India Shining – Stories from the hinterland

I had booked myself on the Goa-Pune sleeper bus last night. A civilized way of traveling, I had thought.

I ate a light meal of chicken curry, boiled eggs and even a few spoons of Chinese fried rice at the bus stand in Mapusa, Goa. Boarding the bus, I was pleasantly surprised to see clean berth, air-conditioning, and only a single forlorn mosquito which I soon dealt with.

All was well, and I settled in for the night. Until 2 a.m. that is. It was only four hours ago, I was fast asleep, when someone poked me in the back. Awakening with a jolt, I see a torch shining in my face. The hand holding the torch belongs to a man in a police uniform.

“What is that in that bag you have there?”

I looked in my berth, and sticking out of the bag was a bottle of Macallan scotch. I was thinking laptop, ipad, books, and it took a moment to register that he was referring to the whisky.

“Transporting booze is not allowed. You have to pay a fine”.

I was wide awake now, but still a deer caught in the flashlight, not thinking straight.

“Where…where are we?” I stared out the window into the dark. Nothing to see outside, but we were pulled over at the side of the road.

“Police check, Maharashtra border. You have to pay a 5000 rupees fine for transporting alcohol”.

Now I peered at the cop’s face. Thirty-years old, a sub-inspector or lower, small mustache, and shifty eyes. A child, with the easy authority that comes from wearing a khaki uniform and performing 2 am shakedowns six nights a week on travelers. The cobwebs of sleep were gone and my head was clearing.

“Let me look at your name tag, officer. What is your name?” He shifted his body sideways, obscuring his name tag with his arm. The classic sign of an officer of the law who is lying through his teeth.

“Sure, I would be happy to pay the fine. Please write the fine challan and state clearly that you are fining me for having a bottle of whisky”, I stared directly into his face.

“Let’s go, you have to come off the bus to the check post to be fined”.

Ya right, you bastard. So that you can bring three more thugs and rob me properly, I thought to myself.

“I have a better idea. I will sit here in my berth. Why don’t you go and get your challan book and write me a receipt for the fine, with your name, rank and signature clearly showing what the fine is for?”

“You will have to get off the bus. I have to confiscate your bottle.” His voice rose an octave. Now the crook in a cop’s clothing was negotiating.

“Write me a challan that you are confiscating the bottle and why. Then I will pour the contents of the bottle on the road in front of the bus and give you the empty bottle”. His vision, of enjoying a bottle

of my single malt in the roadside checkpost with his fellow dacoits, quickly evaporated.

He stood up, and without a word, disappeared down the corridor and into the night. If you want to rob me, it takes more than a police uniform, I said to myself as I watched his retreating behind.

The place was close to Kankali on the Goa-Maharashtra border. The bus was Neeta travels. In old India, I would have told him about my extended family members who are senior police officials in Andhra Pradesh. In new India, I firmly and politely told him to simply go fuck himself. In old India, he would have made me get off the bus. In new India, I would have shouted the whole bus awake and created a major scene.

In old India, he could have abused me with impunity. In new India starting next year, I will be wearing Google glasses and video-recording these bastards in action and putting up their antics on Youtube.

The above is from the mail I receive from "I Paid a Bribe", a site which fights bribes.

It is a true incident.