THE IG'S UNFULFILLED WISH

"At the beginning of the last century, the Police Commission of 1902-03 had, while discussing the kind of youth the members felt would be suitable for the Indian Police, made the startling observation that while they thought “university men” were needed for the Academy Journal 4 ICS, for the corresponding police service they preferred “school lads”. Consequently, training programs designed for the needs of lads fresh out of school and the police training institutions themselves kept the public school as the model. And, just as independent India adopted the colonial police system, unconcerned about its inappropriateness, so was that training philosophy accepted unhesitatingly for the CPTC. Surely, it was not a mere coincidence that while the defunct Lawrence Public School, at Mount Abu, was selected for locating the CPTC, Metcalfe House in Delhi was selected for the IAS training institute."

-  from My Eleven Years in Academy by Ali Aftab Ahmad IPS (Retd.), one of the best.

‘Sir, Ess Kay, the officer you called for,’ the Assistant Inspector General  announced to the Inspector General of Police.

‘Instinctively I saluted. The IG was looking down at a file. As soon he heard the AIG, he looked up slowly, dismissed the AIG with an imperious wave of his hand, and settled his gaze on me,’ the Venerable Member said and paused, letting the pause and his bulging eyes grab our attention yet again in the middle of his reminiscences.

Having finished two sets of tennis on a hot day in May about twenty minutes ago,  we were sitting in the cool comfort of the Men’s Changing Room of Kolkata’s famous South Club, framed pictures of India’s Davis Cup moments staring down at us . Some had dried themselves and changed into  fresh T-Shirts, some were too pooped out and lay slouched in the rattan chairs.  A  few were busy availing the club’s free supply of talcum to powder themselves in their public and private places. The post tennis adda had begun.It was an ideal time for a story to be told - the most important event of the day was over and only the small matter of attending office remained.  

The Venerable Member was narrating a story of his training days as an Assistant Superintendent  of Police (U/T), which was , on that date in the year 2002, close to forty five years old. Most of the IPS officers, whether graduating from the quaint Mount Abu academy with its antediluvian facilities or the modern Sardar Vallabhbhai National Police Academy, Hyderabad, had a few things to say either about the academy or the days of district training. To be treated like school kids after leading an adult life in a college was a shock for most, to "break" them to fall in line a huge challenge to the Commandant/Director and his team.

‘You could sharpen your pencil from the crease of his starched khakis,’ the ex Commissioner of Calcutta Police would often recall with pride about GK Handoo, his Commandant way back in 1960. The CDIs (Chief Drill Instructors) and the ADODs ( Assistant Directors ( Out Door)) hogged the maximum space in these narratives - Stracey, Pratt, Spadigam, Ramakrishnan, et al.  A large number of ustaads were legends and  many officers were happy to be known as their wards. The Squad I guys in my batch were called the Khan cubs after their mercurial Khan Saheb whose one war cry of Toli Vaar Kooch Kar would make the pythons of the squad stir and spring like a cheetahs under six seconds.

Many talked about their days in the district to which they were sent to for On Job Training - about the SP or the Reserve Inspector or the Officer-in-charge of a police station or the bunch of domestic staff one was given. I have already talked about falling asleep on the shoulders of my training Superintendent of Police  Nawal Kishore Singh saheb the first day I accompanied him on a tour at http://www.viveksahay.com/2015/01/the-ad-od-and-sugar-peter

probationers.html. These were the people one normally got in touch with as a young officer and I had rarely heard about the close encounters of anyone with an IG/DG. The police chiefs in those days took special care in the training of the young officers assigned to the states , something I feel has kind of slipped terribly over the years. But Good, Bad, or Ugly, no probationer ever wanted a close encounter with the IG.

The Venerable  Member, however, was a different kettle of fish. It had all started with the Barrackpur Melancholia which used to envelope most IPS probationers once they reached the decrepit Police Training College at Barrackpore, nestled in a land gifted by the Governor, hence called Latbagan, on the banks of Hooghly ( it is no more so run down , primarily due to the efforts of one Abani Mohan Joardar who was its DIG for about five years in the first decade of the 21st). Left to himself, he would have been happier in the lecture rooms and the stage in Lucknow University where he had landed a job as a Lecturer in English, and hence was touched a tad more than others.

