pages of dairy and simply present themselves in front of their reflection – unabashed, emotionally unraveled, without any prejudice and probably with an open mind to accept what I am .

I presume I fall in the last category

Often adoring ones reflection is perceived as sign of self consciousness, low esteem et al. I tend to counter that perception. I sense when I am really pleased about myself, am pure and truthful from my within…I spent invariably longer time in front of those light reflecting medium. I try viewing myself on those reflections what my future behold for me and where my present stands. I turn my chin around an imaginary locus of circle to get a clear view about my face to check whether each cell of my face has received that dose of compliment and gratitude. I suspect whether I would do the same if I have committed something wrong.

It’s the people who are honest about themselves and have the conviction to face the adverse remarks about their entity who dare to bring out his wildest of thoughts and most savage ideas out of those cabined closet of heart and mind. One, who has immense belief and conviction about his persona, his actions, his reaction, his decision, his mistakes, his fallacy, and his shortcomings, never hesitates to speak his mind and heart. I don’t know how many of us really can muster that courage. I often think how the opposite person will react if I am plain speaking. I often shiver with thought ‘What If’ he/she presumes I am Not what I was supposed to be in his/her eyes. That’s where I think I loose my honesty and betray my reflection

I try to snatch an ounce of those convictions from my reflection

The Legacy of Raagamallika Resumes...IV

Of Bhatia’s Tour de Loo and Addy’s nightly adventures...

Saturdays and Sundays at A-1 Raagamallika use to be mixed bag for the foursome. The day started praying that Electricity people spare them from weekly maintenance, give them respite from the sultry heat of Chennai. Yet invariably the Saturdays passed by cursing, begging electricity people to restore normalcy. The sweat laden long mane of Bhatia, drooping nose of Chawla , drenched naked torso of Addy and oomph display of vital anatomical statistics of Party in extreme corner of the room made an idyllic description of their romantic tale with heat of Chennai.

Chennai in a way is one of the most distinct cities in the world. With beaches, wide roads, humble people and extraordinary ability to remain peaceful in spite of being a metro sets it apart from rest of the nation. Either you hate it for its hostile climate /food or you love it for its qualities. There is no mid way to this romanticism. Yet for the foursome the love- hate relationship with Chennai often fluctuated faster than a feminine mood swings.

Evenings often turned out to be a pleasant onset to the weekend plans. With weather shedding its ferocity , the stroll use to be directed towards Sathyam theatre to catch the latest Bollywood flick or towards Beasent Nagar beach to catch that bite of chicken and Aate di Roti at Dhaaba Express. On one such occasion Bhatia’s appetite gave even likes of Party a run for the money.

Perhaps days of forced starvation ‘cause of sulking office lunch had increased beast within his tummy by quantum leap. Finally after finishing the third course of the evening, Bhatia called the quits.One of the last ambition now left was to crash on those stinky pillows in the cozy air conditioned room of Raagamallika. Chawla, Bhatia and Party walked back to the nearest bus stop at Mount Road to catch the earliest shuttle back to Raagamallika. However, the restive alimentary canal of Bhatia evoked the first signal of revolt as they boarded the bus.
Hang On!! There is something wrong

“Pressure ban raha hai yaar!!!” Bhatia’s mellowed voice squeaked

Chawla and Party gave a grin sensing something impending happening and about to smell. However they had full faith in Bhatia’s ability to control the violent pressure, now entered the alley of his small intestine ,till they reach home. As the bus gained speed Bhatia swayed from one side to other just to give the pressure built in his tummy some extra compartment so that it doesn’t give him red blushes. Midway through the trip , the bus stopped at a traffic signal near Saidapet. The last drop of atheist quality in Bhatia gave in that day. He prayed and prayed really hard for the bus to move forward so that he can rush to the loo. Perhaps all the sins that he committed over the years came out in form of sweat from his forehead, eyes ,nose, ears.

The bus didn’t budge an inch.Every second seem an eternity for Bhatia. The pressure now started giving a Zidanesque kick to the last end of his alimentary canal – The Goal Post. Bhatia gave a sideways grin to Party and said

“Yaar…I can’t control it now!!”

The humane qualities within Party somehow rise amazingly when he sees any of his friends in real despair situation. The motivational guru within him persuaded Bhatia to hold on that extra bit for few more minutes, show that resolve of Dravid to stand like a wall, be like a Wall. But it all fell in deaf ears. The kick of Pressure ,now about to burst, must be giving even the likes of Pascal and Bernoulli an extra incentive to come back on earth and study its phenomenon inside Bhatia’s tube

Finally Chawla and Party decided to give Bhatia a leeway. They boarded down at Saidapet bus stand. As Bhatia struggled to stand , Chawla rushed around in search of a secluded place where Bhatia can relieve himself while Party zoomed to the nearest Confectionary story to get a bottle of Aqua Fina/ Bisleri so that Bhatia’s Goal Post can be washed once the pressure finds its natural outlet.

After frenetic search Chawla managed to find an isolated place near a railway yard. Party pushed sloth-like-unwalkable-figure to its destination and left him to relieve himself. Fifteen minutes of bombardment and fusillade of noise and gun shot like Bhatia’s dung had purified the railway track. The entire atmosphere bore a perfume like stink which was unbearable for Chawla and Party. He washed his Goal Post with Bisleri water, the smile was back on the face of Sardarji. The Pressure was gone. The three course chicken diet found its final destination.

Bhatia was back from his Tour de Penance a la Tour de Loo by the side of railway track. As he tightened his buckle , he promised himself he wont ever compete with Party when it comes to coaxing the tummy with chicken. As they walked back the three of them wondered…
Where is Addy lost in this fiasco?

As they made soft and noiseless entry late in the night to the Raagamallika Apartments, they found the Bed Room’s door ajar and light switched off. The Air Conditioner had taken its full effect and the room was extremely cold. Party slowly entered the room and found Addy laid there violently shaking over his tummy. For a moment Party presumed Addy is under some fit and thought of rushing to a doctor.
Goodness Gracious!! But there is some sound of kisses being blown in the air…What’s going on??

As always anything out of the worldly behavior often attracted Party’s consciousness. He moved closer to see the face of Addy in the darkness, trying to unravel mystery of his violent movements and kissing-like-sound. Just as he was within a striking distance, Addy’s one long arm flung across Party’s neck and shoulder, grabbing him firmly.

I love You…Sweet Heart…Lets make Love!! Addy’s sleepy voice hissed

AAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!!!.... Party shrieked at the top of his voice

Both Bhatia and Chawla came rushing in. Addy quickly got violent surge to push him out of his dreams and get fully awake. The Lights were switched on..
What’s the matter!! The thunderous voice of Chawla and Bhatia bellowed in resonance. The smiling and blushing face of Party greeted them .

“ Nothing yaar…I thought Mr AD had got some wrong intentions!!!”

Meanwhile Addy adjusted his cover sheet and his blushing red cheeks and wet pants said the story.

“Yaar… I was dreaming about Pamela Anderson in my bed room!!”

For days the rest three spent sleepless / half asleep night fearing Addy’s nightly adventurous dream might not land them in Gay’s Club!! Often the flinging arms and soft kissing voice raised hackles to the likes of Chawla and Party…