Modern Day Highway Robbers

On the eve of Meter Jam day, here is my two penny contribution to make life a less corrupt experience.
I took an auto from the College campus that had just dropped a customer near the College back gate. As I travel very frequently by auto, I got into this auto and directed the driver to drive me to my destination. We travelled via the back gate, and he dropped me at a hotel very near the local police station.
It was then the drama started.
The normal fare from back gate is Rs.25 (which itself is a bit exorbitant – it should be minimum fare). This guy asked me for Rs. 30. I said I stick to my principles and would not pay anyone more or less than the standard. He refused to accept the Rs. 25 I gave him. He asked me to come to the police station. I refused to give him the Rs. 30, and neither did I think I had any business to be in a police station. So I told him, if you want to lodge a complaint, please go right ahead. A policeman was standing nearby. When I tried to gain his attention, he just pointed his fingers to the police station with a lack of interest.
Since I could not deal with this person anymore, I gave up and entered the hotel for supper. I saw him standing outside the hotel calling on his mobile, most probably other fellow drivers. Soon this driver entered the hotel, caught me by my ID tag and loudly read my name. When I protested, he let go and left.
When I came out of the hotel, this same driver was standing near the entrance surrounded by a few other auto drivers, his cronies. Auto drivers are sometimes like crows. When one is fallen, they all flock together.
These four guys started harassing me asking for the 30 rupees, first mildly saying, why quarrel for such a small amount, and then getting physical. Somehow I managed to escape the clutches of these goons, walked to the local auto stand and returned to college in another auto.
When I was in class for about two hours, I had a surprise. There was a policeman in the class! He said that an auto driver had lodged a complaint and he had come to investigate. How did he know where to find me? From my name the auto driver had given to this "Sherlock Holmes", and then the location from where I was picked up, made the rest easy for him. I was embarassed in front of my colleagues, my teacher and most of all our college principal. And those who didn’t know what was going on were wondering what a policeman was doing inside a College class. I told the policeman I would report to the local police station the next day morning as he requested.
Some of my friends volunteered to come with me to the police station the next day, wasting their precious time and money in the process. But I declined their offer of help, though noble. If they came, I thought it would be viewed as an altercation not between me and the driver but the College community and local auto drivers.
Luckily, my uncle lived in that locality and I went with him to the police station the next day.
We were presented before the station in charge and soon we were joined by the auto driver himself. It was a war of wits.
The auto driver argued that since he was expected to be paid the return fare, 30/- was reasonable. We raised the point that there was no designated auto stand at the College back gate. Where was he returning to? Back from the town or to the town?
The police conceded our point. We also raised the issue of this guy catching hold of me by the tag and also the harassment by his cronies.
The police asked me to pay him only Rs. 25 as that was what was expected in such a situation.
Who lost in the process? I lost my four hours of my productive time, but stood by my priciples, the policemen wasted time futilely. The autodriver? He wasted nothing in the process. He did not even lose his honor for in the first place he did not have any!
What was he trying to achieve? Prove that goondaism against an educated college student would hold inside a police station? Really beats logic.
I agree not all auto drivers are like the person I described, but they are the few who give a bad name to the lot.
Luckily I have an uncle in the locality. But I dare not think what would have befallen a hapless colleague from a far off place with no proper person for support.

Passport to Gaol

It was during my last month at my gig in Germany that I got an urgent mail from my brother saying that my father wanted to talk to me on an important issue.
A bit puzzled, I called India after work, from the office phone (the money for phone calls was deducted from my salary by the shrewd German overseer).
The first thing my father wanted to know was whether I had applied for my passport twice. I was bewildered. No, I replied. My father went on to inform me that the local police had come a-visting twice to my home in Kerala wanting to know whether I had committed the crime of applying twice for a passport.
I didn't take the matter too seriously at that moment. I was convinced it was a routine blunder by the police which they are so bound to make. I told my father I was sure this was some bureaucratic blunder and would sort itself out.
When I returned home to India, the police came visiting again. I was not at home. They informed my father that I had applied for a passport twice and they wanted to investigate. My father called me on my mobile and I talked to the police person who quizzed me on my passport number and other details. With a straight face I told him all I could. Then, a bit annoyed, I retorted, saying they were the people who had my passport details on their records and that I found it strange them asking me about it.
The policeperson was not impressed.
A few weeks later I got a letter from the regional passport office saying that they would have to confiscate my existing passport since I had committed the crime of applying for a passport twice. I made two trips all the way to the passport office at the State headquarters and met the passport officer in charge who said that the police had reported that two attempts were made to secure passports and the law would follow course. I even showed him a copy of the application letter that I had written out for the passport and tried to make him understand that I had no interest and no valid reason for filling out a second application. All this fell on deaf ears.
The next time the police came a hunting (again I was out) my Dad shelled out a couple of hundred rupees. The policeman realising that nothing more could be gained from this venerable looking gentleman quietly took the money and left.
There ended the mystery of the double passport applications.
The strange tale did not end there.
While waiting for my train home at Kochi railway station I found myself sitting next to a middle aged man. He was just on his way back from the regional passport office at Kochi. And he had a tale to tell similar to mine. He had been in the middle east for a good many years and when his passport was about to expire, applied for a fresh one. But he was now charged with illegally applying for a passport twice. And he faced the same punishment - confiscation of his passport.
But he said with determination - "I am ready to go to court on this matter, but I shall not bribe a policeman to get things sorted out." Brave words from an Indian, in a land where court cases are prolonged to no end and are a waste of both time energy and will power.
what other ways would these goons come up with, I wondered, to make a few extra bucks?

Set a thief to Catch a Thief!

Kumily is a picturesque stop before you cross the Kerala - Tamilnadu border. It also has a border check post where the police occasionally check passenger vehicles for contraband, read liquor, from neighboring states where the stuff is much cheaper, Kerala heavily taxing liquor sales.
I recently had the opportunity to pass through this route on my return from Bangalore.
As usual there was the routine police checking, but this time round, to my surprise, the guy who frisked our baggage was reeking of some cocktail he had imbibed a little while back.
Still he was steady on his feet and nimbly tiptoed to check the baggage stored on the overhead racks.
Next time you see liquor being confiscated, don't wonder where it disappears.
It probably is put to good use filling some ill-paid policeman's overfed belly.