The Nissen huts in which classes were held were as insufferable as the lectures and the instructors. The campus was unkempt and the ustaads were unsupervised and uninspiring. The Principal was hardly to be seen or even heard of while the parade ground was a theatre  more of languid flourishes than of crisp marches. But  what probably got his goat was the food. There was just too much of water in the daal, and when he ate, he started to smell of the fish which had been mashed and cooked with it.  He was becoming anorexic and highly irritable.

There was a spat with his batchmate who was the Mess Secretary who ridiculed him when he took up the matter of bad food.  ‘You can’t get anything better than that for Rs. 80 /- a month,’ he was told. The curt reply wounded him, but when the Mess Secretary added salt to this wound by shouting, ‘ Go to hell and do whatever you want’, the ex- lecturer or Exlec of English went on to do what a few, if not many,  IPS officers  have done,  including one  RK Johri, my cadre senior and NPA instructor. He thrashed the Mess Secretary who was too weak to retaliate, too ashamed to report but swift enough to flee after the first box. The ExLec was  done with the training at PTC. He sulked and boycotted the classes and Mess food . The news of his defiance would not have reached the Principal, but probably the Hooghly draught from Latbagan, Barrackpore  carried the news to Writers’, the seat of the government,  from where Hiren Sarkar Esq., the Inspector General of Police for close to ten years prodded the Principal to summon and speak to this callow youth from Lucknow.

‘So you are Esh Kay?’ the Principal asked  me after summoning me one day.

‘Vivek, I was miffed, the fellow had not even offered a chair, a courtesy  extended even to inspectors.’

‘Whom did you call for after all?’ I said and plonked myself on a wooden chair.

‘I am told that you have not been taking any interest in your training,’ he tried to be aggressive.

‘I am not the only one who is not taking interest in my training,’ I cut him short.

The South Club huddle thumped the table and laughed aloud. This was going to be great.

‘Robi, one more round of chai,’ Herman ordered the South Club waiter.

‘As soon as the import of my repartee dawned on him, he picked up the phone , and after sometime, got across to the IG.’

‘You were correct , saar. He is defiant and insolent, and when I asked him his name, he told me that I should know whom I have called for,’ he whinged, ‘like the young favourite  wife  complaining to her husband about her eldest stepson.’

‘What he heard from the other end warmed his cockles.’

‘The IG has called you on Monday at 10 sharp in his office. 10 am sharp. Full ceremonial, he informed, trying to be serious.’

‘But the fellow was beaming from inside. Vicarious revenge was in the offing, he was sure the IG would have me by the hip.’

By this time Robi came in with the tea, someone lit his second cigarette, and Akhtar Ali, the Indian tennis coach too joined in. Walking into a pause, he started to recount , probably for the seventh time,  his coaching session with George Bush Senior when the Huddle motioned him to halt . The Venerable Member resumed after being assured that the interruption had been nixed.

The day after his famous “ whom did you call for ” meeting with the Principal, the young officer rode in a bumbling Bedford and reached Writers’ Buildings. Dressed with a worry on his face and a tunic with a cross belt on his frame, he was easily identified by an Assistant Inspector General who was pacing anxiously in the second floor corridor overlooking the Dalhousie Square. Relieved at seeing the young officer, he proceeded to warn him not to reply to any question the IG might ask.

‘Let him shout, scream, abuse, but for you mum’s the word,’ he spelt out the strategy.

We in the huddle, too, furrowed our eyebrows and wondered what kind of warning was this.

‘My foot Mum’s the word! Arrey Bhai, my father has given me a name, what if the IG asks me my name,’  the Venerable Member shot out his palms and threw an inquiring gaze at us for our approval as he recollected that warning over four decades ago. The Huddle nodded in agreement.

The AIG  called out one of the orderlies outside the IG’s room and asked him to adjust the officer’s ruffled uniform. As soon as the young officer’s uniform was shored up to his satisfaction, the AIG  suddenly opened the door of the IG’s chamber, shouted  “Officer Marchup”, and pushed him, announced him and was promptly shooed away by the IG. The poor ASP, not yet recovered from the suddenness of the command of ‘Officer Marchup” and the fumbling shuffle and salute that followed, was left all alone to face the IG.

The Venerable member resumed after the long pause, though his pupils continued to remain dilated at the painful recall of that Moment.

‘Vivek, as soon as I was through with my salute, I saw the IG’s face as his gaze rested upon me. For the first time in my life I knew what was fear. His piercing red eyes, darted on either side of his nose, sizing me up and slicing me through.’

‘Ess Kay, rusticated for two months from Lucknow University for violent misconduct ?’ the IG boomed, arching his eyebrows.

‘Contrarian, questioning, and defiant at Mt Abu?’

‘Cautioned not once, but thrice?’

‘I was completely taken aback, not having reckoned with this kind of scraping of my past. I was expecting to explain my conduct at Barrackpore, and had prepared my replies but here was this IG making enquiries about me in Lucknow and Mt Abu as  if I was a common daagi ( surveille) ,’ the Venerable Member’s put his cupped palms on his chest in anguished awe.

The Huddle was also left in awe of the IG, and of the narrator as well for his Lucknow and Mt Abu accomplishments.

‘So you tell your Principal whom did you call for, did  you or did you not?’, he shouted.

‘I kept quiet, the AIG had warned me not to answer.’

‘And here in Bengal you have decided not to attend classes and thrash your batchmates. For the last twenty three days, you have not even been to the parade ground. Who the hell do you think you are?’

‘Silence from my side, more shouts from his, and in another minute, he asked me to get out.’

The young ASP saluted and exited, and made way for the AIG’s chamber. He recounted the proceedings in which he spoke not a word, and was duly complimented by the AIG for fastidiously heeding his advice of You Will Not Answer .

‘You are a fine young man, Ess Kay.  You can now forget the whole thing.  He has shouted enough, and that should be the end of it.’

‘I doubt very much ,sir. He was in a terrible rage.’

‘ Shut up and have tea.’

But just as the ASP was about to take his first sip, the IG’s orderly came in and announced that  saheb has summoned him again. Aika, alone. This news had disaster written all over, and the AIG bid him a sad farewell, this time offering no advice.

‘I walked in alone, feeling orphaned without the AIG , and saluted.’

‘Sit down, ‘ the IG motioned to me, ‘  you can take off your cap.’

Soon the orderly came in with the tea tray and laid out the cups for both of us.This time the tone was different and his eyes appeared kinder. I started to relax.

‘So that AIG told you remain silent?’ he said and fanged a smile.

‘I froze and almost spilt my tea.  So this guy knew the trick and had just played along. ‘

‘ Now let’s be serious.’

The IG then proceeded to ask the young Assistant Superintendent of Police a few questions, and not one of them was about the spat with the batchmate or the Principal. A few questions about the classes, some about his  impressions of the training of the recruit constables, one or two about horses and the stables, a couple of innocuous questions about the condition of roads and grounds, one each on the Chief Drill Inspector and the Chief Law Instructor , and in about two minutes  he concluded that something was terribly “wrong in the kingdom of Denmark”.

He barked into his telephone to summon the AIG who came in  within  a minute and stood with his pen and notepad, furtively glancing at Ess Kay  to ascertain if he was okay. The ASP was too unsure and too scared to assure him in front of the IG.

‘The Principal of PTS is  transferred, he is unfit to continue ’ he spat out , and mentioned his replacement.

The Venerable Member looked at us, we looked at him, amused and amazed.

‘Hold it gentlemen, I was not done with yet,’ he said and resumed.

‘So you must be terribly happy that I have transferred the Principal after talking to you?’ the IG beamed at me.

‘I lied confidently. I said no, though from inside I was almost bursting to tell the news to anyone who would have cared to listen.’

Suddenly the IG turned to face the AIG and said, ‘Das, I shall be retiring within a year. God has been kind to me. The country became free in front of my eyes.  My children are well settled, and professionally I have achieved almost everything I had set out to. I was an IG even before I was forty five and now with hardly a year left, I can look back with a lot of satisfaction.’

‘For the first time that morning I smiled, not at the IG’s run of luck, but at his much improved mood.’

‘But I have had one wish which remains unfulfilled,’ the IG’s voice suddenly deepened.

‘Saar, and what is that?’ the AIG asked.

‘I also wondered, but had no clue whatsoever.’

‘ I have never dismissed an IPS officer in my life,’ he let out a hollow chuckle and turned towards me, ‘I think through Ess Kay God will fulfil this wish.’

‘My eyes almost popped out, the AIG’s pen fell from his grip. The gaze of the IG was so intense that I averted his  sight.’

‘Saar, saar,’  the AIG muttered, bluttered, spluttered.

The members of the Huddle looked at one another in stunned silence. Suddenly it seemed that the the Venerable Member’s luck was about to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory. This IG was turning out to be unstable and volatile, possessed with an insanely carnivorous appetite and probably unnaturally carnal desires as well.

‘Vivek, if you think that this sounds preposterous in today’s times with the Courts and the CATs, you are mistaken. Those days if an IG wanted to dismiss a probationer, even though his appointment letter said that he was appointed by  a very pleased President of India, he could jolly well do it.’

No one in the Huddle ever doubted what an IG could do in  those days. They were not IPS but IP officers, appointed by His Majesty’s Government  to rule, not to serve.

It took some time for the AIG to regain his composure and retrieve his pen while the probationer stood transfixed, unable to smile at the IG’s caree-  threatening sense of humour.

‘Das, tell me fast, who is the meanest SP we have?’

He suggested the name of SP Bankura, and very soon I would come to know why the AIG did not have to think for more than a second to answer.

‘Correct, let Ess Kay  go to Bankura for his district training. I am sure his unsatiated hunger for insubordination and contempt for training will not be lost on the SP. Never shy of submitting a report, I am certain he would submit one against this boy which I shall be too happy to accept,’ he grinned from ear to ear, as would a wolf seeing a lamb alone in the woods, but quickly wiped it.

The he settled his gaze on me, and I saw the same severity as I had after I had saluted him for the first time . It was cold, unfriendly, hostile. The meeting was over. With one movement of his eye, I  picked up my peak cup from the adjacent chair, with another I saluted and with the third, I walked out, absolutely rattled.’

‘Sure enough I got my orders for Bankura, and let me tell you gentlemen,  the SP made my life hell and everyday I cursed the IG. But I refused to get provoked, worked very hard, did my night rounds, wrote the VCNBs, learnt the language and what not.’

It was now about a week left for the IG to retire, and he had already embarked upon his statewide tour to thank the officers and men he had commanded for over a decade as was the custom in those days . That is how he came to Bankura. Naturally,  a ceremonial parade was held, and after the officers and men had gone past the dias with Eyes Right, the young ASP was asked to bring the parade up for Review Order.

At the end of the parade ,  just as the IG was about to leave for the Circuit House in his car, the SP came across to accompany him.

‘No, you follow  in your car , let Ess Kay  come with me,’ the IG ordered.

‘I was now sitting next to him and as he turned sideways to look at me, I saw none of the harshness. But I was very wary.’

‘Ess Kay , I have been receiving reports about you from Bankura .’

‘I thought inside to myself that this was too much. Did not this fellow have anything to do except keep tabs on probationers?  I had done my best, and if this IG was  going to pick on me again, I was not going to give up without a fight.'

'You see, the hard work at Bankura had infused a new moral strength in me,’ the Venerable Member addressed the Huddle.

‘ But before I could utter a word in protest, the IG continued, "you have done exceedingly well. I am so proud of you."’

‘He then put his hand on my shoulder. It was his first physical touch, A kind of a warmth flowed through my body where earlier shivers shimmied down my spine at his probing stares.’

‘I shall sign  your posting orders tomorrow. When I come to Latbagan for my farewell parade next Tuesday, I would expect to see you there as SDPO, Barrackpore. Today  we shall celebrate.’